Nothing More Than Murder (1949) is a pulp psychological thriller knocked out by Thompson at the height of US film noir. It is begging to be adapted by Chandler and directed by Fritz Lang with either Robert Ryan or Sterling Hayden in the lead. It even has a movie house setting.
Joe Wilmot, a former juvenile delinquent, has built up a thriving picture house in the town of Stoneville. Ok, he got the premises by marrying the heiress of local bigwigs but he built it up, saw off the competition and negotiated his way through the bewildering and wildly corrupt picture distribution business. Joe's wife, Elizabeth, has a habit of bringing home strays, the latest of whom is a pubescent Plain Jane called Carol Farmer. Inevitably Joe and Carole have a fling. Inevitably Elizabeth finds out. She wants out - more importantly she wants half the value of the business.
A murder plot is concocted whereby they will lure a housekeeper to Stoneville. Carol kill her and they will burn the woman's body in a fire in the garage where Joe stores and rewinds and checks his films. Joe will then claim on Elizabeth's life insurance and mail her the lot.
It sounds like the perfect murder. Of course there's no such thing. Suspicion falls on Joe, Carol gets clingy, Joe tries to scam his way out of the jam, only to fall victim to the several scams of others. Thompson could concoct this sort of story in his sleep. He keeps it short and punchy and the reader is happy to tag along for the ride. It's not Thompson at his very best - King Blood is my favourite - but it's still miles better than most of his rivals.
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