There's a guy going around attacking women late at night, slashing their faces and their handbags. Police psychiatrist Kent Smith catches the case.
It's based on an Evan Hunter novel, his second 87th Precinct novel writen under his Ed McBain pen name. It's a slow procedural, but Kent Smith's calm presence and the expanding circle of characters and the suddenness of the clue revealing whodunnit make it less than a perfect mystery. Still, the shooting in actual New York City locations makes it worthwhile, as does the cast, including Dick O'Neill, James Franciscus, and Renee Taylor.
William Berke's last directorial effort is obviously a cheap affair, and half the characters sound like they've taken elocution lessons from Sheldon Leonard, but there are visual sparks in the movie, particularly the sequence that starts in a Turkish bath and ends with Smith and suspect Arthur Storch running from a crap game. Berke's career wasn't going anywhere in particular when he died at the age of 55 the year of this release. He'd started out in B westerns, and had never gotten an A budget in a quarter of a century, but he liked to give the audience some value for money.
