After an evening of drinking, five young servicemen and a girl drive out of town and into the countryside. Members of the party leave and return to the car, or fail to return, in various combinations. After a night of drunken comings and goings, which none of those involved agree upon when questioned, the girl is found dead on railroad tracks near the highway, having been struck by a train.
Who is responsible for the death? If anyone. Was it an accident or murder?
Georges Simenon is one of my favorite authors and over the years I've read a lot of his Inspector Maigret mysteries, dipping into them at random. Recently I've embarked on a project -- a snail-paced one -- to read all 75 Maigret novels in chronological order. I just finished the 32nd book, Maigret at the Coroner's. It's a very unusual entry in the series.
For one thing the setting isn't Paris or its environs. The countryside where the mysterious death takes place isn’t even that of France but rather the desert outside Tuscon, Arizona. Simenon wrote the book in 1949 while living in Tuscon during a ten year stay in North American which saw him moving all over the continent accompanied by a bewildering assortment of wives and mistresses.
A further peculiarity is that Maigret takes no part in unraveling the case. In an earlier book, The Madman of Bergerac, Maigret is confined to bed after being shot and depends largely on Madam Maigret to conduct interviews and search for clues but he does direct the investigation. That isn’t true here. The French detective, touring America to observe policing methods, is merely an observer during an inquest lasting several days. Rather than exploring feotid alleyways and seedy bars in the less savory neighborhoods of Paris he's stuck in a stifling Arizona courtroom.
He is not, however, a passive observer. He analyzes the conflicting testimony, observes the demeanor of witnesses and is silently frustrated when the prosecution fails to ask questions that seem obvious to him.
When court isn't in session, Maigret talks to several people connected to the girl's death. He does so informally, for his own edification, out of intellectual curiosity. Eventually he reaches what appears to be the correct conclusion in the case (is that really a spoiler?) -- the same conclusion reached by local law enforcement without any input from their foreign visitor.
Authors like Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr present complex puzzles like locked rooms and exotic poisons. Simenon's puzzles are the most complicated and baffling puzzles of all -- human beings.
Maigret believes that when he comes to understand the people connected to the victim, their relationships and motivations and their environment the identity of the murderer will become clear. So instead of searching for clues in the usual sense he immerses himself in the victim's world. Simenon's descriptions of human nature and the strange and desperate predicaments it can lead people into interests me most. In this novel it is fascinating to watch Maigret piece together the various characters' stories, even though he is doing so for his own amusement. Maybe he should have a go at the mystery of the princes in the tower!
Another enticing feature of Maigret books is Simenon's brilliant but concise and never flowery descriptions of settings. Bleak, deserted streets and quays drenched in cold rain, dim lights shining from the grimy windows of dives long after midnight are themselves familiar characters. And far removed from hot, dry, mid-summer Arizona. Yet seen through the somewhat bewildered eyes of a middle aged French policeman these surroundings look as exotic as the noir byways of Paris.
I will also note that a stuffy courtroom might seem to be an uninspiring place to set a large part of a book but Simenon populates the room with interesting characters: a baliff who resembles an old testament prophet, a nursing mother, a black juror who appears more astute than the prosecutors.
Then there is the character of Maigret himself, not just his problem solving thought processes, but his human side. He is perplexed by America, chagrined that his FBI escort insists on calling him Jules, annoyed that the magistrate presides over the inquest in short sleeves rather than robes, amazed that everyone in America seems to own a car, and ashamed to admit he never learned to drive.
I wouldn't recommend reading Maigret at the Coroner's as an introduction to the series because it is unusual, but if you're a fan of Maigret put it on your list.
