Sidney Sheldon - The Naked Face

“You mean these were just senseless crimes that he committed to—”

“Not senseless to him. On the contrary…” His mind raced ahead swiftly. Several more pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. He cursed himself for having been too blind, or frightened, to see them. “I’ m the only one Don Vinton has been after—the prime target. John Hanson was killed because he was mistaken for me. When the killer found out his mistake, he came to the office for another try. I had gone, but he found Carol there.” His voice was angry.

“He killed her so she couldn’t identify him?”

“No. The man we’re looking for isn’t a sadist. Carol was tortured because he wanted something. Say, a piece of in criminating evidence. And she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—give it to him.”

“What kind of evidence?” probed Angeli.

“I have no idea,” Judd said. “But it’s the key to this whole thing. Moody found out the answer, and that’s why they killed him.”

“There’s one thing that still doesn’t make sense. If they had killed you on the street, then they couldn’t have gotten the evidence. It doesn’t fit with the rest of your theory,” An geli persisted.

“It could. Let’s assume that the evidence is on one of my tapes. It might be perfectly harmless by itself, but if I put it together with other facts, it could threaten them. So they have two choices. Either take it away from me, or eliminate me so I can’t reveal it to anyone. First they tried to eliminate me. But they made a mistake and killed Hanson. Then they went to the second alternative. They tried to get it from Carol. When that failed, they decided to concentrate on kill ing me. That was the car accident. I was probably followed when I went to hire Moody, and he, in turn, was followed. When he got onto the truth, they murdered him.”

Angeli looked at Judd, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“That’s why the killer is not going to stop until I’m dead,” Judd concluded quietly. “It’s become a deadly game, and the man I’ve described can’t stand losing.”

Angeli was studying him, weighing what Judd had said. “If you’re right,” he said finally, “you’re going to need protection.” He took his service revolver out, flipped the chamber open to make sure it was fully loaded.

“Thanks, Angeli, but I don’t need a gun. I’m going to fight them with my own weapons.”

There was the sharp click of the outer door opening. “Were you expecting anyone?”

Judd shook his head. “No. I have no patients this afternoon.”

Gun still in hand, Angeli moved quietly to the door leading to the reception room. He stepped to one side and yanked the door open. Peter Hadley stood there, a bewildered expression on his face. “Who are you?” Angeli snapped.

Judd moved over to the door. “It’s all right,” Judd said quickly. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“Hey! What the hell goes?” asked Peter.

“Sorry,” Angeli apologized. He put his gun away.

“This is Dr. Peter Hadley—Detective Angeli.”

“What kind of nutty psychiatric clinic are you running here?” Peter asked.

“There’s been a little trouble,” Angeli explained. “Dr. Stevens’ office has been…burglarized, and we thought whoever did it might be returning.”

Judd picked up the cue. “Yes. They didn’t find what they were looking for.”

“Does this have anything to do with Carol’s murder?” Peter asked.

Angeli spoke before Judd could answer. “We’re not sure, Dr. Hadley. For the moment, the Department has asked Dr. Stevens not to discuss the case.”

“I understand,” Peter said. He looked at Judd. “Is our luncheon date still on?”

Judd realized he had forgotten about it. “Of course,” he said quickly. He turned to Angeli. “I think we’ve covered everything.”

“And then some,” Angeli agreed. “You’re sure you don’t want…” He indicated his revolver.

Judd shook his head. “Thanks.”

“OK. Be careful,” Angeli said.

“I will,” Judd promised. “I will.”

Judd was preoccupied during luncheon, and Peter did not press him. They talked of mutual friends, patients that they had in common. Peter told Judd he had spoken to Harrison Burke’s employer and it had been quietly arranged for Burke to have a mental examination. He was being sent to a private institution.

Over coffee Peter said, “I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re having, Judd, but if I can be of any help…”

Judd shook his head. “Thanks, Peter. This is something I have to take care of myself. I’ll tell you all about it when it’s over.”

“I hope that’s soon,” Peter said lightly. He hesitated. “Judd—are you in any danger?”

“Of course not,” replied Judd.

Unless you counted a homicidal maniac who had committed three murders and was determined to make Judd his fourth victim.

Chapter Fifteen

AFTER LUNCH, Judd returned to his office. He went through the same careful routine, checking to make sure that he exposed himself to minimum vulnerability.

For whatever that was worth.

He began going through the tapes again, listening for anything that might provide some clue. It was like turning on a torrent of verbal graffiti. The gusher of sounds that spewed forth was filled with hatred…perversion…fear…self-pity…megalomania…loneliness…emptiness…pain…

At the end of three hours he had found only one new name to add to his list: Bruce Boyd, the man with whom John Hanson had last lived. He put the Hanson tape on the recorder again.

“…I suppose I fell in love with Bruce the first time I saw him. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.”

“Was he the passive or dominant partner, John?”

“Dominant. That’s one of the things that attracted me to him. He’s very strong. In fact, later, when we became lovers, we used to quarrel about that.”

“Why?”

“Bruce didn’t realize how strong he really was. He used to walk up behind me and hit me on the back. He meant it as a loving gesture, but one day he almost broke my spine. I wanted to kill him. When he shook hands, he would crush your fingers. He always pretended to be sorry, but Bruce enjoys hurting people. He didn’t need whips. He’s very strong…”

Judd stopped the tape and sat there, thinking. The homosexual pattern did not fit into his concept of the killer, but on the other hand, Boyd had been involved with Hanson and was a sadist and an egotist.

He looked at the two names on his list: Teri Washburn, who had killed a man in Hollywood and had never mentioned it; and Bruce Boyd, John Hanson’s last lover. If it were one of them—which one?

Teri Washburn lived in a penthouse suite on Sutton Place. The entire apartment was decorated in shocking pink: walls, furniture, drapes. There were expensive pieces scattered around the room, and the wall was covered with French impressionists. Judd recognized two Manets, two Degas, a Monet, and a Renoir before Teri walked into the room. He had phoned her to tell her that he wanted to come by. She had gotten ready for him. She was wearing a wispy pink negligee with nothing on underneath it.

“You really came,” she exclaimed happily.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sure. A little drinkie?”

“No, thanks.”

“Then I think I’ll fix myself one to celebrate,” Teri said. She moved toward the coral-shell bar in the corner of the large living room.

Judd watched her thoughtfully.

She returned with her drink and sat next to him on the pink couch. “So your cock finally got you up here, honey,” she said. “I knew you couldn’t hold out on little Teri. I’m nuts about you, Judd. I’d do anything for you. You name it. You make all the crummy pricks I’ve known in my life look like dirt.” She put her drink down and put her hand on his trousers.