Dead Man Control

I hope I haven't kept you waiting. Yes, this is the crime club. I'm the librarian. Dead man control. Yes, we have that crime club story for you. Come right over. You're here.

Good. Take the easy chair by the window. Comfortable? The book is on this shelf, Dead Man Control, by Helen Riley, the very absorbing story of a murder in which Cupid held the hand of death.

Let's look at it under the reading lamp. It was late morning, and in the library of a mansion on E. 67th Street, multi-millionaire Fennimore Kingston was standing before the wall safe he had just opened.

He smiled. And then as he reached in, two hours later, Inspector Christopher McKee was in his office of police headquarters on Center Street when the telephone rang. Inspector McKee talking, homicide, bro. Good morning. This is Catherine Kingston.

Yes? Mrs. Fennamol Kingston. Oh, yes? Seven. All right, I'll be there in 20 minutes. Saturday, order my car. We're going up down. Yes, sir. And how are you? And don't stop to ask about anybody's health.

I'm in a hurry. He's gone, Mrs. Kingston. Well, Inspector. As soon as I saw that open wall saver, I thought my husband had been killed by a burglar. Mm-hmm. So, while I was waiting for you, I checked the contents.

The money in the bonds were still there. But... Yes. The diamond ring that Fennemol gave me after our wedding three months ago. Let's go. That wouldn't be the well-publicized Kingston diamond, would it? It would, Inspector.

And it's worth a half a million dollars. Yes, but the cash on those negotiable bonds. I cannot stand why they weren't taken to. Early unusual thief, to say the least. Where were you when the miracle happened?