We are 30 pages into Dead Man Control (1936) when the case is sealed up beyond any doubt: a millionaire shot dead in his study, the door locked and bolted on the inside, his new, much younger wife unconscious on the floor (her fingerprints on the gun, too), no hiding places, and freshly fallen snow on all the window-ledges to preclude the clandestine exit of anyone else who could have been present.  Clearly the wife dunnit, and everyone can go home early today.  So therefore Inspector Christopher McKee has to be summoned back to New York from his holiday in England because…er, it looks too easy?  And as he investigates, secrets there was no reason to suspect begin to spill out…

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