REVIEWED BY TONY BAER:

   

JONATHAN LATIMER – Headed for a Hearse. Bill Crame #2. Doubleday Crime Club, hardcover, 1935. Sun Dial Press, hardcover, 1937, as The Westland Case [photoplay edition]; Gregg Press, hardcover, 1980 [introduction by William L. DeAndrea]. Paperback reprints: Mercury Mystery #38, 1940s, abridged [digest-sized]; Century #136, 1950; Jonathan Press Mystery J-84, 1950s, abridged [digest-sized]; Dell #D196 [Dell Great Mystery Library #6], 1957, abridged; Macfadden, 1964; IPL, 1990. American Mystery Classics, softcover, 2022. <B>Filmed</B>as The Westland Case,  Universal, 1937, with  Preston Foster  as Bill Crane, Carol Hughes, Barbara Pepper, Frank Jenks as Doc Williams), Astrid Allwyn, George Meeker, Theodore von Eltz. Director: Christy Cabanne. Screenwriter: Robertson White.

   I’ve now read all five of the Bill Crane novels, albeit completely out of order. I’m pretty confident in saying that this one, Crane’s second outing, is clearly the best of them. It may even be the best medium boiled detective novel ever  — at least that I’ve encountered.

   It’s got everything and it’s tightly plotted in a manner I had no idea Latimer, at least in his Crane books, was capable of.

   It starts out with a Chicago death row inmate, Westland, scheduled to get the chair in six days for killing his wife.

   The murder victim was found in a locked room, her keys next to her, and Westland the only other one with keys. There’s no other plausible entrance than the locked door. She was shot with a service era Webley, a rare gun one of which is owned by Westland. But it’s been missing since the murder. He was convicted on circumstantial evidence. But the electricity in the chair doesn’t care.

   So Crane gets called in. And he tries really hard to keep it together thru the first half of the novel. But the fun really starts begin when his dipsomania kicks in. Drunk to the point of near incoherence on a combo of bourbon, absinthe and gin, three days prior to electrocution, he’s finally in fine form. He’s hilarious (‘she’s no mercenary — she belongs to a much older profession than that’), and booze is to Crane’s wiles what spinach is to Popeye’s biceps.

   Crane starts methodically, but even (and especially) in his drunken inspiration, he dances circles around the cops and criminals alike. He really is, as is his wont to bray, a ‘great detective’.

   He picks the lock to the locked room mystery, and in the nick of time.

   It nicked my time too, keeping me up til 3 am last night to see what happens. Which never happens. Like Crane, I need my sleep. And when I sacrifice my precious sleep to finish a book that’s got 100 pages left — lemme tell ya: the thing is good. It’s funny, it’s tough, and it’s a real honest to goodness mystery with a detective that actually detects — not just a bull in a china shop hoping serendipity strikes. But that too.

   So, like I said, the thing’s got everything. And it’s tight. It works. It’s really good. So there you go.