Free The Night at the Crossroads by Georges Simenon

wine.’
    â€˜You’re not waiting for supper?’
    The inspector began devouring his huge sandwich in reply.
    The sergeant watched him, obviously eager to talk.
    â€˜You’re expecting some important development tonight, is that it?’
    â€˜Humpf …’
    But why deny it? Standing there eating, wasn’t he like a soldier about to go into battle?
    â€˜I’ve been going over things,’ began Lucas, ‘trying to organize my ideas. It’s not easy …’
    Chewing away, Maigret looked placidly at his colleague.
    â€˜It’s still the girl who puzzles me the most. At times I feel that everyone around her – garage owner, insurance man, Carl Andersen – is guilty, but not her. At other times I’d swear instead that she’s the only poisonous
thing here …’
    There was a twinkle of amusement in the inspector’s eyes that seemed to say, ‘Keep going!’
    â€˜There are moments when she really does seem like a girl from an aristocratic family, but again, at others she reminds me of when I was with Vice. You know what I mean, those girls who coolly reel off the most outrageous nonsense in the
world, as bold as brass! Yet the details are so disturbing that you just can’t believe such a girl could make them up. So you fall for her story … But later you find an old novel under her pillow and discover that she got everything from that book … Women who lie as
easily as they breathe, and maybe even wind up believing all those stories they tell!’
    â€˜That’s it?’
    â€˜You think I’m wrong?’
    â€˜I have no idea!’
    â€˜Remember, I believe different things at different times, and mostly it’s Carl Andersen who worries me. Imagine an intelligent, cultivated, well-bred man like him, running a gang …’
    â€˜We’ll see him tonight!’
    â€˜Him? But he’s crossed the border.’
    â€˜Well …’
    â€˜You think that …’
    â€˜That this business is a whole lot more complicated than you imagine, Lucas. And that we’d be better off concentrating on a few important elements instead of getting lost in details.
    â€˜For instance,’ continued Maigret, ‘Monsieur Michonnet was the first person to file a complaint and he’s the one who wants me to go and see him this evening.
    â€˜An evening, in fact, when the garage owner will
quite obviously
be off in Paris!
    â€˜And where is Goldberg’s Minerva? Think about that, too! As there aren’t many of them in France, it’s not an easy car to make disappear.’
    â€˜You think that Monsieur Oscar …’
    â€˜Not so fast! … But if you feel like it, play around with those three little things.’
    â€˜But what about Else?’
    â€˜Her again?’
    And wiping his mouth, Maigret went out to the main road. Fifteen minutes later he rang the Michonnets’ bell and was welcomed by the woman’s surly face.
    â€˜My husband is waiting for you upstairs!’
    â€˜So good of him …’
    Oblivious to the irony of his words, she led him upstairs. Michonnet was in his bedroom, seated in a low-slung Voltaire armchair near the window. The shade was pulled down and he had a tartan blanket tucked around his legs.
    â€˜Well, now!’ he began aggressively. ‘When will I be getting a car back? You think it’s a good idea, do you, to deprive a man of his livelihood? And meanwhile, you’re paying calls on that creature across the way, when
you’re not off having aperitifs with the garage owner! Fine police work that is! I’ll not mince words with you, chief inspector! Yes, a fine state of affairs! Never mind the murderer! The top priority is to torment honest citizens! … I have a car: does it belong to me,
yes or no? … I put it to you. Answer me! Is it mine? … Well, what gives you