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

Then doors began to open. There came the sound of running footfalls and girls screaming.

The two detectives, sitting at the table outside La Boule d’Or, heard the sound of the fall and they started to their feet, staring at each other.

The senior officer, Lemont, said: “What the devil was that?”

He started across the street at a run, followed by the other detective.

As he entered the hotel, he pulled up short.

Lying in the dimly lighted lobby was the gross, broken body of Madame Brossette.

A girl, wearing only a brassiere and a skirt, was standing over her, her hands in her hair, her mouth open as she screamed softly.

Looking up, Lemont saw several men and a number of girls leaning over the banister rail, staring down.

He shoved the screaming girl aside and knelt beside Madame Brossette. He put his finger on one of her staring eyes and seeing no flicker, he grimaced, then touched the artery in her neck.

Farcau, his companion, moved closer.

“She’s dead,” Lemont said. “Better get statements. I’ll call the ambulance.”

The men at the head of the stairs, hearing this, started down the stairs, anxious to get away before their names could be taken, but found their way barred by Farcau.

From his room, Jay watched the activity. He had heard Lemont say Madame Brossette was dead and his lips curved into a quick grin of relief. Now he had to get out of the hotel without being seen.

The stairs were blocked by men and girls trying to get down. Their backs were turned to him.

He opened the door and moved out of the room, then he went softly and quickly down the passage to the broom cupboard, opened the door, stepped inside, groped his way to the back wall, found the spring release and opened the false door.

Leaving it open, he left the broom cupboard, leaving that door also wide open.

Then he returned to his bedroom, took out a ten franc piece from his pocket, unscrewed the light bulb, put the ten franc piece on the lamp socket and screwed it into the lamp holder.

The lights in the hotel were instantly fused and the place was plunged into darkness.

The men, caught on the stairs, realizing their chance to get away without getting involved with the police, plunged madly down through the darkness, swept Farcau aside and rushed out into the street. At their heels ran Jay.

Once out in the open the men broke up and Jay was on his own. He walked quickly to Rue d’Antibes, then crossing the car park, he made his way over to the harbour.

There were still a number of holiday makers taking advantage of the hot, perfect night and they were wandering along the harbour, staring at the lighted boats and Jay mingled with them.

He was in an exalted mood of triumph.

The experiment, he told himself, had succeeded. At one time it looked as if it were heading for complete disaster, but thanks to his ingenuity and his wits, he had pulled the thing off.

He was safe now! He had destroyed the negatives and the photographs. He had silenced two blackmailers. He had left evidence that would prove to the police beyond all doubt that Joe Kerr had killed the girl. One person in a million could have done what he had done! A million? That was ridiculous! Only he could have done it!

He reached the far end of the harbour where he could see Ginette’s boat and he sat on a bollard to wait for her. He had only twenty minutes to wait and he found he was impatient and anxious to see her again.

He was lighting a cigarette and preparing to settle down to wait when a tall, heavily built man strolled over to him and paused in front of him.

“Mr. Jay Delaney?” the man asked.

Jay stiffened. He felt a sudden cold knot of fear form inside him. The man was obviously a police officer and for a moment Jay was too shocked to speak.

Then he said, “Yes, what is it?”

“I’m a police officer,” the man said. “Inspector Devereaux would like a word with you, monsieur. If you will please come with me... ”

Had he done something stupid after all? Jay wondered, his heart beginning to pound. Had he been seen leaving the Beau Rivage hotel?

“Please tell the Inspector that I will see him when I return to the hotel,” he said, aware that his voice sounded stilted. “I have an appointment with someone now. I should be back just after two o’clock.”

The detective made an apologetic gesture.

“I’m sorry, monsieur, but the matter is urgent. The Inspector won’t keep you long. I have a car here,” and he waved to where a black car was parked a few yards away.

There was another detective standing by the car and he began to move slowly over towards Jay.

Jay stood up.

“Well, all right, but I must say this is most irritating.”

The thought that he might miss seeing Ginette made him angry and his anger forced down the fear that had flared up in him.

“I’m sorry, monsieur,” the detective said in his flat, impersonal voice.

Jay walked with him to the car and got in the back seat. The detective sat beside him. The other detective got under the driving wheel and drove quickly off the harbour and along the Croisette towards the Plaza hotel.

Nothing was said during the drive. Jay stared out of the window, reeling very tense and angry, but he had got over his first scare.

If he had been seen leaving the Beau Rivage hotel, it wasn’t likely they would be taking him to the Plaza, but he would have to watch out. This Inspector Devereaux was no fool. He wouldn’t have sent two detectives to look for him unless it was something pretty serious — but what?

The car pulled up a few yards from the Plaza and the two detectives got out, holding the door open for Jay.

“Perhaps you would like to go on in, monsieur,” one of them said. “No point in making the press curious. You will find the Inspector in the assistant manager’s office.”

“Thank you,” Jay said.

He walked towards the Plaza, aware that the two detectives were strolling after him.

So it can’t be all that serious, he thought. If they really thought I had killed her, they wouldn’t let me out of their reach. But I must be careful. This may be a trick to get me off my guard.

He entered the Plaza lobby, which was fairly empty. Most of the people were still in the cinema, and, crossing the lobby, he went to the assistant manager’s office, knocked on the door, turned the handle and entered the room.

Inspector Devereaux was sitting behind his borrowed desk munching a sandwich. It was the first food he had eaten since he had begun the case and he was hungry.

“You will excuse me, monsieur,” he said as Jay came in. “I have had no time for supper.” Regretfully he laid the half-eaten sandwich down on the plate at his side, took out his handkerchief and wiped his fingers. “You will excuse me too for disturbing you.”

“I have an appointment at twelve,” Jay said curtly and looked at the clock on the desk. The time was five minutes to twelve. “Perhaps I may use the telephone? I dislike keeping people waiting.”

“Certainly,” Devereaux said and pushed the instrument towards Jay. “I won’t keep you more than five minutes.”

Jay picked up the telephone book and quickly found the number of La Boule d’Or. He gave the girl on the switchboard the number. He didn’t notice that Devereaux picked up his pencil and wrote down the number on the blotter as Jay gave it to the girl.

Ginette came on the line.

“This is Jay,” Jay said. “I’m sorry, but I am delayed. I won’t be able... ”

“It’s all right,” she broke in. “I was going to call your hotel. I won’t be able to come. We have just heard my father’s brother is dangerously ill and my father has gone to St. Tropez to be with him. I can’t leave the café.”