Sidney Sheldon - The Naked Face

“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.”

“Yes?” He hated the eagerness in his voice.

“This man who killed McGreavy’s old partner…”

“Ziffren.”

“Was he really insane?”

“Yes. They sent him to the Matteawan State Hospital for mentally ill criminals.”

“Maybe he blames you for having him put away. I’ll check him out. Just to make sure he hasn’t escaped or been released. Give me a call in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Judd said gratefully.

“It’s my job. If you’re involved in any of this, I’m going to help McGreavy nail you.” Angeli turned to go. He stopped again. “You don’t have to mention to McGreavy that I’m checking on Ziffren for you.”

“I won’t.”

The two men smiled at each other. Angeli left. Judd was alone again.

If the situation was bleak that morning it was even bleaker now. Judd knew that he would already have been arrested for murder except for one thing—McGreavy’s character. McGreavy wanted vengeance and he wanted it so badly that he would make sure that every last bit of evidence was in place. Could the hit-and-run have been an accident? There had been snow on the street, and the limousine could have accidentally skidded into him. But then, why had the headlights been off? And where had the car come from so suddenly?

He was convinced now that an assassin had struck—and would strike again. With that thought, he fell asleep.

Early the next morning Peter and Norah Hadley came to the hospital to see Judd. They had heard about the accident on the morning news.

Peter was Judd’s age, smaller than Judd and painfully thin. They had come from the same town in Nebraska and had gone through medical school together.

Norah was English. She was blond and chubby with a large, soft bosom a bit too large for her five feet three inches. She was vivacious and comfortable, and after five minutes’ conversation with her, people felt they had known her forever.

“You look lousy,” Peter said, studying Judd critically.

“That’s what I like, Doctor. A bedside manner.” Judd’s headache was almost gone and the pain in his body had been reduced to a dull, aching soreness.

Norah handed him a bouquet of carnations. “We brought you some flowers, love,” she said. “You poor old darling.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“How did it happen?” asked Peter.

Judd hesitated. “It was a hit-and-run accident.”

“Everything hit the fan at once, didn’t it? I read about poor Carol.”

“It’s dreadful,” said Norah. “I liked her so much.”

Judd felt a tightness in his throat. “So did I.”

“Any chance of catching the bastard who did it?” Peter asked.

“They’re working on it.”

“In this morning’s paper it said that a Lieutenant McGreavy is close to making an arrest. Do you know anything about it?”

“A little,” Judd said dryly. “McGreavy likes to keep me up to date.”

“You never know how wonderful the police are until you really need them,” Norah said.

“Dr. Harris let me take a look at your X rays. Some nasty bruises—no concussion. You’ll be out of here in a few days.”

But Judd knew he had no time to spare.

They spent the next half hour in small talk, carefully avoiding the subject of Carol Roberts. Peter and Norah were unaware that John Hanson had been a patient of Judd’s. For some reason of his own, McGreavy had kept that part of the story out of the newspapers.