All language subtitles for maigret.sets.a.trap.1958.720p.bluray.x264-usury-BWBP

Yes.

No, it's Simoni.

Oh, it's you.

Nope.

Nothing, but nothing. Dead calm.

- Bless you!
- It's Lagrume?

At the Sevigné newsstand?
O.K.

If I hear anything about the killer,
I'll give you a call.

- He's driving himself nuts with that
killer. - And driving us, too.

Hot toddy.

- Hello.
- Hello, Mme Juteaux.

- You're running late.
- With this heavy weather, I fell asleep.

Have a good evening.

This is the police.

Hello?

Speak up. I'm listening.

It's from Quai Celestins.
Yes, hello.

Tell M. Maigret that the Marais Killer
has claimed a new victim.

Really? Where?
Tell me where.

Rue Rosiers.

What number?

What number on Rue Rosiers?
The woman killer has struck again.

The passageway on Rue Rosiers.
Must be at number 68.

Hello. Headquarters?

This is the central station
of the 4th district.

A woman was just attacked
on Rue Rosiers.

- Dead?
- I suppose.

Apparently it's the Marais killer.
He doesn't usually miss.

Has your wagon left?

It's leaving now.

Hello? They also asked me to
notify Inspector Maigret.

You'll take care of it?
Thanks.

- Well?
- He must have slipped out via Rue Caron.

No. No way.

- I'd have seen him.
- Apparently not.

I was watching at the corner
of Rue St. Antoine.

This is where we lost him.

You two, get back to Rue Rosiers.

Don't you think we should
notify the Crime Squad?

- There's no hurry.
- Still, this concerns Maigret.

If someone's going to catch the guy,
it might as well be us.

What more could Maigret do? And a Chief
Inspector must be fast asleep at this hour.

But...

- What are you doing here?
- This is my home.

That's not an answer. And at this hour,
butcher shops are closed!

And who's going to prepare my orders
for tomorrow morning?

What's going on?

- Who are you?
- I'm the concierge.

- Where are you going?
- The crime scene? Want a ride?

- Who notified you? - Got a call 5
minutes ago. Get in if you want a ride.

- The Crime Squad will be there soon.
- The Crime Squad?

Since everyone has already been
notified...

Same work as with the other three.
Two stab wounds to the chest.

One would have been enough.

But this time, he used a different tool.
He's no longer using an awl.

The wounds are larger.

- What time did she go out?
- At half past. I even mentioned it to her.

- Marguerite Juteaux, musician.
- Violinist.

What a terrible loss.

- Is there a husband?
- Of course.

Poor M. Juteaux must be playing cards like
every Saturday night, and he has no idea.

And the little girl asleep upstairs.

- Say, Lucas... Where is he playing?
- At Bar Bastille.

- Go get M. Juteaux at Bar Bastille.
- You're not checking out the apartment?

Later. There's a kid asleep there.
She'll wake up soon enough.

- Leave someone to guard the front door.
- Yes.

You were in the area but saw nothing?

I was there all right.
I can't stop thinking about it.

- He was right under my nose!
- Bravo.

It's my fault, I know.
I stopped by the cafe just this once...

- No one is blaming you.
- I am! Right under my nose...

- You can see, her clothes are shredded.
- Yes. As usual.

- She was...
- What?

Not even. He just tears them apart
and leaves them.

- You think rape would make things better?
- It might help us to understand them.

- If I may...
- Careful! You're stepping in the sauce.

If you may what?

Alfonsi and I could go back to
Rue Turenne, where he disappeared.

Oh, if you like. After all, you know
your neighborhood best.

Well, then. Question anyone you see.

You might get something out of them.

La vie en rose

Well, well! Bravo.
You at least aren't wasting time.

Here's the murder weapon.

- You see?
- It's a butcher's knife.

- And I think Alfonsi and I know its owner.
- Could very well be.

- Good. Follow up without me. You have
free rein. - Thank you, sir.

Lapointe.

- What's this circus?
- Lagrume's raid.

- Inspector.
- You're here? It's been a while.

Your name is...

Barberot, Emile.

Butcher. 22, Rue Turenne.
It's the 10th time I've told you.

And this?
Remind you of anything?

Of course.

- Is it yours?
- No.

Be careful how you answer.
A woman was killed with this.

- Was she deboned?
- Deboned?

Well, yes. When you use a deboning knife,
it's to debone. Goes without saying, no?

That still doesn't tell us what
you were doing in your shop at 9pm.

I was preparing the orders
for tomorrow Sunday!

Because some of us
have to work for a living.

Got anything from the knife?

It's an Augent, the biggest supplier
to butcher shops.

Judging from the wear,
it was made a while ago.

Not much else.

Some faint greasy prints, probably
overlaid by a gloved hand.

- I took three snapshots. But, you know...
- OK, thanks anyway.

This is awful. I'm getting really fed up.

I get up at 6am. I won't spend the night
listening to the two of you.

You see the type, sir?

- You think the knife is his?
- Hard to know. He won't say.

Well, keep looking.
This butcher or another...

I just want the knife's owner.
Up to you to find him.

You really think that...

You found the lead.
It's yours.

Rest assured I'll do my best, sir.

I don't doubt it for a moment.

Say, Lagrume...

Thanks for calling me in.

5 min. after the crime.
Can't do better.

But I wasn't the one
who called you, sir.

Alfonsi.

Thank you.

- For what? - For notifying me.
He doesn't always remember to do it.

But I didn't do it either, sir.
A patrolman probably did.

Yes, probably.

- What are you looking for?
- The coffee pot.

Cold or hot?

Ah! Hot.

Did you turn on the water?

You have problems?
What's the matter?

He's back at it.

Another woman?

And nothing?

Nothing...

A kid who's probably waking up now,

a husband who doesn't understand,
and a creep who's off to sleep.

That's all we have.

We've questioned dozens of guys,
even a butcher.

But I think he's innocent.

Unless I got it wrong.
It's possible.

After all, maybe it isn't only coffee pots
I've lost the knack for finding.

Here.

Don't worry about the suitcases.
I'm used to packing and unpacking.

You'd better unpack the suitcases
once and for all.

We could fix up the little house at
La Rochelle. I could putter around there.

- You?
- I'm tired, Louise.

Tired.

For example, I'm losing my memory.

Earlier, Alfonsi told me that...

I don't even remember what he told me.

Anyway...

I thought I was on to something, and...
No, I swear, it feels like retirement.

Well, then, let's retire.

I know at least one person
who'll be happy about it.

Your creep.

You have to admit it's a success:

Four murders in the 4th district,
and old Maigret goes fishing.

He probably already had
a high opinion of himself. But now...

It's simple. He only needs to
start killing every day.

Why hold back if it's working?
Soon, he'll be giving interviews.

Here. They're ready to crown him.

FROM JACK THE RIPPER TO MR. X
What Will the Killer Dare Next?
Inspector Maigret starts over again.

- He must be thinking: I'm the king.
- You believe he really thinks that way?

I have no idea.

But if he's at all proud,
he must be pleased with himself.

- Proud...
- Why wouldn't he be?

Hello, police? This is Inspector Maigret.
Give me headquarters.

Headquarters?
Maigret.

Who asked you to call me last night?

The 4th district station.

- Can you put them on?
- Easy.

Please connect the 4th district
to Inspector Maigret.

Hello. The 4th?

It's about last night's call.

I just passed on the message, sir.

The call came from Box 28,
on Quai Celestins.

No, not a watchman. The glass
was broken. A witness, probably.

A witness, 600 meters
from the crime scene?

I'd love to know what
your "witness" had to say.

Yes, every word.

He said:

"You can notify M. Maigret that
the Marais Killer

"has claimed a new victim."
That's all.

OK, that's good.
Thanks.

Say, there's a big brain

under those rollers!

You were right.
He's gloating.

5 minutes after the crime,
he had the nerve to call me.

"Monsieur Maigret."

I'll show him "Monsieur Maigret!"

- Hey, what...?
- Out of the way!

- Is this for Maigret?
- You'll see. Let us through.

- Is he a suspect? - A witness?
- All right, all right.

- I can't say anything.
- Thanks for the cooperation!

- If Lucas is here, it's for Maigret.
- If Lagrume is here, it's about the 4th.

- The 4th, that's the Marais!
- Yes. Try to develop those right away.

- Could be 5 columns if it's the killer!
- Could be a common thief.

And that? That's a patrolman?

- May I ask a quick question, sir?
- Sorry.

- Just a little hint, Commissioner Guimard.
- Not right now.

Is it the Marais Killer?

I have no statement to make, Miss.

They're all in there.
The game's afoot.

I just hope he confesses
before the 5 o'clock edition.

So, Mazet, here you are
on the other side of the gates.

- Not too disoriented?
- Always happy to help out, sir.

- And I hear that one good turn deserves
another. - Hey, not so fast.

This isn't about your typical bank job.
It's about passing as a killer.

Oh, I got the picture, sir.
I can even improve on it.

Not too much. Not too much.

Just tell me how you want your scoundrel.
Quivering or impudent?

I seem to remember you played a pretty
good trick on us after your last bank job.

I don't remember anymore.

No one remembers anymore.
Am I right, sir?

Stop with the blackmail, and listen.
I need a suspect, not a clown.

I want you to give something plausible
and low-key to the journalists outside.

- But after all, I killed 4 women!
- Even better reason not to wear a sign.

The Paris-Presse guy is a 20 year veteran.
And little Rougin is full of trickery.

They'll sniff it out if you overdo it.

- What if they ask me questions? - You tell
them you're innocent and wrongly arrested.

I want something classic.
Okay, take him to holding.

- Oh, not holding!
- You'd prefer the state pen?

No. No cuffs.
Go ahead.

Gentlemen.

Here he is!

- Did he confess?
- Ask the Inspector.

Note that the judge was very fair,
very understanding, but...

- ... how shall I put it?
- not very hot.

Not very.

- And you?
- Lukewarm.

Playing with the press...

Giving it a fake killer in the hopes
of tweaking the real one's self-esteem...

Sure. You'd prefer a clean investigation,
complete with supporting evidence.

As would I.

But I got nothing!

I know we have no choice.
Still...

To deploy almost 500 men...
To blanket an entire Paris neighborhood...

And for how long?
If we only knew that...

You must admit
those are huge responsibilities!

- I'm putting you in a tough spot. I know.
- We're both in it. That's not the issue.

Jules.

Are you sure of your plan?

I wish.

What I'm sure of is that this bastard
went to the trouble of having me called.

He's proud of himself and of his crimes.

He's a showboat.

If the papers say someone else is getting
credit for his deeds, he might get irked

and try anything to restate his claim,

to prove us wrong.

To commit another crime.

An anticipated attempt.

We're playing on his ground. But we get
to provide the bait. And the trap.

Algaron will send you
15 police secretaries.

- It won't be easy for him.
- Put yourself in his shoes.

You're not inviting these girls
to a party.

To be honest, Camille, I've never
found myself so short on ideas.

But I'm in a hurry.
A big hurry.

Since May 1st, when he killed for the
first time, this guy has struck June 20th,

July 10th and August 2nd.

He acts in fits.
And the fits are getting closer.

If we wait, we'll be on daily alert.
So...

A proper investigation, you see...
This is about hunting a tiger.

You know the principle.

We tie a goat to a pole,
and we wait.

Here, you're the goats.

We were chosen for the resemblance?

In a way, yes.

Your resemblance to the victims.

All 4 were brunettes, full figured
and not very tall.

That's exactly the kind of woman
he must long

to kill.

That's why, my dears, you still have
the option of bowing out.

What will we have to do?

Well... Stroll, walk the neighborhood, look
like you're going to or coming from home.

All the crimes took place
in the streets, at sunset.

The last victim was headed to work.
The first two were coming from it.

And the third was... well, in the middle
of doing it. So you have some options.

She's wondering if we need to
hail the passers-by.

Neither hail the passers-by,
nor speak to anyone.

No one can know. No one.
Not even your families.

Even in case of death?

My dears, this is no joke. This guy has
killed 4 times, and killed ugly. So...

You, come over here.

Now, one of you. Anyone. You.
Step forward.

Now, watch carefully. He always goes
about it the same way. Start walking.

Go ahead.

Look at me...

- Hey, she took me by surprise!
- She wasn't looking.

So, it's easy, eh?

Should things not go so well,
start by screaming out loud.

I'm not asking you to arrest him, but to
alert us. Whistles are made for that.

There'll be plainclothesmen
hidden all over.

So we can rest easy.

Well, not I.

You must keep in mind that the game
we're hunting is no ordinary prey.

Outside of his fits,
he may be a regular guy.

Suddenly, something goes off,
and he needs to kill.

At that moment, he's capable
of attacking anyone, anyhow.

In fact, I'm counting on that.
That's why you're here.

- What? Is something unclear?
- So, in the paper...

what's with the "madman?"

That?
That's the trigger.

Flabbergasting!

I don't know
what the District Attorney will think.

But I find the whole thing
flabbergasting.

It is understood that you're taking
complete responsibility for this.

Agreed entirely, your honor.

I only took this responsibility
to relieve you of yours, sir.

Of course!

Well, my friend, in that case,
I can only wish you success.

I do admit you chose your man well.
(FACE OF A MADMAN?)
You're sure he's innocent?

That's something he and I don't
completely agree on.

Very well, your honor.
My respects to Mme Coméliau.

A madman...

Well, take a bow.
You can be proud.

You couldn't resist.
Had to have your little fit.

You just had to do your number
and ham it up! You, clown, you!

It was the pressure!

- If I'd had time to rehearse...
- Oh, trust me, you'll get the time...

In the hole, you hear?
You're going to the hole.

You like entertainment? We'll
make sure you're entertained.

Take him away!
I don't want to see him.

- Wow, they're getting vicious.
- Who?

Anonymous letters.
You can now send them via air tube.

And personal, too.

NO, M. Maigret. The killer of those sluts
in the Marais is not A MADMAN!

One moment.

On second thought,
your little number isn't so bad.

In any case, it seems to be working.
So keep it up.

I'm telling you.

- So we're not taking him away?
- Yes, and through the front door.

And with cuffs on.

- Are you sure we're okay?
- But hey, not too much!

Just a bit.

Go on.

Here he is!

- Clear out!
- Detective Torrence, is it the jackpot?

- Is it true he's a madman?
- Read about it in the papers.

With bracelets on, guys.
Smells like a charge.

Won't you please give us some kind
of statement, Inspector?

Just answer yes or no.
Is it him?

After the reconstruction.

- The reconstruction? What reconstruction?
- But where?

When?

- The reconstruction?
- Yes.

When I get a letter,
I always answer.

"No, Monsieur Maigret. The killer of those
sluts in the Marais is not a madman."

- Think it's him? - It's his style. He's
already given me the "Monsieur Maigret."

If he'll bother to write, maybe
this time, he'll bother to show up.

The reconstruction will take place at 10
tomorrow night. That's my answer.

And I'd like it mentioned
in tonight's papers.

Nice work you have me doing.

We're eating early tonight because of
the reconstruction. Will you be there?

We would have gladly gone if
we didn't have tickets to a show.

- Anyway, now that we know it's all over.
- Over? Ha! Only according to the police.

Ah, I see you're like my husband.
He thinks the police are all liars.

Liars? More like scum. Real scum.

I'm a tax payer year round, and by way
of thanks, I get beat up on holidays.

- And what can I get for the gentleman?
- A small steak.

Is this yours?

Looks like it.
May I?

Wow. My Augent!

We really looked for it. Right, Gilberte?
I even thought it was stolen.

- Where did you find it?
- We'll talk about it.

But not here.
About that, and other things.

Please come with me.

Insulting an officer of the law! No one
likes cops, man! It's just a fact of life.

- We can't arrest people for that!
- I meant well, sir.

- And there was the knife.
- Then you should have called me.

Imagine if the butcher blabs to the press.
My plan would be in shambles.

So you and your initiatives. Thanks!

- I'll make a note of it, sir.
- Stop right here.

No point in being seen together.
Need I remind you of my orders?

Go to the reconstruction site,
play onlooker,

choose a random spectator and
follow him wherever he goes.

- Any rookie can do it.
- No!

In fact, 20 of your most experienced
colleagues will be doing the same.

I want the names and addresses
of all present.

With a little luck, you could be
the one to find him.

- A little luck...
- Yes.

Go on. See you soon.

And lose this habit of
feeling like a target.

Stop pushing! There'll be enough
for everyone.

True, it's always the latecomers who...

Step away, ladies and gentlemen.
Move along.

- Are you hurt?
- No. Just scared.

- And this?
- A scratch.

- You saw him?
- No.

I really tried to hang on. But he fought
back, and I couldn't hold on.

Here. I found myself with this.
That's all.

Come on. That's not so bad.

That's impossible.
Everyone saw him run away.

Everyone, everyone... It was impossible
last time too! And yet, nothing!

- I was on Rue Caron.
- Both of us, chief.

My God, he didn't fly away!

If he came from here and he didn't come
out there, he must be in here!

Cordon off this block and search it!

- Are you the concierge?
- Here we go again.

- I asked if you were the concierge.
- Of course I am!

What time did you close the gate?

I stayed outside with my neighbor from
No. 26, until about 15 minutes ago.

- And no one has rung since?
- No, no one.

Okay, you, search every floor from
the ground to the attic. On the double!

Mind the feet! They're going to
muddy up my stairs again.

You two, take care of the cellar.

- Just between us, who did your vampire
kill this time? - No one.

- So why all this traffic? - To amuse
myself. I need some action every night.

- Where does this door go?
- To the butcher shop.

- The butcher's there? - No, never on
Wednesdays. That's Follies night.

- What Follies? - It's a cinema. He goes
every Wednesday with his wife.

I told you they're not in!

Go on, go home. Go on.

What are you doing here?

And you?

- I thought you were at Follies.
- Too tired, thanks to you.

I changed my mind.

What time is it?

Time to get up. We're going for
a little walk. Get dressed.

Get undressed, get dressed...

Where are we going?

- Police headquarters.
- Again?

This is becoming an obsession.

How regularly will you be picking me up?

- Note that this is the second time.
- That's precisely why.

Do you often take sleeping pills?

When I want to sleep and I'm anxious.

As it happens, since the other night,
I am anxious.

Whose fault is that?

Hurry up.

Hurry up, hurry up...

- Damnit! I'm too thick. I'm not going!
- You got the wrong foot.

I'm not going!
I'm going back to sleep.

Want to be carried?

Gentlemen, to the left.

Hello, Marcel.

Café Saint-Michel.

Are you working?

Be reasonable.
Go to sleep.

No, as a matter of fact.

That's why I'm calling.

I ran into the Martin-Prévels.

Yes, the whole gang.

We'll end up in a nightclub,
you know them.

Three, four hours.

Thérese sends her love.

No, no, don't wait up.
I have my key.

Yes, that's right.
Good night, dear.

You won't follow me to my bedroom, no?

Enough. What do you want?

If my husband is paying you,
I can pay as well.

You know where I was.
You could forget about it.

Things like that happen.

How much do you want?

Oh, do whatever you want!

If some thread had stayed behind,
we might have gotten something out of it...

The shape is distinctive,
the edge is thick.

It's not a common make.

You should see the Paris Button Shop.
They'll tell you more than I can.

If it's theirs, they'll know right away
which tailors purchased it.

- And from the tailors...
- Yes, we'll see about that later.

- You can say that again.
- Sorry.

You can go home, but...
I won't be back in before 10 o'clock.

Merde!

I'd forgotten all about him.

Try to shake him awake.

What?

How many pills did you take?

What time did you go to sleep?

Oh, it's you.

He was about to go home.

I'll put him on.

Lagrume.

Speaking!

I wonder if it's worth the bother, sir.
A woman...

She looked odd to me.

In the end, a bourgeoise who spends the
night out, and cheats on her husband.

Nightclub, champagne, gigolo,
then a love hotel.

And then goes home, sight unseen.

Except that she took me for a private
dick and offered me money.

Anyway, I'll give you the address.

Go ahead.

Mme Morin?

With an O?

What?

Maurin, A, U.

That widow Maurin is an old cow!

What did you say?

One moment. Hold on.

I said, the widow Maurin is an old cow!

I was sure it was all her fault.

- Who are you talking about?
- My bitch of a landlady.

Rue Turenne.

The Widow Maurin.
(Owner)

Lagrume?

Where are you?

Wait for me. I'm coming over.

No reason.

Okay, take him home...

Without waking him up, if possible.

To live here, and have it off with a
gigolo in a furnished room on Rue Etoile?

Takes a special kind.

- Does the name Maurin ring a bell?
- Huh?

What's the name of your
butcher's landlady?

You think that...?

- Come on, let's go.
- But it's barely 6 o'clock, sir.

The best time to go fishing.

But we have no warrant.
You know the law.

I do, but we aren't going up to my place.

10th floor.

Mme Maurin?

Police.

No!

This time, you've gone too far.
The joke is not funny anymore.

Rest assured, this isn't a joke. I'd just
like to chat with you for 5 minutes.

This makes no sense! This is despicable.
I don't see how my private life...

You may have misunderstood me, Maam. I'm
not here about Rue Etoile, but Rue Rosiers.

Rue Etoile doesn't bother me at all.

What bothers me is... First of all, it's
to be telling you all this on the landing.

My husband is sleeping.

We won't wake him up. Not right away.
We may need to speak to him as well...

Oh, not about our little adventures.
Those are private. Our secret.

A young woman can have an affair.
It doesn't concern the Crime Squad.

- Crime Squad?
- Oh, yes.

It's reassuring and it's not.

Because it rules out the Rue Etoile side
of things, but not the Rue Rosiers side.

Last night, you were on Rue Rosiers.

Nothing extraordinary in that.
In fact, I was there too.

But it's precisely this coincidence
that's troubling me.

So, maybe you'll be able
to explain it to me.

I don't understand.
It's so simple.

I wasn't expecting this.

I have no idea where we are.

Well, we haven't moved.
Still on Rue Rosiers.

Last night, I ate at my parents'
in the 4th district.

- Rue Turenne?
- No. Rue Turenne is my mother-in-law's.

My parents live on Blvd Beaumarchais.
I was born in that neighborhood.

That's where I met my husband.

Coming home, I went by Rue Rosiers,
which was on the way.

I saw a crowd there,
and I stopped to look.

Like any Parisian would.

I must have stayed around...
10 minutes or so.

Then...

Then I had that rendezvous.

Your husband...

Your husband didn't find it unusual
for you to come home at 5 a.m.?

I called him around midnight,
and told him a story.

He was still working.

When I came in,
he was asleep,

so I didn't wake him up.

You're putting me in an awkward situation.
I was just about to ask you to do it.

- I...
- No! Nothing about our little secret.

Just some information.
A couple of questions.

- Is it really necessary?
- Really.

In that case...

Forgive me. I was in such a state
I forgot to ask...

Inspector Maigret.

And Detective Lagrume.

What do you think, sir?
Rather comfortable, eh?

Money is a nice thing.

They say it doesn't bring happiness.
But still...

I said, "Still..."

Look.

A little Normand.

I like Normand landscapes.

My husband will see you.
He's getting dressed.

Are you fans of the Basque style?

Yes, we were just talking about it.

My husband painted that last night.

When I left, he was still sketching it.

What time did you go out?

Around 7.

Say, Lagrume, do you realize?
Between 7 and midnight. He works quickly.

Quickly and much too much.

Much too much for his health.

Forgive me. I took that over there.
If you have a piece of paper...

- No matter. You can just put it back.
- Thank you.

So what exactly does
an architect-decorator do?

Sorry to have kept you waiting,
gentlemen.

Marcel Maurin.

- I'm embarrassed to greet you in this...
- And I, to get you out of bed at this hour,

especially since my visit is not strictly
official.

- Did your wife inform you?
- Yes, she spoke of murders.

We're going to have another
one of those days...

- I beg your pardon.
- It's nothing.

What is this about?

Before anything else...

it's my duty to warn you that your
answers may have serious consequences.

Serious?

Not for you, of course.

For Barberot.

- May I?
- Please.

Barberot.
The butcher on Rue Turenne.

Do you know him well?

"Well," you know...
I know him like I know many people.

M. Maurin, I won't try to pull
the wool over your eyes.

You've heard of the crimes
in the Marais?

The papers say someone was arrested.

- It wasn't the right person.
- So... Barberot...

He's not been charged.
He's just a suspect. A strong one.

Barberot, a suspect?

You're surprised?

I'm amused.

Barberot, that idiot!
No, that's too funny.

Don't you think it's fantastic?

Here!

Here's Barberot!

In all his splendor!

In all his glory!

There! The calf's head.

Yes, that's him.
I was an assistant back then.

Oh, he could have put on Chinese eyes or
a cuckold's horns. He took what was handy.

You must admit it's surprising.

Not really, when you know him.

- But that's my butcher shop!
- Yours? Oh, really!?

Yes, the old Maurin shop
became Barberot's.

- When my father-in-law died...
- "My husband didn't succeed him, etc."

- So, in the middle, that's your father.
- Yes, it is.

- And that's you.
- Yes.

Wow, you're really looking at your dad.
It's nice to see this kind of admiration.

- And there's mom.
- Ah, no!

That, no.

That's not my mother's style.
Not at all.

No. That, that's Mauricette.
The check-out girl.

Pretty woman.

Well then, M. Maurin, it's time for us
to thank you for agreeing to see us.

I came hoping for a prosecution witness.

But I must admit that calf's head
was quite disarming.

It doesn't correspond at all to the
image I have of my killer.

- I apologize.
- Not at all.

If I can be of help in any way...

Well...

I feel I'm about to take advantage of
your kindness again.

It may seem silly to you.
But I'd like to see your suits.

Well, the surprises just keep coming.

Nothing could be easier.
This way, please.

Wow.
This is what I call a wardrobe.

- Take a look, Lagrume.
- In spite of what they say...

- Tux?
- That's not necessary.

All very high quality.

Oh, of course!
Bernheim & Son.

An expensive tailor saves
in the long run.

Price gets forgotten,
but quality remains. So they say.

Not to be indiscreet, but which one
did you wear last night?

I didn't wear one.
I didn't go out.

Generally, when I'm working, I just
wear a smock and some old slacks.

Okay.

In any case, you only have
those six suits?

Yes, alas.

Okey-dokey.

So here we are.

I don't know what
you're searching for, Inspector, but...

You're searching well.

- Don't you want anything else?
- No.

I've really abused your kindness.

Please be good enough to offer
my excuses to Mme Maurin.

You can count on me.

Goodbye, gentlemen.

Have they gone?

Why did they want to see your suits?

- Where were you last night?
- I told you on the phone.

Oh yes, I forgot.
With the Martin-Prévels.

- Thérese is well.
- Yes.

I'm not asking. I'm telling you. After
you rang, I called the Martin-Prévels.

They were already in bed.

You too, I suppose.

Where? With whom?

I was followed all night.
By that little detective.

So what?

So I...

I thought it best not to lead him
all the way here.

I tried to waste time.

I know your method of wasting time!
With whom this time?

With what kind of thug? Picked up where?
Admit it, you little skank!

So you're back at it again.
You had to start again!

You like them, those brutes,
those roughnecks.

You like those apes!

So say it, you little slut!
Say it!

Do you want me to slap you?

Tell me, do you want a slap?

Do you admit you deserve it?

Yes.

I said, yes!

Slut! Slut! Slut!

Come on, come on.
It's over.

Calm down.

Don't cry.

I want to know.
I want you to tell me.

Of course.

Do you promise?

- What?
- You'll tell me.

I promise.

My little Marcel.

Why put yourself in such a state?

Are you so unhappy?

There, there.
It's over.

I want you to tell me!

You promised!

Catch the palefaces
and cut off their heads!

What is it?

Wow, you really have a
knack for being there.

Come open up for me.
You have the key for that door?

No. But Mme Vignole is bound to have it.

Don't move.
I'll be down.

This is a new trend. There's a perfectly
fine entrance for everyone else.

After that fuss last night, you'd think
we'd finally have some peace.

Are you the only one with this key?

Sure. I've never used it.
This door was sealed off.

M. Barberot,
someone needs a leg of lamb!

- Er... may I?
- Yes. Go ahead.

May I?
I'll return it later.

Have you seen Le Parisien?
It talks about your methods.

Is Mme Maurin home?

Ah, she must be eating right now. And so
should I. I have noodles cooking.

According to Le Parisien,
your suspect is a ploy.

I didn't tell you where.

4th floor, on the right.

Mme Maurin?

Inspector Maigret, Crime Squad.
I have a few questions to ask you.

About what?

Er, something that concerns you.
Well...

I should say, something that concerns
the building's owner.

Something to do with keys.

As building owner, you have the keys
to the building?

Naturally.

- Here they are.
- Thank you.

I also have the keys to the cellar
and to the guardhouse.

What about the small door?

Er, behind the trash bin downstairs.

Ah, no.
I suppose the concierge must have it.

- Not you?
- No.

- That's odd. I was told you had it.
- Really?

- May I ask by whom?
- The butcher downstairs.

Barberot?

What business is it
of this buffoon's?

Oh, he's probably mistaken.
He was just talking.

Say, since we're talking about him,
I'd like to ask you for some information.

About his character.

His character?

You can always amend your statement
later on.

I wouldn't want my words
to be misconstrued.

Barberot is neither good nor bad.
He's a butcher.

Unfortunately, people always come
to resemble those they live with.

- And when you live with a trollop...
- Oh yeah?

- Do you know the checkout girl?
- No.

You're not missing anything.
Well. It remains to be seen.

She'll sleep with anything and anyone.

- Barberot included.
- It's normal with him. She married him.

That kind of woman always finds a taker.
Everyone visits. An idiot eventually buys.

But... She already worked there
back in your husband's time.

- May I? I have some vegetables cooking.
- Please.

I apologize for

bothering you during your meal.

Oh, it's no bother.

The meals of a woman alone.

I don't even set the table anymore.

- It must have left a void.
- What's that?

Your son's departure.

- Eventually, children must get married.
- Do you know my son?

I think so.
A charming young man.

What does he have to do with you?

This same investigation. I've been
asking questions here and there.

Buy why him?

Why him. Why you. That's all
part of the investigation.

The amusing part.

Marcel showed me a photo of the butcher
shop. The one with the calf's head.

We had a laugh.

Then we talked about you, about dad.

A remarkable man.

I mean, your son. Sensitive.
An artist.

You don't really know him.

No one does.

He painted this at 14.

Have you ever seen anything like this?
At 14!?

Wow, I confess it's only
because you're telling me.

- There was something I didn't understand
until now. - What's that?

Why he didn't follow in

dad's footsteps.

You can't be serious.

Marcel, a butcher?

Imagine Marcel as a butcher cutting meat,
chatting up neighborhood gossips,

maybe with Mauricette at the register.
That's impossible. You can't imagine it.

How could you think for one minute...?

Eh. I didn't think.

If he had persisted...

Or rather, if they had let him persist...

my son would be today a great painter,
or a great sculptor.

Because he had the choice, you see,
the choice!

- When you're gifted...
- Come. You'll see. Come.

Here. Take a look at this.

Take a good look at this.

At 13!

At that, at 12.

Here. Even before he could read,
he would play sonatas on this.

- Wow. Even music, eh?
- I had him tutored in piano, violin...

- Then he developed a passion for modeling.
- Oh.

There too, if only he had carried on...

But in the end,
he embraced interior decor?

- Oh, it wasn't his choice.
- No?

They found a way to convince him.

He's just a child.

- Even his toys are there.
- Yes, he's held on to his sensitivity.

This, he made last Christmas.
For me.

Whenever he's here,
it's as if he's recapturing...

Excuse me.

Please.
In any case, I'll be leaving.

It's for you.
You have a call at the butcher's.

Oh yes, I left the address.

This is fun.

- And you still put in water.
- He does. Last time he was here...

Yesterday?

Yesterday? No! Not yesterday.
I haven't seen my son in weeks.

Are you sure?

Of course I'm sure!

Oh, I must have thought
your son said, yesterday.

I talk, I talk. And my call is still
waiting. Excuse me.

Thank you.

Hello. Boss?

You sure took your time.
Where were you?

I want to talk about the other one, the
young one. I'm at the listening post.

Are you interested in
Yvonne Maurin's calls?

Yes.

Let me get something to write with.

You look even better as a blonde.

- You've seen me as a brunette?
- In a photo.

Go ahead.

She called him twice?

Yes.

The first time, she got a cleaning woman
who didn't know anything.

The second time, a young man replied that
M. Georges couldn't be awakened before 3.

What is it?

Well, what is it?

- Maigret. Crime.
- Wow.

- What does Crime want with me?
- Oh, you know. May I?

So.

Were you napping or sleeping in?

- I didn't disturb you at work, I hope.
- Oh, just a friend, an acquaintance.

At work? What does that mean?
I have a trade?

Oh, I do believe you have a trade.

- If you want to see my papers...
- Oh, I know your paper.

Georges Vacher, alias Jo the Dancer,
alias Jojo Tango, 37, bachelor.

Charm dancer. See?

OK. Now you're going to tell me
very nicely what you did last night.

In detail.

I had dinner at 9 at La Cucaracha.

- Alone?
- Yes.

We can check.
And then?

I left there around 1 in the morning.

- Still alone?
- No.

- A lady?
- I give you my word.

Oh, I believe you.

So, this lady...

I'm listening.

Oh, the classic story.
A bourgeoise on the town.

They're all the same.

A husband who neglects them. One night,
they have one drink too many, and...

One hour of dreams.

One hour of dreams.

Anyway.

- Did you have an appointment?
- No.

But you knew her.

Before last night, she had come
once before. Just once.

- How long ago?
- If you think I take note of everything...

Today, she tried to call you twice.
Why? Were you meeting again?

No, I wouldn't think so.

That poor woman has no luck. Her husband
neglects her and her lover disappoints.

I could not disappoint her.
For the good reason that... nothing...

What?
What are you mumbling?

I never had a chance to disappoint her.
Because nothing happened.

My word as a man.
Nothing at all.

While dancing, she seemed to be
in a good mood and ready to go...

She was even the one coming on.

And then, once we got here, nothing.

A piece of wood.
The line about a headache.

I insisted, affectionately.

I tried my best, but I think...
nothing...

My God, articulate!

- I said I tried my best...
- Why are you whispering like this?

I'd rather not spread that around.
It's not good publicity.

Women are so strange!
There are times when I...

Yup.

What can you do? You can't just live on
dreams. You have to learn to accept it.

I hope for your sake
you didn't tell me tall tales.

I don't even know that woman.

What did she do?

- Don't you have anything smaller?
- No, that's all I have.

It doesn't matter. Take me back
to Quai Blériot. I forgot something.

- The boss. I want to see him.
- Her. Who's asking?

Police.

Must be Mme Bailly
bringing back my iron.

Good evening,
ladies and gentlemen.

Little news tonight.

Political activity almost nil
on this blistering weekend.

All of the country's energy

seems focused on beaches
and river banks.

It's for you. Mme Maurin.

- The old one?
- No. She's young.

- She's in the living room?
- You know I have the dust covers on.

- Ah, the dust covers.
- That's right. Rooms need vacations too.

- You'll meet her like this?
- How else?

- If you're eating, I can come back.
- Not at all. We've finished.

I'm sorry to

- disturb you.
- No, I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you.

Please.

I realize how my visit must seem
unexpected, forward even.

I'm sure it has a good reason.

Even just this one.

Wow.

- Where did you find it?
- At home.

Inspector...

I don't know why you came
to Quai Blériot this morning.

There are a lot of things that I don't
know, and that it's not my place to know.

I do know what you think of me.

I also know it's trite, very trite to say
I'm not the person you think I am.

That's why I'd like to clear up
a misunderstanding, and...

explain myself candidly

freely.

May I?

Please! You can stay.

You're welcome to.

Why don't you bring in something?

Some sloe gin,
straight from my wife's hometown.

I'd like a drop, too.

So, Mme Maurin, this misunderstanding...

There's of course some truth in it.

It's not easy to say.

Better to get it over with, then.

Yes, of course.

I can imagine
what your detective told you.

I can see him telling you
about the unfaithful wife,

the bourgeoise who goes slumming,

who has it off, as they say.

To put it in the simplest terms.

And it's not simple.

It could be if I were, let's say,
an easy woman.

You don't need to be very difficult
to have it off with...

Eh?

Maybe you need to be unhappy enough.

He's been cheating on me for years.

I put up with it for as long as I could.

I know very well my husband's
good and bad qualities.

At 12, I was already in love with him.

He always was...

much brighter,
much more brilliant than I.

Women notice.

To them, he's the artist.

And I'm the little bourgeoise
hanging on.

But you get tired of hanging on.

It eventually becomes...
exhausting...

humiliating, especially.

And one day,

an affair lasted longer
than the others.

I learned that my friends knew about it.

I was filled with an idiotic fury,
and I wanted to take revenge

pay him back in kind.

You probably don't understand.

- But I do.
- I understand very well.

I wanted to betray him

with anyone, it didn't matter.

But I betrayed myself,

dismally.

When you're not talented...

I had gone out with friends.
I had drunk on purpose.

I followed this...

this Georges.

One hour.

Yesterday?

No.

It's been a few months.

Nothing happened yesterday.

- But you went back to Rue Etoile.
- That's true.

- A kind of pilgrimage.
- Jules!

No, he's right, Madame.
I deserved that.

Yes, yesterday
I went back to Rue Etoile.

But this time,
I left as I had arrived.

When I saw that room again...

I even asked myself how
there could have been a first time.

In any case, there was
no second time.

- That's what I wanted to tell you.
- What for?

For nothing.

For myself.

I'll go now.

You didn't even touch your gin.
Have a taste.

Don't mind him.

Yes.

Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you at this
hour, but I thought you'd want to know.

It's about the button.

I finally found a lead.

Yes, a suit that matches.

At Lavigne.
Rue Saint-André des Arts.

The sale goes back...

3 years.

No, unfortunately,
they don't know to whom.

A walk-in customer...
But we're searching.

That's it. Keep searching.
When we get that customer's name,

Coméliau will only need
to sign the warrant.

Yes, you're on the right track.
Got it. Thanks.

That was your friend, Detective Lagrume.

Goodbye, Inspector.
Maybe we'll see other again soon.

You never know.

I have no more secrets from you.
But our house has never had any.

Come whenever you'd like.

No need to forget your pipe.

- I'll show you out. - I must run. I'm
meeting my husband at the cinema at 10.

This is how I noticed.
Do you see it?

And how.

I've never seen such sloppy work.

It's not that hard to open these doors.
Will a little bit of know-how...

Ah, Inspector.

Are you coming to see us?
Perfect timing.

- What happened?
- A burglary.

- No!
- Deputy Detective Monclare, of the 16th.

- When?
- We noticed when we got home

from the cinema, around 12:30.

If you'd like to take a look, sir,
it's worth it.

You weren't there?

- It was my day off.
- See what happens?

- Do you know what's been taken?
- Not yet.

Nothing from here. My wife took
a quick inventory.

- The bedrooms?
- In any case, they didn't touch my jewelry.

I'm telling you, amateurs, greenhorns.

We're bound to nick them
on a future job.

Take a look there.

Work like that won't get you far.

- And there?
- That's my bedroom.

May I?

- Had you seen that?
- No, I...

- Well, you'd better have a look.
- Yes.

At first glance,
there's nothing amiss.

Say...

Wait. You did have 6 suits?

- Yes.
- Well...

Let's see. The one I wore last night
is in my bedroom...

Well, I'll be!

Yvonne darling...

- Did you send one of my suits
to the cleaner? - No.

- Well, they stole one of my suits.
- You think so? - Yup.

One of them is gone!

Suits mean clothes which mean wardrobe.

In that case,
you're without sheets or shirts.

- There are specialists.
- You're scaring me.

Specialists, I tell you.
5 arrested, just in the past month.

Breaking into someone's home
to steal a suit. That's too much!

- Don't you think it looks like a prank?
- I do.

- I think I should check my bedroom.
- I was about to advise as much.

Count carefully.
How many did you have?

I don't know exactly.
There are some at the laundry.

Count anyway.

Nothing's missing.

Not here either.

They didn't take anything.

And your household linen?
Check your household linen!

The sheets! Count them!
They like sheets.

6, 8, 10, 12...

Yvonne!

Come take a look.
I think I'm missing some shirts.

Shirts! Didn't I say that?

- Is Georges Vacher in?
- No.

- He's not alone?
- He asked not to be disturbed.

Is he alone?

I think so.
He had a visitor.

- She came back down a half hour ago.
- What type?

Mid twenties, brunette,
rather distinguished.

OK.

You have luggage?
Shall I call a taxi?

I'm not doing anything wrong.
I'm off on vacation.

Lucky you.

Tell me what Mme Maurin asked you.

Quickly. I'm in a hurry.

- So am I. I have a plane to catch.
- Oh yeah?

I haven't seen that lady since the other
night. So if it's all the same to you...

Drop your suitcase, would you?

- Tell me what she came to ask you.
- Nothing, I tell you.

You have a good head, dear fellow,
but be careful.

- Why do you say that?
- Because it could get cut off.

Your discretion is that
of a gentleman, bravo,

But it could get you charged
with being an accomplice.

This is a criminal matter.

With your rap sheet, you might just get
time if you're lucky. But if you're not...

it's your noggin.

Your move.

Playing black or white?

So...

Did she arrange
this little getaway?

Oh, I'm too stupid...

What the hell do I care?
Yes, she did.

Here.

She gave this to me for expenses.
A family jewel.

Apparently it's worth two grand.

I would have spent it in the south.

You're confiscating it?

What do I have to do with any crimes?
First I'm questioned. Now I'm robbed.

- I'd really like to know.
- I'll tell you, and with flowers.

They gave these out
at your club on May 1st.

When did Mme Maurin first come here?

Think. Make an effort.

- It wasn't May 1st?
- Maybe.

- It's possible... Yes, I think so.
- And I'm sure.

Why did she want you to leave?
What's between you?

Not much. She wants me to leave because
her husband knows.

Supposedly, he wants to come find me.
She takes it easy on her cuckold.

He cheats on her too.
Has she told you?

Well, if she had told me that,
I would have had a laugh.

If that guy does no more harm
to the others than he does to her...

we'll soon be drowning in chaste women.

No, I'd rather keep quiet. I don't want
to compromise a young maiden.

Maiden?

Do you need a picture?

Don't speak idly.
Be very careful.

This "maiden" as you say
has been married for 6 years.

- You know what that means?
- It's possible she spoke her vows.

But that's all she did.

- You can trust me.
- On that, yes.

She can keep thinking her husband is a
demigod whose shoes I'm not fit to shine.

That doesn't change the fact that May 1st
from 5 to 7 was her wedding night.

What bothers her is that I noticed.

Lucas.

It's even going very well.

Go with Torrence to Quai Blériot. I want
the Maurins in my office within the hour.

You can say there's news!
Does May 1st ring a bell?

Er, I don't know. May Day, lilies,
rolls in the hay. Am I missing anything?

Oh, not much.
It's also the day of the first murder.

- Do you think it'll be much longer?
- I don't know.

It's almost 9.
For an urgent convocation...

The inspector is sorry to keep you
waiting. His meeting will end shortly.

Why were we summoned?
Do you know?

Let's see.
Weren't you burglarized?

I think it's why.

M. Maurin,
could you kindly come this way?

Just an identification formality.

No, no, that's not necessary.

The head of the household's identity
is enough. This way.

You asked for me, boss?

Lucas is with Maurin, singing the song.
Go relieve him for the second verse.

- If your wife is waiting, let her know.
- Will it be long? Because...

- she was making a soufflé.
- Ah, it's liable to fall back down.

This chair's a little worn out.

It's like me. But a lot of suspects
have confessed sitting there.

Go ahead and laugh.

You'll see when you have 20 years in.
You'll have your little quirks too.

First and last names of your father.

Maurin. Albert, Emile and Lucien.

- Profession.
- Butcher.

- Place of birth.
- Paris.

I forget the district.

I'll leave it blank.

You were born in which district?

- I think I've already told you.
- Oh.

Yes, you're right. The 4th district.

Your profession is...

You're urgently needed at booking.

It's always when... Excuse me.

Okay, take my place. No sense in
keeping the gentleman waiting.

Let's see... Maurin...
OK.

- These are your papers.
- Yes.

Maurin. Marcel, Xavier, Raymond.
Born in Paris.

Which district?

The 4th.
Your colleague already took it down.

Maurin. Albert, Emile, Lucien.
Butcher. Born in...

- There's no district.
- I've forgotten which!

- No matter.
- Will M. Maigret see us or not?

Since he asked you to come,
it surely won't be long.

Well, then, we'll leave
the district blank.

Your mother's maiden name?

You find this funny?

Gauthier.

Adèle Gauthier.

First names, birthplace, profession.

Janvier

Would you send in Mme Maurin?

Very well.

You see?
You didn't wait too long.

I am sorry to have kept you waiting.

Please.

Tell me...

It's not nice to keep secrets from me.

Your husband knows all.

All of what?

All about your adventures with...
well...

with Jojo.

Yes.

That must have been hard for him.

Rather, yes.

And he wasn't touched by your
change of mind?

I mean, the second time.

I hope you told him that you left
as you had arrived.

Of course.

It seems to me that
in his place...

It's true that...

there was May 1st.

And that...

Because it was May 1st
that you met this...

this Jojo.

- I admit that...
- It was.

It was May 1st.

- It's possible.
- It's certain.

Really, just between us...

your husband doesn't have that
many reasons to be jealous,

let alone the right.

The more philandering men are, the less
they like to be at the receiving end.

Philandering?

Oh, yeah.

His mistress.

His mistresses.

In spite of his mistresses and all, he
still had a violent reaction on May 1st.

He didn't know that day.

Oh, I thought.
And when did he find out?

Day before yesterday

by calling some friends I had supposedly
spent the evening with.

So you only had it out with him
day before yesterday

and that's when he found out
about your visiting Rue Etoile.

Yes.

Including on May 1st.

Yes.

As long as you were talking

might as well admit everything.

Is that it?

Yes.

Don't you think it's about time
you told the truth?

- To me.
- I did tell you.

You know you did not.

What do you mean?

I even came on my own to see you...

You came to see me all right.
But only to tell me tales.

Your husband has never had a mistress.
You know better than I he's incapable.

He's not even capable
of being a husband.

Otherwise, you wouldn't have
sought out a... a Jojo.

Your heart wasn't even in it.

You took years to decide.

You didn't take a lover.
You followed a random man.

- That's despicable.
- On the contrary. You love your husband.

A Jojo has no importance.
But let's be clear:

I'm not talking about the second time.
That was just a red herring.

You went back to Rue Etoile
because you were being followed.

You didn't want to lead my detective
to Quai Blériot.

You were afraid.

Afraid of what?

What happened on May 1st?

Don't you think
it's time to tell me?

- I've told you ten times. - I'm not
asking what happened from 5 to 7.

I'm asking what happened afterwards?
That same night.

Come on, tell the truth.
I'm saying this for your sake.

That's why I saw you first.
I'll know the truth sooner or later.

Perhaps you alone can make it...

palatable.

Do you understand?

I have nothing to say to you.

Think carefully.

It's useless.

Then leave. You're free to go.

What about my husband?
Will it be long?

The time it takes him
to answer my questions.

- Questions of the same sort as...
- Of whatever sort I wish.

So. We were saying
Marcel Xavier Emile.

Was that it?

Yes.

Oh no!

Look what you made me do.
Emile, that's your father's first name!

You, you're Marcel Xavier Raymond! Eh?

- You don't your own name anymore?
- Of course! I made a mistake.

OK, but I have to ask to be more careful.
Because of the corrections, you see.

So we were saying Marcel Xavier Raymond.

Yes.

M. Maurin. Please come with me.
The Inspector is ready to see you.

That was quick.

Tell Paul to bring up
some sandwiches and some beer.

5 or 6.

Come in, M. Maurin.

Sit down.

I'm sorry I kept you waiting.
I have some good news.

I think we found your burglars.

And we recovered this.

Isn't it yours?

My wife's, yes.

I thought so... You know what? Just
between us, I don't think she noticed.

- In her panic, she must have...
- The important thing is we found it.

OK. You need to sign a release.
Here.

Excuse me.

Thank you.

Those are strange ducks.
Have you heard the latest?

They absolutely deny
having stolen your suit.

I'm sure they'll eventually confess
and we'll find it. Still...

By the way,
in case we need to identify this suit...

It does come from
Bernheim & Son, eh?

No, in fact...

It was an old suit.

Back then, I got clothes
from everywhere, so...

I don't remember where...

A store like...
Cygran, Madelios, Albar,

... Lavigne?

Yes, that kind.

Let's go with Lavigne.

With a question mark, eh?

Yes.

That's too complicated.

No question mark.

It's late.
I don't want to keep you any longer.

We'll write it all down.
And we'll get out of here.

- My wife will wonder...
- Oh I forgot. One moment.

Janvier?

Tell Mme Maurin we'll be
another 15 minutes or so

She already left.

She probably got tired of waiting.

Send Lucas in.

That way, your statement will be in order,
and we won't need to revisit it.

Your initials in the margin,
and your signature here.

Glad that's done.

Yes, come in!

Finally!

I thought you'd forgotten about me.

Put it down here.

- I'll leave my bottle opener.
- Thank you.

- Will you have a beer?
- Thank you. I don't drink alcohol.

You don't smoke. You don't drink.
So you have no vice.

I have them all.

- How about a sandwich.
- I don't eat between meals.

This isn't between meals. It's the meal.
It's almost 10, and we're not done.

If you're not feeling well, make yourself
comfortable. No formalities between us.

While you're here, I have a little
clarification to ask you about.

- I'm worried my wife will...
- Right, sorry. So give her a call.

Excuse me, boss.

I have this request here.

What should I do with it?

The mother is here.

Keep it on file.
I might need it.

Yes, it's me.

Yes, I'm still there.

But it's about our burglary.

Oh, we'll be another...

a... a little while.

No, not at all.

Right. See you soon.

You didn't tell her about the brooch.
She would have liked that.

Oh, you want to surprise her!

So where was I?

You had a little clarification
to ask me.

It's about Barberot again.
That guy is still bothering me.

I can't get him to admit he knows

- about that small door.
- Small door?

Yes, the one at No. 22, that leads to
the cul-de-sac, next to the trash...

you know, the little door!

Don't tell me you don't know it either.

You must know it.
You were born in that building.

You'd pass through it to go play in the
courtyards. Like all the other kids.

Above all, your mom didn't like that.

So, you'd go through there.
Sight unseen.

We've all done it.
There's no harm.

Yes...

- I must have known about it.
- Of course.

- But I didn't use it.
- I'm sure not.

I'll even tell you why.

It should have had the lure of the
forbidden fruit.

But it had no interest for you. Too easy.
Given that your mother had the key.

She did have the key?

It's possible, yes.

Yet she claims not to.
I wonder why.

You must wonder, too.

What if we asked her?
We'll clear this up for good.

Send in Mme Maurin.

- My mother's here?
- Yes. I don't even know why.

Marcel, darling, don't be afraid anymore.
Your mother is here.

- What do you want with him? What are
you doing to him? - Nothing, mom!

Just chatting. Your son confirmed you had
the key to the little door downstairs.

- I confirmed no such thing.
- Why have you always insisted otherwise?

I know it's of no importance to you,
but... Please, have a seat.

No need. I have no intention of staying.
I came to get my son. Do you hear?

Don't let him intimidate you!
Let's go. Come on!

They won't dare hold you.

I'm afraid we dare.

If my son is under arrest, say so!

I'll call our lawyer immediately.
M. Liotard.

- You must know M. Liotard.
- Very well. A fine mouthpiece.

- Well, you'll explain yourself with him!
- Calm down, mom.

I don't need a lawyer!

Absolutely not! He's right.
Calm down, Madame.

- I just asked him about the little door...
- I don't have to answer it!

Not that question or any others. I will
answer nothing. You too, Marcel.

You have no business here.

Since he's holding you,
M. Liotard will get you out.

And with apologies!
I promise you.

Your father couldn't have had a lot
of fun every day with her.

In a way, that explains Mauricette.

Mauricette...

Maybe I shouldn't have brought her up.
But still...

We're talking man to man.
We have to face things.

Papa Maurin was handy,
and Mauricette was a dish.

Still is, the bitch.

When I think about what you went
through 15 years ago...

Slut...

I know. You wrote me.

"No, M. Maigret. The killer of those
sluts in the Marais is not a madman."

- I didn't write this!
- Oh, come now. Look.

Razor blade, transfer paper,

- white glue. That's an artist's work.
It's almost like decor. - No, no!

Why are you protesting? It's not worth
the bother. Everybody writes us. Here.

This is full of them.

Amateur detectives,
readers of crime novels,

insane people, mediums,

... or simply practical jokers.
That's your case.

You're a big child, Maurin.

You wrote in to make me mad.
Like a game.

- No, no, no...
- You did. As a game. You did.

Fits right in with the toy crane and
the water in the miniature fountain.

Your mother speaks of sensitivity, but...
Me, I call it whimsy.

Come on.

This letter smells like a joke, a hoax.

It's incapable of writing
a denunciation letter, but...

when it comes to mocking the police,
to crossing the inspector, that's...

- prime material for a practical joke.
- A little sophomoric humor. - Exactly!

Did it ever occur to you
this was a punishable offense?

Well, "Contempt of Law."

Wait, we'll find it for you.

Right here.

Article 222.

Punishable by 15 days to 1 year of jail.

Just in case you want to
make yourself mad too. Eh?

OK. We won't talk about it again.
With anyone.

Especially since I'm sure that
your wife doesn't know about it.

Admit that you didn't tell her.

Come on.
Just between us.

No.

You see?

All this is confidential, ok?

Ok, as long as you're here...
Write:

"I admit...

"... under oath...

"... that I wrote...

"... with no harmful intent..."

- Excuse me, boss. Lagrume.
- In a minute.

He's insisting.

OK, carry on.

You, sign.
And we can go home.

"I admit..."

- What is it, Lagrume?
- Sir, I know how precious your time is.

But I thought it my duty to inform you
as quickly as possible...

Quickly, man, quickly.

- I think it's necessary to start at the
beginning. - I'd prefer the ending.

I do believe I've found the suit
with the button.

At least, a sample.

Sold ready-made

3 years ago

by Lavigne to a walk-in customer.

- Whose name you don't know. You told me
on the phone. Is that all? - No.

While looking through her books back
to 1939, Mme Lavigne, a charming woman,

found the name of another client
who might perhaps interest you:

Maurin, Emile.

The father?

Yup.

I must say, M. Maurin, everyone
is looking after you.

It's Detective Lagrume.
It looks like he found your suit.

When I say your suit,
I mean, your father's.

My father's?
That's absurd.

Your suit that was so-called stolen
came from Lavigne.

- No, I...
- You told me.

But you simply forgot to specify
that it wasn't yours.

Come on, that's absurd.

I'm telling you, it's absurd.

One of my father's suits, what for?

I have mine.
You saw my wardrobe.

The night of the reconstruction, you went
out wearing a dark Prince of Wales suit.

Your own suit. No reason not to be frank
with you. Here.

- A suit like this.
- I've never had a suit like this!

I don't understand why you're being
so stubborn, M. Maurin.

Why not just tell me how it happened?

I'll tell you how.

That night, after your failed attempt,
you ran panicked, with folks on your tail.

You cut through the courtyards and went
through, yes, that famous little door.

- You go up to mother's and she gives you
one of dad's suits. - But why, why, why?

Because a button has been ripped
from your suit.

This is nonsense. What button?

- Here. This one.
- No!

- No!
- Yes.

And since you're afraid of being spotted,
you change suits and you go home quietly.

Come on, talk. You've already said a lot.
So go ahead and unload the rest.

You'll feel relieved, at peace. You'll
go home to sleep and it'll all be over.

You feel a need to tell me everything.
You've wanted to for a long time. I know it.

So talk, man. Come on, talk!

I want to leave!

You hear me? I want to go home.
Let me go home!

Leave me alone!
I want to be left alone!

I didn't do anything.
I've never done anything.

You have no right.

You are monsters.

Marcel, look at me.

Come on, look at me.

Come on, come on.
Like this.

Listen to me.
Will you listen?

You don't look like a murderer. I know
murderers. You're not one.

The thing is, without being a murderer,
well...

- ... can still lead you to kill.
- I didn't kill!

Ok, ok. Well...

Then tell me what happened.
Just me, eh?

Tell me what they did to you.

They made you so unhappy?

I know how you are.
I can put myself in your shoes.

You must have suffered. I mean, enough to
make yourself sick the night you knew

that Yvonne was coming back
from that guy's bed.

Must have been quite a scene
when she came home, eh?

- It must have been awful for you.
- The slut!

Of course! You insulted her. You must
have wanted to give her a beating, eh?

Just like to Mauricette back then.
Because she slapped you, that Mauricette.

Slut!

Maybe Yvonne slapped you too.

But now you weren't the same age.
It hurt more. You were a man!

Because you are a man.
I know it.

Only, that's what they haven't understood.
Your wife no more than your mother.

The slut.

Of course.

Poor Marcel, tossed between Rue Turenne
and Quai Blériot. Between your two women.

Marcel, look at me.

Look me in the eyes
and tell me if I'm wrong.

It's not just for revenge against Yvonne.
It's to say no to all those sluts,

to free yourself, that you went into the
streets on May 1st, and killed that girl.

No, I didn't kill!
I tell you, I didn't kill!

You did! I'm sure it brought you relief.
And the proof is, you did it again.

You liked it, eh? Tearing their clothes,
sullying them. You were settling scores.

I didn't do it.

No, I didn't kill.

I'm telling you, I didn't kill.

Hello?
Yes.

What?

No!

Just a moment.

That can't be!

Call the doctor on duty.

You, come with me.

What's going on?

3 stab wounds,
and a 4th at neck level.

The shredding might be different.

It will be difficult to establish.

Otherwise, she's not brunette or plump.
Struck not in the chest, but in the back.

Of course, the end result is the same.

Yet I'm sure it was his suit.
I couldn't be mistaken.

We could not have both been wrong
from the start, sir. Not both of us.

The old lady!

Go get me the old lady.
And bring her in, willingly or not.

Off you go.

Hey, Lucas!

Who's the woman?

Please take a seat.

My compliments, your honor.
Your sources work quickly.

What matters is that you know.

I do by necessity.
Awakened in the dead of night.

I'd rather not repeat what the District
Attorney told me. It was charming.

I was forced to tell him I had signed no
warrant. And would be signing none.

You'd better release this man within the
hour. Do you hear, my friend? One hour.

Within a minute, your honor.

Yes, yes, don't worry.
M. Liotard is here.

Good night, your honor.

You heard, counselor.
I'm giving you back your client.

Take care of him.
I have a feeling we'll need him again.

Don't you find this irony
somewhat inappropriate?

Sadly, it's all I have left.

I'll have him taken home. Unless you find
it more prudent to take him with you.

As long as I have your word.

- Is he in shape to go home?
- Yes. - Then, send him home.

Send someone with him in a taxi.

Come, M. Maurin. You're going home.
Come on.

Lapointe, I'd rather
you take the back door.

Say, he looks a bit shell shocked.
Did you shake him?

No. Yet we're talking a real half-wit who
could use a couple of smacks, I tell you.

I have nothing to say. Go, go.

- They're here.
- Not too much trouble?

- And when they saw each other?
- No reaction. Like they've never met.

Well, ladies, you can be happy.
Your darling is free.

Your baby chick just left.
He can start killing again.

What?

Because he's already killed 4 times.
I know it, and so do you!

The child prodigy. The artist.
4 times!

- The Marais Killer. That's him.
- But that's nonsense!

You don't seriously think that,
M. Maigret.

- This is monstrous, grotesque! I wonder...
- Do you have a confession to make?

- But that's too much...!
- Then be quiet!

And you knew it.

You. You knew it the night you came
to my home. Oh, not for very long...

- Maybe you'll tell me the exact moment?
- The minute! When I opened the wardrobe.

Because you instantly spotted
the suit that wasn't his.

And you knew then that
Marcel had gone out, and where!

Don't answer!

You don't have the right to question us
without a lawyer present!

And you, when you helped him change
suits, you knew it too!

Neither one of you blinked.
Love is grand.

- You loved your Marcel.
- I certainly hope so!

You can be proud, and for cause.

You were flattered by the "artist" angle.
It comforted you from the father, from...

from the boor, from the butcher.
Because he had a trade, the poor fool.

A trade...

Mme Maurin, you are a monster.

But above all, a monster of stupidity...

- You are behaving like...
- ... and vain...

... possessive, mean-spirited...

But mostly, you are stupid!
And I mean, stupid!

Because you stultified your son.
You kept him away from his father,

from boys his own age, from everything
that could make a boy like others.

Because he's not like others! And that,
you both know. Ask his wife.

Marcel might have been gifted. But not
for everything. And that's your handiwork.

The little violin, the little piano,
the little sonatas...

mom's portrait, mom's little darling.

On the eve of his wedding, you probably
still had him sleeping with a teddy bear.

You buried him in his childhood.
You made him a retard.

Each in her own way.

Because then you took the baton.
More adored than ever, that Marcel.

He no doubt got married to get some
peace, a change of scenery.

But he only managed to change females.

Because she took him, your precious.

With her dowry.

I'll say! He doesn't spit
on material comfort, the artist.

He preferred Quai Blériot to Rue Turenne.

From failed painter, he became a phony
decorator. Hey, when you've got talent...

Disgraceful! This is disgraceful!

Admired and fed.
You were the ideal wife.

A new mom.

But this one didn't content herself with
tucking him into bed. She slept in it.

Mom with needs.

Needs she ended up
going elsewhere to satisfy.

Whore!

Dirty little whore!
I'm not surprised.

Well, the moron was surprised.

And since he didn't dare kill her, he
made up for it on others. The poor girls.

What?

It's done.

So he went back to Quai Blériot,
the darling.

- No. He told the driver, Rue Turenne.
- What do you mean, Rue Turenne?

You see, you see! The poor thing didn't
seek refuge at her house.

He went to his mother's! His home. That
other place was never his home. Never!

- Children know who loves them. - Remain
seated. - He's waiting for me! - Sit down!

Brute!

It all comes down to
which one of you loves him more.

Which one of you tonight killed a
woman on Rue Jarente?

Which one of you committed a crime
similar to his, in the hopes of saving him?

Which one?

- That one tonight surpassed the other.
- I'd do anything for my son.

In any case, she gambled her head.

Maurin will keep his. They'll stick him
in an asylum, with his own bed, his toys...

He'll be thrilled.

But for 4 months, Paris has been
terrified. And jurors won't forgive that.

It's the woman who'll pay.

That one tonight made a supreme sacrifice
and loved him more than the other one.

- More than he can ever be loved.
- No one loves him like I do. No one!

- Is it you? - I don't care what he's done.
- Is it you? - I don't even care to know.

- Then say it! That's all I want to know!
Is it you? Eh, is it? - Yes! Yes! I did it.

I did it! I killed. He's my child.
I had the right, every right.

- Where did the crime take place?
- Rue Jarente.

- Yes, but where exactly?
- I don't remember.

What color was the victim's dress?

The dress was blue, with white stripes.

That's correct.

Lucas.
Come back in.

Take Mme Maurin's statement.
I have something else to do.

I hope

you won't retract your statement, eh?

Don't worry, Inspector.

I'm going all the way.

Yet when the heart sings of romance

I forget all disappointments
and good sense

I always believe happiness is beginning

M. Marcel!

What are you doing here?

Mauricette.

What's the matter with you, M. Marcel?

That way, they won't come in.

Help!

You don't want to?
Why?

Why don't you ever want to?

M. Marcel.
Leave me alone.

Be nice.

Slut.

M. Marcel, I beg you.

It's me.

Marcel, give me the knife.

You promised me you'd behave like a man.

But why don't they want to?

Come on, be reasonable. Give it.

Come on.

Marcel, I won't ask a second time.
Come on, give.

Give.

Don't make me yell.

Come on, give.

No, I don't want to.

Come on, be nice. Give.

Let's go. Give.

Let go of me!

Let me go.

Sir, what do we about the report?

Should I see Lucas?

You're not taking the car?

Ah, not a moment too soon.