“It’s dreadful,” said Norah. “I liked her so much.”
Judd felt a tightness in his throat. “So did I.”
“Any chance of catching the bastard who did it?” Peter asked.
“They’re working on it.”
“In this morning’s paper it said that a Lieutenant McGreavy is close to making an arrest. Do you know anything about it?”
“A little,” Judd said dryly. “McGreavy likes to keep me up to date.”
“You never know how wonderful the police are until you really need them,” Norah said.
“Dr. Harris let me take a look at your X rays. Some nasty bruises—no concussion. You’ll be out of here in a few days.”
But Judd knew he had no time to spare.
They spent the next half hour in small talk, carefully avoiding the subject of Carol Roberts. Peter and Norah were unaware that John Hanson had been a patient of Judd’s. For some reason of his own, McGreavy had kept that part of the story out of the newspapers.
When they got up to leave, Judd asked to speak to Peter alone. While Norah waited outside, Judd told Peter about Harrison Burke.
“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “When I sent him to you, I knew he was in a bad way, but I was hoping there was still time for you to help him. Of course you have to put him away. When are you going to do it?”
“As soon as I get out of here,” Judd said. And he knew he was lying. He didn’t want Harrison Burke sent away. Not just yet. He wanted to find out first whether Burke could have committed the two murders.
“If there’s anything I can do for you, old buddy—call.” And Peter was gone.
Judd lay there, planning his next move. Since there was no rational motive for anyone wanting to kill him, it stood to reason that the murders had been committed by someone who was mentally unbalanced, someone with an imagined grievance against him. The only two people he could think of who might fit into that category were Harrison Burke and Amos Ziffren, the man who had killed McGreavy’s partner. If Burke had no alibi for the morning Hanson was killed, then Judd would ask Detective Angeli to check him out further. If Burke had an alibi, then he would concentrate on Ziffren. The feeling of depression that had enveloped him began to lift. He felt that at last he was doing something. He was suddenly desperately impatient to get out of the hospital.
He rang for the nurse and told her he wanted to see Dr. Harris. Ten minutes later Seymour Harris walked into the room. He was a little gnome of a man with bright blue eyes and tufts of black hair sticking out of his cheeks. Judd had known him a long time and had great respect for him. “Well! Sleeping Beauty’s awake. You look terrible.” Judd was getting tired of hearing it. “I feel fine,” he lied.
“I want to get out of here.”
“When?”
“Now.”
Dr. Harris looked at him reprovingly. “You just got here. Why don’t you stick around a few days? I’ll send you in a few nymphomaniac nurses to keep you company.”
“Thanks, Seymour. I really do have to leave.”
Dr. Harris sighed. “OK. You’re the doctor, Doctor. Personally, I wouldn’t let my cat walk around in your condition.” He looked at Judd keenly. “Anything I can do to help?”
Judd shook his head.
“I’ll have Miss Bedpan get your clothes.”
Thirty minutes later the girl at the reception desk called a taxi for him. He was at his office at ten-fifteen.
Chapter Six
HIS FIRST PATIENT, Teri Washburn, was waiting in the corridor. Twenty years earlier Teri had been one of the biggest stars in the Hollywood firmament. Her career had fizzled overnight, and she had married a lumberman from Oregon and dropped out of sight. Teri had been married five or six times since then and was now living in New York with her latest husband, an importer. She looked up angrily as Judd came down the corridor.
“Well…” she said. The speech of reproval she had rehearsed died away as she saw his face. “What happened to you?” she asked. “You look like you got caught between two horny mix-masters.”