The Naked Face (4 page)

He had tried to explain to her how impossible his schedule was, that he simply was unable to take on any new patients. He offered to recommend half a dozen good analysts. But Anne had quietly insisted that she wanted him to treat her. In the end Judd had agreed. Outwardly, except for the fact that she appeared to be under some stress, she seemed perfectly normal, and he was certain that her problem would be a relatively simple one, easily solved. He broke his rule about not taking any patient without another doctor’s recommendation, and he gave up his lunch hour in order to treat Anne. She had appeared twice a week for the past three weeks, and Judd knew very little more about her than he had known when she first came in. He knew something more about himself. He was in love—for the first time since Elizabeth.

At their first session, Judd had asked her if she loved her husband, and hated himself for wanting to hear her say that she did not. But she had said, “Yes. He’s a kind man, and very strong.”

“Do you think he represents a father figure?” Judd had asked.

Anne had turned her incredible violet eyes on him. “No. I wasn’t looking for a father figure. I had a very happy home life as a child.”

“Where were you born?”

“In Revere, a small town near Boston.”

“Are both your parents still alive?”

“Father is alive. Mother died of a stroke when I was twelve.”

“Did your father and mother have a good relationship?”

“Yes. They were very much in love.”

It shows in you,
thought Judd happily. With all the sickness and aberration and misery that he had seen, having Anne here was like a breath of April freshness.

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“No. I was an only child. A spoiled brat.” She smiled up at him. It was an open, friendly smile without guile or affectation.

She told him that she had lived abroad with her father, who was serving in the State Department, and when he had remarried and moved to California, she had gone to work at the UN as an interpreter. She spoke fluent French, Italian, and Spanish. She had met her future husband in the Bahamas when she was on vacation. He owned a construction firm. Anne had not been attracted to him at first, but he had been a persistent and persuasive suitor. Two months after they met, Anne had married him. She had now been married for six months. They lived on an estate in New Jersey.

And that was all Judd had been able to find out about her in half a dozen visits. He still had not the slightest clue as to what her problem was. She had an emotional block about discussing it. He remembered some of the questions he had asked her during their first session.

“Does your problem involve your husband, Mrs. Blake?”

No answer.

“Are you and your husband compatible, physically?”

“Yes.” Embarrassed.

“Do you suspect him of having an affair with another woman?”

“No. “ Amused.

“Are you having an affair with another man?”

“No.” Angry.

He hesitated, trying to figure out the best approach to take to break down the barrier. He decided on a buckshot technique: he would touch on every major category until he struck a nerve.

“Do you quarrel about money?”

“No. He’s very generous.”

“Any in-law problems?”

“He’s an orphan. My father lives in California.”

“Were you or your husband ever addicted to drugs?”

“No.”

“Do you suspect your husband of being homosexual?”

A low, warm laugh. “No.”

He pressed on, because he had to. “Have you ever had a sexual relationship with a woman?”

“No.” Reproachful.

He had touched on alcoholism, frigidity, a pregnancy she was afraid to face—everything he could think of. And each time she had looked at him with her thoughtful, intelligent eyes and had merely shaken her head. Whenever he tried to pin her down, she would head him off with, “Please be patient with me. Let me do it my own way.”

With anyone else, he might have given up. But he knew that he had to help her. And he had to keep seeing her.

He had let her talk about any subject she chose. She had traveled to a dozen countries with her father and had met fascinating people. She had a quick mind and an unexpected humor. He found that they liked the same books, the same music, the same playwrights. She was warm and friendly, but Judd could never detect the slightest sign that she reacted to him as anything other than a doctor. It was bitter irony. He had been subconsciously searching for someone like Anne for years, and now that she had walked into his life, his job was
to help her solve whatever her problem was and send her back to her husband.

Now, as Anne walked into the office, Judd moved to the chair next to the couch and waited for her to lie down.

“Not today,” she said quietly. “I just came to see if I could help.”

He stared at her, speechless for a moment. His emotions had been stretched so tight in the past two days that her unexpected sympathy unnerved him. As he looked at her, he had a wild impulse to pour out everything that was happening to him. To tell her about the nightmare that was engulfing him, about McGreavy and his idiotic suspicions. But he knew he could not. He was the doctor and she was his patient. Worse than that. He was in love with her, and she was the untouchable wife of a man he did not even know.

She was standing there, watching him. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I liked Carol so much,” said Anne. “Why would anyone kill her?”

“I don’t know,” said Judd.

“Don’t the police have any idea who did it?”

Do they!
Judd thought bitterly.
If she only knew.

Anne was looking at him curiously.

“The police have some theories,” Judd said.

“I know how terrible you must feel. I just wanted to come and tell you how very sorry I am. I wasn’t even sure you’d be in the office today.”

“I wasn’t going to come in,” Judd said. “But—well, here I am. As long as we’re both here, why don’t we talk a little about you?”

Anne hesitated. “I’m not sure that there’s anything to talk about any more.”

Judd felt his heart jump.
Please, God, don’t let her say that I’m not going to see her any more.

“I’m going to Europe with my husband next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” he made himself say.

“I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time, Dr. Stevens, and I apologize.”

“Please don’t,” Judd said. He found that his voice was husky. She was walking out on him. But of. course she couldn’t know that. He was being infantile. His mind told him this clinically while his stomach ached with the physical hurt of her going away. Forever.

She opened her purse and took out some money. She was in the habit of paying in cash after each visit, unlike his other patients, who sent him checks.

“No,” said Judd quickly. “You came here as a friend. I’m—grateful.”

Judd did something he had never done before with a patient. “I would like you to come back once more,” he said.

She looked up at him quietly. “Why?”

Because I can’t bear to let you go so soon,
he thought.
Because I’ll never meet anyone like you again. Because I wish I had met you first. Because I love you.
Aloud he said, “I thought we might—round things out. Talk a little to make sure that you really are over your problem.”

She smiled mischievously. “You mean you want me to come back for my graduation?”

“Something like that,” he said. “Will you do it?”

“If you want me to—of course.” She rose. “I haven’t given you a chance with me. But I know you’re a wonderful doctor. If I should ever need help, I’d come to you.”

She held out her hand and he took it. She had a warm, firm handclasp. He felt again that compelling current that ran between them and marveled that she felt nothing.

“I’ll see you Friday,” she said.

“Friday.”

He watched her walk out the private door leading to the
corridor, then sank into a chair. He had never felt so completely alone in his life. But he couldn’t sit here and do nothing. There had to be an answer, and if McGreavy wasn’t going to find it,
he
had to discover it before McGreavy destroyed him. On the dark side, Lieutenant McGreavy suspected him of two murders that he couldn’t prove he did not commit. He might be arrested at any moment, which would mean that his professional life would be destroyed. He was in love with a married woman he would only see once more. He forced himself to turn to the bright side. He couldn’t think of a single bloody thing.

THE REST OF THE DAY went by as though he were under water. A few of the patients made reference to Carol’s murder, but the more disturbed ones were so self-absorbed that they could think only of themselves and their problems. Judd tried to concentrate, but his thoughts kept drifting away, trying to find answers to what had happened. He would go over the tapes later to pick up what he had missed.

At seven o’clock, when Judd had ushered out the last patient, he went over to the recessed liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff scotch. It hit him with a jolt, and he suddenly remembered that he had not had any breakfast or lunch. The thought of food made him ill. He sank into a chair and thought about the two murders. There was nothing in the case histories of any of his patients that would cause someone to commit murder. A blackmailer might have tried to steal them. But blackmailers were cowards, preying on the weaknesses of others, and if Carol had caught one breaking in and he had killed her, it would have been done quickly, with a single blow. He would not have tortured her. There had to be some other explanation.

Judd sat there a long time, his mind slowly sifting the events of the past two days. Finally he sighed and gave it up. He looked at the clock and was startled to see how late it was.

By the time he left his office, it was after nine o’clock. As he stepped out of the lobby into the street, a blast of icy wind hit him. It had started to snow again. The snow swirled through the sky, gently blurring everything so that it looked as though the city had been painted on a canvas that had not dried and the paints were running, melting down skyscrapers and streets into watery grays and whites. A large red-and-white sign in a store window across the street on Lexington Avenue warned:

ONLY 6 SHOPPING DAYS ’TIL CHRISTMAS

Christmas. He resolutely turned his thoughts away from it and started to walk.

The street was deserted except for a lone pedestrian in the distance, hurrying home to his wife or sweetheart. Judd found himself wondering what Anne was doing. She was probably at home with her husband, discussing his day at the office, interested, caring. Or they had gone to bed, and…
Stop it!
he told himself.

There were no cars on the windswept street, so just before he reached the corner, Judd began to cross at an angle, heading toward the garage where he parked his car during the day. As he reached the middle of the street, he heard a noise behind him, and turned. A large black limousine without lights was coming toward him, its tires fighting for traction in the light powder of snow. It was less than ten feet away.
The drunken fool,
thought Judd.
He’s in a skid and he’s going to kill himself.
Judd turned and leaped back toward the curb and safety. The nose of the car swerved toward him, the car accelerating. Too late Judd realized the car was deliberately trying to run him down.

The last thing he remembered was something hard smashing against his chest, and a loud crash that sounded like thunder. The dark street suddenly lit up with bright Roman candles that seemed to explode in his head. In that split second of illumination, Judd suddenly knew the answer to everything. He knew why John Hanson and Carol Roberts had been murdered. He felt a sense of wild elation. He had to tell McGreavy. Then the light faded, and there was only the silence of the wet darkness.

From the outside, the Nineteenth Police Precinct looked like an ancient, weatherbeaten four-story school building: brown brick, plaster facade, and cornices white with the droppings of generations of pigeons. The Nineteenth Precinct was responsible for the area of Manhattan from Fifty-ninth Street to Eighty-sixth Street, from Fifth Avenue to the East River.

The call from the hospital reporting the hit-and-run accident came through the police switchboard a few minutes after ten and was transferred to the Detective Bureau. The Nineteenth Precinct was having a busy night. Because of the weather, there had been a heavy increase in rapes and muggings. The deserted streets had become a frozen wasteland where marauders preyed on the hapless stragglers who wandered into their territory.

Most of the detectives were out on squeals, and the Detective Bureau was deserted except for Detective Frank Angeli and a sergeant, who was interrogating an arson suspect.

When the phone rang, Angeli answered. It was a nurse who had a hit-and-run patient at the city hospital. The patient was asking for Lieutenant McGreavy. McGreavy had gone to the Hall of Records. When she gave Angeli the name of the patient, he told the nurse that he would be right over.

Angeli was hanging up the receiver as McGreavy walked in. Angeli quickly told him about the call. “We’d better get right over to the hospital,” Angeli said.

“He’ll keep. First I want to talk to the captain of the precinct where that accident occurred.”

Angeli watched as McGreavy dialed the number. He wondered whether Captain Bertelli had told McGreavy about his conversation with Angeli. It had been short and to the point.

“Lieutenant McGreavy is a good cop,” Angeli had said, “but I think he’s influenced by what happened five years ago.”

Captain Bertelli had given him a long, cold stare. “Are you accusing him of framing Dr. Stevens?”

“I’m not accusing him of anything, Captain. I just thought you should be aware of the situation.”

“Okay, I’m aware of it.” And the meeting was over.

McGreavy’s phone conversation took three minutes while McGreavy grunted and made notes and Angeli impatiently paced back and forth. Ten minutes later the two detectives were in a squad car on the way to the hospital.

Judd’s room was on the sixth floor at the end of a long, dreary corridor that had the sickly-sweet smell of all hospitals. The nurse who had phoned was escorting them to Judd’s room.

“What shape is he in, Nurse?” asked McGreavy.

“The doctor will have to tell you that,” she said primly. And then continued, compulsively. “It’s a miracle the man wasn’t killed. He has a possible concussion, some bruised ribs, and an injured left arm.”

“Is he conscious?” asked Angeli.

“Yes. We’re having a terrible time keeping him in bed.” She turned to McGreavy. “He keeps saying he has to see you.”

They walked into the room. There were six beds in the room, all occupied. The nurse indicated a bed at the far corner that was curtained off, and McGreavy and Angeli walked over to it and stepped behind the curtain.

Judd was in bed, propped up. His face was pale and there was a large adhesive plaster on his forehead. His left arm was in a sling.

McGreavy spoke. “I hear you had an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” said Judd. “Someone tried to kill me.” His voice was weak and shaky.

“Who?” asked Angeli.

“I don’t know, but it all fits in.” He turned to McGreavy. “The killers weren’t after John Hanson or Carol. They were after me.”

McGreavy looked at him in surprise. “What makes you think so?”

“Hanson was killed because he was wearing my yellow slicker. They must have seen me go into my building wearing that coat. When Hanson came out of my office wearing it, they mistook him for me.”

“That’s possible,” said Angeli.

“Sure,” said McGreavy. He turned to Judd. “And when they learned that they had killed the wrong man, they came into your office and tore your clothes off and found out you were really a little colored girl, and they got so mad they beat you to death.”

“Carol was killed because they found her there when they came to get me,” Judd said.

McGreavy reached in his overcoat pocket and took out some notes. “I just talked to the captain of the precinct where the accident happened.”

“It was no accident.”

“According to the police report, you were jaywalking.”

Judd stared at him. “Jaywalking?” he repeated weakly.

“You crossed in the middle of the street, Doctor.”

“There were no cars so I—”

“There
was
a car,” McGreavy corrected. “Only you didn’t see it. It was snowing and the visibility was lousy. You stepped out of nowhere. The driver put on his brakes, went into a skid, and hit you. Then he panicked and drove away.” “That’s not the way it happened and his headlights were off.”

“And you think
that’s
evidence that he killed Hanson and Carol Roberts?”

“Someone tried to kill me,” repeated Judd insistently.

McGreavy shook his head. “It won’t work, Doctor.”

“What won’t work?” asked Judd.

“Did you really expect me to start beating the bushes for some mythical killer while you take the heat off yourself?” His voice was suddenly hard. “Did you know your receptionist was pregnant?”

Judd closed his eyes and let his head sink back on the pillow. So that was what Carol had wanted to speak to him about. He had half-guessed. And now McGreavy would think…He opened his eyes. “No,” he said wearily. “I didn’t.”

Judd’s head began pounding again. The pain was returning. He swallowed to fight off the nausea that engulfed him. He wanted to ring for the nurse, but he was damned if he would give McGreavy the satisfaction.

“I went through the records at City Hall,” said McGreavy. “What would you say if I told you that your cute little pregnant receptionist had been a hooker before she went to work for you?” The pounding in Judd’s head was becoming steadily worse. “Were you aware f that, Dr. Stevens? You don’t have to answer. I’ll answer for you. You knew it because you picked her up in night court four years ago, when she was arrested on a charge of soliciting. Now isn’t it a little far-out
for a respectable doctor to hire a hooker as a receptionist in a high-class office?”

“No one is born a hooker,” said Judd. “I was trying to help a sixteen-year-old child have a chance at life.”

“And get yourself a little free black tail on the side?”

“You dirty-minded bastard!”

McGreavy smiled without mirth. “Where did you take Carol after you found her in night court?”

“To my apartment.”

“And she slept there?”

“Yes.”

McGreavy grinned. “You’re a beauty! You picked up a good-looking young whore in night court and took her to your apartment to spend the night. What were you looking for—a chess partner? If you really didn’t sleep with her, there’s a damn good chance you’re a homosexual. And guess who that ties you in with? Right. John Hanson. If you
did
sleep with Carol, then the chances are pretty good that you continued sleeping with her until you finally got her knocked up. And you have the gall to lie there and tell me some cock-and-bull story about a hit-and-run maniac who’s going around murdering people?” McGreavy turned and strode out of the room, his face red with anger.

The pounding in Judd’s head had turned to a throbbing agony.

Angeli was watching him, worried. “You all right?”

“You’ve got to help me,” Judd said. “Someone is trying to kill me.” It sounded like a threnody in his ears.

“Who’d have a motive for killing you, Doctor?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have any enemies?”

“No.”

“Have you been sleeping with anyone’s wife or girl friend?”

Judd shook his head and instantly regretted the motion.

“Is there any money in your family—relatives who might want to get you out of the way?”

“No.”

Angeli sighed. “OK. So there’s no motive for anyone wanting to murder you. What about your patients? I think you’d better give us a list so we can check them out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“All I’m asking for is their names.”

“I’m sorry.” It was an effort to speak. “If I were a dentist or a chiropodist I’d give it to you. But don’t you see? These people have problems. Most of them serious problems. If you started questioning them, you’d not only shatter them; you’d destroy their confidence in me. I wouldn’t be able to treat them any more. I can’t give you that list.” He lay back on the pillow, exhausted.

Angeli looked at him quietly, then asked, “What do you call a man who thinks that everyone’s out to kill him?”

“A paranoiac,” said Judd. He saw the look on Angeli’s face. “You don’t think I’m…?”

“Put yourself in my place,” Angeli said. “If I were in that bed right now, talking like you, and you were my doctor, what would you think?”

Judd closed his eyes against the stabs of pain in his head. He heard Angeli’s voice continue. “McGreavy’s waiting for me.”

Judd opened his eyes. “Wait…Give me a chance to prove that I’m telling the truth.”

“How?”

“Whoever’s trying to kill me is going to try again. I want someone with me. Next time they try, he can catch them.”

Angeli looked at Judd. “Dr. Stevens, if someone really wants to kill you, all the policemen in the world can’t stop them. If they don’t get you today, they’ll get you tomorrow.
If they don’t get you here, they’ll get you somewhere else. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a king or a president, or just plain John Doe. Life is a very thin thread. It only takes a second to snap it.”

“There’s nothing—nothing at all you can do?”

“I can give you some advice. Have new locks put on the doors of your apartment, and check the windows to make sure they’re securely bolted. Don’t let anyone in the apartment unless you know them. No delivery boys unless you’ve ordered the delivery yourself.”

Judd nodded, his throat dry and aching.

“Your building has a doorman and an elevator man,” continued Angeli. “Can you trust them?”

“The doorman has worked there for ten years. The elevator operator has been there eight years. I’d trust them with my life.”

Angeli nodded approvingly. “Good. Ask them to keep their eyes open. If they’re on the alert, it’s going to be hard for anyone to sneak up to your apartment. What about the office? Are you going to hire a new receptionist?”

Judd thought of a stranger sitting at Carol’s desk, in her chair. A spasm of helpless anger wracked him. “Not right away.”

“You might think about hiring a man,” said Angeli.

“I’ll think about it.”

Angeli turned to go, then stopped. “I have an idea,” he said hesitantly, “but it’s a longshot.”