“Helen Reilly’s stories of Inspector McKee are convincing because she has made a close study of the workings of the New York City Police Department and has always aimed at solving fictional crimes just as the police would go about solving real ones. ”—The New York Times
The Dead Can Tell
This is one of the best, if not the very best, of the McKee stories.”—The New York Times
“The letters forming the name ‘Sara Hazard’ and the word ‘murdered’ were in large caps.” The death of Sara Hazard, a Manhattan socialite, was first deemed an accidental drowning. The patch-work letter claimed otherwise and is sufficiently convincing to bring Inspector McKee on to the case.”
“Plenty of thrills and tense moments. Verdict: Enjoyable.”—The Saturday Review
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The Farmhouse
Miss Reilly again reveals her artistry by producing a tale in which terror and menace are well sustained and provide a congruous background for McKee to wind up one of his best cases to date.”—The New York Times
The shadow of a ruthless killer creeps over a quiet countryside as fear and suspense mount steadily and explode in a crashing climax.
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Name Your Poison
“The case is probably the most complicated one in McKee’s entire career. ... as neat a bit of detecting as McKee has ever done.”—The New York Times
As McKee follows the trail of a very ambitious poisoner, he finds the next victim on her way from a Connecticut mansion…stuffed in a trunk.
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Tell Her It's Murder
Recollection began to come back. It wasn’t a lumpy mattress he was lying on, it was a dead man—a man called Midnight Mike. ...
His pain-filled mind curled in terror. It threw him two years back in time—before he was sent to jail—to another black night. Only that time the body had belonged to a little boy, crushed and broken beneath Jim’s car. And Jim had been behind the wheel.
He’d been told about that first killing so often that he could almost see himself doing it. But Mike’s body beside him convinced Jim that he hadn’t killed the little boy. He hadn’t killed Mike tonight, either. It was only a matter of time before he remembered the crucial detail that would clear him of both murders. But time, like the blood that poured from his wounded head, was fast running out. …
