The Naked Face by Sidney Sheldon

“Our man thinks he’s a super-being.”

“Exactly. In a dangerous situation we have three choices, Angeli. Flight, constructive compromise, or attack. Our man attacks.”

“So he’s a lunatic.”

“No. Lunatics rarely kill. Their concentration span is ex tremely short. We’re dealing with someone more compli cated. He could be somatic, hypophrenic, schizoid, cycloid—or any combination of these. We could be dealing with a fugue—temporary amnesia preceded by irrational acts. But the point is, his appearance and behavior will seem perfectly normal to everyone.”

“So we have nothing to go on.”

“You’re wrong. We have a good deal to go on. I can give you a physical description of him,” said Judd. He narrowed his eyes, concentrating. “Don Vinton is above average height, well proportioned, and has the build of an athlete. He’s neat in his appearance and meticulous about everything he does. He has no artistic talent. He doesn’t paint or write or play the piano.”

Angeli was staring at him, open-mouthed.

Judd continued, speaking more quickly now, warming up. “He doesn’t belong to any social clubs or organizations. Not unless he runs them. He’s a man who has to be in charge. He’s ruthless, and he’s impatient. He thinks big. For exam ple, he’d never get involved in petty thefts. If he had a rec ord, it would be for bank robbery, kidnapping, or murder.” Judd’s excitement was growing. The picture was growing sharper in his mind. “When you catch him, you’ll find that he was probably rejected by one of his parents when he was a boy.”

Angeli interrupted. “Doctor, I don’t want to shoot down your balloon, but it could be some crazy, hopped-up junkie who—“

“No. The man we’re looking for doesn’t take drugs.” Judd’s voice was positive. “I’ll tell you something else about him. He played contact sports in school. Football or hockey. He has no interest in chess, word games, or puzzles.”

Angeli was watching him skeptically. “There was more than one man,” he objected. “You said so yourself.”

“I’m giving you a description of Don Vinton,” said Judd. “The man who’s masterminding this. I’ll tell you something more about him. He’s a Latin type.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because of the methods used in the murders. A knife—acid—a bomb. He’s South American, Italian, or Spanish.” He took a breath. “There’s your identi-kit. That’s the man who’s committed three murders and is trying to kill me.”

Angeli swallowed. “How the hell do you know all this?”

Judd sat down and leaned toward Angeli. “It’s my profession.”

“The mental side, sure. But how can you give a physical description of a man you’ve never seen?”

“I’m playing the odds. A doctor named Kretschmer found that eighty-five percent of people suffering from paranoia have well-built, athletic bodies. Our man is an obvious para noiac. He has delusions of grandeur. He’s a megalomaniac who thinks he’s above the law.”

“The n why wasn’t he locked up a long time ago?”

“Because he’s wearing a mask.”

“He’s what?”

“We all wear masks, Angeli. From the time we’re past in fancy, we’re taught to conceal our real feelings, to cover up our hatreds and fears.” There was authority in his voice. “But under stress, Don Vinton is going to drop his mask and show his naked face.”

“I see.”

“His ego is his vulnerable point. If it’s threatened—really threatened—he’ll crack. He’s on the thin edge now. It won’t take much to send him completely over.” He hesitated, then went on, speaking almost to himself. “He’s a man with—mana.”

“With what?”

“Mana. It’s a term that the primitives use for a man who exerts influence on others because of the demons in him, a man with an overpowering personality.”

“You said he doesn’t paint, write, or play the piano. How do you know that?”

“The world is full of artists who are schizoids. Most of them manage to get through life without any violence be cause their work gives them an outlet in which to express themselves. Our man doesn’t have that outlet. So he’s like a volcano. The only way he can get rid of the pressure inside him is to erupt: Hanson—Carol—Moody.”

“You mean these were just senseless crimes that he committed to—”

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