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By Shepard Rifkin

The box was mailed to the police commissioner himself.
The wrapping was ordinary brown paper.
The box was five inches long, two inches wide and one inch deep.
It looked ideal for mailing a wristwatch.
But there was no watch in it.
Just a finger.
A lady’s finger.
The police lab turned up traces of anesthetic.
So the lady was probably alive.
Detective Sergeant Pablo Sanchez was presented with a pretty problem.
Where was the rest of the lady?

A great story of crime and detection in the tradition of Dashiell Hammett and Alfred Hitchcock.

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