When a little old lady turns up at the police headquarters at the Quai D’Orfevres demanding to see the famous Inspector Maigret (actually Chief Superintendent Maigret) she is fobbed off to a minion. She is sure that someone is searching her flat while she is out, and sometimes she feels she is being followed. Has she seen anyone? No. Is any property missing? Again, no.
Inspector Lapointe reports to Maigret that there is nothing to report; the woman is a bit eccentric, that’s all. But a day later, as he leaves the office, Maigret is accosted in person. He gives the lady five minutes and promises to call round to her apartment as soon as he has the time. Before he finds the time, the call comes in. The madwoman has been found dead in her home.
There are not many clues, but Maigret pieces together the old lady’s life and goes ferreting in the hope his nose for criminality will turn up something.
The Maigret stories are concise little gems. Characters are swiftly but comprehensively drawn, and the police procedure does the job. The motivations and behaviours of the perpetrators are key drivers of the story rather than plot intricacies. Unlike more contemporary sleuths, Maigret has no tortured past or current demons to deal with. He goes home for lunch with his wife, or pops into a bistro for a glass of wine and a smoke of his pipe while he ruminates on the case.
The Paris setting is
persuasive, and the mid-century vibe is now period. Maigret has to use a
shopkeeper’s phone to contact HQ, he browbeats reluctant witnesses, and happily
harasses suspects. It all flows very well to a satisfactory conclusion, albeit
with a moral dilemma for the Chief to resolve.
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