By Roger Torrey
Reno, 1938. A wide-open little city rife with an collection of gangster/politicians operating the playing, prostitution, dope, and, in fact, "easy divorce" rackets. San Francisco detective Shean Connell is employed to remedy a divorce case within the captivating burg, yet quickly unearths himself within the thick of a frame-up, after having the top of his ear shot off whereas viewing the divorcee's corpse within the neighborhood morgue!
Originally released via Hillman-Curl as a "Clue membership Mystery" in 1938, forty two Days for homicide used to be the single novel released via Black masks author Roger Torrey in the course of his lifetime. Torrey was once one of many "mystery men" of the masks (along with Paul Cain and several other others), in that little or no is understood approximately his existence, even though, like his inner most eye hero Shean Connell, he was once it sounds as if an inveterate gambler, alcoholic and barrel-house piano participant, and he supposedly died within the fingers of his mistress someplace in Florida within the overdue Nineteen Forties. In any occasion, he may possibly write a hell of a hard-boiled story, and aficionados of the style gets a kick out of this fast moving and complexly plotted novel.
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Additional resources for 42 Days for Murder
I can see why you love her, Douglas,” he said. ” It seemed like he was trying to tell me something, but I was afraid to ask what it was. BYRDIE It was sad to leave our cabin with the haint blue door and go live with Pap on his farm, even as much as I loved him. We still seen Grandmaw and the great-aunts but it wasn’t the same. Me and Mammy lived there on Pap’s farm until I was fifteen years old, when Grandmaw died. It was an awful time and after we buried her we got to where we couldn’t hardly stand Chickweed Holler and all the memories there.
Right away, I lost interest in the bones and reached out to touch the rock. Back then, Mark and I collected quartz. We called the shining chunks we found field diamonds, and this was the biggest one I’d ever seen. The field diamond was half buried and wouldn’t budge at first. The boy knelt to see what I was doing and soon he was helping me dig out the rock with his fingers. I grew afraid that he would try to claim the treasure since he had done some of the work, so I was determined to be the one who pulled it free.
She asked. I didn’t look up at her face. I already knew it, pale with slit eyes and a fuzzy ring of dun-colored hair. She sat in the desk next to mine staring at me all day. I looked at her shoes instead, mud-crusted brogans with the laces untied. They were probably hand-me-downs from her brother, a bone-thin boy who was always throwing up. There was a rumor that he needed surgery on his stomach but their parents couldn’t afford it. Tina’s father drew a disability check and her mother had run off with another man.
42 Days for Murder by Roger Torrey