I've just finished reading my first Maigret. It played inside my head entirely in black and white, because:

'His words left a chill upon her, and the underlying horror which seems always to lurk somewhere beneath the flamboyant loveliness of a lonely English countryside in the height of summer, a presence of that mysterious dread, which the ancients called panic, had become startlingly apparent.'

How I'll dress when I need to dispose of golf clubs around the course. Murder in the Mews