The Naked Face (3 page)

On the windy, deserted street in front of Judd's office building, McGreavy told Angeli to drive Judd home. Tve got an errand to do,' McGreavy said. He turned to Judd. 'Goodnight, Doctor' Judd watched the huge, lumbering figure move down the street. 'Let's go,' Angeli said. 'I'm freezing.' Judd slid into the front seat beside Angeli, and the car pulled away from the kerb. 'I've got to go tell Carol's family,' Judd said. 'We've already been over there.' Judd nodded wearily. He still wanted to see them himself, but it could wait. There was a silence. Judd wondered what errand Lieutenant McGreavy could have at this hour of the morning. As though reading his thoughts, Angeli said, 'McGreavy's a good cop. He thought Ziffren should have got the electric chair for killing his partner,' 'Ziffren was insane.' Angeli shrugged. 'I'll take your word for it, Doctor.' But McGreavy hadn't, Judd thought He turned his mind to Carol and remembered her brightness and her affection and her deep pride in what she was doing, and Angeli was speaking to him and he saw that they had arrived at his apartment building. Five minutes later Judd was in his apartment. There was no question of sleep. He fixed himself a brandy and carried it into the den. He remembered the night Carol had strolled in here, naked and beautiful, rubbing her warm, lithe body against his. He had acted cool and aloof because he had known that that was the only chance he had of helping her. But she had never known what willpower it had taken for him to keep from making love to her. Or had she? He raised his brandy glass and drained it.

The city morgue looked tike all city morgues at three o'clock in the morning, except that someone had placed a wreath of mistletoe over the door. Someone, thought McGreavy, who had either an overabundance of holiday spirit or a macabre sense o� humour. McGreavy had waited impatiently in the corridor until the autopsy was completed. When the coroner waved to him, he walked into the sickly-white autopsy room. The coroner was scrubbing his hands at the large white sink. He was a small, birdlike man with a high, chirping voice and quick, nervous movements. He answered all of McGreavy's questions in a rapid, staccato manner, then fled. McGreavy remained there a few minutes, absorbed in what he had just learned. Then he walked out into the freezing night air to find a taxi. There was no sign of one. The sons of bitches were all vacationing in Bermuda. He could stand out here until his ass froze off. He spotted a police cruiser, flagged it down, showed his identification to the young rookie behind the wheel, and ordered him to drive him to the Nineteenth Precinct. It was against regulations, but what the hell. It was going to be a long night.

When McGreavy walked into the precinct, Angeli was waiting for him. “They just finished the autopsy on Carol Roberts,' McGreavy said. 'And?' 'She was pregnant,' Angeli looked at him in surprise. 'She was three months gone. A little late to have a safe abortion, and a little early to show.' 'Do you think that had anything to do with her murder?' That's a good question,' McGreavy said 'If Carol's boyfriend knocked her up and they were going to get married anyway - what's the big deal? So they get married and have the kid a few months later. It happens every day of the week. On the other hand, if he knocked her up and he didn't want to marry her - that's no big deal, either. So she has the baby and no husband. That happens twice every day of the week.' 'We talked to Chick. He wanted to marry her.' 'I know,' replied McGreavy. 'So we have to ask ourselves where that leaves us. It leaves us with a coloured girl who's pregnant. She goes to the father and tells him about it, and he murders her.' 'He'd have to be insane.' 'Or very foxy. I vote for foxy. Look at it this way: supposing Carol went to the father and broke the bad news and told him she wasn't going to have an abortion; she was going to have his baby. Maybe she used it to try to blackmail him into marrying her. But supposing he couldn't marry her because he was married already. Or maybe he was a white man. Let's say a well-known doctor with a fancy practice. H a thing like this ever got out, it would ruin him. Who the hell would go to a headshrinker who knocked up his coloured receptionist and had to marry her?' 'Stevens is a doctor.' said Angeli. There are a dozen ways he could have killed her without arousing suspicion.' 'Maybe,' McGreavy said. 'Maybe not If there was any suspicion and it could be traced back to him, he'd have a hard dme getting out of it. He buys poison - someone has a record of it He buys a rope or a knife - they can be traced. But look at this cute little setup. Some maniac comes in for no reason and murders his receptionist and he's the grief-stricken employer demanding that the police find the killer.' 'It sounds like a pretty flimsy case.' 'I'm not finished Let's take bis patient, John Hanson. Another senseless killing by this unknown maniac. I'll tell you something, Angeli. I don't believe in coincidences. And two coincidences like that in one day make me nervous. So I asked myself what connection there could be between the death of John Hanson and Carol Roberts, and suddenly it didn't seem so coincidental, after all. Suppose Carol walked into his office and broke the bad news that he was going to be a daddy. They had a big fight and she tried to blackmail him. She said he had to marry her, give her money - whatever. John Hanson was waiting in the outer office, listening. Maybe Stevens wasn't sure he had heard anything until he got on the couch. Then Hanson threatened him with exposure. Or tried to get him to sleep with him.' 'That's a lot of guesswork.' ”But it fits. When Hanson left, the doctor slipped out and fixed him so he couldn't talk. Then he had to come back and get rid of Carol. He made it look like some maniac did the job, then he stopped by to see Mrs. Hanson, and took a ride to Connecticut. Now his problems are solved. He's sitting pretty and the police are running their asses ofi searching for some unknown nut.' 'I can't buy it,' Angeli said. 'You're trying to build a murder case without a shred of concrete evidence.' “What do you call ”concrete“?' McGreavy asked. 'We've got two corpses. One of them is a pregnant lady who worked for Stevens. The other is one of his patients, murdered a block from his office. He's coming to him for treatment because he's a homosexual. When I asked to listen to his tapes, he wouldn't let me. Why? Who is Dr. Stevens protecting? I asked him if anyone could have broken into his office looking for something. Then maybe we could have cooked up a nice theory that Carol caught them and they tortured her to try to find out where this mysterious something was. But guess what? There is no mysterious something. His tapes aren't worth a tinker's damn to anybody. He had no drugs in the office. No money. So we're looking for some goddamn maniac. Right? Except that I won't buy it. I think we're looking for Dr. Judd Stevens.' 'I think you're out to nail him,' said Angeli quietly. McGreavy's face flushed with anger. ”Because he's as guilty as hell.' 'Are you going to arrest him?' 'I'm going to give Dr. Stevens some rope,' McGreavy said. 'And while he's hanging himself, I'm going to be digging into every little skeleton in his closet. When I nail him, he's going to stay nailed.' McGreavy turned and walked out. Angeli looked after him thoughtfully. If he did nothing, there was a good chance that McGreavy would try to railroad Dr. Stevens. He could not let that happen. He made a mental note to speak to Captain Bertelli in the morning.

The morning newspapers headlined the sensational torture murder of Carol Roberts. Judd was tempted to have his telephone exchange call his patients and cancel his appointments for the day. He had not gone to bed, and his eyes felt heavy and gritty. But when he reviewed the list of patients, he decided that two of them would be desperate if he cancelled; three of them would be badly upset; the others could be handled. He decided it was better to continue with his normal routine, partly for his patients' sake, and partly because it was good therapy for him to try to keep his mind off what had happened, Judd arrived at his office early, but already the corridor was crowded with newspaper and television reporters and photographers. He refused to let them in or to make a statement, and finally managed to get rid of them. He opened the door to his inner office slowly, filled with trepidation. But the blood-stained rug had been removed and everything else had been put back in place. The office looked normal. Except that Carol would never walk in here again, smiling and full of life. Judd heard the outer door open. His first patient had arrived. Harrison Burke was a distinguished-looking silver-haired man who looked like the prototype of a big business executive, which he was: a vice-president of the International Steel Corporation. When Judd had first seen Burke, he had wondered whether the executive had created his stereotyped image, or whether the image had created the executive. Some day he would write a book on face values; a doctor's bedside manner, a lawyer's flamboyance in a courtroom, an actress's face and figure � these were the universal currencies of acceptance: the surface image rather than the basic values. Burke lay down on the couch, and Judd turned his attention to him. Burke had been sent to Judd by Dr. Peter Hadley two months ago. It had taken Judd ten minutes to ascertain that Harrison Burke was a paranoiac with tendencies towards homicide. The morning headlines had been full of a murder that had taken place in this office the night before, but Burke never mentioned it. That was typical of his condition. He was totally immersed in himself. 'You didn't believe me before,' Burke said, 'but now I've got proof that they're after me.' 'I thought we had decided to keep an open mind about that, Harrison,' Judd replied carefully. 'Remember yesterday we agreed that the imagination could play�' 'It isn't my imagination,' shouted Burke. He sat up, his fists clenched. They're trying to kill me!' 'Why don't you lie down and try to relax?' Judd suggested soothingly. Buike got to his feet. 'Is that all you've got to say? You don't even want to hear my proof!' His eyes narrowed. “How do I know you're not one of them?' ”You know I'm not one of them,' Judd said. 'I'm your friend. I'm trying to help you.' He felt a stab of disappointment. The progress he had thought they were making over the past month had completely eroded away. He was looking now at the same terrified paranoiac who had first walked into his office two months ago. <>Burke had started with International Steel as a mail boy. In twenty-five years his distinguished good looks and his affable personality had taken him almost to the top of the corporate ladder. He had been next in line for the presidency. Then, four years ago, his wife and three children had perished in a fire at their summer home in Southampton. Burke had been in the Bahamas with his mistress. He had taken the tragedy harder than anyone realized. Reared as a devout Catholic, he was unable to shake off his burden of guilt He began to brood, and he saw less of his friends. He stayed home evenings, reliving the agonies of his wife and children burning to death while, in another part of his mind, he lay in bed with his mistress. It was like a motion picture that he ran over and over in his mind. He blamed himself completely for the death of his family. If only he had been there, he could have saved them. The thought became an obsession. He was a monster. He knew it and God knew it Surely others could see itl They must hate him as he hated himself. People smiled at him and pretended sympathy, hut all the while diey were waiting for him to expose himself, waiting to trap him. But he was too cunning for them. He stopped going to the executive dining-room and began to have lunch in the privacy of his office. He avoided everyone as much as possible. Two years ago, when the company had needed a new president, they had passed over Harrison Burke and had hired an outsider. A year later the post of executive vice-president had opened up, and a man was given the job over Burke's head. Now he had all the proof he needed that there was a conspiracy against him. He began to spy on the people around him. At night he hid tape recorders in the offices of other executives. Six months ago he had been caught. It was only because of his long seniority and position that he was not fired. Trying to help him and relieve some of the pressure on him, the president of the company began to cut down on Burke's responsibilities. Instead of helping, it convinced Burke more than ever that they were out to get him. They were afraid of him because he was smarter than they were. H he became president, they would all lose their jobs because tkey were stupid fools. He began to make more and more mistakes. When these errors were called to his attention, he indignantly denied having made them. Someone was deliberately changing his reports, altering the figures and statistics, trying to discredit him. Soon he realized that it was not only the people in the company who were after him. There were spies outside. He was constantly followed in the streets. They tapped his telephone line, read his mail. He was afraid to eat, lest they poison his food. His weight began to drop alarmingly. The worried president of the company arranged an appointment for him with Dr. Peter Hadley and insisted that Burke keep it. After spending half an hour with him, Dr. Hadley had phoned Judd. Judd's appointment book was full, but when Peter had told him how urgent it was, Judd reluctantly agreed to take him on. Now Harrison Burke lay supine on the damask-covered contour couch, his fists clenched tighdy at his sides. 'Tell me about your proof.' 'They broke into my house last night They came to kill me. But I was too clever for them. I sleep in my den now and I have extra locks on all the doors so they can't get to me.' 'Did you report the break-in to the police?' Judd asked. 'Of course not! The police are in it with them. They have orders to shoot me. But they wouldn't dare do it while there are people around, so I stay in crowds.' 'I'm glad you gave me this information,' Judd said. 'What are you going to do with it?' Burke asked eagerly. 'I'm listening very carefully to everything you say,' Judd said. He indicated the tape recorder. Tve got it all down on tape so if they do kill you, we'll have a record of the conspiracy.' Burke's face lit up. 'By God, that's good! Tapel That'll really fix them!' 'Why don't you lie down again?' Judd suggested. Burke nodded and slid onto the couch. He closed his eyes. 'I'm tired. I haven't slept in months. I don't dare close my eyes. You don't know what it's like, having everybody after you.' Don't I?� He thought of McGreavy. 'Didn't your houseboy hear anyone break in?' Judd asked. 'Didn't I tell you?' Burke replied. 'I fired him two weeks ago.' Judd quickly went over in his mind his recent sessions with Harrison Burke. Only three days ago Burke had described a fight he had had that day with his houseboy. So his sense of time had become disoriented. 'I don't believe you mentioned it,' Judd said casually. 'Are you sure it was two weeks ago that you let him go?' 'I don't make mistakes,' snapped Burke. “How the hell do you think I got to be vice-president of one of the biggest corporations in the world? Because I've got a brilliant mind, Doctor, and don't forget it.' 'Why did you fire him?' 'He tried to poison me.' 'How?' 'With a plate of ham and eggs. Loaded with arsenic* 'Did you taste it?' Judd asked. 'Of course not,' Burke snorted. 'How did you know it was poisoned?' 'I could smeli the poison.' 'What did you say to him?' A look of satisfaction came over Burke's face. 'I didn't say anything. I beat the shit out of him.' A feeling of frustration swept over Judd. Given time, he was sure he could have helped Harrison Burke. But time had run out. There was always the danger in psychoanalysis that under the venting of free-flow association, the thin veneer of the it could blow wide open, letting escape all the primitive passions and emotions that huddled together in the mind like terrified wild beasts in the night. The free verbalizing was the first step in treatment. In Burke's case, it had boomeranged. These sessions had released all the latent hostilities that had been locked in his mind. Burke had seemed to improve with each session, agreeing with Judd that there was no conspiracy, that he was only overworked and emotionally exhausted. Judd had felt that he was guiding Burke to a point where they could begin deep analysis and start to attack the root of the problem. But Burke had been cunningly lying all along. He had been testing Judd, leading him on to try to trap him and find out whether he was one of them. Harrison Burke was a walking time bomb that could explode at any second There was no next of kin to notify. Should Judd call the president of the company and tell him what he felt? If he did, it would instantly destroy Burke's future. He would have to be put away in an institution. Was he right in his diagnosis that Burke was a potentially homicidal paranoiac? He would like to get another opinion before he called, but Burke would never consent. Judd knew he would have to make the decision alone. 'Harrison, I want you to make me a promise,' Judd said. ”What kind of promise?'Burke asked warily. 'If they are trying to trick you, then they want you to do something violent so they can have you locked up ... But you're too smart for that No matter how they provoke you, I want you to promise me that you won't do anything to them. That way, they can't touch you.'