Sidney Sheldon - The Naked Face

Judd heard the outer door open. His first patient had arrived.

Harrison Burke was a distinguished-looking silver-haired man who looked like the prototype of a big business executive, which he was: a vice-president of the International Steel Corporation. When Judd had first seen Burke, he had wondered whether the executive had created his stereotyped image, or whether the image had created the executive. Some day he would write a book on face values; a doctor’s bedside manner, a lawyer’s flamboyance in a courtroom, an actress’ face and figure—these were the universal currencies of acceptance: the surface image rather than the basic values.

Burke lay down on the couch, and Judd turned his attention to him. Burke had been sent to Judd by Dr. Peter Hadley two months ago. It had taken Judd ten minutes to ascertain that Harrison Burke was a paranoiac with tendencies toward homicide. The morning headlines had been full of a murder that had taken place in this office the night before, but Burke never mentioned it. That was typical of his condition. He was totally immersed in himself.

“You didn’t believe me before,” Burke said, “but now I’ve got proof that they’re after me.”

“I thought we had decided to keep an open mind about that, Harrison,” Judd replied carefully. “Remember yesterday we agreed that the imagination could play—”

“It isn’t my imagination,” shouted Burke. He sat up, his fists clenched. “They’re trying to kill me!”

“Why don’t you lie down and try to relax?” Judd suggested soothingly.

Burke got to his feet. “Is that all you’ve got to say? You don’t even want to hear my proof!” His eyes narrowed. “How do I know you’re not one of them?”

“You know I’m not one of them,” Judd said. “I’m your friend. I’m trying to help you.” He felt a stab of disappointment. The progress he had thought they were making over the past month had completely eroded away. He was looking now at the same terrified paranoiac who had first walked into his office two months ago.

Burke had started with International Steel as a mail boy. In twenty-five years his distinguished good looks and his affable personality had taken him almost to the top of the corporate ladder. He had been next in line for the presidency. Then, four years ago, his wife and three children had perished in a fire at their summer home in Southampton. Burke had been in the Bahamas with his mistress. He had taken the tragedy harder than anyone realized. Reared as a devout Catholic, he was unable to shake off his burden of guilt. He began to brood, and he saw less of his friends. He stayed home evenings, reliving the agonies of his wife and children burning to death while, in another part of his mind, he lay in bed with his mistress. It was like a motion picture that he ran over and over in his mind. He blamed himself completely for the death of his family. If only he had been there, he could have saved them. The thought became an obsession. He was a monster. He knew it and God knew it. Surely others could see it! They must hate him as he hated himself. People smiled at him and pretended sympathy, but all the while they were waiting for him to expose himself, waiting to trap him. But he was too cunning for them. He stopped going to the executive dining room and began to have lunch in the privacy of his office. He avoided everyone as much as possible.

Two years ago, when the company had needed a new president, they had passed over Harrison Burke and had hired an outsider. A year later the post of executive vice-president had opened up, and a man was given the job over Burke’s head. Now he had all the proof he needed that there was a conspiracy against him. He began to spy on the people around him. At night he hid tape recorders in the offices of other executives. Six months ago he had been caught. It was only because of his long seniority and position that he was not fired.

Trying to help him and relieve some of the pressure on him, the president of the company began to cut down on Burke’s responsibilities. Instead of helping, it convinced Burke more than ever that they were out to get him. They were afraid of him because he was smarter than they were. If he became president, they would all lose their jobs because they were stupid fools. He began to make more and more mistakes. When these errors were called to his attention, he indignantly denied having made them. Someone was deliberately changing his reports, altering the figures and statistics, trying to discredit him. Soon he realized that it was not only the people in the company who were after him. There were spies outside. He was constantly followed in the streets. They tapped his telephone line, read his mail. He was afraid to eat, lest they poison his food. His weight began to drop alarmingly. The worried president of the company arranged an appointment for him with Dr. Peter Hadley and insisted that Burke keep it. After spending half an hour with him, Dr. Hadley had phoned Judd. Judd’s appointment book was full, but when Peter had told him how urgent it was, Judd reluctantly agreed to take him on.

Now Harrison Burke lay supine on the damask-covered contour couch, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“Tell me about your proof.”

“They broke into my house last night. They came to kill me. But I was too clever for them. I sleep in my den now and I have extra locks on all the doors so they can’t get to me.”

“Did you report the break-in to the police?” Judd asked.

“Of course not! The police are in it with them. They have orders to shoot me. But they wouldn’t dare do it while there are people around, so I stay in crowds.”

“I’m glad you gave me this information,” Judd said.

“What are you going to do with it?” Burke asked eagerly.

“I’m listening very carefully to everything you say,” Judd said. He indicated the tape recorder. “I’ve got it all down on tape so if they do kill you, we’ll have a record of the conspiracy.”

Burke’s face lit up. “By God, that’s good! Tape! That’ll really fix them!”

“Why don’t you lie down again?” Judd suggested.

Burke nodded and slid onto the couch. He closed his eyes. “I’m tired. I haven’t slept in months. I don’t dare close my eyes. You don’t know what it’s like, having everybody after you.”

Don’t I? He thought of McGreavy.

“Didn’t your houseboy hear anyone break in?” Judd asked.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Burke replied. “I fired him two weeks ago.”

Judd quickly went over in his mind his recent sessions with Harrison Burke. Only three days ago Burke had described a fight he had had that day with his houseboy. So his sense of time had become disoriented. “I don’t believe you mentioned it,” Judd said casually. “Are you sure it was two weeks ago that you let him go?”

“I don’t make mistakes,” snapped Burke. “How the hell do you think I got to be vice-president of one of the biggest corporations in the world? Because I’ve got a brilliant mind, Doctor, and don’t forget it.”

“Why did you fire him?”

“He tried to poison me.”

“How?”

“With a plate of ham and eggs. Loaded with arsenic.”

“Did you taste it?” Judd asked.

“Of course not,” Burke snorted.

“How did you know it was poisoned?”

“I could smell the poison.”

“What did you say to him?”

A look of satisfaction came over Burke’s face. “I didn’t say anything. I beat the shit out of him.”

A feeling of frustration swept over Judd. Given time, he was sure he could have helped Harrison Burke. But time had run out. There was always the danger in psychoanalysis that under the venting of free-flow association, the thin veneer of the id could blow wide open, letting escape all the primitive passions and emotions that huddled together in the mind like terrified wild beasts in the night. The free verbalizing was the first step in treatment. In Burke’s case, it had boomeranged. These sessions had released all the latent hostilities that had been locked in his mind. Burke had seemed to improve with each session, agreeing with Judd that there was no conspiracy, that he was only overworked and emotionally exhausted. Judd had felt that he was guiding Burke to a point where they could begin deep analysis and start to attack the root of the problem. But Burke had been cunningly lying all along. He had been testing Judd, leading him on to try to trap him and find out whether he was one of them. Harrison Burke was a walking time bomb that could explode at any second. There was no next of kin to notify. Should Judd call the president of the company and tell him what he felt? If he did, it would instantly destroy Burke’s future. He would have to be put away in an institution. Was he right in his diagnosis that Burke was a potentially homicidal paranoiac? He would like to get another opinion before he called, but Burke would never consent. Judd knew he would have to make the decision alone.