The Naked Face

Judd looked into his eyes and believed him. He knew that his life was hanging by a thread. He forced indignation into his voice. "You can do what you please. Until this moment I had no idea that Anne Blake was your wife."

"That could be true," Angeli said. "He – "

DeMarco ignored Angeli. "What did you and my wife talk about for three weeks?"

They had arrived at the moment of truth. From the instant Judd had seen the bronze rooster on the roof, the final pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place. Anne had not set him up for murder. She had been a victim, like himself. She had married Anthony DeMarco, successful owner of a large construction firm, without any idea of who he really was. Then something must have happened to make her suspect that her husband was not what he had seemed to be, that he was involved in something dark and terrible. With no one to talk to, she had turned for help to an analyst, a stranger, in whom she could confide. But in Judd’s office her basic loyalty to her husband had kept her from discussing her fears.

"We didn’t talk about much of anything," said Judd evenly. "Your wife refused to tell me what her problem was."

DeMarco’s black eyes were fixed on him, probing, weigh ing. "You’ll have to come up with something better than that."

How DeMarco must have panicked when he learned that his wife was going to a psychoanalyst – the wife of a leader in La Cosa Nostra. N o wonder DeMarco had killed, trying to get hold of Anne’s file.

"All she told me," Judd said, "was that she was unhappy about something, but couldn’t discuss it."

"That took ten seconds," DeMarco said. "I’ve got a record of every minute she spent in your office. What did she talk about for the rest of the three weeks? She must have told you who I am."

"She said you owned a construction company."

DeMarco was studying him coldly. Judd could feel beads of perspiration forming on his forehead.

"I’ve been reading up on analysis, Doctor. The patient talks about everything that’s on his mind."

"That’s part of the therapy," Judd said matter-of-factly. "That’s why I wasn’t getting anywhere with Mrs. Blake – with Mrs. DeMarco. I intended to dismiss her as a patient."

"But you didn’t."

"I didn’t have to. When she came to see me Friday, she told me that she was leaving for Europe."

"Annie’s changed her mind. She doesn’t want to go to Eu rope with me. Do you know why?"

Judd looked at him, genuinely puzzled. "No."

"Because of you, Doctor."

Judd’s heart gave a little leap. He carefully kept his feel ings out of his voice. "I don’t understand."

"Sure you do. Annie and I had a long talk last night. She thinks she made a mistake about our marriage. She’s not happy with me any more, because she thinks she goes for you." When DeMarco spoke, it was almost in a hypnotic whisper. "I want you to tell me all about what happened when you two were alone in your office and she was on your couch."

Judd steeled himself against the mixed emotions that were coursing through him. She did care! But what good was it going to do either of them? DeMarco was looking at him, waiting for an answer. "Nothing happened. If you read up on analysis, you’ll know that every female patient goes through an emotional transference. At one time or another, they all think they’re in love with their doctor. It’s just a passing phase."

DeMarco was watching him intently, his black eyes prob ing into Judd’s.

"How did you know she was coming to see me?" Judd asked, making the question casual.

DeMarco looked at Judd a moment, then walked over to a large desk and picked up a razor-sharp letter opener in the shape of a dagger. "One of my men saw her go into your building. There are a lot of baby doctors there and they figured maybe Annie was keeping back a little surprise from me. They followed her up to your office." He turned to Judd. "It was a surprise, all right. They found out she was going to a psychiatrist. The wife of Anthony DeMarco spilling my personal business to a headshrinker."

"I told you she didn’t – "

DeMarco’s voice was soft. "The Commissione held a meet ing. They voted for me to kill her, like we’d kill any traitor." He was pacing now, reminding Judd of a dangerous, caged animal. "But they can’t give me orders like a peasant soldier. I am Anthony DeMarco, a Capo. I promised them that if she had discussed any of our business, I would kill the man she talked to. With these two hands." He held up his fists, one of them holding the razor-edged dagger. "That’s you, Doctor."

DeMarco was circling him now as he talked, and each time that DeMarco walked in back of him, Judd unconsciously braced himself.

"You’re making a mistake if – " Judd started.

"No. You know who made the mistake? Annie." He looked Judd up and down. He sounded genuinely puzzled. "How could she think you’re a better man than I am?"

The Vaccaro brothers snickered.

"You’re nothing. A patsy who goes to an office every day and makes – what? Thirty grand a year? Fifty? A hundred? I make more than that in a week." DeMarco’s mask was slip ping away more quickly now, eroding under the pressure of his emotions. He was beginning to speak in short, excited bursts, a patina of ugliness warping his handsome features. Anne had only seen him behind his facade. Judd was looking into the naked face of a homicidal paranoiac. "You and that little putana pick each other!"

"We haven’t picked each other," Judd said.

DeMarco was watching him, his eyes blazing. "She doesn’t mean anything to you?"

"I told you. She’s just another patient."