Free Chief Inspector Maigret Visits London by Margaret de Rohan Page B

Inspector Scott from the Met Police, accompanied by Sergeant Andy Gillespie – the erstwhile “phoney vicar” – came to call. She had been expecting them.
    â€˜What do you remember about the accident, Mrs Vachon?’ Chief Inspector Scott asked, as they sipped their coffee.
    â€˜Nothing, really – it all happened so suddenly. Is Inspector Martin alright? He saved my life, that’s one thing I do know.’
    â€˜It’s too early to tell, but we’re hoping he’ll be okay. Can you remember anything about immediately after the accident?’
    â€˜No, only that my head hurt, but that was when I woke up in the ambulance. Why wasn’t Inspector Martin with me? How did he get to St Mary’s?’
    â€˜I understand that a member of the public flagged down an ambulance travelling along Elgin Avenue soon after the accident, because it was obvious he had been badly injured.’
    â€˜That’s right, boss,’ confirmed Andy Gillespie, ‘apparently it was already on its way to St Mary’s, but there was a patient in that ambulance already, so that’s why another one had to be sent for Mrs Vachon. I believe that one of the paramedics stayed with her until the second ambulance arrived.’ ‘I see. Thank you,’ said Nicole Vachon. ‘I’m so grateful to everyone who helped, especially Inspector Martin. It was a very brave thing he did, pushing me out of the way like that. He must have known the car would hit him. You know, he could have jumped clear if he’d done that instead of saving me, but he didn’t.’
    â€˜I agree,’ said Chief Inspector Scott, ‘Georges Martin is a very courageous man and a fine police officer. I can assure you that Scotland Yard will see that his bravery is suitably recognised.’
    â€˜Good. Now do you have any further questions, Chief Inspector? I’m very tired, I think I might have to lie down for a while.’
    â€˜Just a few more, then I promise we’ll be on our way. These men who’ve been visiting Serge off and on over the past few weeks – what can you tell us about them?’ ‘Nothing, because I was never allowed to meet any of them: in fact I never even laid eyes on them.’
    â€˜Why not?’ Inspector Gillespie asked.
    â€˜Serge always knew when they were coming, so he told me to go out somewhere, like the cinema, or maybe shopping, otherwise I’d have to stay in our bedroom.’
    â€˜So you didn’t even hear their voices?’
    â€˜I did once, when I stayed home because I wasn’t well.’
    â€˜And how many were there, do you know? And what accents did they have?’
    â€˜I only heard one speak, but there might have been three that time. The one I heard spoke English – ordinary English, I mean.’
    â€˜Ordinary English?’
    â€˜Yes, you know; not posh.’
    â€˜I see. Did he speak like us; Sergeant Gillespie, and me, perhaps?’
    â€˜No – even more ordinary than you.’
    Hmm, have we just been complimented or insulted, Andy Gillespie wondered. And ‘ordinary English’ hardly narrows down our field of suspects: most of the people we cross paths with would be in that category. But not all: we have our share of posh upmarket rascals too. ‘But some of the men who came were not English, were they?’ Chief Inspector Scott persisted.
    â€˜How would I know? I told you I never heard any of the others speak because I was usually out.’
    â€˜And you still haven’t heard anything from Serge?’
    â€˜Not a word. Have you heard anything? Has his car been found yet?’
    â€˜No, we’ve heard nothing.’ ‘And what about the car that ran us down?’
    â€˜We’re still looking for that, too. The owner had reported it stolen the night before.’
    â€˜There’s just one more thing, or rather two, Mrs Vachon,’ Andy Gillespie said as they were