"If the Coffin Fits" by Day Keene (1952) - FFB

If the Coffin Fits (1952) was Keene's eighth novel since his debut, Framed in Guilt, was published three years earlier in 1949. The title is borrowed from a pulp story he wrote for Dime Mystery (March 1945), but the stories have nothing in common (the original yarn is about a writer who debunks occult phenomena). The protagonist of this novel is another throwback to his pulp days, private eye Tom Doyle, who appeared in numerous yarns in the 1940s; this is Doyle's only outing in a novel. Here, Doyle gets caught up in a war for political control of a corrupt Nevada gambling town.

Keene's choice of reviving Doyle during his paperback period is really interesting, as Keene's novels tended to focus on average joes who, through extraordinary circumstances, have to prove that they or their spouse is innocent of murder. Considering the popularity of private eyes in paperback fiction at the time, perhaps Keene was hoping a publisher would latch onto the character for a series. Doyle's description as a World War II vet with premature white hair and blue eyes, in fact, reminds of another popular series private eye of the time: Richard Prather's Shell Scott. Scott's white hair and blue eyes graced the cover of scores of Gold Medal paperbacks in the 1950s (and beyond). The similarities stop there, however, as Keene's prose is decidedly less animated than Prather's.

"Dead Man's Tide" by Day Keene (1953) - FFB

Day Keene's It's a Sin to Kill was one of the first books I reviewed here on Pulp Sereade, my fourth ever post. I still remember finding the 1958 Avon paperback in a cardboard box underneath the counter at Spoonbill and Sugartown bookstore in Brooklyn. 12 years later, I finally have a true first edition of the book under its original title, Dead Man's Tide, published by Graphic under the pseudonym "William Richards." Revisiting the book, I found it to be even better than I remembered.

Keene knew how to hook a reader fast by getting right to the story, and Dead Man's Tide is perhaps the fastest of them all. First sentence and he's already describing a nude corpse floating through the Gulf of Mexico, passing by schools of porpoises, then landing on a sand bar where crabs gather around it. It's macabre, grotesque, strangely erotic, and even more strangely serene. It's an elegantly written passage, among the most evocative and vivid that Keene ever penned. Keene then takes readers to a familiar set up: a man wakes up to murder and must go on the run in order to prove himself innocent.

"Strange Witness" by Day Keene (1953) FFB

Day Keene's Strange Witness was originally published by Graphic in 1953, the third of five novels he would write for the short-lived paperback house. The story is a variation on the archetypal Keene plot about a wrongly-accused man dodging cops and gangsters in order to prove his innocence, and told with the author's usual full-tilt pacing with a couple twists thrown in to surprise even his most devoted fans.

Hart Jackson used to have a successful career as an emcee and ventriloquist. Then he took the fall for his brother, who was set up for the murder of Helene, a singer at a nightclub. After serving 7 years of a 20-year sentence, he's out on parole—and he wants revenge against Flip Evans, the club owner who put the frame in place. After hocking his watch for a gun, Hart goes to a bar, where he is approached by blonde woman he's never seen before who says her name is Thelma Winston, she wants to marry him, and will give him $10,000 plus evidence to put Evans behind bars. But as soon as they are married, Thelma is gunned down. The cops want Jackson for murder, and the gangsters want to know what Thelma told him. Her dying words were something about Olga and a hotel room—but Jackson doesn't know what they mean, only that his life and proving his innocence depends on it.

Forgotten Books: "Homicidal Lady" by Day Keene (Graphic, 1954)

Day Keene delivers another solid, well-crafted mystery with Homicidal Lady, originally published by Graphic in 1954. While it doesn’t reach the heights of Home is the Sailor, or even To Kiss, or Kill, the novel still offers an entertaining story despite its predictability. The book is, after all, called Homicidal Lady, which points an accusatory finger even before the story begins. Still, it is a sign of Keene’s skill that he keeps us reading even when we think we know how it will end.

The story is about Tod Talbot, state’s attorney for Florida with a flawless record. His most recent case resulted in the death penalty for James Conley, a convicted bank robber. Talbot’s wife, Jane Painter, was Conley’s attorney. When she lost the case, she walked out on her husband. If that wasn’t bad enough, moments after Conley’s death, a young punk is found dead, apparently of suicide, with a note admitting that he was the robber, not Conley. In that moment, Conley’s life and career fall completely apart.

But that is only the beginning. Out of Talbot’s past comes Vickie Paul, a young woman he helped out years ago who has is hopelessly in love with him and is convinced that the punk’s suicide was faked in order to defame Talbot. In the course of their investigation, Talbot finds himself framed for the murder of Conley’s wife. On the run from the cops, Talbot must appeal to his wife, Jane, for help. Who to trust—Jane, who ran out on him, or Vickie, the mysterious woman whom he knows nothing about?

Homicidal Lady is a case of a novel in which the main situation is actually more sympathetic than main character. By that I mean that we don’t align ourselves with Talbot the way we do Swede in Home is the Sailor or Barney Mandell in To Kiss, or Kill. I felt for his plight, but I never learned enough about his character to feel for him one way or the other. The character of Vickie, likewise, is a little overly giving with her adoration. It works for the story (and is a very convenient plot device), but I know that Keene is capable of a little more dimensionality.

Fans of 1950s paperback originals will certainly enjoy this, and Keene’s depiction of Florida is as vivid as ever. Those unfamiliar with Keene’s work would do well to pick up Hard Case Crime’s reprint of Home is the Sailor.

As a side note, the cover art to the Unibook reprint that I have was later used as the cover to James Reasoner's excellent Texas Wind.

A few of my favorite lines from the book:

“Ambition does strange things to a man.”

“No friendship between two men was half as strong as one hair from a woman’s head.”

“The narrow road rimming the upper end of the bay was pitted with chuck holes and alive with frogs; big frogs, little frogs, silver objects that leaped in the beams of the headlights of the car, then crunched under the wheels.”

“But cats are all one color in the dark. You can even change a cat’s color, some folks day.”

More of Friday's Forgotten Books are listed here on Patti Abbott's blog.

"Mourn the Hangman" by Harry Whittington (Graphic, 1952)

Mourn the Hangman, published by Graphic Books in 1952, is the third Harry Whittington novel that I’ve read (the other two being A Ticket to Hell and You’ll Die Next). While in characteristic Whittington fashion, the novel starts out running with a great first line (“Rain was the evil omen…”), much of the rest of the book lacks that certain je nais se qioi that Whittington, at his best, had so much of. Publishing at the rate he did (writing under several pen names, and ultimately producing upwards of two hundred books), one can’t fault the guy for producing a mediocre book.

Whittington was no stranger to “theme and variation” – in fact, part of what is so fun about reading these books is to watch how different writers work (and re-work) similar situations. As in You’ll Die Next, Mourn the Hangman begins with our protagonist seemingly secure at home…and that’s where the plot begins to thicken. But perhaps what Hangman lacks is enough “variation” on the conventions. The story moves along well enough, but not until the ending does the action and excitement truly pick up.

Steve Blake is a private detective. According to his wife of six months, however, he is a “private snitch” and begs him to quit the business not only for ethical reasons, but also for his own safety. On his way home from his latest case, he drops by the office to inform his partner that he is leaving. Walking through the door to his apartment, he finds his wife waiting for him – dead. Not wanting to waste a moment, Blake forgoes calling the police and heads out looking for the killer. But soon a mysterious phone call informs the police about Blake’s dead wife, and they too start searching for the killer—Blake! To make matters worse, the corporation he was investigating has discovered his true identity and has dispatched goons to hunt him down. And on top of all that, his partner has double-crossed him.

Whittington is quite capable of juggling all of these plot details, and his neatness in structuring the novel means that no detail lacks significance. It might not come until one hundred pages later, but that small detail will become important. Whittington obviously takes writing very seriously. He pays great attention to the prose (there are some really great lines) and to the psychological states of his characters. And while some of the characters in Mourn the Hangman may appear to be pedestrian (like Blake, who is your typical macho-but-sentimental hero), it is the minor characters that become the most interesting. In particular, the token “mystery bar girl” is given a crucial moment of sympathy when Whittington allows her to explain the untimely tragedy that befell her family, and the detail of her record player echoing through the motel corridor until daybreak is haunting to read about.

A fast-paced chase scene on the highway ends Mourn the Hangman on an exciting, high note. While I wouldn’t recommend those unfamiliar with Whittington to start with it, for long-time fans it is very much worthwhile, even if it only makes us appreciate the strength of his other novels even more.

Those looking to learn more about Harry Whittington should head over to Pulp Originals and read this article by Jason Starr called “Harry Whittington: King of the Pulp Originals.” Who better to pay tribute to this underappreciated figure than Starr, himself one of the leading writers of contemporary crime fiction!

And, as always, my favorite excerpts from the novel.

“And then Blake pushed through the door to the street. The rain had let up now, but the night was chilled and wet. The music from the Palm Club juke box trailed after him. Love songs. Soft insinuating voices. Things like that, he thought, are for people who are still alive. Not for Blake. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to see Stella before him. There was no reality except the way she looked, sprawled on that divan.”

“As he strode into the bus station, he heard a siren wail in the night. Crying after the hurt and the dead. A lonely, empty sound.”

“He was pretty certain he saw the thick shadow of a man stroll past the sweated window of the restaurant. The cook was frying the steak at a griddle near him though and the aroma of the sizzling meat struck him. He made up his mind to eat this meal if he hung for it. Only, you don’t hang in Florida, he thought grimly, they lead you into a little room and cook you, the way that steak’s frying on that griddle.”

“He stood up, trying to keep the defeat from his face, trying to keep his aloneness from showing in the despairing sag of his bare, cold shoulders.”

“He knew it was going to hurt, standing there staring into his eyes. What’s worse than looking into your own eyes and knowing you’re alone and despised?”

“Blake decided there was no such thing as freedom, not on this earth, not any more. You meant something to somebody: taxes, labor, gain or knowledge.”

“I’m afraid of you because you’re a sneak. Not because you’re a man. If you tried to act like a man, I’d take that little gun away from you and beat your teeth out with it. But you’re not a man. You’re a sneak. A man with a gun is one thing. But a sneak with a gun is a hell of another thing.”

“A gun cracked behind them. It sounded thin and harmless in the rushing wind. But Blake knew. It wasn’t harmless. Terravasi wasn’t the only goon who’d been taught to use a gun by Arrenhower’s money.”

“The tin car was moving again. It had eyes like a deadly beetle in the darkness behind them.”