The Naked Face (7 page)

The rest of the afternoon went by swiftly. Judd saw the few patients he had not been able to cancel. When the last one had departed, he took out the tape of Harrison Burke's last session and played it, making occasional notes as he listened. When he had finished, he switched the tape recorder off. There was no choice. He had to call Burke's employer hi the morning and inform him of Burke's condition. He glanced out of the window and was surprised to see that night had fallen. It was almost eight o'clock. Now that he had finished concentrating on his work, he suddenly felt stiff and tired. His ribs were sore and his arm had begun to throb. He would go home and soak in a nice hot bath. He put away all the tapes except Burke's, which he locked in a drawer of a side table. He would turn it over to a court-appointed psychiatrist. He put on his overcoat and was halfway out the door when the phone rang. He went to the phone and picked it up. 'Dr. Stevens.' There was no answer on the other end. He heard breathing, heavy and nasal. 'Hello?' There was no response. Judd hung up. He stood there a moment, frowning. Wrong number, he decided. He turned out the office lights, locked the doors, and moved towards the bank of elevators. All the tenants were long since gone. It was too early for the night shift of maintenance workers, and except for Bigelow, the watchman, the building was deserted. Judd walked over to the elevator and pressed the call button. The signal indicator did not move. He pressed the button again. Nothing happened. And at that moment all the lights in the corridor blacked

Judd stood in front of the elevator, the wave of darkness lapping at him like a physical force. He could feel his heart slow and then begin to beat faster. A sudden, atavistic fear flooded his body, and he reached in his pockets for a book of matches. He had left them in the office. Perhaps the lights were working on the floors below. Moving slowly and cautiously, he groped his way towards the door that led to the stairwell. He pushed the door open. The stairwell was in darkness. Carefully holding onto the railing, he started down into the blackness. In the distance below, he saw the wavering beam of a flashlight moving up the stairs. He was filled with sudden relief. Bigelow, the watchman. 'Bigelow!' he yelled. 'Bigelow! It's Dr. Stevens!' His voice bounced against the stone walls, echoing eerily through the stairwell. The figure holding the flashlight kept climbing silently, inexorably upward 'Who's there?' Judd demanded. The only answer was the echo of his words. And Judd suddenly knew who was there. His assassins. There had to be at least two of them. One bad cut off the power in the basement while the other blocked the stairs to prevent his escape. The beam of the flashlight was coming closer, only two or three floors below now, climbing rapidly. Judd's body went cold with fear. His heart began to pound like a triphammer, and his legs felt weak. He turned quickly and went back up the stairs to bis floor. He opened the door and stood, listening. What if someone were waiting up here in the dark corridor for him? The sounds of the footsteps advancing up the stairs were louder now. His mouth dry, Judd turned and made his way along the inky corridor. When he reached the elevators, he began counting office doors. As he reached his office, he heard the stairwell door open. The keys slipped from his nervous fingers and dropped to the floor. He fumbled for them frantically, found them, opened the door to his reception room, and went in, double-locking the door behind him. No one could open it now without a special key. From the corridor outside, he could hear the sound of approaching footsteps. He went into his private office and nicked the light switch. Nothing happened. There was no power at all in the building. He locked die inner door, then moved to the phone. He fumbled for the dial and dialled the operator. There were three long, steady rings, and then the operator's voice, Judd's only link to the outside world. He spoke softly. 'Operator, this is an emergency. This is Dr. Judd Stevens. I want to speak to Detective Frank Angeli at the Nineteenth Precinct. Please hurry!' 'Thank you. Your number please?' Judd gave it to her. 'One moment, please.' He heard the sound of someone testing the corridor entrance to his private office. They could not get in that way because there was no outside knob on the door. 'Hurry, Operator!* 'One moment, please,' replied the cool, unhurried voice. There was a buzz on the line and then the police switchboard operator spoke. 'Nineteenth Precinct.' Judd's heart leaped. 'Detective Angeli. he said. 'It's urgent!' 'Detective Angeli... - just a moment, please.' Outside in the corridor, something was happening. He could hear the sound of muted voices. Someone had joined the first man. What were they planning? A familiar voice came on tlie phone. 'Detective Angeli's not here. This is his partner, Lieutenant McGreavy. Can�' 'This is Judd Stevens. I'm in my office. The lights are all out and someone's trying to break in and kill me !' There was a heavy silence on the other end. 'Look, Doctor,' said McGreavy. 'Why don't you come down here and we'll talk a--' 'I can't come down there.' Judd almost shouted. 'Someone's trying to murder me!' There was another silence at the other end of the line. McGreavy did not believe him and was not going to help him. Outside, Judd heard a door open, and then the sound of voices in the recepdon office. They were in the reception office! It was impossible for them to have got in without a key. But he could hear them moving, coming towards the door to his private office. McGreavy's voice was coming over the phone, but Judd didn't even listen. It was too late. He replaced the receiver. It would not have mattered even if McGreavy had agreed to come. The assassins were here! Life is a very thin thread and it only takes a second to snap it. The fear that gripped him turned to a blind rage. He refused to be slaughtered like Hanson and Carol. He was going to put up a fight. He felt around in the dark for a possible weapon. An ashtray... a letter opener ... useless. The assassins would have guns. It was a Kafka nightmare. He was being condemned for no reason by faceless executioners. He heard them moving closer to the inner door and knew that he only had a minute or two left to live. With a strange, dispassionate calm, as though he were his own patient, he examined bis final thoughts. He thought of Anne, and a sense of aching loss filled him. He thought of his patients, and of how much they needed him. Harrison Burke. With a pang he remembered that he had not yet told Burke's employer that Burke had to be committed. He would put the tapes where they could be... His heart lurched. Perhaps he did have a weapon to fight with! He heard the doorknob turning. The door was locked, but it was flimsy. It would be simple for them to break in. He quickly groped his way in the dark to the table where he had locked away Burke's tape. He heard a creak as pressure was applied against the reception-room door. Then he heard someone fumbling at the lock. Why don't they just break it down? he thought. Somewhere, far back in his mind, he felt the answer was important, but he had no time to think about it now With trembling fingers he unlocked the drawer with the tape in it. He ripped it out of its cardboard container, then moved over to the tape player and started to thread it. It was an outside chance, but it was the only one he had. He stood there, concentrating, trying to recall his exact conversation with Burke. The pressure on the door increased. Judd gave a quick, silent prayer. 'I'm sorry about the power going out,' he said aloud. 'But I'm sure they'll have it fixed in a few minutes, Harrison. Why don't you lie down and relax?' The noise at the door suddenly ceased. Judd had finished threading the tape into the player. He pressed the 'on' button. Nothing happened. Of course. All the power in the building was off. He could hear them begin to work on die lock again. A feeling of desperation seized him. 'That's better,' he said loudly. 'Just make yourself comfortable.' He fumbled for the packet of matches on the table, found it, tore out a match and lit it. He held the name close to the tape player. There was a switch marked 'battery'. He turned the knob, then pressed the 'on' button again. At that moment, there was a sudden click as the lock on the door sprung open. His last defence was gone! And then Burke's voice rang through the room. 'Is that all you've got to say? You don't even want to hear my proof. How do I know you're not one of them?' Judd froze, not daring to move, bis heart roaring like thunder. "You know I'm not one of them,' said Judd's voice from the tape. 'I'm your friend. I'm trying to help you ... Tell me about your proof.' 'They broke into my house last night,' Burke's voice said. 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.' The sounds in the outer office had ceased. Judd's voice again. 'Did you report the break-in to the police?' '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 odier people around, so I stay in crowds.' 'I'm glad you gave me this information.' 'What are you going to do with it?' 'I'm listening very carefully to everything you say,' said Judd's voice. 'I've got it all down' � at that moment a warning screamed in Judd's brain; the next words were - 'on tape.'

He made a dive for the switch and pressed it. '�in my mind,' Judd said loudly. 'And well work out the best way to handle it.' He stopped. He could not play the tape again because he had no way of telling where to pick it up. His only hope was that the men outside were convinced that Judd had a patient in the office with him. Even if they believed it, would it stop them? 'Cases like this,' Judd said, raising his voice, 'are really more common than you'd believe, Harrison.' He gave an impatient exclamation. 'I wish they'd get these lights back on. I know your chauffeur's waiting out in front for you. Hell probably wonder what's wrong and come up.' Judd stopped and listened. He could hear whispering from the other side of the door. "What were they deciding? From the distant street below, he suddenly heard the insistent wail of an approaching siren. The whispering stopped. He listened for the sound of the outer door closing, but he could hear nothing. Were they still out there, waiting? The scream of the siren grew louder. It stopped in front of the building. And suddenly all the lights went on.

'Drink?' McGreavy shook his head moodily, studying Judd. Judd poured himself his second stiff scotch while McGreavy watched without comment. Judd's hands were still trembling. As the warmth of the whisky floated through him, he felt himself beginning to relax. McGreavy had arrived at the office two minutes after the lights had come on. With him was a stolid police sergeant who now sat making notes in a shorthand notebook. McGreavy was talking. 'Let's go over it once more, Dr. Stevens.' Judd toolt a deep breath and began again, deliberately keeping his voice calm and low. 'I locked the office and went to the elevator. The corridor lights blacked out. I thought that the lights on the lower floors might be working, and I started to walk down.' Judd hesitated, reliving the fear. 'I�saw someone coming up the stairs with a flashlight. I called out I thought it was Bigelow, the guard. It wasn't.' 'Who was it?' 'I've told you,' said Judd. 'I don't know. They didn't answer.' 'What made you think they were coming to kill you?' An angry retort came to Judd's lips, and he checked it. It was essential to make McGreavy believe him. They followed me back to my office.' 'You think there were two men trying to kill you?' 'At least two,' Judd said. 'I heard them whispering.' 'You said that when you entered your reception office, you locked the outside door leading to the corridor. Is that right?' 'Yes.' 'And that when you came into your inner office, you locked the door leading to the reception office.' 'Yes.' McGreavy walked over to the door leading from the reception office to Judd's inner office. 'Did they try to force this door?' 'No,' admitted Judd. He remembered how puzzled he had been by that. 'Right,' said McGreavy. 'When you lock the reception-office door that opens onto the corridor, it takes a special key to open it from the outside.' Judd hesitated. He knew what McGreavy was leading up to. 'Yes.' 'Who had the keys to that lock?* Judd felt his face reddening. 'Carol and I.' McGreavy's voice was bland. 'What about the cleaning people? How did they get in?' 'We had a special arrangement with them. Carol came in early three mornings a week and let them in. They were finished before my first patient arrived.' 'That seems inconvenient. Why couldn't they get into these offices when they cleaned all the other offices?' 'Because the files I keep in here are of a highly confidential nature. I prefer the inconvenience to having strangers in here when no one is around.' McGreavy looked over at the sergeant to make sure he was getting it all down. Satisfied, he turned back to Judd. 'When we walked into the reception office, the door was unlocked. Not forced-unlocked.' Judd said nothing. McGreavy went on. 'You just told us that the only ones who had a key to that lock were you and Carol. And we have Carol's key. Think again, Dr. Stevens. Who else had a key to that door?' 'Then how do you suppose those men got in?' And Judd suddenly knew. “They made a copy of Carol's key when they killed her.' 'It's possible.' conceded McGreavy. A bleak smile touched his lips. 'If they made a copy, we'll find paraffin traces on her key. I'll have the lab run a test.' Judd nodded. He felt as though he had scored a victory, but his feeling of satisfaction was short-lived. 'So the way you see it,' McGreavy said, 'two men - well assume for the moment there's no woman involved - had a key copied so they could get into your office and kill you. Right?' 'Right,' said Judd. 'Now you said that when you went into your office, you locked the inner door. True?' 'Yes,' Judd said. McGreavy's voice was almost mild. ”But we found that door unlocked, too,' 'They must have had a key to it' 'Then after they got it open, why didn't they kill you?' 'I told you. They heard the voices on the tape and�' 'These two desperate killers went to all the trouble to knock out the lights, trap you up here, break into your office - and then just vanished into thin air without harming a hair of your head?' His voice was filled with contempt. Judd felt cold anger rising in him. "What are you implying?' 'I'll spell it out for you. Doctor. I don't think anyone was here and I don't believe anyone tried to kill you.' 'You don't have to take my word for it,' Judd said angrily. 'What about the lights? What about the night watchman, Bigelow?' 'He's in the lobby.' Judd's heart missed a beat. 'Dead?' 'He wasn't when he let us in. There was a faulty wire in the main power switch. Bigelow was down in the basement trying to fix it. He got it working just as I arrived.' Judd looked at him numbly. 'Oh,' he said finally. 'I don't know what you're playing at, Dr. Stevens,' McGreavy said, 'but from now on, count me out.' He moved towards the door. 'And do me a favour. Don't call me again. I'll call you.' The sergeant snapped his notebook shut and followed McGreavy out. The effects of the whisky had evaporated. The euphoria had gone, and he was left with a deep depression. He had no idea what his next move should be. He was on the inside of a puzzle that had no key. He felt like the boy who cried 'wolf, except that the wolves were deadly, unseen phantoms, and every time McGreavy came, they seemed to vanish. Phantoms or ... There was one other possibility. It was so horrifying that he couldn't bring himself to even acknowledge it. But he had to. He had to face the possibility that he was a paranoiac. A mind that was overstressed could give birth to delusions that seemed totally real. He had been working too hard. He had not had a vacation in years. It was conceivable that the deaths of Hanson and Carol could have been the catalyst that had sent his mind over some emotional precipice so that events became enormously magnified and out of joint. People suffering from paranoia lived in a land where everyday, commonplace things represented nameless terrors. Take the car accident. If it had been a deliberate attempt to kill him, surely the driver would have got out and made sure that the job was finished. And the two men who had come here tonight. He did not know that they had guns. Would a paranoiac not assume that they were there to kill him? It was more logical to believe that they were sneak thieves. When they had heard the voices in his inner office, they had fled. Surely, if they were assassins, they would have opened the unlocked door and killed him. How could he find out the truth? He knew it would be useless to appeal to the police again. There was no one to whom he could turn. An idea began to form. It was born of desperation, but the more he examined it. the more sense it made. He picked up the telephone directory and began to rifle through the yellow pages.