Sidney Sheldon - The Naked Face

Judd stared at him incredulously. McGreavy took the coat from Angeli and turned it around so that Judd could see the large, ugly slash in the material. The back of the coat was covered with dull, henna-colored stains. A feeling of nausea swept over Judd.

“Who would want to kill him?”

“We were hoping that you could tell us, Dr. Stevens,” said Angeli. “Who’d know better than his psychoanalyst?”

Judd shook his head helplessly. “When did it happen?”

McGreavy answered. “Eleven o’clock this morning. On Lexington Avenue, about a block from your office. A few dozen people must have seen him fall, but they were busy going home to get ready to celebrate the birth of Christ, so they let him lie there bleeding to death in the snow.”

Judd squeezed the edge of the table, his knuckles white.

“What time was Hanson here this morning?” asked Angeli.

“Ten o’clock.”

“How long do your sessions last, Doctor?”

“Fifty minutes.”

“Did he leave as soon as it was over?”

“Yes. I had another patient waiting.”

“Did Hanson go out through the reception office?”

“No. My patients come in through the reception office and leave by that door.” He indicated the private door leading to the outside corridor. “In that way they don’t meet each other.”

McGreavy nodded. “So Hanson was killed within a few minutes of the time he left here. Why was he coming to see you?”

Judd hesitated. “I’m sorry. I can’t discuss a doctor-patient relationship.”

“Someone murdered him,” McGreavy said. “You might be able to help us find his killer.”

Judd’s pipe had gone out. He took his time lighting it again.

“How long had he been coming to you?” This time it was Angeli. Police teamwork.

“Three years,” Judd said.

“What was his problem?”

Judd hesitated. He saw John Hanson as he had looked that morning; excited, smiling, eager to enjoy his new freedom. “He was a homosexual.”

“This is going to be another one of those beauties,” McGreavy said bitterly.

“Was a homosexual,” Judd said. “Hanson was cured. I told him this morning that he didn’t have to see me any more. He was ready to move back in with his family. He has—had—a wife and two children.”

“A fag with a family?” asked McGreavy.

“It happens often.”

“Maybe one of his homo playmates didn’t want to cut him loose. They got in a fight. He lost his temper and slipped a knife in his boyfriend’s back.”

Judd considered. “It’s possible,” he said thoughtfully, “but I don’t believe it.”

“Why not, Dr. Stevens?” asked Angeli.

“Because Hanson hadn’t had any homosexual contacts in more than a year. I think it’s much more likely that someone tried to mug him. Hanson was the kind of man who would have put up a fight.”

“A brave married fag,” McGreavy said heavily. He took out a cigar and lit it. “There’s only one thing wrong with the mugger theory. His wallet hadn’t been touched. There was over a hundred dollars in it.” He watched Judd’s reaction.

Angeli said, “If we’re looking for a nut, it might make it easier.”

“Not necessarily,” Judd objected. He walked over to the window. “Take a look at that crowd down there. One out of twenty is, has been, or will be in a mental hospital.”

“But if a man’s crazy…?”

“He doesn’t have to necessarily appear crazy,” Judd explained. “For every obvious case of insanity there are at least ten cases undiagnosed.”

McGreavy was studying Judd with open interest. “You know a lot about human nature, don’t you, Doctor?”

“There’s no such thing as human nature,” Judd said. “Any more than there’s such a thing as animal nature. Try to average out a rabbit and a tiger. Or a squirrel and an elephant.”

“How long you been practicing psychoanalysis?” asked McGreavy.

“Twelve years. Why?”

McGreavy shrugged. “You’re a good-looking guy. I’ll bet a lot of your patients fall in love with you, huh?”

Judd’s eyes chilled. “I don’t understand the point of the question.”

“Oh, come on, Doc. Sure you do. We’re both men of the world. A fag walks in here and finds himself a handsome young doctor to tell his troubles to.” His tone grew confidential. “Now do you mean to say that in three years on your couch Hanson didn’t get a little hard-on for you?”

Judd looked at him without expression. “Is that your idea of being a man of the world, Lieutenant?”

McGreavy was unperturbed. “It could have happened. And I’ll tell you what else could have happened. You said you told Hanson you didn’t want to see him again. Maybe he didn’t like that. He’d grown dependent on you in three years. The two of you had a fight.”

Judd’s face darkened with anger.

Angeli broke the tension. “Can you think of anyone who had reason to hate him, Doctor? Or someone he might have hated?”

“If there were such a person,” Judd said, “I would tell you. I think I knew everything there was to know about John Hanson. He was a happy man. He didn’t hate anyone and I don’t know of anyone who hated him.”

“Good for him. You must be one helluva doctor,” McGreavy said. “We’ll take his file along with us.”

“No.”

“We can get a court order.”

“Get it. There’s nothing in that file that can help you.”

“Then what harm could it do if you gave it to us?” asked Angeli.

“It could hurt Hanson’s wife and children. You’re on the wrong track. You’ll find that Hanson was killed by a stranger.”

“I don’t believe it,” McGreavy snapped.

Angeli rewrapped the raincoat and tied the string around the bundle. “We’ll get this back to you when we run some more tests on it.”

“Keep it,” Judd said.

McGreavy opened the private door leading to the corridor. “We’ll be in touch with you, Doctor.” He walked out. Angeli nodded to Judd and followed McGreavy out.

Judd was still standing there, his mind churning, when Carol walked in. “Is everything all right?” she asked hesitantly.

“Someone killed John Hanson.”

“Killed him?”

“He was stabbed,” Judd said.

“Oh my God! But why?”

“The police don’t know.”

“How terrible!” She saw his eyes and the pain in them. “Is there anything I can do, Doctor?”

“Would you close up the office, Carol? I’m going over to see Mrs. Hanson. I’d like to break the news to her myself.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything,” said Carol.

“Thanks.”

And Judd left.

Thirty minutes later Carol had finished putting the files away and was locking her desk when the corridor door opened. It was after six o’clock and the building was closed. Carol looked up as the man smiled and moved toward her.

Chapter Three

MARY HANSON was a doll of a woman; small, beautiful, exquisitely made. On the outside, she was soft, Southern-helpless-feminine, and on the inside, granite bitch. Judd had met her a week after beginning her husband’s therapy. She had fought hysterically against it and Judd had asked her to have a talk with him. “Why are you so opposed to your husband going through analysis?”

“I won’t have my friends saying I married a crazy man,” she had told Judd. “Tell him to give me a divorce; then he can do any damn thing he pleases.”

Judd had explained that a divorce at that point could destroy John completely.

“There’s nothing left to destroy,” Mary had screamed. “If I’d known he was a fairy, do you think I would have married him? He’s a woman.”

“There’s some woman in every man,” Judd had said. “Just as there’s some man in every woman. And in your husband’s case, there are some difficult psychological problems to overcome. But he’s trying, Mrs. Hanson. I think you owe it to him and his children to help him.”