The Corpse That Never Was

Mike Shayne finds strange secrets hidden beneath the cover of a grisly double suicide

It's 10:30 pm, and Mike Shayne is sipping cognac, ruminating on the perfection of Lucy Hamilton's fried chicken, when a shotgun fires upstairs. Following the acrid stench of gunpowder to a locked door halfway down the hall, Shayne has no choice but to batter it down, tumbling face first into the scene of a particularly ugly double suicide. The woman lies on the floor in the middle of the sitting room, h...