Джеймс Чейз - Not Safe to Be Free [= The Case of the Strangled Starlet]

The note of urgency and tenseness in his voice made her stare at him.

“But surely not,” she said. “I can’t believe that. If you had to find out the quality of your courage, wits and intelligence, surely you don’t have to make someone else suffer? That is a horrible idea. There are many other ways of testing your courage without murdering someone.”

He shifted impatiently on the stool and leaning forward, his fists clenched, he said fiercely. “You are wrong! To make an honest test, you must put yourself in a position where there is absolutely no escape. You might think mountain climbing tests your courage, but it doesn’t. Of course it is dangerous and people risk their lives, but if their nerve fails, if they feel it is too dangerous to go on, they can turn back, but if you kill someone there is no turning back; there is no bringing the body to life again.” He began to pound gently on the top of the bar. “Imagine a situation like this one. Imagine having a dead girl on your hands in a crowded hotel, knowing you have killed her and that one little slip will endanger your life. What a test that must be! It is the perfect test for one’s courage! Can’t you see that? If you commit murder, there is no possible escape except by your own nerve, cleverness and courage.”

“But you don’t really believe that anyone in his right mind would kill someone just as a test of courage?” Ginette asked. “I can’t believe that! What about the victim? This girl who was killed — she was only just beginning her life. No one but a madman would have done such a thing.”

Jay started to protest, then his caution warned him to be careful. This girl was intelligent. He must be careful not to talk too much. She must never become suspicious of him. It would spoil everything.

He smiled at her and shrugged.

“Well, it’s nothing really to do with us, is it? If the killer is ever found, I’m willing to bet that he is as sane as I am.”

It was while he was speaking that he became aware of two shadows falling across the bar. He looked around and saw the two detectives come in and he felt a sudden tightening band around his chest as they came up to the bar and paused within three feet of him.

He looked at them out of the corners of his eyes. They were big, heavy men, their faces shiny with sweat and he could smell the sweat on their shabby clothes.

They asked Ginette for beers, and, while she poured the beers into glasses, they glanced at Jay and then back to Ginette.

“Mademoiselle,” the taller of the two said as Ginette put the glasses before them, “perhaps you can help us. We are police officers.”

Ginette looked at Jay, but he kept his eyes fixed on his glass of Vermouth.

“We are looking for a man,” the detective went on. “Perhaps you have seen him pass here from time to time.” He gave a detailed description of Joe Kerr. When he had completed the description he asked, “Have you seen him?”

“Why, yes,” Ginette said. “He always carried a camera hanging by a strap around his neck. Isn’t that right?”

Jay felt a chill crawl up his spine. He sensed the excitement in Ginette’s voice and he was sure she had seen Kerr.

“That’s the man!”

The two detectives leaned forward.

“The description fits the man who passes here every day,” Ginette went on. “He came in here once for a drink. I remember he asked for whisky and we hadn’t any. He has a room down this street: either at the Beau Rivage or the Antibes hotel.”

Casually, Jay finished his Vermouth, then slid off his stool and walked without fuss across the bar to the telephone that Stood on a shelf away from the detectives. He picked up the directory, flicked through the pages until he found the Beau Rivage hotel number, then dialled. He was quite calm, although his heart was beating a little faster.

The detectives were still questioning Ginette: both men seemed excited and tense.

There was a click on the line and a woman’s voice, hoarse and deep, demanded: “Who is it?”

Cupping his hand around the telephone mouthpiece, he whispered into it: “Is that Madame Brossette?”

“Yes.” The hoarse voice sharpened. “Who is that?”

“Listen carefully. Two detectives are coming to your hotel within the next few minutes. They are looking for Joe Kerr. They have a warrant for his arrest.”

Jay waited long enough to hear Madame Brossette catch her breath sharply, then he gently replaced the receiver.

As he did so, he saw the two detectives walk briskly out of the café and cross the street.

He watched them. If they found Kerr it wouldn’t be very long before they would start looking for him. This was a moment of intense excitement and when he saw them disappear into the Hotel Antibes, he drew in a quick breath of relief.

“Did you hear what they said?” Ginette said excitedly. “Why I’ve actually spoken to the man! Is he the one who did it? A horrible looking man! He could have done it.”

Jay smiled at her, his lips stiff.

“They may only want information from him.” He looked at his wrist-watch. “I’ve just remembered I have to see someone. I’m late already. I’ll see you to-night at the harbour.”

Without giving her time to say anything, he left the café, crossed the hot sun-baked street and walked slowly past the Beau Rivage hotel.

As he passed the entrance he glanced into the dark doorway.

The thin girl was sitting at the desk, running her fingers through her untidy hair and staring fixedly out into the hot evening sunshine. There was no sign of Madame Brossette.

This was not surprising, for Madame Brossette, as soon as she received Jay’s telephone call, had called her daughter, Maria, told her to watch the lobby and then she had plodded up the steep stairs to Joe’s room.

She found Joe lying on his back on the bed in a heavy, drunken sleep. An empty bottle of Scotch lay by his side, his mouth hung open and he snored.

She shook him roughly and Joe sat up, his eyes dazed as he stared at her.

“Wazzamatter?” he asked feebly and would have toppled backwards if she hadn’t caught hold of him.

“Wake up, Joe!”

The snap in her voice brought Joe’s drink-fuddled mind awake and he blinked, shaking his head as he heaved his feet to the floor.

“The police are searching the hotels. They are looking for you. Come on. I’ve got to get you out of sight.”

“Me?” Joe’s face lost colour. “Why? They came here this morning, didn’t they?”

“Yes and they’re, across the road at the Antibes right now. Come on, Joe.”

He got unsteadily to his feet.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just come with me.” Her big hand closed over his and she dragged rather than led him to the door and out into the corridor.

“What’s the idea?” Joe asked, trying to clear his fuddled mind. “Maybe I’d better talk to them. Maybe we’d better give up this idea. I don’t like it. It’s blackmail. I’ll talk to them and give them the photographs... ”

She propelled him down the corridor, making soft soothing noises that one makes to a nervous cat. She opened a door into a cupboard full of brooms and pails.

“You leave this to me, Joe,” she said, and, reaching for a hidden spring, she pressed it and the back of the cupboard slid aside. Beyond was a small room, equipped with a table, chair and a bed. It was lit by a tiny electric lamp let in the ceiling and ventilated by a shaft that connected with the chimney in the room next door. “In you go, Joe and stay quiet. I’ll be back in a little while. Just stay quiet.”

Protesting and mumbling, Joe felt himself propelled forward and then there was a sharp clicking noise as the panel slid shut.

Moving with a speed remarkable for one of her bulk, Madame Brossette hurried back to Joe’s room, bundled all his belongings into his shabby suitcase and put the suitcase in the cupboard, then she opened the window to let in some fresh air, snatched up the empty whisky bottle and went downstairs.