Bloody bonsai by Peter E Abresch

By Peter E Abresch

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Asked the Chief Inspector; the postman had not noticed him. The man turned round at once. ” “Police! I am asking you for some information. ” “Not a lot! Letters from the firm where the poor man worked. They came on certain set days. ” “Local papers… Specially from Berry and Cher… And some reviews: La Vie à la Campagne, Chasse et Pêche, La Vie de Château…” The Chief Inspector noticed that the man avoided his eyes. ” The postman suddenly seemed at a loss. “Well, as you already seem to know, and now that he’s dead…” he stammered.

The lorry passed Maigret just before he reached the station. The last particle of information gleaned that day was just a stroke of luck. Maigret arrived at the station an hour before the train was due. He was alone in the deserted waiting-room, surrounded by a cloud of flies. He saw a postman arrive on a bicycle, his neck purple as if he could have apoplexy any minute. He put his sacks down carefully on the table used for luggage. ” asked the Chief Inspector; the postman had not noticed him. The man turned round at once.

The terrace was gradually becoming more and more deserted. A waiter was taking the boxed laurel trees which surrounded the tables and lining them up along the wall. A goods train crossed the river, and the three men mechanically watched its reddish glow until it reached the foot of the hill. Monsieur Tardivon had begun his career as cook in a big house and he still had a certain solemnity of manner and a slightly condescending way of speaking as he leaned towards his companion. ” Grenier hastened to say, darting a look at the Chief Inspector.

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