The Naked Face Read Online Free PDF Page B

answered all of McGreavy’s questions in a rapid, staccato manner, then fled. McGreavy remained there a few minutes, absorbed in what he had just learned. Then he walked out into the freezing night air to find a taxi. There was no sign of one. The sons of bitches were all vacationing in Bermuda. He could stand out here until his ass froze off. He spotted a police cruiser, flagged it down, showed his identification to the young rookie behind the wheel, and ordered him to drive him to the Nineteenth Precinct. It wasagainst regulations, but what the hell. It was going to be a long night.
    When McGreavy walked into the precinct, Angeli was waiting for him. “They just finished the autopsy on Carol Roberts,” McGreavy said.
    “And?”
    “She was pregnant.”
    Angeli looked at him in surprise.
    “She was three months gone. A little late to have a safe abortion, and a little early to show.”
    “Do you think that had anything to do with her murder?”
    “That’s a good question,” McGreavy said. “If Carol’s boyfriend knocked her up and they were going to get married anyway—what’s the big deal? So they get married and have the kid a few months later. It happens every day of the week. On the other hand, if he knocked her up and he didn’t want to marry her—that’s no big deal, either. So she has the baby and no husband. That happens twice every day of the week.”
    “We talked to Chick. He wanted to marry her.”
    “I know,” replied McGreavy. “So we have to ask ourselves where that leaves us. It leaves us with a colored girl who’s pregnant. She goes to the father and tells him about it, and he murders her.”
    “He’d have to be insane.”
    “Or very foxy. I vote for foxy. Look at it this way: supposing Carol went to the father and broke the bad news and told him she wasn’t going to have an abortion; she was going to have his baby. Maybe she used it to try to blackmail him into marrying her. But supposing he couldn’t marry her because he was married already. Or maybe he was a white man. Let’s say a well-known doctor with a fancy practice. If a thing like this ever got out, it would ruin him. Who the hell would go to a headshrinker who knocked up his colored receptionist and had to marry her?”
    “Stevens is a doctor,” said Angeli. “There are a dozen ways he could have killed her without arousing suspicion.”
    “Maybe,” McGreavy said. “Maybe not. If there was any suspicion and it could be traced back to him, he’d have a hard time getting out of it. He buys poison—someone has a record of it. He buys a rope or a knife—they can be traced. But look at this cute little setup. Some maniac comes in for no reason and murders his receptionist and he’s the grief-stricken employer demanding that the police find the killer.”
    “It sounds like a pretty flimsy case.”
    “I’m not finished. Let’s take his patient, John Hanson. Another senseless killing by this unknown maniac. I’ll tell you something, Angeli. I don’t believe in coincidences. And two coincidences like that in one day make me nervous. So I asked myself what connection there could be between the death of John Hanson and Carol Roberts, and suddenly it didn’t seem so coincidental, after all. Suppose Carol walked into his office and broke the bad news that he was going to be a daddy. They had a big fight and she tried to blackmail him. She said he had to marry her, give her money—whatever. John Hanson was waiting in the outer office, listening. Maybe Stevens wasn’t sure he had heard anything until he got on the couch. Then Hanson threatened him with exposure. Or tried to get him to sleep with him.”
    “That’s a lot of guesswork.”
    “But it fits. When Hanson left, the doctor slipped out and fixed him so he couldn’t talk. Then he had to come back and get rid of Carol. He made it look like some maniac did the job, then he stopped by to see Mrs. Hanson, and took a ride to Connecticut. Now his problems are