Ellery Queen. The Best of Suspense

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Lieutenant Randall telephoned me on Tuesday, catching me in my cell-sized office at the public library just after I’d finished lunch.

“Hal?” he said. “How come you’re not out playing patty-cake with the book borrowers?” Randall still resents my leaving the police department to become a library detective — what he calls a “sissy cop.” Nowadays my assignments involve nothing more dangerous than tracing stolen and overdue books for the public library.

I said, “Even a library cop has to eat, Lieutenant. What’s on your mind?”

“Same old thing. Murder.”

“I haven’t killed anyone for over a week,” I said.

His voice took on a definite chill. “Somebody killed a young fellow we took out of the river this morning. Shot him through the head. And tortured him beforehand.”

“Sorry,” I said. I’d forgotten how grim it was to be a Homicide cop. “Tortured, did you say?”

“Yeah. Cigar burns all over him. I need information, Hal.”

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