Mack Regan #04 - Murder Makes the Corpse

The history of this paperback and publisher are nearly as interesting than the book itself. Bear with me - we’ll get to the review shortly.

The short novel was printed by a British publication called Tit-Bits (quit your snickering), a publication that ran from 1881 to 1984. The magazine’s specialty was human-interest stories, and some issues featured short stories or even short novels in their entirety. H. Rider Haggart and Isaac Asimov were both published in Tit-Bits.

Tit-Bits published five short novels by journeyman U.K. Author Harry Hossant using the pseudonym Sean Gregory. The novels were:

Murder Comes Easily (1953)
Murder Bangs a Big Drum (1954)
Murder Is Too Permanent (1954)
Murder Makes the Corpse (1954)
Murder Makes Mockery (1955)

Unfortunately, I’ve been unable to definitively confirm whether Murder Comes Easily and Murder Makes Mockery were actually part of the same series starring his recurring character. But, based on the titles and the clustered publication years, it seems likely.

The known paperbacks feature a crime-solving Hollywood agent named Mack Regan, and they’re hard as hell to find today. The good news is that one of the 1954 confirmed books in the series, Murder Makes the Corpse, has been reprinted as the B-Side of a trade paperback double from Armchair Fiction along with Mike Brett’s Scream Street.

How’s the book?

Our narrator is Mack Regan, a Hollywood Press Agent (today, we’d call him a publicist) who receives a call from a TV singer named Kay Ransome seeking to engage Mack’s services. Before the new client meeting takes place, Mack learns that Kay was shot to death in her apartment - a bad deal for Mack since he never got paid by this would-be new client.

Soon thereafter, Mack is visited in his office by Kay’s kid sister Lynn, who is understandably upset about her sister’s murder. According to Lynn, Kay was  in some kind of trouble and frightened for her life. Now Lynn wants to engage Mack to investigate Kay’s murder for the lofty sum of $300. None of this makes much sense - to Mack or the reader - because Mack is a Hollywood press agent not a private detective. As such, he urges the grieving girl to save her money and let the police handle the murder investigation.

Lynn later informs Mack that her dead sister was apparently mixed up - sexually, that is - with a San Francisco racketeer under investigation for tax evasion. It appears likely that Kay has stashed away some of the mobster’s hidden money in her own safe deposit box. Against his initial judgement, Mack agrees to help Lynn solve Kay’s murder despite the high likelihood of Mack getting sideways with a well-resourced underworld figure.

Meanwhile, we also learn that the police are investigating a series of grave robberies over the past year. Dig this: Someone has been stealing entire dead bodies from caskets buried in the ground. Not cool. This all coincides with Mack taking on a funeral home and cemetery as a new client in search of publicity in exchange for a lofty retainer of $100 per week.

Eventually, the three plot threads - Kay’s murder, the cemetary publicity gig, and the grave robberies - are shuffled together to form one full deck of a plot. Mack is a great main character - funny, competent, and charismatic. He’s got a steady girlfriend, so he spends zero pages trying to get laid - unusual for a 1950s crime paperback. Also unusual: the hardest beverage Mack drinks is orange juice.

The most amazing thing about Murder Makes the Corpse is the author’s economical writing style. A lot happens over the course of the 63-page novel, and not a word is wasted along the way. It was a popular gambit in the 1950s for foreigners to write mysteries set in the glamorous USA (Carter Brown and Larry Kent among them), and this one carries it off with only a few accidental U.K. references.  

This is a charming mystery with some original elements and a main character you want to accompany on more adventures. Unfortunately, that will be an expensive project given the scarcity of surviving Tit-Bits novels. We should all be thankful that Armchair Fiction has reprinted Murder Makes the Corpse as it was a lot of fun to read. Recommended.

Shell Scott #02 - Bodies in Bedlam

With four decades of overwhelming commercial success, Richard Prather's Shell Scott series is unquestionably one of the best private-eye series brands ever. While wacky and outlandish, the screwball style of the Shell Scott character was adored by crime-fiction and mystery readers. Bodies in Bedlam (1951) is an early Fawcett Gold Medal installment in what is arguably the most creative era of the series. It was the first of three Shell Scott novels written in 1951 – the others being Everybody Had a Gun and Find This Woman.

Shell Scott is basically the West Coast version of Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer, albeit not as serious. Operating out of Hollywood, many of Scott's cases revolve around the film industry. Bodies in Bedlam follows that familiar setting by placing Scott at a posh industry party in the Hollywood Hills where the paperback detective winds up in a scuffle with an aspiring actor...who is later found murdered. All fingers point to Scott as the killer, thus the narrative develops with Scott as his own client endeavoring to learn the identity of the real killer.

Like most of these titles, Scott's tongue in cheek approach to investigation is paired with his substantial sex appeal. Women dig the white hair. Four beautiful actresses throw themselves at Scott, begging to be fulfilled while being absolved of any wrongdoing. Scott begins to connect the dots that suggests the aspiring actor may have been selling nude photos of Hollywood's most-endowed performers. Is there a connection? Could one of these “bodies in bed...lam” really be capable of a heinous act?

This was my first experience with both Richard Prather and the Shell Scott character. I wasn't holding out for a huge payoff or an overly satisfying read. Shell Scott is a funny guy, shoots straight and has a flair for action. But, if I'm reading a cock-eyed detective story...I'd prefer Carter Brown. I own about fifteen Shell Scott novels, and I'm going to read more...but I'm in no hurry. Bodies in Bedlam was an elementary, sexy whodunit. Nothing more, nothing less.

Fun Fact: Soliciting nude photos of actresses in the crime-noir genre seems to be a recurring theme. William Ard's You'll Get Yours was published a year after Bodies in Bedlam and focuses on an aspiring actress and leaked nudie pics. The same for Louis Malley's Stool Pigeon from 1953. This was evidently before leaked photos and promiscuous videos were a catapult to stardom.

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Milo March #02 - No Grave for March

Milo March was a fictional spy turned insurance investigator created by Kendell Foster Crossen using the pseudonym M.E. Chaber. The series ran for 22 novels and a handful of short stories from 1952 to 1973, and is currently being reprinted by Steeger Books with fetching cover art. Based on a tip from Crossen’s daughter, author and literary estate curator Kendra Crossen Burroughs, I decided begin my march into the series with the second installment, No Grave for March from 1953.

March is an investigator for Denver-based Intercontinental Insurance, but he used to be a OSS operative during World War 2. Some of his books are straight-up property crime investigations and in other books, the U.S. government presses March back into service for an espionage assignment. This series setup provided the author great flexibility to plug his hero into any kind of pulpy genre book he felt like writing. No Grave for March is an international spy adventure paperback.

As the novel opens, March has been away from the spy business for seven years. He is summoned to a clandestine meeting in Washington, D.C. with an old colleague from his war days. It seems a diplomat with a head full of secrets has defected to the Soviet client state of East Germany. Because March speaks German, he is the choice to slip behind the iron curtain, kidnap the diplomat, and bring him back to the West. One of the secrets at stake is a mind-control device that can reprogram the public to either love Stalin or apple pie depending on who’s pulling the trigger.

I had always written off the Milo March books as being lightweight, inconsequential paperbacks along the same lines of Richard Prather’s Shell Scott or the many heroes of Carter Brown. Instead, the author put some actual thought into his work with summaries of communist theory embedded into the plot-line and interesting historical tidbits. This isn’t a work of genius, but it’s also not completely disposable fiction.

It’s also not a fast-moving shoot-em-up paperback. March spends a good bit of the novel just trying to convince the commies that he’s one of them and not an American spy. I found this fascinating, but it’s certainly not a breakneck Killmaster thrill ride. Crossen also has an annoying habit of writing lots of dialogue in German and Russian with no translation. You get the gist, but why bother showing off like that? There’s also a lot of specifics about East German tactics, ambitions, and party machinations that you will find either interesting or not.

Things become very exciting in the novel’s final act with a pulpy action sequence among the best I’ve read. I wish the rest of the paperback had set pieces as thrilling as the conclusion. Despite some missteps along the way, I genuinely enjoyed No Grave for March, and I look forward to exploring more of the series in the future.

Addendum:

No Grave for March has been reprinted several times. In the Paperback Library 1970 edition pictured above, the publisher numbered the installment #13. Don’t be fooled: it was truly book #2 in the series. An earlier printing of the novel was titled All the Way Down. Unless you’re a hardcore collector, don’t buy the same book trice.

Also, the Steeger House reprint contains an interview with Kendell Foster Crossen from 1975 that was informative for both his fans and pulp fiction historians. 

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Shell Scott #12 - Strip for Murder

Richard Prather built a career on his 'Shell Scott' character with around 35 novels spanning from 1950 to 1987. Countless short stories appeared in the pages of 'Manhunt' and 'Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine', and there was even a short-lived 'Shell Scott Mystery Magazine' that existed for a bit in the 1960s.

The 'Shell Scott' paperbacks have gone through multiple printings over the past half century with some beautiful cover art by Robert McGinnis as well as some weird photo covers featuring an odd-looking model in a silver wig. I’m told that the best 'Shell Scott' stories were the early ones published by Fawcett Gold Medal. Later editions either suffered from too much madcap comedy or injections of Prather’s own conservative politics into the stories. My informal polling - and an article by the late Ed Gorman - told me that 1955’s Shell Scott #9: “Strip For Murder” was among his best.

The setup in “Strip For Murder” is fairly proforma: After a young heiress impulsively marries a man she hardly knows, her wealthy mother hires Los Angeles private detective Shell Scott to investigative his background. Is this a case of true love or is the new husband a conniving gold digger? The danger of this assignment lies in the fact that Scott isn’t the first investigator on the case. His predecessor was found murdered on a rural road during the course of his investigation, so our hero also has at least one murder to solve along the way.

Scott is the stereotypical, wise-cracking, skirt-chasing private eye. He’s hard-boiled but funny.
Because this is a 'Shell Scott' novel, the action quickly moves to a nudist camp where Scott is called upon to go undercover as the naked fitness director. It should come as no surprise to the reader that every woman (or tomato, as he often calls them) at the camp is beautiful, luscious, and willing. Comedy set pieces throughout the book pad the paperback’s length without compromising the plot.

Other than some wacky situations, this is a pretty standard private eye novel. Scott follows logical leads, gets laid, and has his life repeatedly threatened as he gets closer to the truth. There are red herrings, bar brawls, and sunbathing contests adding to the fun, but the core mystery is nothing you haven’t seen before if you’ve ever read 'Milo March', 'Mike Shayne', or the works of Carter Brown. This genre is comfort food, and this execution of the craft in “Strip for Murder” was good reading - just don’t expect a masterpiece.

John Easy #01 - If Dying Was All

Pop-culture historian and multi-genre author Ron Goulart wrote four novels and three short stories starring a swinging Hollywood private eye named John Easy in the 1970s. Thanks to Mysterious Press, the novels remain in print today, so I’m starting the series with the first installment, If Dying Was All, from 1971.

An Oscar-winning screenwriter named Mr. McCleary hires Easy to solve a family mystery. The client’s daughter Jackie committed suicide by jumping into the Pacific Ocean five years ago, yet Mr. McCleary just received a letter from the girl. Fortunately for the plot, Jackie’s body was never recovered. In the letter, Jackie says she’s in trouble, but she can’t come into the open just yet. Jackie drops a lot of inside info, and the handwriting looks right. Convinced that his twentysomething daughter is alive and in trouble, the old man hires Easy to find Jackie.

Easy isn’t convinced Jackie is alive, but he follows logical leads - gossipy news clippings, the post-office, her friend-group, etc. This brings him in the orbit of many quirky California types, but Easy is himself is rather generic. In fact, he makes fictional detectives like Mike Shayne and Johnny Liddell seem downright charismatic in comparison. Instead of imbuing Easy with personality, Goulart chooses to make him a competent professional among scads of California stereotypes (“The classical string quartet at the cafe is nude!”).

Man, this was a by-the-numbers tedious and boring book. It’s possible that Goulart was trying to lampoon the private eye genre, but he forgot to actually make it funny. Characters do wacky California things like grab Easy’s crotch while he’s interviewing them, but these attempts at promiscuous edginess fell flat to me. The entire novel is just a series of interviews Easy conducts with witnesses and possible suspects who may have knowledge of Jackie’s death or disappearance. By the time we arrive at a solution to the central mystery, I was way past caring.

If any of this sounds like your thing, please just read any of the Carter Brown mysteries. He did the same thing so much better. If Dying Was All isn’t even bad enough to be noteworthy. The novel is blessedly short, so you won’t need to suffer through much tedium to reach the ending. Better idea: just skip it altogether.

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