“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 her voice, 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 leaves his office during the day.” There was an accusation in her voice. Can’t you see that he’s ill? What are you doing to help him?
“Shall I tell him you called?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Judd said. “Thank you.” He wanted to add a word of reassurance, of comfort, but there was nothing he could say. He hung up.
So that was that. He had struck out. If neither Ziffren nor Harrison Burke had tried to kill him—then there could be no one else with any motive. He was back where he had started. Some person—or persons—had murdered his receptionist and one of his patients. The hit-and-run incident could have been deliberate or accidental. At the time it happened, it seemed to be deliberate. But looking at it dispassionately, Judd admitted to himself that he had been wrought up by the events of the last few days. In his highly emotional state he could easily have turned an accident into something sinister. The simple truth was that there was no one who could have any possible motive for killing him. He had an excellent relationship with all his patients, warm relationships with his friends. He had never, to his knowledge, harmed anyone. The phone rang. He recognized Anne’s low, throaty voice instantly.
“Are you busy?”
“No. I can talk.”
There was concern in her voice. “I read that you were hit by a car. I wanted to call you sooner, but I didn’t know where to reach you.”
He made his voice light. “It was nothing serious. It will teach me not to jaywalk.”
“The papers said it was a hit-and-run accident.”
“Yes.”
“Did they find the person who did it?”
“No. It was probably some kid out for a lark.” In a black limousine without lights.
“Are you sure?” asked Anne.
The question caught him by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t really know.” Her voice was uncertain. “It’s just that—Carol was murdered. And now—this.”
So she had put it together, too.
“It—it almost sounds as if there’s a maniac running around loose.”
“If there is,” Judd assured her, “the police will catch him.”
“Are you in any danger?”
His heart warmed. “Of course not.” There was an awkward silence. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. He must not mistake a friendly phone call for anything more than the natural concern that a patient would have for her doctor. Anne was the type who would have called anyone who was in trouble. It meant no more than that.