The Composite Killer

Mystery House. Mystery House.

That strange publishing firm owned by Dan and Barbara Glenn, where each new novel is acted out by the Mystery House staff before the Zachcented for publication. Mystery House. Well, Barbie, I don't know that I understand the title of this story we're trying out for a Mystery House novel, is we?

You mean the Compize at Killer Dan? Yeah, does it refer to several different people who combine forces to commit a murder? No. Haven't you ever seen a Compize at Picture? Well, I'll be honest with you, I don't know.

Oh, of course you have. In the movie magazine. Well, I'm not a movie magazine reader. Detective stories are more in my line. Well, an artist takes maybe D'Ockilla Moore's eyes and the electricity snows and Anshard and Pear and Hedy Lamarr's ears, and they, David's mouth, puts them all together to make a composite picture

of someone who never existed. Well, I see what you mean Mrs. Glenn. The picture's a fake. Well, not exactly. Every part of it is true to life. But... But put together it doesn't spell truth.

Well, I'm a solid back man myself. I like authentic information. For example, listen to this. Okay, pleasure everybody. And set the scene for tonight's story with you, Tom. The composite killer.

Tonight's story opens in the office of Captain Hedges, police detective. A slender, aesthetic, gift cynical young man sits across the desk from the captain, sizing him up. I suppose you wonder why I asked the Chronicle to send an artist over to headquarters, Manny.

Mine, not to reason why, Mon Capitan? Where the Chronicle points its finger, there, go I. I have your papers yelling at us about not solving the Dorothy Lattaman murder. Don't tell me your sensitive, Mon Capitan.