John Bude, Death on the Riviera

John Bude, Death on the Riviera
British Library Crime Classics
Poisoned Pen Press
ISBN 978-1-4642-0569-9
Also available as an ebook

Inspector Meredith and Sergeant Strang get sent to the Riviera to help break up a counterfeiting ring; the suspected "artist" is an Englishman with a history.  The book becomes complicated, with cigarette smuggling and with what appears to be a sub-plot involving the inhabitants of a villa owned by the wealthy Mrs. Hedderwick. 

One thing of interest is that in 1952 English tourists heading for France were apparently permitted to take only ₤5 in English currency to the Continent.  According to this source (http://www.bankofengland.co.uk/archive/Documents/historicpubs/qb/1967/qb67q3245260.pdf ), "The main object of exchange control in this country was to conserve and increase the gold and foreign currency reserves."  In the book, the allowable amount is given as ₤5, but in the source I noted above, it's given as ₤25 per year for an adult.  Even as late as 1969, we get this, from a debate in the Commons:  "I beg to move. ‘That the £50 travel limit is unworthy of Great Britain and should be abolished....' It is an obstruction to one of the dearest freedoms of the British people, namely, our ancient freedom to travel and to move amongst other peoples and in other countries where and when we want. It should never have been reimposed in 1966, 21 years after the end of the last war and seven years after it had been abolished. It is bad on every count, and should be removed forthwith."  Which suggests that the restrictions had continued until at least 1959 before being reimposed in 1966.  

But to revert to the book.  It's well-written (Bude was a popular author, who died quite young in 1957, at age 56), and mostly well-structured.  There is a sub-plot involving a painter (artist, not house), which sort of disappears without any resolution.  The death of the title, however, does not occur until at least 2/3 of the way through the book, and, somewhat to my dismay, seems to have been committed by  one of the more sympathetic characters in the book.  I suppose that's just the way it goes sometimes.

This is part of the British Library Crime Classics series, curated by Martin Edwards.  It's well worth seeking out.

Copycat photoblogging redux

Once again, I tag along with Chris Bertram; he has a lovely street scene in San Francisco; I have a street scene in Paris (from 2000.)

Parnell Hall, Presumed Puzzled

Parnell Hall, Presumed Puzzled
St. Martin’s Press/A Minotaur Book, 2016
ISBN 9781259061232
Also available as an ebook

The 17th book featuring Clara Fenton. a/k/s The Puzzle Lady, famous for her syndicated series of crossword puzzles and, lately sudoku puzzles.  And frequently, she has found herself involved in murder, always involving either crossword puzzles or sudoku, or both.  And, of course, any mystery fan will immediately see the reference made in the title.

In this case, a participant  in Clara's occasional bridge foursome, Paula Martindale, becomes concerned because her husband (Roger) failed to come home (to a small Connecticut town) from work (in NYC),  She tries to file a missing persons report, which the chief of police won't accept because he hasn't been missing long enough.  He does, however, ask Clara to see if she can discover anything of interest.  The next day, following up, the chief and Clara go to the Martindale house, find the door open, and Clara enters while the chies is ringing the doorbell, to discover Roger on the living room rug, bleeding.  Paula stumbles in, clutching a bloody knife.  Not surprisingly, she is arrested for murder. 

Local lawyer Becky Baldwin, defending her, also Clara (who has a rep) to do some investigation.  One thing follows another before we get to a fairly convoluted conclusion.  Hall usually does courtroom scenes very well; here, I think he falls below his normal standard.  Also, for most of the book, I had the impression that the Martindales were considerably younger than Clara, which turns out to be incorrect, and important to the plot.  As we get to the denouement, there were a couple of developments that I thought were obvious points for investigation, or at least mention, which are ignored.  One of these does, in fact, feature in Clara’s solution of the crime.

Hall writes well, the book moves smoothly along, and is an easy afternoon or evening read.  Not, perhaps, one of his best books in what is not (for me) his best series, but worth the time.

Phil Ochs

40   years ago, on April 9, 1976, Phil Ochs committed suicide.  When I heard the news, one of his songs came immediately into my head.  This one.

*************************************

No More Songs
Phil Ochs

Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody home?
I've only called to say, I'm sorry
The drums are in the dawn and all the voices gone
And it seems that there are no more songs

Once I knew a girl, she was a flower in a flame
I loved her as the sea sings sadly
Now the ashes of the dream, can be found in the magazines
And it seems that there are no more songs

Once I knew a sage, who sang upon the stage
He told about the world, his lover
A ghost without a name, stands ragged in the rain
And it seems that there are no more songs

The rebels they were here, they came beside the door
They told me that the moon was bleeding
Then all to my surprise, they took away my eyes
And it seems that there are no more songs

A star is in the sky, it's time to say goodbye
A whale is on the beach, he's dying
A white flag in my hand and a white bone in the sand
And it seems that there are no more songs

Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody home?
I've only called to say, I'm sorry
The drums are in the dawn and all the voices gone
And it seems that there are no more songs

It seems that there are no more songs

It seems that there are no more songs

*****************************

I wish he were still with us.

Robert Harris, Enigma

Robert Harris, Enigma
 Ballantine Books. 1996 (originally published 1995
ISBN-10: 0804115486
ISBN-13: 978-0804115483

The first 3/4 of Enigma is a good, taut novel set in Bletchley Park during World War II.  The depiction of the deciphering process, and of the lives of the people there and in England generally, is solid and compelling.  Then, in the last 100 pages, it tears your heart out.  I can't, really say anything more than that.  It is the best book I have read so far this year.

Edgar Wallace, The Daffodil Mystery

Edgar Wallace, The Daffodil Mystery
Originally published  in 1920.
Currently available as an ebook and from used book sellers.

I read positive comments on this book and, realizing that it was available (free) as an ebook, and noting that I had never read a book by Edgar Wallace, I decided to give it a shot.

Thomas Lyne, owner (through inheritance) of a major retail establishment in London, has asked Jack Tarling (English, but famous for his work as a detective in China) to investigate a possible on-going embezzlement in his firm.  However, when Tarling arrives, Lyne instead asks him to find evidence that Odette Rider has been stealing from the firm.  (His actual suspicions are of the day-to-day manager of the firm, Milburgh.)  Tarling turns him down.  In rather quick order, Lyne is found dead in a London park and Rider has apparently vanished.

The story moves smoothly and quickly between a number of incidents, and, although Rider’s innocence might seem to be clear, things may not be as they seem.  In fact, there might be good reason to think Tarling himself is the killer—it was his gun, and he just happens to be Lyne’s cousin and heir.  (Can you say coincidence?  I thought you could.)

This is the first of Wallace’s books I have read, and it may have been a bad starting point.  When we reach the denouement, the actual culprit is uncovered, it is not as a result of Tarling’s efforts, or those of Scotland Yard.  The killer, for reasons we need not go into here, is suspected by no one of Lyne’s murder.  And his confession is, essentially a death-bed confession (frankly, a cheap way to resolve things).  I’d prefer my detectives actually to detect something.

Parnell Hall, A Fool for a Client

Parnell Hall, A Fool for a Client
Pegasus, 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1605988832

This is Parnell Hall’s 42^nd mystery novel—19 featuring PI/accident investigator Stanley Hastings, 17 “Puzzle Lady” books, and 6 cases handled by actor-turned-attorney Steve Winslow.  The first two series are still active (a “Puzzle Lady” book has been published in 2016), while the most recent Winslow book dates to 1993 (which is too bad; I love the Winslow books).  I had no idea that Parnell had been this productive--42 books in  29 years, maintaining a consistent level of quality throughout.

Hastings works as an accident investigator for personal injury lawyer Richard Rosenberg, who might be the king of New York City personal injury lawyers.  And while the injury cases are Stanley’s way of making a living, things keep coming up, things that involve murder.  This time, Rosenberg’s girlfriend has been murdered, and Rosenberg is the prime suspect.  She died around midnight, and he left her apartment shortly enough before midnight that he’s in the picture. 

The girlfriend is a clerk in the courtroom of a judge handling a very complex, very tedious financial case.  And what’s happening there may—or may not—be tied somehow into her death.

Hastings’ homicide cop friend—McAulliffe—is not handling the murder; Sgt. Thurman, who hates Hastings, and Rosenberg, is.  And Thurman, while honest, is not a particularly skilled investigator.  And Rosenberg finds himself charged, and defending himself (he’s the lawyer with a fool for a client).  For a change, Stanley does not approach his investigations on behalf of Rosenberg entirely haphazardly, although his wife (Alice) does continue to point out his shortcomings as an investigator.  The best parts of the book, for me, are Rosenberg’s cross-examinations,  In particular one of them involving the time of death.

While the denouement seems a bit forced—and a lot rushed—this is a fun book to read.  (Despite its 200+ pages, it’s an easy afternoon’s reading.)  Not a great book, or a great PI series, it’s satisfying and provided me, at least, with a good deal of pleasure.