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

“Well, if you think you can handle it... I don’t want any trouble. Still if we get ten million francs it’ll put me on easy street for the rest of my life.”

“And me too,” Madame Brossette said gently. “We go shares on this, Joe.”

“Sure,” Joe said, but his face fell. Five million francs sounded much less attractive than ten.

Madame Brossette got to her feet.

“I’ll be back again in a little while. You stay here for to-night. I’ll call this fellow in Marseille and fix things for you.”

His hand now much more steady, Joe finished his drink, then he closed his eyes.

As Madame Brossette left the room, he began to snore.

Jay sat at a table of a café near the Casino, reading the late edition of Nice-Matin .

The time was ten minutes to ten. It was dark, not starlit and there was a new moon.

Jay was wearing a dark blue light-weight suit and a dark blue open neck shirt. He made a drab figure in comparison to the other people at the tables around him in their bright holiday clothes.

He was reading the description of Joe Kerr that was printed on the front page of the paper with the statement that the police believed this man could help them in their inquiries.

Jay was a little worried.

Was Kerr still in the hotel or had he been smuggled away? He had satisfied himself that the two detectives hadn’t found him, for he had walked past the hotel several times during the past two hours and he had seen the two detectives sitting outside La Boule d’Or, obviously watching the Beau Rivage hotel.

The watching detectives made Jay’s plan much more difficult. They would see him enter the hotel and that could be fatal.

As the waiter passed with a loaded tray, Jay ordered another café espresso. He lit a cigarette, and, as he returned the lighter to his pocket, his fingers touched the coiled curtain cord he had brought with him.

He felt in his other pocket for the loose beads of the neck-lace he had bought and then his fingers moved to the inside of his jacket and touched the leather case containing the razor.

He laid down his paper and stared across the small harbour, seeing the masts of the yachts sharply outlined against the sky and his mind brooded on his problem.

The waiter put the espresso on the table in front of him and Jay paid him. When he had finished the coffee, he got up and walked slowly towards Rue d’Antibes.

He reached Rue Foch a few minutes after ten o’clock. The back street was deserted. The only lights came from La Boule d’Or and from the entrance of the Beau Rivage hotel.

Jay walked slowly down the street, his hands in his trousers pockets, his head slightly bent, his eyes screened by his dark glasses.

The two detectives were still sitting at the table. They had beers in front of them and they were talking together in low tones. Neither of them paid any attention to him and he slowed his stride to look into the bar.

Ginette’s father sat behind the bar, staring emptily across the room. There was no sign of Ginette.

Jay moved on and a few yards further on, he passed the entrance to the hotel.

Madame Brossette was sitting behind the reception desk, a cigarette between her full lips while she flicked over the pages or a magazine, the expression on her face revealing her disinterest.

He had hoped by now the detectives would have gone. This was going to make things difficult and dangerous. If he went into the hotel they might wonder who he was and what he was doing going into the place alone and without luggage. The woman, too, might be suspicious of him.

He paused at the street corner and taking out a packet of cigarettes he slit the seal with his thumbnail while he considered the problem.

It was solved for him when he heard a soft voice behind him say, “Hello, cheri , were you looking for me?”

He turned.

A girl stood on the edge of the kerb: a thin, shabbily dressed girl who was eyeing him speculatively as her red, full lips curved into a professional smile.

“Hello,” he said. “Yes, I was looking for you as it happens.”

She giggled and moved up to him.

“Well, here I am. There’s a little hotel down the street.” He could smell the cheap scent on her and her hard, young-old eyes made him feel a little sick. “Come with me, cheri . I’ll arrange everything.”

He walked with her down the dark street.

“Are you on holiday, cheri ?” she asked, keeping close to him so her bare arm rubbed against his coat sleeve.

“That’s right.”

“You’re American, aren’t you? You speak very good French.”

She had the Midi accent and he had to listen carefully to understand her.

“Do you think so? Is this the hotel?”

He slowed his pace a little, his mouth suddenly turning dry.

To do what he had to do with the police within fifty paces of the hotel was tempting providence, but he had no other alternative. He had to get the photographs and the negatives if he were going to survive.

“Yes,” the girl said, linking her arm through his as if she were suddenly frightened that he would lose his nerve and not go in. “It’s all right, cheri . I come here often. It’ll cost two thousand francs and then there’s my present.”

“Two thousand francs? That’s too much.”

“It isn’t, cheri . You can stay the night. Most gentlemen like to stay the night... ”

As they walked into the hotel, Jay didn’t look towards the two detectives, sitting across the way, but he was sure they had seen them go in. The girl wasn’t much shorter than he and by slightly bending his knees and by keeping his head down he managed to screen himself by her so that the detectives couldn’t get a good look at him.

Madame Brossette laid down her magazine and nodded to the girl.

“Well, Louisa?”

“My friend and I... ”

“Of course.”

Madame Brossette merely glanced at Jay as he put two one thousand franc notes down on the desk.

“The gentleman would like to stay the night,” the girl said and giggled.

Madame Brossette picked up the notes.

How strong she looked! Jay thought. He looked at her red, rough hands. They were as big and as strong as the hands of a man.

“You know the room, cherie ? The usual one... ”

The girl took the key Madame Brossette pushed towards her and taking Jay’s arm she led him up the steep dark stairs to a dimly-lit landing.

A man and a girl, coming down the passage, paused at the head of the stairs to let Jay and his companion pass.

Jay saw the two girls exchange winks.

Sheepishly the man pushed past Jay and started down the stairs.

His companion said: “Mind how you fall, cheri .”

Louisa unlocked a door facing the head of the stairs. She turned on the light and walked in, followed by Jay.

The room was small and sordid. There was a bed, a chair, a washstand with a bowl and an enamel jug containing water on which floated a film of dust. A thread-bare rug by the bed sent up a puff of dust as Jay trod on it.

The girl shut the door and turned the key. She moved up to Jay, smiling invitingly.

Jay slumped down on the bed. He took from his hip pocket two crumpled five thousand franc notes.

“I’m sorry, mademoiselle,” he said and smiled at her, “but you must excuse me. I have changed my mind. I hope you will accept this. I regret wasting your time.”

The girl stared at the two notes as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Are those for me?”

“Of course. I hope you will excuse me.”

She plucked the notes out of his hand as if she were afraid he would change his mind.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like me?” she asked. Her voice was curious rather than hostile.