Sidney Sheldon - The Naked Face

Loud laughter.

“You got a shot of aspirin or somethin’?”

“Certainly. Is it one of your bad headaches?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, old buddy… Thanks. That’ll do the trick.”

“What do you think brings these headaches on?”

“Just normal show-biz tension… We have our script reading this afternoon.”

“Does that make you nervous?”

“Me? Hell, no! What have I got to be nervous about? If the jokes are lousy, I make a face, wink at the audience, an’ they eat it up. No matter how bad the show is, little old Skeet comes out smelling like a rose.”

“Why do you think you have these headaches every week?”

“How the fuck do I know? You’re supposed to be a doctor. You tell me. I don’t pay you to sit on your fat ass for an hour asking stupid questions. Jesus Christ, if an idiot like you can’t cure a simple headache, they shouldn’t let you be running around loose, messing up people’s lives. Where’d you get your medical certificate? From a veterinarian school? I wouldn’t trust my fuckin’ cats with you. You’re a goddam quack! The only reason I came to you in the first place was because Sally shitted me into it. It was the only way I could get her off my back. Do ya know my definition of Hell? Bein’ married to an ugly, skinny nag for fifteen years. If you’re lookin’ for some more suckers to cheat, take on her two idiot brothers, Ben an’ Charley. Ben, my head writer, doesn’t know which end of the pencil has the lead in it, an’ his brother’s even stupider. I wish they’d all drop dead. They’re out to get me. You think I like you? You stink! You’re so goddam smug, sitting there looking down on everybody. You haven’t got any problems, have you? Do you know why? Because you’re not for real. You’re out of it. All you do is sit on your fat keester all day long an’ steal money from sick people. Well, I’m gonna get you, you sonofabitch. I’m gonna report you to the AMA…”

Sobbing.

“I wish I didn’t have to go to that goddam reading.”

Silence.

“Well—keep your pecker up. See ya next week, sweetie.”

Judd switched off the recorder. Skeet Gibson, America’s most beloved comedian, should have been institutionalized ten years ago. His hobbies were beating up young, blond showgirls and getting into barroom brawls. Skeet was a small man, but he had started out as a prizefighter, and he knew how to hurt. One of his favorite sports was going into a gay bar, coaxing an unsuspecting homosexual into the men’s room, and beating him unconscious. Skeet had been picked up by the police several times, but the incidents had always been hushed up. After all, he was America’s most lovable comic. Skeet was paranoid enough to want to kill, and he was capable of killing in a fit of rage. But Judd did not think he was cold-blooded enough to carry out this kind of planned vendetta. And in that, Judd felt certain, lay the key to the solution. Whoever was trying to murder him was doing it not in the heat of any passion, but methodically and cold-bloodedly. A madman.

Who was not mad.

Chapter Eleven

THE PHONE RANG. It was his answering service. They had been able to reach all his patients except Anne Blake. Judd thanked the operator and hung up.

So Anne was coming here today. He was disturbed at how unreasonably happy he was at the thought of seeing her. He must remember that she was only coming by because he had asked her to, as her doctor. He sat there thinking about Anne. How much he knew about her…and how little.

He put Anne’s tape on the tape recorder and listened to it. It was one of her first visits.

“Comfortable, Mrs. Blake?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Relaxed?”

“Yes.”

“You’re clenching your fists.”

“Perhaps I am a little tense.”

“About what?”

A long silence.

“Tell me about your home life. You’ve been married six months.”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

“I’m married to a wonderful man. We live in a beautiful house.”

“What kind of house is it?”

“Country French…It’s a lovely old place. There’s a long, winding driveway leading to it. High up on the roof there’s a funny old bronze rooster with its tail missing. I think some hunter shot it off a long time ago. We have about five acres, mostly wooded. I go for long walks. It’s like living in the country.”

“Do you like the country?”

“Very much.”

“Does your husband?”

“I think so.”

“A man doesn’t usually buy five acres in the country un less he loves it.”

“He loves me. He would have bought it for me. He’s very generous.”

“Let’s talk about him.”

Silence.

“Is he good-looking?”

“Anthony’s very handsome.”

Judd felt a pang of unreasonable, unprofessional jealousy.

“You’re compatible physically?” It was like a tongue probing at a sore tooth.

“Yes.”

He knew what she would be like in bed: exciting and feminine and giving. Christ, he thought, get off the subject.

“Do you want children?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Does your husband?”

“Yes, of course.”

A long silence except for the silky rustling of the tape. Then:

“Mrs. Blake, you came to me because you said you had a desperate problem. It concerns your husband, doesn’t it?”

Silence.

“Well, I’m assuming it does. From what you told me earlier, you love each other, you’re both faithful, you both want children, you live in a beautiful home, your husband is successful, handsome, and he spoils you. And you’ve only been married six months. I’m afraid it’s a little like the old joke: ‘What’s my problem, Doctor?’”

There was silence again except for the impersonal whir ring of the tape. Finally she spoke. “It’s…it’s difficult for me to talk about. I thought I could discuss it with a stranger, but”—he remembered vividly how she had twisted around on the couch to look up at him with those large, enigmatic eyes—”it’s harder. You see”—she was speaking more rapidly now, trying to overcome the barriers that had kept her silent—” I overheard something and I—I could easily have jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“Something to do with your husband’s personal life? Some woman?”

“No.”

“His business?”

“Yes…”

“You thought he lied about something? Tried to get the better of someone in a deal?”

“Something like that.”

Judd was on surer ground now. “And it upset your confi dence in him. It showed you a side of him that you had never seen before.”

“I—I can’t discuss it. I feel disloyal to him even being here. Please don’t ask me anything more today, Dr. Stevens.”

And that had ended that session. Judd switched off the tape.

So Anne’s husband had pulled a sharp business deal. He could have cheated on his taxes. Or forced someone into bankruptcy. Anne, naturally, would be upset. She was a sen sitive woman. Her faith in her husband would be shaken.

He thought about Anne’s husband as a possible suspect. He was in the construction business. Judd had never met him, but whatever business problem he was involved in could not, by any stretch of the imagination, have included John Hanson, Carol Roberts, or Judd.

What about Anne herself? Could she be a psychopath? A homicidal maniac? Judd leaned back in his chair and tried to think about her objectively.

He knew nothing about her except what she had told him. Her background could have been fictitious, she could have made it all up, but what would she have to gain? If this was some elaborate charade as a cover to murder, there had to be a motivation. The memory of her face and her voice flooded his mind, and he knew that she could have nothing to do with any of this. He would stake his life on it. The irony of the phrase made him grin.