Free The Naked Face by Sidney Sheldon Page B

their problems, dispensing wisdom from some Olympian height. But that was a vital part of the facade of therapy. In reality, he cared deeply about the problems of his patients. They would have been amazed if they had known how often the unspeakable demons that tried to batter down the ramparts of their emotions appeared in Judd’s own nightmares.
    During the first six months of his practice as a psychiatrist, when he was undergoing the required two years of analysis necessary to become a psychoanalyst, Judd had developed blinding headaches. He was empathetically taking on the symptoms of all his patients, and it had taken him almost a year to learn to channel and control his emotional involvement.
    Now, as Judd locked Teri Washburn’s tape away, his mind came forcibly back to his own dilemma. He walked over to the phone and dialed information for the number of the Nineteenth Precinct.
    The switchboard operator connected him with the Detective Bureau. He heard McGreavy’s deep bass voice over the phone, “Lieutenant McGreavy.”
    “Detective Angeli, please.”
    “Hold on.”
    Judd heard the clatter of the phone as McGreavy put thereceiver down. A moment later Angeli’s voice came over the wire. “Detective Angeli.”
    “Judd Stevens. I wondered whether you’d gotten that information yet?”
    There was an instant’s hesitation. “I checked into it,” said Angeli carefully.
    “All you have to do is say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” Judd’s heart was pounding. It was an effort for him to ask the next question. “Is Ziffren still at Matteawan?”
    It seemed an eternity before Angeli answered. “Yes. He’s still there.”
    A wave of disappointment surged through Judd. “Oh. I see.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Thanks,” Judd said. Slowly he hung up.
    So that left Harrison Burke. Harrison Burke, a hopeless paranoiac who was convinced that everyone was out to kill him. Had Burke decided to strike first? John Hanson had left Judd’s office at ten-fifty on Monday and had been killed a few minutes later. Judd had to find out whether Harrison Burke was in his office at that time. He looked up Burke’s office number and dialed it.
    “International Steel.” The voice had the remote, impersonal timbre of an automaton.
    “Mr. Harrison Burke, please.”
    “Mr. Harrison Burke…Thank you…One moment, please…”
    Judd was gambling on Burke’s secretary answering the phone. If she had stepped out for a moment and Burke answered it himself…”Mr. Burke’s office.” It was a girl’s voice.
    “This is Dr. Judd Stevens. I wonder if you could give me some information?”
    “Oh, yes, Dr. Stevens!” There was a note of relief in hervoice, mixed with apprehension. She must have known that Judd was Burke’s analyst. Was she counting on him for help? What had Burke been doing to upset her?
    “It’s about Mr. Burke’s bill…” Judd began.
    “His bill?” She made no effort to conceal her disappointment.
    Judd went on quickly. “My receptionist is—is no longer with me, and I’m trying to straighten out the books. I see that she charged Mr. Burke for a nine-thirty appointment this past Monday, and I wonder if you’d mind checking his calendar for that morning?”
    “Just a moment,” she said. There was disapproval in her voice now. He could read her mind. Her employer was cracking up and his analyst was only concerned about getting his money. She came back on the phone a few minutes later. “I’m afraid your receptionist made a mistake, Dr. Stevens,” she said tartly. “Mr. Burke couldn’t have been at your office Monday morning.”
    “Are you sure?” persisted Judd. “It’s down in her book—nine-thirty to—”
    “I don’t care what’s down in her book, Doctor.” She was angry now, upset by his callousness. “Mr. Burke was in a staff meeting all morning on Monday. It began at eight o’clock.”
    “Couldn’t he have slipped out for an hour?”
    “No, Doctor,” she said. “Mr. Burke never