Chapter Three
MARY HANSON was a doll of a woman; small, beautiful, exquisitely made. On the outside, she was soft, Southern-helpless-feminine, and on the inside, granite bitch. Judd had met her a week after beginning her husband’s therapy. She had fought hysterically against it and Judd had asked her to have a talk with him. “Why are you so opposed to your husband going through analysis?”
“I won’t have my friends saying I married a crazy man,” she had told Judd. “Tell him to give me a divorce; then he can do any damn thing he pleases.”
Judd had explained that a divorce at that point could destroy John completely.
“There’s nothing left to destroy,” Mary had screamed. “If I’d known he was a fairy, do you think I would have married him? He’s a woman.”
“There’s some woman in every man,” Judd had said. “Just as there’s some man in every woman. And in your husband’s case, there are some difficult psychological problems to overcome. But he’s trying, Mrs. Hanson. I think you owe it to him and his children to help him.”
He had reasoned with her for more than three hours, and in the end she had reluctantly agreed to hold off on the divorce. In the months that followed, she had become interested and then involved in the battle that John was waging. Judd made it a rule never to treat married couples, but Mary had asked him to let her become a patient, and he had found it helpful. As she had begun to understand herself and where she had failed as a wife, John’s progress had become dramatically rapid.
And now Judd was here to tell her that her husband had been senselessly murdered. She looked up at him, unable to believe what he had just said, sure that it was some kind of macabre joke. And then realization set in. “He’s never coming back to me!” she screamed. “He’s never coming back to me!” She started tearing at her clothes in anguish, like a wounded animal. The six-year-old twins walked in. And from that moment on, there was bedlam. Judd managed to calm the children down and take them to a neighbor’s house. He gave Mrs. Hanson a sedative and called the family doctor. When he was sure there was nothing more he could do, he left. He got into his car and drove aimlessly, lost in thought. Hanson had fought his way through a hell, and at the moment of his victory…It was such a pointless death. Could it have been some homosexual who had attacked him? Some former lover who was frustrated because Hanson had left him? It was possible, of course, but Judd did not believe it. Lieutenant McGreavy had said that Hanson was killed a block away from the office. If the murderer had been a homosexual, full of hatred, he would have made a rendezvous with Hanson at some private place, either to try to persuade Hanson to come back to him or to pour out his recriminations before he killed him. He would not have plunged a knife into him on a crowded street and then fled.
On the corner ahead he saw a phone booth and suddenly remembered that he had promised to have dinner with Dr. Peter Hadley and his wife, Norah. They were his closest friends, but he was in no mood to see anyone. He stopped the car at the curb, went into the phone booth and dialed the Hadleys’ number. Norah answered the phone. “You’re late! Where are you?”
“Norah,” Judd said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to beg off tonight.”
“You can’t,” she wailed. “I have a sexy blonde sitting here dying to meet you.”
“We’ll do it another night,” Judd said. “I’m really not up to it. Please apologize for me.”
“Doctors!” snorted Norah. “Just a minute and I’ll put your chum on.”
Peter got on the phone. “Anything wrong, Judd?”
Judd hesitated. “Just a hard day, Pete. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
“You’re missing some delicious Scandinavian smorgasbord. I mean beautiful.”
“I’ll meet her another time,” promised Judd. He heard a hurried whisper, and then Norah got on the phone again.