Judd opened his eyes. “Wait…Give me a chance to prove that I’m telling the truth.”
“How?”
“Whoever’s trying to kill me is going to try again. I want someone with me. Next time they try, he can catch them.”
Angeli looked at Judd. “Dr. Stevens, if someone really wants to kill you, all the policemen in the world can’t stop them. If they don’t get you today, they’ll get you tomorrow. If they don’t get you here, they’ll get you somewhere else. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a king or a president, or just plain John Doe. Life is a very thin thread. It only takes a second to snap it.”
“There’s nothing—nothing at all you can do?”
“I can give you some advice. Have new locks put on the doors of your apartment, and check the windows to make sure they’re securely bolted. Don’t let anyone in the apartment unless you know them. No delivery boys unless you’ve ordered the delivery yourself.”
Judd nodded, his throat dry and aching.
“Your building has a doorman and an elevator man,” continued Angeli. “Can you trust them?”
“The doorman has worked there for ten years. The elevator operator has been there eight years. I’d trust them with my life.”
Angeli nodded approvingly. “Good. Ask them to keep their eyes open. If they’re on the alert, it’s going to be hard for anyone to sneak up to your apartment. What about the office? Are you going to hire a new receptionist?”
Judd thought of a stranger sitting at Carol’s desk, in her chair. A spasm of helpless anger wracked him. “Not right away.”
“You might think about hiring a man,” said Angeli.
“I’ll think about it.”
Angeli turned to go, then stopped. “I have an idea,” he said hesitantly, “but it’s a longshot.”
“Yes?” He hated the eagerness in his voice.
“This man who killed McGreavy’s old partner…”
“Ziffren.”
“Was he really insane?”
“Yes. They sent him to the Matteawan State Hospital for mentally ill criminals.”
“Maybe he blames you for having him put away. I’ll check him out. Just to make sure he hasn’t escaped or been released. Give me a call in the morning.”
“Thanks,” Judd said gratefully.
“It’s my job. If you’re involved in any of this, I’m going to help McGreavy nail you.” Angeli turned to go. He stopped again. “You don’t have to mention to McGreavy that I’m checking on Ziffren for you.”
“I won’t.”
The two men smiled at each other. Angeli left. Judd was alone again.
If the situation was bleak that morning it was even bleaker now. Judd knew that he would already have been arrested for murder except for one thing—McGreavy’s character. McGreavy wanted vengeance and he wanted it so badly that he would make sure that every last bit of evidence was in place. Could the hit-and-run have been an accident? There had been snow on the street, and the limousine could have accidentally skidded into him. But then, why had the headlights been off? And where had the car come from so suddenly?
He was convinced now that an assassin had struck—and would strike again. With that thought, he fell asleep.
Early the next morning Peter and Norah Hadley came to the hospital to see Judd. They had heard about the accident on the morning news.
Peter was Judd’s age, smaller than Judd and painfully thin. They had come from the same town in Nebraska and had gone through medical school together.
Norah was English. She was blond and chubby with a large, soft bosom a bit too large for her five feet three inches. She was vivacious and comfortable, and after five minutes’ conversation with her, people felt they had known her forever.
“You look lousy,” Peter said, studying Judd critically.
“That’s what I like, Doctor. A bedside manner.” Judd’s headache was almost gone and the pain in his body had been reduced to a dull, aching soreness.
Norah handed him a bouquet of carnations. “We brought you some flowers, love,” she said. “You poor old darling.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“How did it happen?” asked Peter.
Judd hesitated. “It was a hit-and-run accident.”
“Everything hit the fan at once, didn’t it? I read about poor Carol.”