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Bill Crane #3
Lady in the Morgue
Set in Chicago, a private-eye masterpiece.
190 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1936
12 people are currently reading
160 people want to read
About the author
Jonathan Latimer
58 books30 followersJonathan Latimer was born in Chicago on 23rd October 1906. His main series character was the private investigator Bill Crane. An important character in the development of the hard boiled genre. A notable title is Solomon's Vineyard, the controversy over the content saw the US publication delayed by nine years. The author later concentrated on screen plays and also worked for five years on the Perry Mason television series.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 33 reviews
October 1, 2019
This third in the series of Bill Crane mysteries is the best so far. Here Latimer perfects his unique mixture of screwball comedy, swing era atmosphere, wisecracking dicks, B-movie pacing, intricate plotting, and an irreverent atmosphere.
If you're not easily offended by characters who guiltlessly consume oceans of alcohol, use a variety of quaint sexist and racist terms (e.g., Filipinos are "Hershey bars"), and who are always willing to make a joke out of anything--even a beautiful corpse--then this might be the book for you.
November 27, 2022
A serious and intricate missing person/murder mystery plot, frequent screwball antics and witty dialogue, and a detective who spends nearly the whole story sleep deprived and drunk made for quite an entertaining golden age detective story. Aside from a handful of glaring racial slurs and 30's era gender stereotyping, the story has aged well and I think is just as enjoyable today as ever.
December 27, 2025
In “Lady in the Morgue,” Latimer returns private eye Bill Crane to Chicago where he is joined by two other operatives from Colonel Black’s agency, Doc Williams and Tom O’Connor. The three of them make it up as they go along, half or more drunk, and finding their way into Chicago’s Jax scene as well as aiding each other in grave-robbing and then traveling across town with a newly-unearthed corpse in the back of the car, which would be a hard thing to explain to a traffic cop if they ever got pulled over.
Crane starts out on his own with an assigned mission as merely identifying a corpse brought into the morgue. The problem is that, once there, he’s called upstairs and the corpse apparently got up and left the morgue on its own. The other problem is that everyone from the district attorney to the local mob somehow gets the idea that Crane ran off with the corpse. Crane has to sit with grand jury proceedings with the prosecutor insinuating that he as the murderer as well as the body snatcher.
The corpse was reportedly a suicide, but Crane has his doubts from the full bathtub to the nude body hanging in the bathroom to the heel marks on the door where they shouldn’t be to the absence of shoes. Little of this matters to his assigned work: determining if the corpse was a member of the client’s family and if not where Kathryn Courtland disappeared to. What makes that difficult is everyone seems to think the corpse was someone else, including the local mobster.
Latimer does a terrific job of combining some screwball elements with an otherwise hardboiled enterprise.
Crane starts out on his own with an assigned mission as merely identifying a corpse brought into the morgue. The problem is that, once there, he’s called upstairs and the corpse apparently got up and left the morgue on its own. The other problem is that everyone from the district attorney to the local mob somehow gets the idea that Crane ran off with the corpse. Crane has to sit with grand jury proceedings with the prosecutor insinuating that he as the murderer as well as the body snatcher.
The corpse was reportedly a suicide, but Crane has his doubts from the full bathtub to the nude body hanging in the bathroom to the heel marks on the door where they shouldn’t be to the absence of shoes. Little of this matters to his assigned work: determining if the corpse was a member of the client’s family and if not where Kathryn Courtland disappeared to. What makes that difficult is everyone seems to think the corpse was someone else, including the local mobster.
Latimer does a terrific job of combining some screwball elements with an otherwise hardboiled enterprise.
April 20, 2014
This is the third in the William Crane series. The books, in order are:
Murder in the Madhouse (1935)
Headed for a Hearse (1935)
The Lady in the Morgue (1936)
The Dead Don’t Care (1938)
Red Gardenias (1939)
Latimer was a journalist, Hollywood screenwriter and turned to writing fiction in the 1930’s. His series featuring private eye William Crane was his first foray into writing novels. He combined hardboiled crime fiction with elements of screwball comedy. Interestingly, although a film of “The Lady in the Morgue” was produced in 1938, Jonathan Latimer did not write the screenplay himself.
In this novel, the ‘lady’ of the title vanishes from the morgue, before her identity can be established. William Crane, who has been sent to the morgue to discover who the young lady is, has no idea of either her identity, or who took her. However, nobody seems to believe him – including the police or some rather aggressive members of the mob. Crane is delighted when some colleagues finally appear to help him out. However , what follows is a slightly madcap chase to discover both her true identity and her body – with more than one interested party claiming the lady as their own.
Crane is slightly comical character. He spends much of the investigation drinking and trying to catch up with his sleep. However, in this fast paced tale, there is much that is serious. Lost heiresses, mobsters , murder and mayhem follow Crane around. Naturally, he finally pieces together the parts of the jigsaw to solve the case. This is an interesting read, which has a real flavour of 1930’s Chicago and I look forward to reading the rest of the William Crane mysteries.
Lastly, I received a copy of this book from the publisher, via NetGalley, for review.
Murder in the Madhouse (1935)
Headed for a Hearse (1935)
The Lady in the Morgue (1936)
The Dead Don’t Care (1938)
Red Gardenias (1939)
Latimer was a journalist, Hollywood screenwriter and turned to writing fiction in the 1930’s. His series featuring private eye William Crane was his first foray into writing novels. He combined hardboiled crime fiction with elements of screwball comedy. Interestingly, although a film of “The Lady in the Morgue” was produced in 1938, Jonathan Latimer did not write the screenplay himself.
In this novel, the ‘lady’ of the title vanishes from the morgue, before her identity can be established. William Crane, who has been sent to the morgue to discover who the young lady is, has no idea of either her identity, or who took her. However, nobody seems to believe him – including the police or some rather aggressive members of the mob. Crane is delighted when some colleagues finally appear to help him out. However , what follows is a slightly madcap chase to discover both her true identity and her body – with more than one interested party claiming the lady as their own.
Crane is slightly comical character. He spends much of the investigation drinking and trying to catch up with his sleep. However, in this fast paced tale, there is much that is serious. Lost heiresses, mobsters , murder and mayhem follow Crane around. Naturally, he finally pieces together the parts of the jigsaw to solve the case. This is an interesting read, which has a real flavour of 1930’s Chicago and I look forward to reading the rest of the William Crane mysteries.
Lastly, I received a copy of this book from the publisher, via NetGalley, for review.
September 6, 2014
The Lady in the Morgue opens in Chicago with the morgue attendant receiving a crank call for a Miss Daisy Stiff, who according to the attendant can’t come to the phone as “she’s downstairs with th’ other girls.” Crank calls are obviously a regular occurrence with this job, and the attendant has fun with the caller and with the two newspaper reporters sitting in the waiting room. An unidentified blonde, who checked into a “honky-tonk” hotel under the name Alice Ross has been listed as a suicide, and the reporters, along with PI Bill Crane are waiting in the morgue for someone to show who can identify the dead woman. There’s already an aura of mystery surrounding her death, and the waiting reporters speculate about the reasons why someone this beautiful would end her life. It’s an eerie, uneasy scene in the middle of a heat wave set against the maniacal “feverish” cackles of a drugged “crazy dame” in the nearby “psychopathic hospital.” Then Crane and the reporters decide to play a tasteless game and place bets on the contents of each vault.
Brilliant white light from a long row of bulbs on the ceiling of the room made their eyes blink. Their nostrils sucked in the sweet, sharp sickening antiseptic smell of formaldehyde. Icy air caused their shirts to stick clammily to their flesh. The steel door shut with a muffled thud, and all three of them momentarily experienced a feeling of being trapped.
While the game is a great excuse to pass time, and more importantly to eye the stiffs in the vault, it’s also a perfect scene which shows both the atmosphere and the callous behaviour of the reporters. Then there’s Crane using his opportunity to eyeball the mystery woman. The people in the vaults are no longer human; they’re just a sideshow, and the beautiful blonde suicide is the prize exhibit:
The attendant was looking at the girl’s body. “I wonder how long a guy would live if he had a wife as swell as that?” He ran a yellow hand over her smooth hip.
“You’d get used to her after a while,” said Crane.
“I’d like to try.” The attendant’s yellow face was wistful. “I’d be willing to trade my wife in if I could get a model like this.”
Crane has been hired by his employer, Colonel Black, to ascertain the identity of the young woman, and while two men show up to ID the blonde, someone else steals her body from the vault….
With the disappearance of the corpse, the mystery surrounding the woman’s identity deepens. Courtland, the scion of a wealthy east coast family turns up as a representative for his relatives who are concerned that the corpse may be a well-heeled heiress. But there’s another claimant, an unhappy gangster who is looking for his runaway wife, and in the wings there’s a third man also on the hunt for the gangster’s wife. With his sidekicks Doc Williams and Tom O’Malley, Crane is determined to recover the corpse and discover her identity. His investigation involves feuding gangsters, a snobby, wealthy matriarch, a sleazy hotel, a dance hall that’s little better than a bordello, and even a little grave robbing.
While Crane, with stubborn tenacity wants to solve the case, he’s not exactly the type that sticks to the rule books. Strongly individualistic, he’s not the sort to be hampered by rules or status., and when it comes to his cases, he brags “I solve ‘em, drunk or sober.” He’s the type of man who appears to be easy-going, but in reality his seeming easy-going nature is a just a mask for doing things his way, at his pace. And above all, he’s going to enjoy himself in the process. Once Crane learns that he’s working for a wealthy family, he decides to cash in on the old expense account, and he rents a very nice room in a decent hotel, and then takes advantage of room service.
Bill Crane, a complete reprobate, is an amusing anti-hero, the typical sort of PI, low-rent and unimpressed by status markers. While he doesn’t appear to take the crime seriously, this is just his style. While there’s never any doubt that he’ll solve the mystery, the fun comes from reading his tactics: sleeping in, consuming huge breakfasts (complete with whiskey), and generally enjoying himself when he can. There are a few scenes between Crane and the female sex, and Crane isn’t exactly much of a gentleman. The Lady in the Morgue is highly recommended for fans of vintage crime novels.
Jonathan Latimer wrote 5 Bill Crane novels:
Murder in the Madhouse (1935)
Headed For a Hearse (1935)
The Lady in the Morgue (1936)
The Dead Don’t Care(1938)
Red Gardenias (1939)
Brilliant white light from a long row of bulbs on the ceiling of the room made their eyes blink. Their nostrils sucked in the sweet, sharp sickening antiseptic smell of formaldehyde. Icy air caused their shirts to stick clammily to their flesh. The steel door shut with a muffled thud, and all three of them momentarily experienced a feeling of being trapped.
While the game is a great excuse to pass time, and more importantly to eye the stiffs in the vault, it’s also a perfect scene which shows both the atmosphere and the callous behaviour of the reporters. Then there’s Crane using his opportunity to eyeball the mystery woman. The people in the vaults are no longer human; they’re just a sideshow, and the beautiful blonde suicide is the prize exhibit:
The attendant was looking at the girl’s body. “I wonder how long a guy would live if he had a wife as swell as that?” He ran a yellow hand over her smooth hip.
“You’d get used to her after a while,” said Crane.
“I’d like to try.” The attendant’s yellow face was wistful. “I’d be willing to trade my wife in if I could get a model like this.”
Crane has been hired by his employer, Colonel Black, to ascertain the identity of the young woman, and while two men show up to ID the blonde, someone else steals her body from the vault….
With the disappearance of the corpse, the mystery surrounding the woman’s identity deepens. Courtland, the scion of a wealthy east coast family turns up as a representative for his relatives who are concerned that the corpse may be a well-heeled heiress. But there’s another claimant, an unhappy gangster who is looking for his runaway wife, and in the wings there’s a third man also on the hunt for the gangster’s wife. With his sidekicks Doc Williams and Tom O’Malley, Crane is determined to recover the corpse and discover her identity. His investigation involves feuding gangsters, a snobby, wealthy matriarch, a sleazy hotel, a dance hall that’s little better than a bordello, and even a little grave robbing.
While Crane, with stubborn tenacity wants to solve the case, he’s not exactly the type that sticks to the rule books. Strongly individualistic, he’s not the sort to be hampered by rules or status., and when it comes to his cases, he brags “I solve ‘em, drunk or sober.” He’s the type of man who appears to be easy-going, but in reality his seeming easy-going nature is a just a mask for doing things his way, at his pace. And above all, he’s going to enjoy himself in the process. Once Crane learns that he’s working for a wealthy family, he decides to cash in on the old expense account, and he rents a very nice room in a decent hotel, and then takes advantage of room service.
Bill Crane, a complete reprobate, is an amusing anti-hero, the typical sort of PI, low-rent and unimpressed by status markers. While he doesn’t appear to take the crime seriously, this is just his style. While there’s never any doubt that he’ll solve the mystery, the fun comes from reading his tactics: sleeping in, consuming huge breakfasts (complete with whiskey), and generally enjoying himself when he can. There are a few scenes between Crane and the female sex, and Crane isn’t exactly much of a gentleman. The Lady in the Morgue is highly recommended for fans of vintage crime novels.
Jonathan Latimer wrote 5 Bill Crane novels:
Murder in the Madhouse (1935)
Headed For a Hearse (1935)
The Lady in the Morgue (1936)
The Dead Don’t Care(1938)
Red Gardenias (1939)
April 25, 2014
I'm ashamed to say I've never read any Jonathan Latimer crime novels although I have watched some of the films he wrote screenplays for, but didn't know anything about him. However, after reading The Lady in the Morgue I will be looking forward to reacquainting myself with the ever drunk and darkly funny Bill Crane, the Chicago private detective who spends an awful lot of time drinking rather than detecting! And yet .......... Crane does manage to get his brain into gear and get down to business.In this the third Bill Crane screwball mystery, a woman's body goes missing from the morgue, Crane has been called in to find out who she was and instead he finds himself being accused of taking the body. Ably assisted by 2 other P.I.'s from his agency, our 3 hero's stagger from witness to witness and clue to clue, crossing paths with gangsters and blondes who may or may not be involved in their case.I would just add that this book is of it's time and some of the attitudes are of the period. However, this doesn't spoil the read, and it is an eye opening, witty and yet slightly mysogynistic read, but don't be put off by this! Star rating would have been 4 and a half if possible.
July 2, 2011
More alcoholic than The Thin Man, or at least less civilized. And as with at least one other Jonathan Latimer I read (Soloman's Vinyard), strangely dark and really quite shocking at times. Came out in 1936. Too soon to have been borrowing all his ideas from Hammett and Chandler anyway.
Want to read
March 9, 2019Synopsis: an unidentified blonde has been listed as a suicide; Reporters and PI Bill Crane are at the morgue waiting for information.
March 11, 2013
The Lady in the Morgue is the third book in Jonathan Latimer's series starring detective William Crane. Crane is a fast-talking, hard-hitting, hard-drinking private eye who finds himself in the middle of the mystery of the missing corpse.
The story opens in a Chicago morgue. The detective agency that Crane works for has been called in by a prominent and wealthy New York family to find out if the remains of an apparent suicide under the name of "Alice Ross" is actually those of the daughter of the house. Before any positive identification can take place, "Alice's" body has been "kidnapped" and the morgue attendant killed. The District Attorney, who seems to have a grudge against Crane, would love to saddle the private detective with the murder and the theft of the body. Two rival mobsters also believe that Crane is responsible for the corpse's disappearance and are willing to use whatever means necessary to make him reveal where she is. Crane spends the rest of the novel trying to track down the missing body, find out who she really was, and--incidently--who killed both her and the morgue attendant. He hooks up with two other operatives from the agency and spend a wild couple days--digging up graves, attending pent house parties, visiting dance halls, and being pushed around by mobster heavies. The story comes full circle when Crane & company finally track down the missing lady and bring her back to the morgue for a final showdown with the culprit.
Written in 1936, there is a lot of ultra-non-pc humor and references that some readers may not be able to overlook. And, for me, there seemed to be way more swearing going on than I'm used to in my vintage mysteries. All that aside, this is an action-packed, fast-paced example of the screwball hard-boiled mystery. Crane is successful in his investigations, but one would be hard-pressed to say that it was expected. The man spends more time downing whatever alcoholic beverage is handy (even mistaking embalming fluid for a delectable drink!), sleeping (or wishing he were sleeping), and wise-cracking with his colleagues than he does in actual detective work. But when the going gets tough, he does use his brains and deliver the goods. And the story is fairly clued, too--a bonus for a hard-boiled outing. But the highlight of this story is the interaction between Crane and the other operatives. Their antics in the car when they transport the missing body back to the morgue are not be missed. Three stars.
This was first posted on my blog My Reading Block. Please request permission before reposting. Thanks!
The story opens in a Chicago morgue. The detective agency that Crane works for has been called in by a prominent and wealthy New York family to find out if the remains of an apparent suicide under the name of "Alice Ross" is actually those of the daughter of the house. Before any positive identification can take place, "Alice's" body has been "kidnapped" and the morgue attendant killed. The District Attorney, who seems to have a grudge against Crane, would love to saddle the private detective with the murder and the theft of the body. Two rival mobsters also believe that Crane is responsible for the corpse's disappearance and are willing to use whatever means necessary to make him reveal where she is. Crane spends the rest of the novel trying to track down the missing body, find out who she really was, and--incidently--who killed both her and the morgue attendant. He hooks up with two other operatives from the agency and spend a wild couple days--digging up graves, attending pent house parties, visiting dance halls, and being pushed around by mobster heavies. The story comes full circle when Crane & company finally track down the missing lady and bring her back to the morgue for a final showdown with the culprit.
Written in 1936, there is a lot of ultra-non-pc humor and references that some readers may not be able to overlook. And, for me, there seemed to be way more swearing going on than I'm used to in my vintage mysteries. All that aside, this is an action-packed, fast-paced example of the screwball hard-boiled mystery. Crane is successful in his investigations, but one would be hard-pressed to say that it was expected. The man spends more time downing whatever alcoholic beverage is handy (even mistaking embalming fluid for a delectable drink!), sleeping (or wishing he were sleeping), and wise-cracking with his colleagues than he does in actual detective work. But when the going gets tough, he does use his brains and deliver the goods. And the story is fairly clued, too--a bonus for a hard-boiled outing. But the highlight of this story is the interaction between Crane and the other operatives. Their antics in the car when they transport the missing body back to the morgue are not be missed. Three stars.
This was first posted on my blog My Reading Block. Please request permission before reposting. Thanks!
September 11, 2023
There was much in this which I found about as palatable as the embalming fluid Bill Crane mistakenly quaffs from a Dewars’ bottle. If your taste runs to a cocktail of genres-pulp/noir/screwball are all there in the mix- then this will be your tasse de thé, although that is not one of the many drinks consumed in the course of the book.
There is some evocative writing, as in this description of a dancing dive:-
“There was in the torrid, heavy, humid air a sickening odor; a combination of human sweat, penny-a-squirt perfume, gin breath. Red and green and orange crepe paper, cut in strips, hung from the ceiling everywhere, like Spanish moss.”
And some fun dialogue:-
““Oo-oo! I just adore doctors,” cried Dolly, squeezing Williams’ arm with both hands. “You’re so safe with them.”
“You better be careful with him,” said Crane. “He’s an obstreperous one.”
Dolly’s eyes rounded. She exclaimed, “Oh! A baby doctor?””
There is a lot of activity too:-
““In two days we start a fight in a taxi-dance joint, find a murdered guy and don’t tell the police, crash in on Bray-mer and his dope mob, bust in on a party, kidnap a gal, steal a car and rob a graveyard.” He paused for breath. “The only thing we ain’t done is to park in a no-parking zone.” “If we did that,” said Williams, “they’d catch us and send us up for life.””
However the frenetic pace fails to mask a thin plot, the major part of which is obvious at an early-ish stage, and the monkeying around with corpses soon… palls. As with the previous title in the series, I felt Crane had all the evidence but ignored it in order to consume lots of food and booze at the expense of his high-toned clients.
I shall try one more as this was not a total…dead loss.
3.25 stars.
There is some evocative writing, as in this description of a dancing dive:-
“There was in the torrid, heavy, humid air a sickening odor; a combination of human sweat, penny-a-squirt perfume, gin breath. Red and green and orange crepe paper, cut in strips, hung from the ceiling everywhere, like Spanish moss.”
And some fun dialogue:-
““Oo-oo! I just adore doctors,” cried Dolly, squeezing Williams’ arm with both hands. “You’re so safe with them.”
“You better be careful with him,” said Crane. “He’s an obstreperous one.”
Dolly’s eyes rounded. She exclaimed, “Oh! A baby doctor?””
There is a lot of activity too:-
““In two days we start a fight in a taxi-dance joint, find a murdered guy and don’t tell the police, crash in on Bray-mer and his dope mob, bust in on a party, kidnap a gal, steal a car and rob a graveyard.” He paused for breath. “The only thing we ain’t done is to park in a no-parking zone.” “If we did that,” said Williams, “they’d catch us and send us up for life.””
However the frenetic pace fails to mask a thin plot, the major part of which is obvious at an early-ish stage, and the monkeying around with corpses soon… palls. As with the previous title in the series, I felt Crane had all the evidence but ignored it in order to consume lots of food and booze at the expense of his high-toned clients.
I shall try one more as this was not a total…dead loss.
3.25 stars.
November 19, 2007
I read this when I was twelve or thirteen. I wasn't a big mystery reader and I'm still not. A friend of mine, however, was, and he said it was one of the best books he'd ever read. I took it out from my local library. I remember a sidekick named Wilsey who always said "Hot damn!" I didn't like that about the book.
Looking back, I can say I'm very fond of it. I know little about Latimer. I useed book store actually gave me a book of his for free when I came in looking for LADY IN THE MORGUE. I lent it to a friend who loves mysteries. He didn't ask me to and he's never given it back.
Anybody reading this review will know that Latimer wrote pretty respectable hardboiled detective stuff. From what little I can gather about him on the web, he was not an innovator, but he could write about shocking crime in a direct way.
I'm very glad this is in print again. (Or is it out of print once more?) If you like those Alan Ladd things, in which he climbs a staircase silently while wearing a fedora and a smart suit, this is the book for you.
I think a movie was based on one of Latimer's novels and I have a feeling Alan Ladd was in it.
Looking back, I can say I'm very fond of it. I know little about Latimer. I useed book store actually gave me a book of his for free when I came in looking for LADY IN THE MORGUE. I lent it to a friend who loves mysteries. He didn't ask me to and he's never given it back.
Anybody reading this review will know that Latimer wrote pretty respectable hardboiled detective stuff. From what little I can gather about him on the web, he was not an innovator, but he could write about shocking crime in a direct way.
I'm very glad this is in print again. (Or is it out of print once more?) If you like those Alan Ladd things, in which he climbs a staircase silently while wearing a fedora and a smart suit, this is the book for you.
I think a movie was based on one of Latimer's novels and I have a feeling Alan Ladd was in it.
March 31, 2011
This book, written in the 1930s, is a classic of screwball noir, featuring a perpetually drunk detective, loads of un-PC humor and a genuinely fascinating mystery. The plot features an unauthorized exhumation of a corpse, an attempt to question a bunch of pot-smoking jazz musicians and a great opening scene in Chicago's city morgue. I inherited a paperback copy of this book from my grandfather when he died and it totally blew my mind. One reviewer quoted in a blurb on the cover called it "rough, rowdy and rum-soaked," and he wasn't kidding.
November 12, 2018
It was an OK story but too long.
December 31, 2024
Dead men don't walk.
Neither do dead women, but that doesn't mean their corpses always stay where you put them. There can be reasons why it's inconvenient for a corpse to be identified and P.I. William Crane runs into all of them in this complicated story of Chicago during the Great Depression.
Crane works for a New York City agency, but he happens to be in Chicago when he gets a telegram from his boss telling him to ascertain the identity of a dead woman who's currently residing in the Cook County Morgue. "Alice Ross" was found in a cheap hotel hanging from the bathroom door. It's an unconvincing suicide, but the cops and the county coronor are satisfied.
Who cares about a blonde deader in a fleabag hotel with only $4 in her purse? As it turns out, several people are interested and some of them are willing to go to great lengths to find out who Alice Ross really was. When her body disappears from the morgue, all hell breaks loose. And Bill Crane is where he usually is, right in the cross hairs.
The dead woman COULD be the wife of a Chicago gangster (Italian) who deserted her husband for another Chicago gangster (same flavor, but even more violent) and has now left him behind, too. She was once a luscious nightclub singer although she's got a few miles on her now. So are her husband and former lover anxious to be reunited with the love of their lives or do they want revenge?
The hard boys are generous with their broads, but they expect complete loyalty. The songbird either overestimates the power of love or she likes playing with fire. Whatever, both her husband and her former BF are convinced that Crane stole her corpse and they're willing to resort to torture or murder to find out what he did with it.
He'd like to find her, too, since his agency has been hired by a rich socialite's family to find their wandering daughter, niece, and sister. Kathryn Courtland is less interested in her share of a $13 million dollar estate than in a cool musician who plays hot jazz. Her brother is worried about her and her mother and uncle are worried about the sacred family name featuring in large, nasty newspaper headlines.
Fortunately, the agency head has sent Bill Crane's colleague Doc Williams out to help him. Doc is a rough diamond, but he knows Chicago from his rum-running days, which comes in handy. The boss either anticipates trouble or wants to spend some of the rich uncle's money because he also sends Tom O'Malley. Six foot, three inches tall and 210 lbs of muscle, O'Malley is a good man to have around when you're caught between warring mobsters.
Chauncey Courtland, Jr is the classic rich kid, but he's spent some time in low dives himself and picked up a few tricks. Slumming is acceptable for a son sowing his oats before he settles down, but not for a daughter at any time. Courtland seems worried about his sister and he can hold his own, but is he on the side of the angels?
No fear of me giving away the plot because I got lost about halfway through the book. Detective novels are called "fast-paced" but this one proceeds at a dead run, with pit stops at bars, but no time out for naps. As O'Malley observes wryly, the three 'tecs get in a near-riot at a taxi-dance joint, stumble onto a murdered man, sit in with a bunch of doped-up musicians, crash a lively penthouse party, kidnap a woman, and rob a graveyard. If they could find the missing heiress they could get some sleep.
The end is as complicated as the rest of the story. Everyone involved has broken laws and not just running red lights or spitting on the sidewalk, either. Yet some are busted and some are patted on the back by smiling cops and D.A.'s. One law for the rich and another one for the rest of us? What else is new.
It's sometimes hard to follow, but the dialogue is always entertaining and frequently hilarious. As the guy who wrote the introduction says, the Great Depression created a national sense of " Screw it all! What the hell?" The rich got richer and the working class starved, so what did anyone have to lose? Not much, really, which is why "screwball" capers like Latimer's books and movies were so popular.
Just relax and enjoy. And if you're looking for personal anguish and profound psychological in-sights, stick to modern books where the cop-hero is more screwed up than any of the criminals. Latimer wrote for fun. God bless him.
Neither do dead women, but that doesn't mean their corpses always stay where you put them. There can be reasons why it's inconvenient for a corpse to be identified and P.I. William Crane runs into all of them in this complicated story of Chicago during the Great Depression.
Crane works for a New York City agency, but he happens to be in Chicago when he gets a telegram from his boss telling him to ascertain the identity of a dead woman who's currently residing in the Cook County Morgue. "Alice Ross" was found in a cheap hotel hanging from the bathroom door. It's an unconvincing suicide, but the cops and the county coronor are satisfied.
Who cares about a blonde deader in a fleabag hotel with only $4 in her purse? As it turns out, several people are interested and some of them are willing to go to great lengths to find out who Alice Ross really was. When her body disappears from the morgue, all hell breaks loose. And Bill Crane is where he usually is, right in the cross hairs.
The dead woman COULD be the wife of a Chicago gangster (Italian) who deserted her husband for another Chicago gangster (same flavor, but even more violent) and has now left him behind, too. She was once a luscious nightclub singer although she's got a few miles on her now. So are her husband and former lover anxious to be reunited with the love of their lives or do they want revenge?
The hard boys are generous with their broads, but they expect complete loyalty. The songbird either overestimates the power of love or she likes playing with fire. Whatever, both her husband and her former BF are convinced that Crane stole her corpse and they're willing to resort to torture or murder to find out what he did with it.
He'd like to find her, too, since his agency has been hired by a rich socialite's family to find their wandering daughter, niece, and sister. Kathryn Courtland is less interested in her share of a $13 million dollar estate than in a cool musician who plays hot jazz. Her brother is worried about her and her mother and uncle are worried about the sacred family name featuring in large, nasty newspaper headlines.
Fortunately, the agency head has sent Bill Crane's colleague Doc Williams out to help him. Doc is a rough diamond, but he knows Chicago from his rum-running days, which comes in handy. The boss either anticipates trouble or wants to spend some of the rich uncle's money because he also sends Tom O'Malley. Six foot, three inches tall and 210 lbs of muscle, O'Malley is a good man to have around when you're caught between warring mobsters.
Chauncey Courtland, Jr is the classic rich kid, but he's spent some time in low dives himself and picked up a few tricks. Slumming is acceptable for a son sowing his oats before he settles down, but not for a daughter at any time. Courtland seems worried about his sister and he can hold his own, but is he on the side of the angels?
No fear of me giving away the plot because I got lost about halfway through the book. Detective novels are called "fast-paced" but this one proceeds at a dead run, with pit stops at bars, but no time out for naps. As O'Malley observes wryly, the three 'tecs get in a near-riot at a taxi-dance joint, stumble onto a murdered man, sit in with a bunch of doped-up musicians, crash a lively penthouse party, kidnap a woman, and rob a graveyard. If they could find the missing heiress they could get some sleep.
The end is as complicated as the rest of the story. Everyone involved has broken laws and not just running red lights or spitting on the sidewalk, either. Yet some are busted and some are patted on the back by smiling cops and D.A.'s. One law for the rich and another one for the rest of us? What else is new.
It's sometimes hard to follow, but the dialogue is always entertaining and frequently hilarious. As the guy who wrote the introduction says, the Great Depression created a national sense of " Screw it all! What the hell?" The rich got richer and the working class starved, so what did anyone have to lose? Not much, really, which is why "screwball" capers like Latimer's books and movies were so popular.
Just relax and enjoy. And if you're looking for personal anguish and profound psychological in-sights, stick to modern books where the cop-hero is more screwed up than any of the criminals. Latimer wrote for fun. God bless him.
February 27, 2021
This is a 1936 hard-boiled noir by American author Jonathan Latimer and is the third book in the private detective William Crane series. The setting is in 1930s depression-era Chicago. Crane is like the unnamed operative in Dashiell Hammett’s Continental Op series. He works for a New York based detective agency headed by a Colonel Black. The book is well written, fast paced, with good dialogue, and has a complex plot with a surprise ending. Latimer is a writer who is very good at coming up with complex and creative plots.
Spoiler Alert. The book starts with Bill Crane being asked to trace the identify of a dead woman known as Alice Ross, who police believe has committed suicide by hanging herself in the Princess Hotel in Chicago. The client of Crane is the rich Courtland family in New York, who wants to know if the dead girl is their estranged daughter Kathryn Courtland. Soon after Crane saw the dead body in the morgue (which was still unidentified), somebody entered the morgue, stole the body and murdered the morgue attendant in the process. The story is really about Crane’s quest to find the dead body, to identify her, and to solve her murder mystery (while the police ruled her death a suicide, Crane soon realized it is a murder faked to look like a suicide). Right from the start, however, Crane ran into two powerful gangsters (Mike Paletta and Frankie French) who are enemy of each other but both are united in the goal that they both want to find the missing body and believe Crane has it. It turns out they believe the dead woman is Verona Vincent, the wife of Mike Paletta, who ran away from Mike to be mistress to Frankie French. Soon after, however, she had a fallout with Frankie and she left Frankie and disappeared. To get the two gangsters off his back, Crane tracked down the real Verona who was living in Chicago under an assumed name and were therefore able to prove to the gangsters that she is still alive. That was necessary because Crane needs to eliminate Verona as the possible dead victim.
Crane was assisted in the case by two operatives sent by Colonel Black, Doc Williams and Tom O’Malley. The two added quite a bit of atmosphere and action to the book and made the story richer and a lot more entertaining. The Courtland family also has sent representatives who arrived in Chicago to join the investigation, including Kathryn’s brother Chauncey. After a lot of red herrings and twists and returns, Crane finally found the missing body, which was hidden in a crypt in a cemetery. In the end, in a classic dénouement scene, Crane explained to the readers who the dead woman is, why she was murdered, and who did it. It turns out Kathryn Courtland is still alive and well. She has been hiding all that time in plain sight in front of Crane and the police as a Mrs Angela Udoni. Two years ago Kathryn ran away from home and fell in love with a married musician called Sam Udoni. Sam knows Kathryn came from a rich family. When his wife Angela Udoni refused to give Sam a divorce so he can marry Kathryn, Sam murdered Angela in the Princess Hotel (where both Angela and Kathryn were staying). Sam then put Angela’s body in Kathryn’s room and made it look like a suicide. Since Kathryn was staying in the hotel under the assumed name of Alice Ross, nobody were able to trace the dead body, especially Sam replaced all the clothes in her room with nondescript clothes. Since both Angela and Kathryn had only arrived in the hotel the day before, and both women look alike, it was easy to fool the hotel employees to think it was Alice Ross (aka Kathryn) who was killed since the body was found in Alice Ross’ room. It was Chauncey Courtland and an accomplice who were lured by Sam to help with the coverup to steal the body from the morgue because they did not want the body to be identified as Mrs. Udoni, which might throw suspicion on Sam and Kathryn and cause bad press if later Kathryn marries Sam. When the morgue attendant was accidentally killed by Chauncey during the theft of the body, the accomplice (a man called Jackson) became a loose end. So Sam Udoni murdered Jackson. In the end, Crane set a trap for Chauncey and exposed Kathryn’s true identity (during the whole investigation she has been disguised as Mrs. Udoni).
Spoiler Alert. The book starts with Bill Crane being asked to trace the identify of a dead woman known as Alice Ross, who police believe has committed suicide by hanging herself in the Princess Hotel in Chicago. The client of Crane is the rich Courtland family in New York, who wants to know if the dead girl is their estranged daughter Kathryn Courtland. Soon after Crane saw the dead body in the morgue (which was still unidentified), somebody entered the morgue, stole the body and murdered the morgue attendant in the process. The story is really about Crane’s quest to find the dead body, to identify her, and to solve her murder mystery (while the police ruled her death a suicide, Crane soon realized it is a murder faked to look like a suicide). Right from the start, however, Crane ran into two powerful gangsters (Mike Paletta and Frankie French) who are enemy of each other but both are united in the goal that they both want to find the missing body and believe Crane has it. It turns out they believe the dead woman is Verona Vincent, the wife of Mike Paletta, who ran away from Mike to be mistress to Frankie French. Soon after, however, she had a fallout with Frankie and she left Frankie and disappeared. To get the two gangsters off his back, Crane tracked down the real Verona who was living in Chicago under an assumed name and were therefore able to prove to the gangsters that she is still alive. That was necessary because Crane needs to eliminate Verona as the possible dead victim.
Crane was assisted in the case by two operatives sent by Colonel Black, Doc Williams and Tom O’Malley. The two added quite a bit of atmosphere and action to the book and made the story richer and a lot more entertaining. The Courtland family also has sent representatives who arrived in Chicago to join the investigation, including Kathryn’s brother Chauncey. After a lot of red herrings and twists and returns, Crane finally found the missing body, which was hidden in a crypt in a cemetery. In the end, in a classic dénouement scene, Crane explained to the readers who the dead woman is, why she was murdered, and who did it. It turns out Kathryn Courtland is still alive and well. She has been hiding all that time in plain sight in front of Crane and the police as a Mrs Angela Udoni. Two years ago Kathryn ran away from home and fell in love with a married musician called Sam Udoni. Sam knows Kathryn came from a rich family. When his wife Angela Udoni refused to give Sam a divorce so he can marry Kathryn, Sam murdered Angela in the Princess Hotel (where both Angela and Kathryn were staying). Sam then put Angela’s body in Kathryn’s room and made it look like a suicide. Since Kathryn was staying in the hotel under the assumed name of Alice Ross, nobody were able to trace the dead body, especially Sam replaced all the clothes in her room with nondescript clothes. Since both Angela and Kathryn had only arrived in the hotel the day before, and both women look alike, it was easy to fool the hotel employees to think it was Alice Ross (aka Kathryn) who was killed since the body was found in Alice Ross’ room. It was Chauncey Courtland and an accomplice who were lured by Sam to help with the coverup to steal the body from the morgue because they did not want the body to be identified as Mrs. Udoni, which might throw suspicion on Sam and Kathryn and cause bad press if later Kathryn marries Sam. When the morgue attendant was accidentally killed by Chauncey during the theft of the body, the accomplice (a man called Jackson) became a loose end. So Sam Udoni murdered Jackson. In the end, Crane set a trap for Chauncey and exposed Kathryn’s true identity (during the whole investigation she has been disguised as Mrs. Udoni).
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 18, 2024
At the time of my reading, this book is 88 years old. That fact alone made it interesting. There are a lot of words and phrases that are dated, some of them slurs, some phrases that maybe were new and cool then and are now uber retro.
The writer has a sarcastic style, and I chuckled at a few of the turns of phrase.
The story is weird. A female body in a morgue goes missing and a private detective and a couple of pals spent the whole book trying to find the body. Some bad guys, gangster types, beat them up, more people enter the story, and everybody drinks a lot. Grave robbing happened along with some other bizarre stuff.
So... Day drinking detectives try to solve a missing body/murder. And the ending... well that was a whirlwind of explaining. Who did what, why they did it, and wrapping up loose ends.
The writer has a sarcastic style, and I chuckled at a few of the turns of phrase.
The story is weird. A female body in a morgue goes missing and a private detective and a couple of pals spent the whole book trying to find the body. Some bad guys, gangster types, beat them up, more people enter the story, and everybody drinks a lot. Grave robbing happened along with some other bizarre stuff.
So... Day drinking detectives try to solve a missing body/murder. And the ending... well that was a whirlwind of explaining. Who did what, why they did it, and wrapping up loose ends.
September 29, 2025
Re-read. Same rating.
"Yeah, you got ears, all right." Crane looked at the Italian's with disfavor. "If you didn't have so much hair on them maybe you could have heard me say I didn't know who took the body."
"You can always tell about guys from their hands; they don't think to guard them when they're acting with their faces."
He walked toward Crane, as if to say something more to him, but when he came abreast of the boy he swung his arm in a quarter circle, stingingly slapped his face. The boy staggered backward, throwing his hands in front of his eyes.
O Malley jerked the pistol away from him, slapped him again across the mouth. "Flash a rod, will you, you punk?" he asked savagely. He wheeled around to face the thick man, who was blinking stupidly at him. "Here," he said, thrusting the pistol in the thick man's hand; “put this where baby can't reach it."
The boy was standing in the middle of the green rug now, with his hands at his sides. His face was blue-white, like watered milk, and from the left corner of his mouth ran a trickle of blood. "I'll fog you for that, you son of a bitch," he said to O'Malley.
O'Malley paid no attention to the boy. He was speaking to the thick man. “You ought to know better than to come around here with a gunsel like that. Jerking a heater out as though it was some kind of toy. I'll bet you're damn fool enough to let him play with matches.”
On their way they stopped at the Crystal Bar and ordered a quart of Cook's Imperial Champagne and three bottles of stout. Mixed, this made a drink called Black Velvet, which they drank with considerable gusto, for, as O'Malley said:
"Uncle Sty wouldn't want his boys to come up smellin' of something common like gin, for instance."
"I never heard of a gangster killin' anybody that way." Williams buttoned his coat, settled back in the cab. "They either squirt some lead at 'em or take 'em for a ride. Even the wop mobsters don't fool around with knives no more.”
"Hell, I bet he's got more guys workin' for him than Harry Adkins. He's a big shot."
"How do you spell shot?" asked Crane.
…another man wearing patent-leather shoes, violet trousers pulled up almost under his arm-pits, and a baby-blue polo shirt stood in front of the girls, his hands pressed against his sides just above his hips. All of these people stared wonderingly at the six men.
"Where's Frankie?" the man with the rumbling voice asked.
"Heth back in hith offith," said the man with the violet trousers. As he spoke he shook his body from side to side like a woman.
Cloth in one hand, glass in the other, the bartender gazed reflectively at the bulldog. "He's just a little beered up. That don't mean nothin'. Takes hard liquor to make him ugly."
The dog swaggered along the bar toward Williams. He had the rolling gait, the bowed legs of a cowpuncher. Peering at Williams through topaz eyes, he sat three feet away, barked once, explosively.
"That means he wants a drink," the bartender explained.
"My God! Give him one.” Williams' shoulder pressed against Crane's arm. "Give him some beer."
"No," said the bartender. "He wants whiskey."
"But you said hard liquor makes him ugly."
"It makes him worse to be refused."
Smoke as thick as fine gray silk sheeted the back room from ceiling to floor, eddied around a peach-colored overhead electric bulb, made indistinct the silent figures of men grouped about a central table.
Crane led the way to another table near the door, felt for a chair and sat down. The other two, walking carefully, blindly, joined him. Their eyes were slow in becoming accustomed to the haze. "Whew!" Williams whispered. "Like a fog off the East River." Against their skin, on their lips, the smoke actually had texture, body. It was warm and moist, like human breath. It was sweet and thick, like chloroform; only it was not medicinal.
"Many musicians have cults, as you call them. It makes the dreams beautiful, instead of sordid, as they ordinarily are from marijuana. I myself rarely smoke, but now it helps me ... forget."
"You mean you get so you really believe in Brahma?" Crane demanded.
Udoni said, "After the second cigarette one believes anything.”
Across from the fireplace French windows opened on to the terrace. A radio was playing a Wayne King waltz and moonlight, like spilled talcum powder, dusted the shoulders of dancers.
O'Malley said, "Naw, we ain't dicks. We're members of the Purple grapefruit mob, outa Detroit."
Williams said, "I'm the mascot. I only killed nine guys yet."
Crane said, "Dolly, meet Doc.
"Oooo! I just adore doctors," cried Dolly, squeezing Williams' arm with both hands. "You're so safe with them.'
"You better be careful with him," said Crane. "He's an obstreperous one."
Dolly's eyes rounded. She exclaimed, "Oh! A baby doctor?"
“Getting any warmth out of that gin?" he asked.
She looked into his eyes. "You think I'm cold?"
"Perhaps a trifle reserved.”
Bottle in hand, the man came over from the davenport. "Listen, he said, "you can't get away with that sort of stuff." He planted himself in front of Crane. "You almost hit me."
"What if I did?" asked Crane.
O'Malley said, "Yeah, maybe we can do better next time."
"Boy! We have been places," agreed Williams.
Crane said, "A regular Cook's tour.”
"You mean a Crooks' tour,” corrected O'Malley. "In two days we start a fight in a taxi-dance joint, find a murdered guy and don't tell the police, crash in on Bray-mer and his dope mob, bust in on a party, kidnap a gal, steal a car and rob a graveyard." He paused for breath. “The only thing we ain't done is to park in a no-parking zone."
"Shut up. You'll have an army of cops out here in a minute."
Crane was rubbing soil off the seat of his trousers. "With a mysterious light, a dog barking, a voice going yow-eee! and a laughing spook, you aren't going to be troubled with Irish cops out here.”
"Yeah, you got ears, all right." Crane looked at the Italian's with disfavor. "If you didn't have so much hair on them maybe you could have heard me say I didn't know who took the body."
"You can always tell about guys from their hands; they don't think to guard them when they're acting with their faces."
He walked toward Crane, as if to say something more to him, but when he came abreast of the boy he swung his arm in a quarter circle, stingingly slapped his face. The boy staggered backward, throwing his hands in front of his eyes.
O Malley jerked the pistol away from him, slapped him again across the mouth. "Flash a rod, will you, you punk?" he asked savagely. He wheeled around to face the thick man, who was blinking stupidly at him. "Here," he said, thrusting the pistol in the thick man's hand; “put this where baby can't reach it."
The boy was standing in the middle of the green rug now, with his hands at his sides. His face was blue-white, like watered milk, and from the left corner of his mouth ran a trickle of blood. "I'll fog you for that, you son of a bitch," he said to O'Malley.
O'Malley paid no attention to the boy. He was speaking to the thick man. “You ought to know better than to come around here with a gunsel like that. Jerking a heater out as though it was some kind of toy. I'll bet you're damn fool enough to let him play with matches.”
On their way they stopped at the Crystal Bar and ordered a quart of Cook's Imperial Champagne and three bottles of stout. Mixed, this made a drink called Black Velvet, which they drank with considerable gusto, for, as O'Malley said:
"Uncle Sty wouldn't want his boys to come up smellin' of something common like gin, for instance."
"I never heard of a gangster killin' anybody that way." Williams buttoned his coat, settled back in the cab. "They either squirt some lead at 'em or take 'em for a ride. Even the wop mobsters don't fool around with knives no more.”
"Hell, I bet he's got more guys workin' for him than Harry Adkins. He's a big shot."
"How do you spell shot?" asked Crane.
…another man wearing patent-leather shoes, violet trousers pulled up almost under his arm-pits, and a baby-blue polo shirt stood in front of the girls, his hands pressed against his sides just above his hips. All of these people stared wonderingly at the six men.
"Where's Frankie?" the man with the rumbling voice asked.
"Heth back in hith offith," said the man with the violet trousers. As he spoke he shook his body from side to side like a woman.
Cloth in one hand, glass in the other, the bartender gazed reflectively at the bulldog. "He's just a little beered up. That don't mean nothin'. Takes hard liquor to make him ugly."
The dog swaggered along the bar toward Williams. He had the rolling gait, the bowed legs of a cowpuncher. Peering at Williams through topaz eyes, he sat three feet away, barked once, explosively.
"That means he wants a drink," the bartender explained.
"My God! Give him one.” Williams' shoulder pressed against Crane's arm. "Give him some beer."
"No," said the bartender. "He wants whiskey."
"But you said hard liquor makes him ugly."
"It makes him worse to be refused."
Smoke as thick as fine gray silk sheeted the back room from ceiling to floor, eddied around a peach-colored overhead electric bulb, made indistinct the silent figures of men grouped about a central table.
Crane led the way to another table near the door, felt for a chair and sat down. The other two, walking carefully, blindly, joined him. Their eyes were slow in becoming accustomed to the haze. "Whew!" Williams whispered. "Like a fog off the East River." Against their skin, on their lips, the smoke actually had texture, body. It was warm and moist, like human breath. It was sweet and thick, like chloroform; only it was not medicinal.
"Many musicians have cults, as you call them. It makes the dreams beautiful, instead of sordid, as they ordinarily are from marijuana. I myself rarely smoke, but now it helps me ... forget."
"You mean you get so you really believe in Brahma?" Crane demanded.
Udoni said, "After the second cigarette one believes anything.”
Across from the fireplace French windows opened on to the terrace. A radio was playing a Wayne King waltz and moonlight, like spilled talcum powder, dusted the shoulders of dancers.
O'Malley said, "Naw, we ain't dicks. We're members of the Purple grapefruit mob, outa Detroit."
Williams said, "I'm the mascot. I only killed nine guys yet."
Crane said, "Dolly, meet Doc.
"Oooo! I just adore doctors," cried Dolly, squeezing Williams' arm with both hands. "You're so safe with them.'
"You better be careful with him," said Crane. "He's an obstreperous one."
Dolly's eyes rounded. She exclaimed, "Oh! A baby doctor?"
“Getting any warmth out of that gin?" he asked.
She looked into his eyes. "You think I'm cold?"
"Perhaps a trifle reserved.”
Bottle in hand, the man came over from the davenport. "Listen, he said, "you can't get away with that sort of stuff." He planted himself in front of Crane. "You almost hit me."
"What if I did?" asked Crane.
O'Malley said, "Yeah, maybe we can do better next time."
"Boy! We have been places," agreed Williams.
Crane said, "A regular Cook's tour.”
"You mean a Crooks' tour,” corrected O'Malley. "In two days we start a fight in a taxi-dance joint, find a murdered guy and don't tell the police, crash in on Bray-mer and his dope mob, bust in on a party, kidnap a gal, steal a car and rob a graveyard." He paused for breath. “The only thing we ain't done is to park in a no-parking zone."
"Shut up. You'll have an army of cops out here in a minute."
Crane was rubbing soil off the seat of his trousers. "With a mysterious light, a dog barking, a voice going yow-eee! and a laughing spook, you aren't going to be troubled with Irish cops out here.”
September 16, 2019
My first Jonathan Latimer novel was a quick fast paced early "screwball" mystery. Screwball is in reference to the humor which was dark, and especially for the times (1936) quite risque at times. Bill Crane is a hard drinking, wisecracking private eye trying to figure out who a Jane Doe was and what the hell happened to her. She was a gorgeous woman, yet no-one officially claimed her, but someone did take the body. Bill Crane is thought to have done it and that helps him with the incentive of finding what happened to The Lady In The Morgue.
April 5, 2025
This one would be the magnum opus of the Bill Crane series if I had been able to understand what the fuck was going on. Following the sometimes convoluted mysteries posed in these books has never been a problem for me but toward the end of this one I simply gave up. What saves the book is the characters, their natural and hilarious banter, as well as the extra effort Latimer seemed to put into his writing.
December 11, 2020
Bill Crane is back for a third case. An unidentified suicide is in Chicago's morgue. Crane is dispatched to watch the body until it can be identified by a client. But the body disappears and a morgue-worker is killed. Now the Chicago police think that Crane may be the murderer and a body snatcher, two sets of mobsters want the body back from Crane, and the client wants to know if the dead woman is his sister. So Crane and his fellow operatives have to try to find the body...in between a whole lot of drinking.
The plot on this one is byzantine. And frankly, I question the way that Crane comes to his conclusion. But it's still a fun read, not quite as good as book one, but much better than book two. This one does a good job of treading the line between hard-boiled and tipsy humor. It falls back on the cozy ending of gathering all the suspects together so Crane can have a big reveal. But it's a lot of fun along the way.
Fair warning. Crane and his other operative drink a LOT. And this was written in 1936 with a full dose of misogyny and racism.
The plot on this one is byzantine. And frankly, I question the way that Crane comes to his conclusion. But it's still a fun read, not quite as good as book one, but much better than book two. This one does a good job of treading the line between hard-boiled and tipsy humor. It falls back on the cozy ending of gathering all the suspects together so Crane can have a big reveal. But it's a lot of fun along the way.
Fair warning. Crane and his other operative drink a LOT. And this was written in 1936 with a full dose of misogyny and racism.
November 27, 2020
Although I really enjoyed the story and its twists, I hated the constant emphasis on the drinking, drinks, and drunk behaviour. This author is very good with descriptions. I think he could have written a little less of the drinks...
April 21, 2018
Classico giallo USA anni '40.Pugni, pupe, whiskey e riunione finale di tutti gli attori (qui anche i cadaveri) dove l'eroe ci spiega tutto.Tre stelle per simpatia , ma non appassiona più.
April 22, 2020
What a wild ride! It was pretty exciting, and I loved the imagery Latimer used to set the scenes and characters.
August 20, 2024
The Lady in the Morgue (1936)...was...OK, I guess. The longest hard-boiled I've ever read at 272 pgs...well written over-all...you can get plot details else where, moving on...2.5 outta 5.0....
January 27, 2016
An author I had never heard of, recommended on Goodreads. This is a private-eye novel published in 1936, trying very hard to be both funny and tough-guy, but showing its age. The detective spends most of the book marginally or thoroughly drunk (think Nick Charles); is repeatedly menaced by bad guys, with sudden rescue from some unexpected guy at the door; casually throws around racist, sexist, and homophobic slang; drops lines like "Douse the glim"--ie "turn off the lights"; etc. I was surprised to see "tootsie" spelled "tutzi," and when he called a young punk a "gunsel," I was prompted to look it up on Wiktionary. I learned that the word first appeared in The Maltese Falcon (1929), and that Hammett slipped it in hoping that his editor would think it had something to do with guns. He got away with it, and it apparently became common for a while in the genre. (It didn't mean gunman--it's a Yiddish slang term for a catamite.) This one turned out to be a pretty clever mystery, with a villain who was just barely on my likely suspect list. But that wasn't enough to make it more than of antiquarian interest.
May 25, 2013
sarà che negli ultimi tempi ho letto parecchi noir americani "classici"- ma questo libro di latimer, pur non essendo affatto noioso, mi è sembrato un po' frusto. anche qui- come nella migliore tradizione di chandler & co- tutto parte dalla ricerca di una donna (stavolta cadavere), ci sono ammazzatine, fiumi di alcol, botte, gangster, una storia intricatissima. per carità, intrattiene- ma sa di già letto, già visto, già sentito.
"poi chiese: sapete che cosa farò ora? loro scossero il capo. crane disse: mi ubriacherò così tanto che potrete imbottigliarmi"
"poi chiese: sapete che cosa farò ora? loro scossero il capo. crane disse: mi ubriacherò così tanto che potrete imbottigliarmi"
August 30, 2010
Not an outstanding hard-boiled detective novel, but it's nice to see one set in Chicago that has a very good sense of place (Chicago, mid '30s). I was able to follow the adventures of Bill Crane, the main detective, and his fellows by looking at a map of Chicago on Google -- I like books where you have a sense of being there.
April 23, 2014
Despite some corny dialogue - this was published in 1936 - a few crazy similes, and perhaps a good editor, The Lady in the Morgue is a complicated mystery with interesting characters - especially if you're a fan of B 30s mystery flicks.
Nevertheless, it's worth a read and you can savor the times and the plot that gives nothing away.
Nevertheless, it's worth a read and you can savor the times and the plot that gives nothing away.
May 19, 2009
Not much in common here with Latimer's excellent "Solomon's Vineyard". This one has a comic tone which isn't my preference and the "comedy" here is pretty dated. Lots of not very hilarious "Thin Man" style drinking "humor".
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