The Naked Face

And he suddenly realized what it was.

There was no excitement in Anne. Or if there was, it was overshadowed by a patina of some stronger emotion. Sad ness? Regret?

He realized that he was staring at her. "How – how long will you be away?" Babbitt strikes again.

A small smile crossed her lips, as though she knew what he was doing. "I’m not certain," she answered gravely. "Anthony’s plans are indefinite."

"I see." He looked down at the rug, miserable. He had to put an end to this. He couldn’t let Anne leave, feeling that he was a complete fool. Send her away now. "Mrs. Blake…" he began.

"Yes?"

He tried to keep his voice light. " I really got you back here under false pretenses. It wasn’t necessary for you to see me again. I just wanted to – to say good-bye."

Oddly, puzzlingly, some of the tension seemed to drain out of her. " I know," she said quietly. "I wanted to say good-bye, too." There was something in her voice that caught at him again.

She was getting to her feet. "Judd…" She looked up at him, holding his eyes with hers, and he saw in her eyes what she must have seen in his. It was a mirrored reflection of a current so strong that it was almost physical. He started to move toward her, then stopped. He could not let her become involved in the danger that surrounded him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost under control. "Drop me a card from Rome."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Please take care of yourself, Judd."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

And she was gone.

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?"

"Yes."

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?"

"Yes…"

"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 dialed 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 in Angeli’s voice. "What did he say?"

Judd hesitated, feeling a last vestige of unreasonable loy alty and – yes, affection – toward 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.

Chapter Thirteen

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 sickbed. 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 oppres sive 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 windshield. 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 toward the Hudson River. They moved into a land of junk yards and fix-it shops and dingy bars, then past that to blocks of garages, trucking yards and freight companies. As the car neared the corner of Tenth Avenue, McGreavy directed An geli to pull over to the curb.