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Authors: Sidney Sheldon
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released. Give me a call in the morning.”
“Thanks,” Judd said gratefully.
“It’s my job. If you’re involved in any of this, I’m going to help McGreavy nail you.” Angeli turned to go. He stopped again. “You don’t have to mention to McGreavy that I’m checking on Ziffren for you.”
“I won’t.”
The two men smiled at each other. Angeli left. Judd was alone again.
If the situation was bleak that morning it was even bleaker now. Judd knew that he would already have been arrested for murder except for one thing—McGreavy’s character. McGreavy wanted vengeance and he wanted it so badly that he would make sure that every last bit of evidence was in place. Could the hit-and-run have been an accident? There had been snow on the street, and the limousine could have accidentally skidded into him. But then, why had the headlights been off? And where had the car come from so suddenly?
He was convinced now that an assassin had struck—and would strike again. With that thought, he fell asleep.
Early the next morning Peter and Norah Hadley came to the hospital to see Judd. They had heard about the accident on the morning news.
Peter was Judd’s age, smaller than Judd and painfully thin. They had come from the same town in Nebraska and had gone through medical school together.
Norah was English. She was blond and chubby with a large, soft bosom a bit too large for her five feet three inches. She was vivacious and comfortable, and after five minutes’ conversation with her, people felt they had known her forever.
“You look lousy,” Peter said, studying Judd critically.
“That’s what I like, Doctor. A bedside manner.” Judd’s headache was almost gone and the pain in his body had been reduced to a dull, aching soreness.
Norah handed him a bouquet of carnations. “We brought you some flowers, love,” she said. “You poor old darling.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“How did it happen?” asked Peter.
Judd hesitated. “It was a hit-and-run accident.”
“Everything hit the fan at once, didn’t it? I read about poor Carol.”
“It’s dreadful,” said Norah. “I liked her so much.”
Judd felt a tightness in his throat. “So did I.”
“Any chance of catching the bastard who did it?” Peter asked.
“They’re working on it.”
“In this morning’s paper it said that a Lieutenant McGreavy is close to making an arrest. Do you know anything about it?”
“A little,” Judd said dryly. “McGreavy likes to keep me up to date.”
“You never know how wonderful the police are until you really need them,” Norah said.
“Dr. Harris let me take a look at your X rays. Some nasty bruises—no concussion. You’ll be out of here in a few days.”
But Judd knew he had no time to spare.
They spent the next half hour in small talk, carefully avoiding the subject of Carol Roberts. Peter and Norah were unaware that John Hanson had been a patient of Judd’s. For some reason of his own, McGreavy had kept that part of the story out of the newspapers.
When they got up to leave, Judd asked to speak to Peter alone. While Norah waited outside, Judd told Peter about Harrison Burke.
“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “When I sent him to you, I knew he was in a bad way, but I was hoping there was still time for you to help him. Of course you have to put him away. When are you going to do it?”
“As soon as I get out of here,” Judd said. And he knew he was lying. He didn’t want Harrison Burke sent away. Not just yet. He wanted to find out first whether Burke could have committed the two murders.
“If there’s anything I can do for you, old buddy—call.” And Peter was gone.
Judd lay there, planning his next move. Since there was no rational motive for anyone wanting to kill him, it stood to reason that the murders had been committed by someone who was mentally unbalanced, someone with an imagined grievance against him. The only two people he could think of who
“Thanks,” Judd said gratefully.
“It’s my job. If you’re involved in any of this, I’m going to help McGreavy nail you.” Angeli turned to go. He stopped again. “You don’t have to mention to McGreavy that I’m checking on Ziffren for you.”
“I won’t.”
The two men smiled at each other. Angeli left. Judd was alone again.
If the situation was bleak that morning it was even bleaker now. Judd knew that he would already have been arrested for murder except for one thing—McGreavy’s character. McGreavy wanted vengeance and he wanted it so badly that he would make sure that every last bit of evidence was in place. Could the hit-and-run have been an accident? There had been snow on the street, and the limousine could have accidentally skidded into him. But then, why had the headlights been off? And where had the car come from so suddenly?
He was convinced now that an assassin had struck—and would strike again. With that thought, he fell asleep.
Early the next morning Peter and Norah Hadley came to the hospital to see Judd. They had heard about the accident on the morning news.
Peter was Judd’s age, smaller than Judd and painfully thin. They had come from the same town in Nebraska and had gone through medical school together.
Norah was English. She was blond and chubby with a large, soft bosom a bit too large for her five feet three inches. She was vivacious and comfortable, and after five minutes’ conversation with her, people felt they had known her forever.
“You look lousy,” Peter said, studying Judd critically.
“That’s what I like, Doctor. A bedside manner.” Judd’s headache was almost gone and the pain in his body had been reduced to a dull, aching soreness.
Norah handed him a bouquet of carnations. “We brought you some flowers, love,” she said. “You poor old darling.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“How did it happen?” asked Peter.
Judd hesitated. “It was a hit-and-run accident.”
“Everything hit the fan at once, didn’t it? I read about poor Carol.”
“It’s dreadful,” said Norah. “I liked her so much.”
Judd felt a tightness in his throat. “So did I.”
“Any chance of catching the bastard who did it?” Peter asked.
“They’re working on it.”
“In this morning’s paper it said that a Lieutenant McGreavy is close to making an arrest. Do you know anything about it?”
“A little,” Judd said dryly. “McGreavy likes to keep me up to date.”
“You never know how wonderful the police are until you really need them,” Norah said.
“Dr. Harris let me take a look at your X rays. Some nasty bruises—no concussion. You’ll be out of here in a few days.”
But Judd knew he had no time to spare.
They spent the next half hour in small talk, carefully avoiding the subject of Carol Roberts. Peter and Norah were unaware that John Hanson had been a patient of Judd’s. For some reason of his own, McGreavy had kept that part of the story out of the newspapers.
When they got up to leave, Judd asked to speak to Peter alone. While Norah waited outside, Judd told Peter about Harrison Burke.
“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “When I sent him to you, I knew he was in a bad way, but I was hoping there was still time for you to help him. Of course you have to put him away. When are you going to do it?”
“As soon as I get out of here,” Judd said. And he knew he was lying. He didn’t want Harrison Burke sent away. Not just yet. He wanted to find out first whether Burke could have committed the two murders.
“If there’s anything I can do for you, old buddy—call.” And Peter was gone.
Judd lay there, planning his next move. Since there was no rational motive for anyone wanting to kill him, it stood to reason that the murders had been committed by someone who was mentally unbalanced, someone with an imagined grievance against him. The only two people he could think of who
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