After leaving the cinema, at around eleven thirty, Maigret was calm, a little sluggish, neither nervous nor tense, and this so reminded him of other investigations when, at a specific moment, he’d had the same impression of quiet strength, with at most a hint of uneasiness in the back of his throat – stage fright, essentially – that for a few moments he forgot he was on Broadway, not Boulevard des Italiens, and wondered what street to take for Quai des Orfèvres. He began by drinking a glass of beer in a bar, not because he was thirsty but through a kind of superstition, because he had always had a beer before beginning any difficult interrogation or even during the questioning itself. He remembered the large beers Joseph, the waiter at the Brasserie Dauphine, used to bring up to his office at Quai des Orfèvres, for him and often as well for the poor, wan fellow facing him, awaiting his questions with the near certainty of leaving that office in handcuffs.
What do You think about Maigret In New York (2016)?
