The Benson Murder Case

 The Benson Murder Case (1926) by S. S. Van Dine

Based very loosely on the (unsolved) true crime murder of  Joseph Brown Elwell in 1920. Elwell, a bridge expert, was found shot to death in his locked home and, like Benson in this novel, was not wearing the toupee which covered his bald head (and his vanity). 

Alvin Benson, a financial man in partnership with his brother Major Anthony Benson, is found shot through the forehead while sitting in his favorite chair in the living room. A book is still clasped in his hand. The house was locked up tight and only Benson and his housekeeper have keys. It's not surprising to find a lady's handbag and gloves on the mantle--Benson was well-known for his pursuit of the fairer sex. So, District Attorney John F. X. Markham naturally assumes it's a case of cherche la femme. But, after examining the room and the dead man, Philo Vance, dilettante and aspiring amateur sleuth, declares that no woman could have committed the crime. He convinces Markham and once the owner of the purse is found the DA decides that her fiance, having taken exception to the attentions of Benson towards his beloved, decided to rid the world of a scoundrel. Vance, of course, shoots that theory down too. Before long, it seems that every viable suspect is ruled out. Could it be that nobody did it?

Once upon a time, I discovered Philo Vance. If I remember correctly, it was in the treasure trove that was the Owen Public Library in my first year of marriage. For a town of about 2500, that library had the most amazing collection of vintage mysteries and it introduced me to the likes of S. S. Van Dine, Elizabeth Daly, Edmund Crispin, and many others that I've since hunted down for my very own vintage mystery library. But back to Vance. I discovered him and loved him and hunted down every one of his cases.

So...I needed a metallic/glittery book for a reading challenge and, having picked this one up in the last year or so, I thought it would fit the bill. Honest to goodness, Vance is the most irr'tatin', wordy fellow ever. Why use one word when you could use a whole paragraph of fancy words with sporadically miss'n letters, dontcha know? Older Bev must have a lot less patience for this type of thing than younger Bev. And Markham must have the patience of Job to put up with this sort of thing on the regular. And what makes it all the worse is that a HUGE portion of the book is devoted to talk--and Vance talking most of the time. There is very little actual action here. It's all Vance giving his ideas about things OR Vance & Markham interviewing suspects. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.

SPOILER ahead!!!!!!

What saves the book is the plot. Figuring out who killed Benson and why is pretty interesting. After making Markham listen to him build up plausible cases against everyone who has been on the top of the suspect list, Vance twists everything around to show how someone who hasn't even really been considered and who seems to have the classic iron-clad alibi could have done it. And--by the way--actually did. The mystery is good enough...I just wish I had enjoyed Vance more this time around. ★★★

First Line: It happened  that, on the morning of the momentous June the fourteenth when the discovery of the murdered body of Alvin H. Benson created a sensation which, to this day has not entirely died away, I had breakfasted with Philo Vance in his apartment.

He [Vance] spent considerable time at his clubs: his favorite was the Stuyvesant, because, as 

he explained to me, its mentorship was drawn largely from the political and commercial ranks, and he was never drawn into a discussion that required any mental effort (p. 23)

"Y' know, Markham, our so-called civ'lization is nothing more than the persistent destruction of everything that's beautiful and enduring, and the designing of cheap makeshifts....Look at that fine old door, for instance, with its bevelled panels and bolection, and its Ionic pilasters and carved lintel. And then compare it with the flat. flimsy, machine-made, shellacked boards which are turned out by the thousands today." (Vance; p. 265)

Last Line: And the remark, though intended merely as a good-natured sally, proved strangely prophetic.
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Deaths = one shot