Most of the detectives were out on squeals, and the Detective Bureau was deserted except for Detective Frank Angeli and a sergeant, who was interrogating an arson suspect.
When the phone rang, Angeli answered. It was a nurse who had a hit-and-run patient at the city hospital. The patient was asking for Lieutenant McGreavy. McGreavy had gone to the Hall of Records. When she gave Angeli the name of the patient, he told the nurse that he would be right over.
Angeli was hanging up the receiver as McGreavy walked in. Angeli quickly told him about the call. “We’d better get right over to the hospital,” Angeli said.
“He’ll keep. First I want to talk to the captain of the precinct where that accident occurred.”
Angeli watched as McGreavy dialed the number. He wondered whether Captain Bertelli had told McGreavy about his conversation with Angeli. It had been short and to the point.
“Lieutenant McGreavy is a good cop,” Angeli had said, “but I think he’s influenced by what happened five years ago.”
Captain Bertelli had given him a long, cold stare. “Are you accusing him of framing Dr. Stevens?”
“I’m not accusing him of anything, Captain. I just thought you should be aware of the situation.”
“Okay, I’m aware of it.” And the meeting was over.
McGreavy’s phone conversation took three minutes while McGreavy grunted and made notes and Angeli impatiently paced back and forth. Ten minutes later the two detectives were in a squad car on the way to the hospital.
Judd’s room was on the sixth floor at the end of a long, dreary corridor that had the sickly-sweet smell of all hospitals. The nurse who had phoned was escorting them to Judd’s room.
“What shape is he in, Nurse?” asked McGreavy.
“The doctor will have to tell you that,” she said primly. And then continued, compulsively. “It’s a miracle the man wasn’t killed. He has a possible concussion, some bruised ribs, and an injured left arm.”
“Is he conscious?” asked Angeli.
“Yes. We’re having a terrible time keeping him in bed.” She turned to McGreavy. “He keeps saying he has to see you.”
They walked into the room. There were six beds in the room, all occupied. The nurse indicated a bed at the far corner that was curtained off, and McGreavy and Angeli walked over to it and stepped behind the curtain.
Judd was in bed, propped up. His face was pale and there was a large adhesive plaster on his forehead. His left arm was in a sling.
McGreavy spoke. “I hear you had an accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” said Judd. “Someone tried to kill me.” His voice was weak and shaky.
“Who?” asked Angeli.
“I don’t know, but it all fits in.” He turned to McGreavy. “The killers weren’t after John Hanson or Carol. They were after me.”
McGreavy looked at him in surprise. “What makes you think so?”
“Hanson was killed because he was wearing my yellow slicker. They must have seen me go into my building wearing that coat. When Hanson came out of my office wearing it, they mistook him for me.”
“That’s possible,” said Angeli.
“Sure,” said McGreavy. He turned to Judd. “And when they learned that they had killed the wrong man, they came into your office and tore your clothes off and found out you were really a little colored girl, and they got so mad they beat you to death.”
“Carol was killed because they found her there when they came to get me,” Judd said.
McGreavy reached in his overcoat pocket and took out some notes. “I just talked to the captain of the precinct where the accident happened.”
“It was no accident.”
“According to the police report, you were jaywalking.”
Judd stared at him. “Jaywalking?” he repeated weakly.
“You crossed in the middle of the street, Doctor.”
“There were no cars so I—”
“There was a car,” McGreavy corrected. “Only you didn’t see it. It was snowing and the visibility was lousy. You stepped out of nowhere. The driver put on his brakes, went into a skid, and hit you. Then he panicked and drove away.” “That’s not the way it happened and his headlights were off.”