Sidney Sheldon - The Naked Face

McGreavy’s phone rang, a long, insistent peal. He picked up the phone. “Lieutenant McGreavy.” The others in the room watched his face draw tight with tension. “Right! Tell them not to make a move until I get there. I’m on my way!” He slammed the receiver down. “The Highway Patrol just spotted Angeli’s car going south on Route 206, just outside Millstone.”

“Are they tailing it?” It was one of the FBI men.

“The patrol car was going in the opposite direction. By the time they got turned around, it had disappeared. I know that area. There’s nothing out there but a few factories.” He turned to one of the FBI men. “Can you get me a fast run down on the names of the factories there and who owns them?”

“Will do.” The FBI man reached for the phone.

“I’m heading out there,” McGreavy said. “Call me when you get it.” He turned to the men. “Let’s move!” He started out the door, the three detectives and the second FBI man on his heels.

Angeli drove past the watchman’s shack near the gate and continued toward a group of odd-looking structures that reached into the sky. There were high brick chimneys and giant flumes, their curved shapes rearing up out of the gray drizzle like prehistoric monsters in an ancient, timeless land scape.

The car rolled up to a complex of large pipes and conveyor belts and braked to a stop. Angeli and Vaccaro got out of the car and Vaccaro opened the rear door on Judd’s side. He had a gun in his hand. “Out, Doctor.”

Slowly, Judd got out of the car, followed by DeMarco. A tremendous din and wind hurtled at them. In front of them, about twenty-five feet away, was an enormous pipeline filled with roaring, compressed air, sucking in everything that came near its open, greedy lip.

“This is one of the biggest pipelines in the country,” De-Marco boasted, raising his voice to make himself heard. “Do you want to see how it works?”

Judd looked at him incredulously. DeMarco was acting the part of the perfect host again, entertaining a guest. No—-not acting. He meant it. That was what was terrifying. De-Marco was about to murder Judd, and it would be a routine business transaction, something that had to be taken care of, like disposing of a piece of useless equipment, but he wanted to impress him first.

“Come on, Doctor. It’s interesting.”

They moved toward the pipeline, Angeli leading the way, DeMarco at Judd’s side, and Rocky Vaccaro bringing up the rear.

“This plant grosses over five million dollars a year,” De-Marco said proudly. “The whole operation is automatic.”

As they got closer to the pipeline, the roar increased, the noise became almost intolerable. A hundred yards from the entrance to the vacuum chamber, a large conveyor belt car ried giant logs to a planing machine twenty feet long and five feet high, with half a dozen razor-sharp cutter heads. The planed logs were then carried upward to a hog, a fierce por cupine-looking rotor bristling with knives. The air was filled with flying sawdust mixed with rain, being sucked into the pipeline.

“It doesn’t matter how big the logs are,” DeMarco said proudly. “The machines cut them down to fit that thirty-six-inch pipe.”

DeMarco took a snub-nosed.38 Colt out of his pocket and called out, “Angeli.”

Angeli turned.

“Have a good trip to Florida.” DeMarco squeezed the trigger, and a red hole exploded in Angeli’s shirt front. An geli stared at DeMarco with a puzzled half-smile on his face, as though waiting for the answer to a riddle he had just heard. DeMarco pulled the trigger again. Angeli crumpled to the ground. DeMarco nodded to Rocky Vaccaro, and the big man picked up Angeli’s body, slung it over his shoulder, and moved toward the pipeline.

DeMarco turned to Judd. “Angeli was stupid. Every cop in the country’s looking for him. If they found him, he’d lead them to me.”

The cold-blooded murder of Angeli was shock enough, but what followed was even worse. Judd watched, horrified, as Vaccaro carried Angeli’s body toward the lip of the giant pipeline. The tremendous pressure caught at Angeli’s body, greedily sucking it in. Vaccaro had to grab a large metal han dle on the lip of the pipe to keep himself from being pulled in by the deadly cyclone of air. Judd had one last glimpse of Angeli’s body whirling into the pipe through the vortex of sawdust and logs, and it was gone. Vaccaro reached for the valve next to the lip of the pipe and turned it. A cover slid over the mouth of the pipe, shutting off the cyclone of air. The sudden silence was deafening.

DeMarco turned to Judd and raised his gun. There was an exalted, mystic expression on his face, and Judd realized that murder was almost a religious experience for him. It was a crucible that purified. Judd knew that his moment of death had come. He felt no fear for himself, but he was consumed by rage that this man would be allowed to live, to murder Anne, to destroy other innocent, decent people. He heard a growling, a moan of rage and frustration, and realized it was coming from his own lips. He was like a trapped animal obsessed with the desire to kill his captor.

DeMarco was smiling at him, reading his thoughts. “I’m going to give it to you in the gut, Doctor. It’ll take a little longer, but you’ll have more time to worry about what’s going to happen to Annie.”

There was one hope. One slim hope.

“Someone should worry about her,” Judd said. “She’s never had a man.”

DeMarco stared at him blankly.

Judd was yelling now, fighting to make DeMarco listen. “Do you know what your cock is? That gun in your hand. Without a gun or a knife, you’re a woman.”

He saw DeMarco’s face fill with slow rage.

“You have no balls, DeMarco. Without that gun, you’re a joke.”

A red film was filling DeMarco’s eyes, like a warning flag of death. Vaccaro took a step forward. DeMarco waved him back.

“I’ll kill you with these bare hands,” DeMarco said as he threw the gun to the ground. “With these bare hands!” Slowly, like a powerful animal, he started toward Judd.

Judd backed away, out of reach. He knew he stood no chance against DeMarco physically. His only hope was to work on DeMarco’s sick mind, making it unable to function. He had to keep striking at DeMarco’s most vulnerable area—his pride in his manhood. “You’re a homosexual, DeMarco!”

DeMarco laughed and lunged at him. Judd moved out of reach.

Vaccaro picked up the gun from the ground. “Chief! Let me finish him!”

“Keep out of this!” DeMarco roared.

The two men circled, feinting for position. Judd’s foot slipped on a pile of soggy sawdust, and DeMarco rushed at him like a charging bull. His huge fist hit Judd on the side of the mouth, knocking him back. Judd recovered and lashed out at DeMarco, hitting him in the face. DeMarco rocked back, then lunged forward and drove his fists into Judd’s stomach. Three smashing blows that knocked the breath out of Judd. He tried to speak to taunt DeMarco, but he was gasping for air. DeMarco was hovering over him like a savage bird of prey.

“Getting winded, Doctor?” he laughed. “I was a boxer. I’m going to give you lessons. I’m going to work on your kidneys and then your head and your eyes. I’m gonna put your eyes out, Doctor. Before I’m through with you, you’re going to beg me to shoot you.”

Judd believed him. In the eerie light that spilled from the clouded sky, DeMarco looked like an enraged animal. He rushed at Judd again and caught him with his fist, splitting his cheek open with a heavy cameo ring. Judd lashed out at DeMarco, pounding at his face with both fists. DeMarco did not even flinch.

DeMarco began hitting Judd’s kidneys, his hands working like pistons. Judd pulled away, his body a sea of pain.