Maigret's Dead Man by Georges Simenon

… It’s perfect …
I’d really like living here … But …’
    He would take his time before saying with a sigh
and a regretful shake of his head:
    â€˜â€¦ I’d have to move!’
    It was just hard luck on people who didn’t
care for Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. And too bad for Coméliau.
    â€˜Tell me, sir, did you ever happen to push
a dried pea up your nose?’
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’
    â€˜A dried pea. I remember we used to play at
doing it when I was a boy. Try it. Then look at yourself in a mirror. You’ll be surprised
by the result. I’d bet that with a dried pea in one of your nostrils you could walk past
people who see you every day without them recognizing you. Nothing alters the cast of a face
more. And those who are most accustomed to seeing us are the ones who are the most disconcerted
by the smallest change.
    â€˜But as you are aware, our man’s face
was rearranged much more severely than by a pea up his nose.
    â€˜And there’s something else.
It’s hard for people to imagine that their next-door neighbour, someone they work with in
the office or the waiter who serves them every lunchtime can suddenly become different from what
they always are and turn, for example, into a murderer or a corpse. People learn about crime
through newspapers and come to think that such things happen in another world, another part of
the wood entirely. Not on
their
street. Not in
their
apartment
block.’
    â€˜So, broadly speaking,
you don’t think it unusual that no one has identified him yet?’
    â€˜I am not unduly surprised. I remember the
case of a woman who had drowned, and with her it took six months. And that was in the days of
the old morgue before refrigeration came in, and the bodies just had a trickle of cold water
running over them from a tap!’
    Madame Maigret sighed, abandoning all thought of
trying to shut him up.
    â€˜So in a word you are quite happy with the
way things stand. A man is killed, and after three days not only is there no trace of the
murderer but we don’t know anything about the victim!’
    â€˜I know lots of small things about him,
sir.’
    â€˜So small, it seems, that they aren’t
deemed worthy of being passed on to me, even though I am in charge of this
investigation.’
    â€˜All right, here’s an example. The
man was a smart dresser. Though his taste was dubious, he gave much thought to his appearance,
as we can tell by his socks and tie. Also, with grey trousers and a gaberdine raincoat he wore
black kid shoes and expensively fine socks.’
    â€˜Really? How interesting.’
    â€˜Very interesting, especially since he was
also wearing a white shirt. Now wouldn’t you have thought that a man who liked mauve socks
and floral ties would have preferred a coloured shirt, or at least one with stripes or a small
pattern? Walk into any bar like the ones he led us to, where he seemed very much at home, and
you won’t see many plain white shirts.’
    â€˜What’s your
point?’
    â€˜Give me a moment. In at least two of those
bars – Torrence went back and asked – he ordered a Suze and lemon, as it seems he
always did.’
    â€˜So we know what kind of aperitif he
liked!’
    â€˜Have you ever drunk Suze, sir? Gentian
bitters? It has an astringent taste and is not very alcoholic. It’s not the kind of
aperitif that’s served just anywhere. I also have noticed that people who order Suze are
not often the ones who go to cafés for the lift you get from a pre-dinner drink but men who
patronize such establishments for professional reasons, like commercial travellers who are
obliged to accept lots of free drinks.’
    â€˜So you deduce from this that the dead man
was a commercial traveller?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜What, then?’
    â€˜Hear me out. Five or six people saw him
and we have their statements. None of them could