“I…I suppose so. What will I find when I get up there?”
“With a little luck, a scorecard.”
Five minutes later Judd was thoughtfully getting into his car. He had told Moody that he could not go away and leave his patients on such short notice. But he knew that he was going to. He was literally putting his life into the hands of the Falstaff of the private detective world. As he started to drive away, his eye caught Moody’s sign in the window.
SATISFACTION GUARANTEED.
He’d better be right, Judd thought grimly.
The plan for the trip went smoothly. Judd stopped at a travel agency on Madison Avenue. They reserved a room for him at Grossinger’s and provided him with a road map and a variety of color brochures on the Catskills. Next he telephoned his answering service and arranged for them to call his patients and cancel all his appointments until further notice. He phoned the Nineteenth Precinct and asked for Detective Angeli.
“Angeli’s home sick,” said an impersonal voice. “Do you want his home number?”
“Yes.”
A few moments later he was talking to Angeli. From the sound of Angeli’s voice, he had a heavy cold.
“I’ve decided I need to get out of town for a few days,” Judd said. “I’m leaving in the morning. I wanted to check it with you.”
There was a silence while Angeli thought it over. “It might not be a bad idea. Where will you go?”
“I thought I’d drive up to Grossinger’s.”
“All right,” Angeli said. “Don’t worry. I’ll clear it with McGreavy.” He hesitated. “I heard what happened at your office last night.”
“You mean you heard McGreavy’s version,” Judd said.
“Did you get a look at the men who tried to kill you?”
So Angeli, at least, believed him.
“No.”
“Nothing at all that could help us find them? Color, age, height?”
“I’m sorry,” Judd replied. “It was dark.”
Angeli sniffed. “OK. I’ll keep looking. Maybe I’ll have some good news for you when you get back. Be careful, Doctor.”
“I will,” Judd said gratefully. And he hung up.
Next he phoned Harrison Burke’s employer and briefly explained Burke’s situation. There was no choice but to have him committed as soon as possible. Judd then called Peter, explained that he had to go out of town for a week, and asked him to make the necessary arrangements for Burke. Peter agreed.
The decks were clear.
The thing that disturbed Judd the most was that he would be unable to see Anne on Friday. Perhaps he would never see her again.
As he drove back toward his apartment, he thought about Norman Z. Moody. He had an idea what Moody was up to. By having Judd notify all his patients that he was going away, Moody was making sure that if one of Judd’s patients was the killer—if there was a killer—a trap, using Judd as the bait, would be set for him.
Moody had instructed him to leave his forwarding address with his telephone exchange and with the doorman at the apartment building. He was making certain that everyone would know where Judd was going.
When Judd pulled up in front of the apartment house, Mike was there to greet him.
“I’m leaving on a trip in the morning, Mike,” Judd informed him. “Will you make sure the garage services my car and fills the tank?”
“I’ll have it taken care of, Dr. Stevens. What time will you be needing the car?”
“I’ll be leaving at seven.” Judd sensed Mike watching him as he walked into the apartment building.
When he entered his apartment, he locked the doors and carefully checked the windows. Everything seemed to be in order.
He took two codeine pills, got undressed, and ran a hot bath, gingerly easing his aching body into it, feeling the tensions soaking out of his back and neck. He lay in the blessedly relaxing tub, thinking. Why had Moody warned him not to let the car break down on the road? Because that was the most likely place for him to be attacked, somewhere on a lonely road in the Catskills? And what could Moody do about it if Judd were attacked? Moody had refused to tell him what his plan was—if there was a plan. The more Judd examined it, the more convinced he became that he was walking into a trap. Moody had said he was setting it up for Judd’s pursuers. But no matter how many times he went over it, the answer always came out the same: the trap seemed designed to catch Judd. But why? What interest could Moody have in getting him killed? My God, thought Judd. I’ve picked a name at random out of the yellow pages of the Manhattan Telephone Directory and I believe he wants to have me murdered! I am paranoiac!