The Naked Face

"Would it?"

Judd saw his point. As far as McGreavy was concerned, Judd could have placed it there himself. Still, it seemed odd to him that a private detective would withhold evidence from the police. He had a feeling that Moody was like an enormous iceberg. Most of the man was concealed under the surface, under that facade of gentle, small-town bumbler. But now, as he listened to Moody talking, he was filled with elation. He was not insane and the world had not suddenly become filled with wild coincidences. There was an assassin on the loose. A flesh-and-blood assassin. And for some reason he had chosen Judd as his target. My God, thought Judd, how easily our egos can be destroyed. A few minutes ago he had been ready to believe that he was paranoiac. He owed Moody an incalculable debt.

"…You’re the doctor," Moody was saying. "I’m just an old gumshoe. I always say when you want honey, go to a beehive."

Judd was beginning to understand Moody’s jargon. "You want my opinion about the kind of man, or men, we’re looking for."

"That’s it," beamed Moody. "Are we dealin’ with some homicidal maniac who broke out of a loony bin" –

Mental institution, Judd thought automatically.

– "or have we got somethin’ deeper goin’ here?"

"Something deeper," said Judd instantly.

"What makes you think so, Doc?"

"First of all, two men broke into my office last night. I might swallow the theory of one lunatic, but two lunatics working together is too much."

Moody nodded approvingly. "Gotcha. Go on."

"Secondly, a deranged mind may have an obsession, but it works in a definite pattern. I don’t know why John Hanson and Carol Roberts were killed, but unless I’m wrong, I’m scheduled to be the third and last victim."

"What makes you think you’re the last?" asked Moody curiously.

"Because," replied Judd, "if there were going to be other murders, then the first time they failed to kill me, they would have gone on to get whoever else was on their list. But instead of that, they’ve been concentrating on trying to kill me."

"You know," said Moody approvingly, "you have the natural born makin’s of a detective."

Judd was frowning. "There are several things that make no sense."

"Such as?"

"First, the motive," said Judd. "I don’t know anyone who – "

"We’ll come back to that. What else?"

"If someone really was that anxious to kill me, when the car knocked me down, all the driver had to do was to back up and run over me. I was unconscious."

"Ah! That’s where Mr. Benson comes in."

Judd looked at him blankly.

"Mr. Benson is the witness to your accident," explained Moody benevolently. "I got his name from the police report and went to see him after you left my office. That’ll be three-fifty for taxicabs. OK?"

Judd nodded, speechless.

"Mr. Benson – he’s a furrier, by the way. Beautiful stuff. If you ever want to buy anything for your sweetheart, I can get you a discount. Anyway, Tuesday, the night of the accident, he was comin’ out of an office building where his sister-in-law works. He dropped some pills off because his brother Matthew, who’s a Bible salesman, had the flu an’ she was goin’ to take the pills home to him."

Judd controlled his impatience. If Norman Z. Moody had felt like sitting there and reciting the entire Bill of Rights, he was going to listen.

"So Mr. Benson dropped off these pills an’ was comin’ out of the building when he saw this limousine headin’ toward you. Of course, he didn’t know it was you at the time."

Judd nodded.

"The car was kinda crabbin’ sideways, an’ from Benson’s angle, it looked like it was in a skid. When he saw it hit you, he started runnin’ over to see if he could help. The limousine backed up to make another run at you. He saw Mr. Benson an’ got out of there like a bat outta hell."

Judd swallowed. "So if Mr. Benson hadn’t happened along…"

"Yeah," said Moody mildly. "You might say you an’ me wouldn’t have met. These boys aren’t playin’ games. They’re out to get you, Doc."

"What about the attack in my office? Why didn’t they break the door down?"

Moody was silent for a moment, thinking. "That’s a puzzler. They coulda broken in an’ killed you an’ whoever was with you an’ got away without anybody seein’ them. But when they thought you weren’t alone, they left. It don’t fit in with the rest." He sat there worrying his lower lip. "Unless…" he said.

"Unless what?"

A speculative look came over Moody’s face. "I wonder…" he breathed.

"What?"

"It’ll keep for the time bein’. I got me a little idea, but it don’t make sense until we find a motive."

Judd shrugged helplessly. "I don’t know of anyone who has a motive for killing me."

Moody thought about this a moment. "Doc, could you have any secret that you shared with this patient of yours, Hanson, an’ Carol Roberts? Somethin’ maybe only the three of you knew about?"

Judd shook his head. "The only secrets I have are professional secrets about my patients. And there’s not one single thing in any of their case histories that would justify murder. None of my patients is a secret agent, or a foreign spy, or an escaped convict. They’re just ordinary people – housewives, professional men, bank clerks – who have problems they can’t cope with."

Moody looked at him guilelessly. "An’ you’re sure that you’re not harboring a homicidal maniac in your little group?"

Judd’s voice was firm. "Positive. Yesterday I might not have been sure. To tell you the truth, I was beginning to think that I was suffering from paranoia and that you were humoring me."