The Naked Face (11 page)

The phone rang three times before Judd heard it. He picked it up. “That you. Doc?' It was Moody. His voice practically leaped out of the telephone, crackling with excitement. You alone?' There was an odd quality in Moody's excitement that Judd could not quite identify. Caution? Fear? 'Doc - remember I told you I had a hunch who might be behind this?' 'I was right.' Judd felt a quick chill go through him. 'You know who killed Hanson and Carol?' 'Yeah. I know who. And I know why. You're next, Doctor.' 'Tell me�' 'Not over the phone,' said Moody. 'We'd better meet somewhere and talk about it. Come alone.' Judd stared at the phone in his hand. COME ALONE! 'Are you listening?' asked Moody's voice. 'Yes.' said Judd quickly. What had Angeli said? Whatever you do, Doctor, don't meet him alone. 'Why can't we meet here?' he asked, stalling for time. 'I think I'm being followed. I managed to shake them off. I'm calling from the Five Star Meat Packing Company. It's on Twenty-third Street, west of Tenth Avenue, near the docks.' Judd still found it impossible to believe that Moody was setting a trap for him. He decided to test him. 'I'll bring Angeli.' Moody's voice was sharp. ”Don't bring anyone. Come by yourself.' And there it was. Judd thought of the fat little Buddha at the other end of the phone. His guileless friend who was charging him fifty dollars a day and expenses to set him up for his own murder. Judd kept his voice controlled. 'Very well.' he said. 'I'll be right over.' He tried one parting shot. 'Are you sure you really know who's behind this, Moody?' 'Dead sure, Doc. Have you ever heard of Don Vinton?' And Moody hung up. Judd stood there, trying to sort out the storm of emotions that raced through him, He looked up Angeli's home number and dialled it. It rang five times, and Judd was filled with a sudden panicky fear that Angeli might not be at home. Dare he go meet Moody alone? Then he heard Angeli's nasal voice. 'Hello.' 'Judd Stevens. Moody just called.' There was a quickening hi Angeli's voice. *What did he say?' Judd hesitated, feeling a last vestige of unreasonable loyalty and - yes, affection - towards the bumbling little fat man who was plotting to cold-bloodedly murder him. "He asked me to meet him at the Five Star Meat Packing Company. It's on Twenty-third Street near Tenth Avenue. He told me to come alone.' Angeli laughed mirthlessly. 'I'll bet he did. Don't budge out of that office, Doctor. I'm going to call lieutenant McGreavy. We'll both pick you up.' 'Right,' said Judd. He hung up slowly. Norman Z. Moody. The jolly Buddha from the yellow pages. Judd felt a sudden, inexplicable sadness. He had liked Moody. And trusted him. And Moody was waiting to kill him.

Twenty minutes later Judd unlocked his office door to admit Angeli and Lieutenant McGreavy. Angeli's eyes were red and teary. His voice was hoarse. Judd had a momentary pang at having dragged him out of a sick-bed. McGreavy's greeting was a curt, unfriendly nod. 'I told Lieutenant McGreavy about the phone call from Norman Moody,' Angeli said. 'Yeah. Let's find out what the hell this is all about,' McGreavy said sourly. Five minutes later they were in an unmarked police car speeding downtown on the West Side. Angeli was at the wheel. The light snowfall had stopped and the gruel-thin rays of the late afternoon sun had surrendered to the oppressive cover of storm clouds sweeping across the Manhattan sky. There was a loud clap of thunder in the distance and then a bright, jagged sword of lightning. Drops of rain began to spatter the windscreen. As the car continued downtown, tall, soaring skyscrapers gave way to small, grimy tenements huddled together as if for comfort against the biting cold. The car turned into Twenty-third Street, going west towards the Hudson River. They moved into a land of junkyards and fix-it shops and dingy bars, then past that to blocks of garages, trucking yards and freight companies. As the car neared the comer of Tenth Avenue, McGreavy directed Angeli to pull over to the kerb. 'Well get out here.' McGreavy turned to Judd. 'Did Moody say whether anyone would be with him?' 'No.' McGreavy unbuttoned his overcoat and transferred his service revolver from his holster to his overcoat pocket. Angeli followed suit. 'Stay in back of us,' McGreavy ordered Judd. The three men started walking, ducking their heads against the wind-lashed rain. Halfway down the block, they came to a dilapidated-looking building with a faded sign above the door that read: FIVE STAR MEAT PACKING COMPANY There were no cars or trucks or lights, no sign of life. The two detectives walked up to die door, one on either side. McGreavy tested the door. It was locked. He looked around, but could see no bell. They listened. Silence, except for the sound of the rain. 'It looks closed,' Angeli said. 'It probably is,' McGreavy replied. 'The Friday before Christmas - most companies are knocking off at noon.' 'There must be a loading entrance.' Judd followed the two detectives as they moved cautiously towards the end of the building, trying to avoid the puddles in their path. They came to a service alley, and looking down it, they could discern a loading platform with deserted trucks pulled up in front of it. There was no activity. They moved forward until they reached the platform. 'OK,' McGreavy said to Judd. 'Sing out.' Judd hesitated, feeling unreasonably sad that he was betraying Moody. Then he lifted his voice. 'Moody!' The only response was the yowling of an angry tomcat disturbed in his search for dry shelter. 'Mr Moody!' There was a large wooden sliding door on top of the platform, used to move the deliveries from inside the warehouse to the area where the trucks were loaded. There were no steps leading onto the platform. McGreavy hoisted himself up, moving with surprising agility for such a large man. Angeli followed, then Judd. Angeli waited over to the sliding door and pushed against it. It was unlocked. The great doot rolled open with a loud, high-pitched scream of protest. The tomcat answered hopefully, forgetting about shelter. Inside the warehouse it was pitch black. 'Did you bring a flashlight?' McGreavy asked Angeli. 'No.' 'Shit!' Cautiously they inched their way into the gloom. Judd called out again. 'Mr Moody! It's Judd Stevens.' There was no sound except for the creaking of the boards as the men moved across the room. McGreavy rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a book of matches. He lit one and held it up. Its feeble, sputtering light cast a wavering yellow glow in what seemed to be an enormous empty cavern. The match guttered out. “Find the goddamn light switch.' McGreavy said, ”That was my last match.' Judd could hear Angeli groping along the walls looking for the light switch. Judd kept moving forward. He could not see the other two men. 'Moody!'� he called. He heard Angeli's voice from across the room. 'Here's a switch.' There was a click. Nothing happened. 'The master switch must be off,' McGreavy said. Judd bumped against a wall. As he put his hands out to brace himself, his fingers closed over a doorlatch. He shoved the latch up and pulled. A massive door swung open and a blast of frigid air hit him. 'I've found a door,' he called out. He stepped over a sill and cautiously moved forward. He heard the door close behind him and his heart began to hammer. Impossibly, it was darker here than in the other room, as though he had stepped into a deeper blackness. 'Moody! Moody...' A thick, heavy silence. Moody had to be here somewhere. If he weren't, Judd knew what McGreavy would think. It would be the boy who cried wolf again. Judd took another step forward and suddenly felt cold flesh lick against his face. He jerked away in panic, feeling the short hairs on bis neck rise. He became aware of the strong smell of blood and death surrounding him. There was an evil in the darkness around him, waiting to close in on him. His scalp tingled with fear and his heart was beating so rapidly that it was difficult to breathe. With trembling fingers he fumbled for a book of matches in his overcoat, found one, and scraped a match against the cover. In its light he saw a huge dead eye icon up in front of his face, and it took a shocked second before he realized that he was looking at a slaughtered cow dangling from a meat hook. He had one brief glimpse of other animal carcasses hanging from hooks, and the outline of a door in the far corner, before the match went out. The door probably led to an office. Moody could be in there, waiting for him. Judd moved farther into the interior of the inky black cavern towards the door. He felt the cold brush of dead animal flesh again. He quickly stepped away and kept walking cautiously towards the office door. 'Moody!' He wondered what was detaining Angeli and McGreavy, He moved past the slaughtered animals, feeling as though someone with a macabre sense of humour was playing a horrible, maniacal joke. But who and why were beyond his imagining. As he neared the door, he collided with another hanging carcass. Judd stopped to get his bearings. He lit his last remaining match. In front of him, impaled on a meat hook and grinning obscenely, was the body of Norman Z. Moody. The match went out.

The Coroner's men had finished their work and gone. Moody's body had been taken away and everyone had departed except Judd, McGreavy, and Angeli. They were sitting in the manager's small office, decorated with several impressive calendar nudes, an old desk, a swivel chair, and two filing cabinets. The lights were on and an electric heater was going. The manager of the plant, a Mr. Paul Moretti, had been tracked down and pulled away from a pre-Christmas party to answer some questions. He had explained that since it was a holiday weekend, he had let his employees off at noon. He had locked up at twelve-thirty, and to the best of his knowledge, there had been no one on the premises at that time. Mr. Moretti was belligerently drunk, and when McGreavy saw that he was going to be no further help, he had him driven home. Judd was barely conscious of what was happening in the room. His thoughts were on Moody, how cheerful and how full of life he had been, and how cruelly he had died. And Judd blamed himself. If he had not involved Moody, the little detective would be alive today. It was almost midnight. Judd had wearily reiterated the story of Moody's phone call for the tenth time. McGreavy, hunched up in his overcoat, sat there watching him, chewing savagely on a cigar. Finally he spoke. 'Do you read detective stories?' Judd looked at him, surprised. 'No, why?' 'I'll tell you why. I think you're just too goddamn good to be true, Dr. Stevens. From the very beginning I've thought that you were in this thing up to your neck. And I told you so. So what happens? Suddenly you turn into the target instead of the killer. First you claim a car ran you down and�' 'A car did run him down,' Angeli reminded him. 'A rookie could answer that one,' McGreavy snapped. 'It could have been arranged by someone who's in this with the doctor.' He turned back to Judd. “Next, you call Detective Angeli with a wild-eyed yam about two men breaking into your office and trying to kill you.' 'They did break in,' said Judd. 'No, they didn't,' snapped McGreavy. They used a special key.' His voice hardened. ”You said there were only two of those keys to that office - yours and Carol Roberts's.' 'That's right. I told you - they copied Carol's key.' 'I know what you told me. I had a paraffin test run. Carol's key was never copied, Doctor.' He paused to let it sink in. 'And since I have her key � that leaves yours, doesn't it?' Judd looked at him, speechless. 'When I didn't buy the loose maniac theory, you hire a detective out of the yellow pages and he conveniently finds a bomb planted in your car. Only I can't see it because it's not -there any more. Then you decide ifs time to throw me another body, so you go through that rigmarole with Angeli about a phone call to meet Moody, who knows this mysterious nut who's out to kill you. But guess what? We get here and find him hanging on a meat hook.' Judd flushed angrily. 'I'm not responsible for what happened.' McGreavy gave him a long, hard look. “Do you know the only reason you're not under arrest? Because I haven't found any motive to this Chinese puzzle yet. But I will. Doctor. That's a promise.' He got to his feet. Judd suddenly remembered. ”Wait a minute!' he said. 'What about Don Vinton?' 'What about him?' 'Moody said he was the man behind all this.' 'Do you know anyone named Don Vinton?' 'No,' Judd said. 'I assumed he'd be known by the police.' 'I never heard of him.' McGreavy turned to Angeli Angeli shook his head. 'OK. Send out a make on Don Vinton. FBI. Interpol. Police chiefs in all major American cities.' He looked at Judd. 'Satisfied?' Judd nodded. Whoever was behind all this must have some kind of criminal record. It should not be difficult to identify him. He thought again of Moody, with his homely aphorisms and his quick mind. He must have been followed here. It was unlikely that he would have told anyone else about the rendezvous, because he had stressed the need for secrecy. At least they now knew the name of the man they were looking for. � Praemonitus, praemunitas. �� Forewarned, forearmed.

The murder of Norman Z. Moody was splashed all over the front pages of the newspapers the next morning. Judd picked up a paper on his way to the office. He was briefly mentioned as being a witness who had come across the body with the police, but McGreavy had managed to keep the full story out of the papers. McGreavy was playing his cards close to his chest. Judd wondered what Anne would think. This was Saturday, when Judd made his morning rounds at the clinic. He had arranged for someone else to fill in for him there. He went to his office, travelling alone in the elevator and making sure that no one was lurking in the corridor. He wondered, even as he did so, how long anyone could live like this, expecting an assassin to strike at any moment. Half a dozen times during the morning he started to pick up the phone and call Detective Angeli to ask about Don Vinton, but each time he controlled his impatience. Angeli would surely call him as soon as he knew something. Judd puzzled over what Don Vinton's motivation could be. He could have been a patient whom Judd had treated years ago, perhaps when he was an intern. Someone who felt that Judd had slighted him or injured him in some way. But he could remember no patient named Vinton. At noon he heard someone try to open the corridor door to the reception room. It was Angeli. Judd could tell nothing from his expression except that he looked even more drawn and haggard. His nose was red, and he was sniffling. He walked into the inner office and wearily flopped into a chair. “Have you got any answers yet on Don Vinton?' Judd asked eagerly. Angeli nodded. 'We got back teletypes from the FBI, the police chiefs and every big city in the United States, and Interpol.' Judd waited, afraid to breath. 'None of them ever heard of Don Vinton.' Judd looked at Angeli incredulously, a sudden sinking sensation in his stomach. 'But that's impossible! I mean -someone must know him. A man who could do all this just didn't come out of nowhere!' 'That's what McGreavy said,' replied Angeli wearily. 'Doctor, my men and I spent the night checking out every Don Vinton in Manhattan and all the other boroughs. We even covered New Jersey and Connecticut.' He took a ruled sheet of paper out of his pocket and showed it to Judd. 'We found eleven Don Vintons in the phone book who spell their name ”ton“ � four who spell it ”ten“ � and two who spell it ”tin“. We even tried it as one name. We narrowed it down to five possibles and checked out every one of them. One is a paralytic. One of them is a priest. One is first vice-president of a bank. One of them is a fireman who was on duty when two of the murders occurred. It just left the last one. He runs a pet shop and he must be damn near eighty years old.' Judd's throat was dry. He was suddenly aware of how much he had counted on this. Surely Moody wouldn't have given him the name unless he was certain. And he hadn't said that Don Vinton was an accomplice; he had said he was behind the whole thing. It was inconceivable that the police would have no record of a man like that. Moody had been murdered because he had got onto the truth. And now that Moody was out of the way, Judd was completely alone. The web was drawing tighter. 'I'm sorry,' Angeli said. Judd looked at the detective and suddenly remembered that Angeli had not been home all night. 'I appreciate your trying,' he said gratefully. Angeli leaned forward- 'Are you positive you heard Moody right?' 'Yes.' Judd closed his eyes in concentration. He had asked Moody if he was sure who was really behind this. He heard Moody”s voice again. Dead sure. Have you ever heard of Don Vinton? Don Vinton. He opened his eyes. 'Yes,' he repeated. Angeli sighed. 'Then we're at a dead end.' He laughed mirthlessly. “No pun intended.' He sneezed. 'You'd better get to bed.' Antgeli stood up. 'Yeah. I guess so.' Judd hesitated. ”How long have you been McGreavy's partner?' 'This is our first case together. Why?' 'Do you think he's capable of framing me for murder?' Angeli sneezed again. 'I think maybe you're right, doctor. 'I'd better get to bed.' He walked over to the door. 'I may have a lead,' Judd said. Angeli stopped and turned. 'Go on.' Judd told him about Teri. He added that he was also going to check out some of John Hanson's former boyfriends. 'It doesn't sound like much,' Angeli said frankly, 'but I guess it's better than nothing.' 'I'm sick and tired of being a target. I'm going to start fighting back. I'm going after them.' Angeli looked at him. 'With what? We're fighting shadows.' 'When witnesses describe a suspect, the police have an artist draw up a composite picture of all the descriptions. Right?' Angeli nodded. 'An identikit.' Judd began to pace in restless excitement. 'I'm going to give you an identikit of the personality of the man who's behind this.' 'How can you? You've never seen him. It could be anyone.' “No it couldn't,' Judd corrected. 'We're looking for someone very, very special.' 'Someone who's insane.' 'Insanity is a catchall phrase. It has no medical meaning. Sanity is simply the ability of the mind to adjust to reality. If we can't adjust, we either hide from reality, or we put ourselves above life, where we're super-beings who don't have to follow the rules.' 'Our man thinks he's a super-being.' 'Exactly. In a dangerous situation we have three choices, Angeli. Flight, constructive compromise, or attack. Our man attacks.' 'So he's a lunatic' 'No. Lunatics rarely kill. Their concentration span is extremely short. We're dealing with someone more complicated. He could be somatic, hypophrenic, schizoid, cycloid -or any combination of these. We could be dealing with a fugue � temporary amnesia preceded by irrational acts. But the point is, his appearance and behaviour will seem perfectly normal to everyone.” 'So we have nothing to go on.' “You're wrong. We have a good deal to go on. I can give you a physical description of him,' said Judd. He narrowed his eyes, concentrating. 'Don Vinton is above average height, well proportioned, and has the build of an athlete. He's neat in his appearance and meticulous about everything he does. He has no artistic talent. He doesn't paint or write or play the piano.' Angeli was staring at him, open-mouthed. Judd continued, speaking more quickly now, warming up. ”He doesn't belong to any social clubs or organizations. Not unless he runs them. He's a man who has to be in charge. He's ruthless, and he's impatient. He thinks big. For example, he'd never get involved in petty thefts. If he had a record, it would be for bank robbery, kidnapping, or murder.' Judd's excitement was growing. The picture was growing sharper in his mind. “When you catch him, you'll find that he was probably rejected by one of his parents when he was a boy.' Angeli interrupted. 'Doctor, I don't want to shoot down your balloon, but it could be some crazy, hopped-up junkie who�' 'No. The man we're looking for doesn't take drugs.' Judd's voice was positive. 'I'll tell you something else about him. He played contact sports in schooL Football or hockey. He has no interest in chess, word games, or puzzles.' Angeli was watching him sceptically. 'There was more than one man,' he objected. 'You said so yourself.' 'I'm giving you a description of Don Vinton,' said Judd. The man who's masterminding this. I'll tell you something more about him. He's a Latin type.' 'What makes you think so?' 'Because of the methods used in the murders. A knife -acid - a bomb. He's South American, Italian, or Spanish.' He took a breath. 'There's your identikit. That's the man who's committed three murders and is trying to kill me.' Angeli swallowed. 'How the hell do you know all this?' Judd sat down and leaned towards Angeli. 'It's my profession.' 'The mental side, sure. But how can you give a physical description of a man you've never seen?' 'I'm playing the odds. A doctor named Kreischmer found that eighty-five per cent of people suffering from paranoia have well-built, athletic bodies. Our man is an obvious paranoiac He has delusions of grandeur. He's a megalomaniac who thinks he's above the law.' 'Then why wasn't he locked up a long time ago?' 'Because he's wearing a mask.' 'He's what?' 'We all wear masks, Angeli' From the time we're past infancy, we're taught to conceal our real feelings, to cover up our hatreds and fears.' There was authority in his voice. ”But under stress, Don Vinton is going to drop his mask and show his naked face.' 'I see.' 'His ego is his vulnerable point. If it's threatened - really threatened - he'll crack. He's on the thin edge now. It won't take much to send him completely over.' He hesitated, then went on, speaking almost to himself. “He's a man with � mana.' 'With what?' 'Mana. It's a term that the primitives use tor a roan who exerts influence on others because of the demons in him, a man with an overpowering personality.' 'You said he doesn't paint, write, or play the piano. How do you know that?' 'The world is full of artists who are schizoids. Most of them manage to get through life without any violence because their work gives them an outlet in which to express themselves. Our man doesn't have that outlet. So he's like a volcano. The only way he can get rid of the pressure inside him is to erupt: Hanson - Carol - Moody.' '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 incriminating 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 got the evidence. It doesn't fit with the rest of your theory,' Angeli 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 killing 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. 'Na 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's office has been .. . burgled, 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 aot 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.'