Maigret in New York Read Online Free PDF Page A

journalists and theatre people …’
    And his companion murmured with a smile, ‘You
could say that …’
    ‘Our detective wanted to speak to a reporter he
knows who covers ship arrivals and must have gone aboard this
morning. We did find him, in fact: dead drunk or as good as
… A habit of his, I was assured, after three or four in the afternoon.’
    ‘You know his name?’
    ‘Vaguely … Something like Parson …
Jim Parson, I think it is … He has washed-out blond hair, bloodshot eyes and nicotine
stains all around his lips.’
    Agent O’Brien could claim all he wanted that the
American authorities had no right to pay attention to anyone whose conscience was clear, but it
was still curious how at each name, each new description Maigret brought up, the redhead seemed
to know exactly whom he meant.
    And so the inspector could not help remarking,
‘Are you sure your police here are that different from ours?’
    ‘Very! Now, what did Jim say?’
    ‘I could only understand bits and pieces …
Drunk though he was, he definitely seemed interested. I should mention that the detective had
backed him into a corner and was giving him what for, as the saying goes, pinning him right to
the wall. The other fellow was making promises, trying to remember … Then he staggered
into the telephone booth, and I saw him through the window ask for four separate numbers.
    ‘Meanwhile, MacGill was explaining to me, “You
understand, the reporters who went on board still represent our best chance to learn something.
Those people are highly observant. They know everybody …”
    ‘That’s as may be,’ continued the inspector, ‘but
Jim Parson came out of the booth empty-handed and made a beeline for a double whisky.
    ‘He’s supposed to keep making inquiries. If he’s doing it in bars, he must have passed out by
now, because I’ve never seen anyone go through drinks at that pace.’
    ‘You’ll see more like that … Well, if I’ve
got it right, this afternoon Jos MacGill seemed to you mighty eager to locate his boss’s
son.’
    ‘Whereas this morning, he couldn’t have cared
less.’
    O’Brien was fairly worried after all.
    ‘What are you planning on doing?’ he asked.
    ‘I admit I wouldn’t mind finding the boy
…’
    ‘And you’re not the only one, it seems.’
    ‘You’ve got an idea, haven’t you?’
    ‘I remember, my dear inspector, something you
said to me in Paris, during one of our conversations at the Brasserie Dauphine … Do you
recall?’
    ‘Our conversations, yes, but not whichever remark
you’re thinking of.’
    ‘I was asking you almost the same question you
just asked me, and you puffed on your pipe while you replied, “Me, I never have ideas.”
    ‘Well, my dear Maigret, if you’ll allow me to
call you that, at this moment, at least, I am like you, which proves that police all over the
world have certain things in common.
    ‘I know nothing. I don’t know anything – or
hardly anything, only what everyone else does – about Little John’s affairs or his
entourage.
    ‘I didn’t even know he had a son.
    ‘And what’s more, I belong to the FBI, which
handles only certain clearly defined crimes. In other words, if I were
unfortunate enough to stick my nose into this business, I’d stand
a good chance of being severely reprimanded.
    ‘I don’t suppose that what you want from me is
advice, right?’
    ‘No,’ muttered Maigret, lighting his pipe.
    ‘Because, if it were advice you were after, I’d
tell you this.
    ‘The winters in New York are hard on my wife,
who’s in Florida at the moment … As for my son, he’s off at college, and my daughter got
married two years ago. So I’m on my own. I therefore have a certain number of evenings free.
Allow me to put them at your disposal by showing you around a little of New York the way you
once showed me around Paris.
    ‘As for that other matter, well … How did
you put it again? Wait … No, don’t tell me … I’ve kept a few of