The Naked Face

As he put on the first tape, he remembered the last time he had used the machine. Was it only last night? The memory filled him again with the sharp sense of nightmare. Someone had planned to murder him here in this room, where they had murdered Carol.

He suddenly realized that he had given no thought to his patients at the free hospital clinic where he worked one morning a week. It was probably because the murders had revolved around this office rather than the hospital. Still…He walked over to a section of the cabinets labeled "CLINIC," looked through some of the tapes, and finally selected half a dozen. He put the first one on the tape recorder.

Rose Graham.

"…an accident, Doctor. Nancy cries a lot. She’s always been a whiny baby, so when I hit her, it’s for her own good, y’know?"

"Did you ever try to find out why Nancy cries a lot?" Judd’s voice asked.

"’Cause she’s spoiled. Her daddy spoiled her rotten and then run off and left us. Nancy always thought she was daddy’s girl, but how much could Harry really have loved her if he run off like that?"

"You and Harry were never married, were you?"

"Well…Common law, I guess you’d call it. We was goin’ to get married."

"How long did you live together?"

"Four years."

"How long was it after Harry left you that you broke Nancy’s arm?"

"’Bout a week, I guess. I didn’t mean to break it. It’s just that she wouldn’t stop whining, so I finally picked up this curtain rod an’ started beating on her."

"Do you think Harry loved Nancy more than he loved you?"

"No. Harry was crazy about me."

"Then why do you think he left you?"

"Because he was a man. An’ y’know what men are? Animals! All of you! You should all be slaughtered like pigs!" Sobbing.

Judd switched off the tape and thought about Rose Graham. She was a psychotic misanthrope, and she had nearly beaten her six-year-old child to death on two separate occasions. But the pattern of the murders did not fit Rose Graham’s psychosis.

He put on the next tape from the clinic.

Alexander Fallon.

"The police say that you attacked Mr. Champion with a knife, Mr. Fallon."

"I only did what I was told."

"Someone told you to kill Mr. Champion?"

"He told me to do it."

"He?"

"God."

"Why did God tell you to kill him?"

"Because Champion’s an evil man. He’s an actor. I saw him on the stage. He kissed this woman. This actress. In front of the whole audience. He kissed her and…"

Silence.

"Go on."

"He touched her – her titty."

"Did that upset you?"

"Of course! It upset me terribly. Don’t you understand what that meant? He had carnal knowledge of her. When I came out of that theater, I felt like I had just come from Sodom and Gomorrah. They had to be punished."

"So you decided to kill him."

"I didn’t decide it. God decided. I just carried out His orders."

"Does God often talk to you?"

"Only when there’s His work to be done. He’s chosen me as His instrument, because I’m pure. Do you know what makes me pure? Do you know what the most cleansing thing in the world is? Slaying the wicked!"

Alexander Fallon. Thirty-five, a part-time baker’s assistant. He had been sent to a mental home for six months and then released. Could God have told him to destroy Hanson, a homosexual, and Carol, a former prostitute, and Judd, their benefactor? Judd decided that it was unlikely. Fallon’s thought processes took place in brief, painful spasms. Whoever had planned the murders was highly organized.

He played several more of the tapes from the clinic, but none of them fit into the pattern he was searching for. No. It wasn’t any patient at the clinic.

He looked over the office files again and a name caught his eye.

Skeet Gibson.

He put on the tape.

"’Mornin’, Dockie. How do you like this bee-u-ti-ful day I cooked up for you?"

"You’re feeling good today."

"If I was feelin’ any better, they’d have me locked up. Did you catch my show last night?"

"No. I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to."

"I was only a smash. Jack Gould called me ‘the most lovable comedian in the world.’ An’ who am I to argue with a genius like Jack Gould? You shoulda heard that audience! They were applauding like it was going out of style. Do ya know what that proves?"

"That they can read ‘Applause’ cards?"

"You’re sharp, you devil, you. That’s what I like – a headshrinker with a sense of humor. The last one I had was a drag. Had a great big beard that really bugged me."

"Why?"

"Because it was a lady!"

Loud laughter.

"Gotcha that time, didn’t I, old cock? Seriously, folks, one of the reasons I’m feelin’ so good is because I just pledged a million dollars – count ’em: one million bucks – to help the kids in Biafra."

"No wonder you feel good."

"You bet your sweet ass. That story hit the front pages all over the world."

"Is that important?"

"What do you mean, ‘Is that important?’ How many guys pledge that kind of loot? You’ve gotta blow your own horn, Peter Pan. I’m glad I can afford to pledge the money."

"You keep saying ‘pledge.’ Do you mean ‘give?’ "

"Pledge – give – what’s the difference? You pledge a million – give a few grand – an’ they kiss your ass… Did I tell you it’s my anniversary today?"

"No. Congratulations."

"Thanks. Fifteen great years. You never met Sally. There’s the sweetest broad that ever walked God’s earth. I really got lucky with my marriage. You know what a pain in the keester in-laws can be? Well, Sally’s got these two brothers, Ben an’ Charley. I told you about them. Ben’s head writer on my TV show an’ Charley’s my producer. They’re geniuses. I’ve been on the air seven years now. An’ we’re never outta the top ten in the Nielsen’s. I was smart to marry into a family like that, huh? Most women get fat an’ sloppy once they’ve hooked their husband. But Sally, bless her, is slimmer now than the day we were married. What a dame!…Got a cigarette?"