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

“A beauty,” he said. “Yes, you’re right, Inspector. Here it is: on the side of the instrument. Whoever handled the electric light bulb in the Beau Rivage also handled this telephone and he also handled the bead found in suite 30.”

Devereaux rubbed the back of his neck while he stared at Leroy.

“Are you absolutely certain?”

“I’m always certain,” Leroy said cheerfully. “Fingerprints don’t lie. There’s no question of a mistake.”

There was a long silence while Devereaux stared down at his desk. He said finally: “We’d better go up and talk to him if he’s there. Guidet, ask the hall porter if he is in the suite.”

Guidet went out and returned a few minutes later.

“He’s up there and so are his parents.”

“It’ll be interesting to see if he has any scratches on his arms,” Devereaux said, pushing his chair back. “You’d better come, Leroy. I’ll want you to take his prints.”

The three men left the office.

Pausing in the lobby, Devereaux said to Guidet: “Go up there and wait outside the door. I’d better get the clerk to announce us and I don’t want the boy to have a chance of bolting. I’ll give you five minutes before calling the suite.”

Guidet nodded and hurried up the stairs.

While they waited, Leroy said: “This case, Inspector, will make you famous. Your name will be in every paper in every country in the world.”

Devereaux shrugged his shoulders.

“We’ll have to handle the boy tactfully. He may have an explanation. This is dangerous ground. His father has a lot of influence. I hope to goodness you haven’t made a mistake.”

Leroy grinned happily.

“We’ll soon see when I take his prints. I’m willing to bet all the money I own that he is our man.”

“I think you are right.”

Devereaux went over to the reception desk.

“Will you call Mr. Jay Delaney and tell him I want to speak to him and I propose going up to his suite?” he said to the night clerk.

The clerk looked pointedly at his wrist-watch.

“It’s a little late now to disturb Mr. Delaney,” he said. “Won’t to-morrow do?”

“Please call the suite and tell him. I will apologize when I see him.”

The clerk, shrugging, put through the call. There was a delay, then he said: “Will you hold on, please?” and looking Devereaux, he said: “Mr. Jay Delaney isn’t in the suite.”

Devereaux frowned.

“I understood he went up an hour ago.”

“Mr. Delaney senior says he is not in the suite,” the clerk repeated.

Devereaux took the telephone receiver out of the clerk’s hand.

“Monsieur Delaney? This is Inspector Devereaux speaking. Cannes police. I would be glad if you would see me for a few minutes. May I come up?”

“Well, for heaven’s sake!” Delaney sounded irritable. “I was in bed. Well, all right, come up, Inspector, but you mustn’t keep me long,” and he hung up.

Devereaux went over to the hall porter.

“Did you see Mr. Jay Delaney leave the hotel?”

The hall porter shook his head.

“No, Inspector. I don’t think he has left.”

Harry Stone, waiting for his key, said: “Yeah, young Delaney went out about half an hour ago. He’s gone fishing.”

Devereaux thanked him and, jerking his head at Leroy, he crossed the lobby and took the elevator to the second floor.

Guidet was prowling about the corridor.

“He hasn’t appeared,” he said as Devereaux and Leroy joined him.

“He isn’t in the suite. They say downstairs he has gone fishing.”

“Shall I have him picked up?” Guidet asked.

“Not yet. I’d better talk to his father first. You two wait here. When I want you, I’ll call you,” and, leaving the two detectives by the elevator, Devereaux crossed the corridor and rapped on the door to suite 27.

The door opened immediately and Floyd Delaney, in pyjamas and dressing gown, stood aside.

“Inspector Devereaux?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to disturb you... ”

“Come in. What’s it all about?”

Devereaux entered the lounge.

“I understand your son isn’t here?”

“That’s right. I guess he’s gone out for a breath of air. He wasn’t well. We’ve had a nasty shock. My wife had an accident. She slipped in the bath and pretty nearly died. It upset the kid.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Devereaux said, glancing around the room. “Is Madame better?”

“Yeah, she’s coming along. Why are you interested in my son?”

“I’m investigating the murder of Lucille Balu,” Devereaux said. “I wanted to ask him some questions.”

Delaney stared at him.

“What the hell for?” Then with a sudden apologetic wave of his hand, he said, “Sit down, Inspector. I didn’t mean to sound touchy, but I’ve had quite a night.”

Devereaux sat down in an armchair.

“I appreciate that, monsieur and I regret having to trouble you. Your son was the last person to speak to the girl.”

“He was? I didn’t know he even knew her. Well? What’s that to do with it?”

“He made a statement to me this morning and the statement wasn’t entirely satisfactory,” Devereaux said, choosing his words.

Delaney crossed over to the table, picked up a box of cigarettes and offered it to the Inspector.

Devereaux took a cigarette and lit it with his lighter. As he returned the lighter to his pocket, it slipped out of his sweating hand and dropped into the chair, sliding down between the cushion and the arm.

Delaney said sharply; “In what way — not satisfactory?”

Devereaux paused to retrieve his lighter and his finger closed over another object that had slipped down between the cushion and the chair arm. He pulled it into sight.

He found himself looking at a narrow lizard-skin handbag, with the initials L.B. in gold in one of the corners.

He stared at the bag, remembering what Jean Thiry had said: Yes, she had a handbag. It was one I gave her. It was quite small. She carried a powder compact, handkerchief and lipstick in it. It was a narrow lizard-skin bag with her initials on it.

Delaney moved forward, frowning.

“What have you got there?”

“Mademoiselle Balu’s handbag,” Devereaux said quietly. “There’s no doubt about that. Look, it has her initials on it. The girl was murdered in this room.”

Delaney stiffened.

“What the hell do you mean? In this room? What is this?”

Devereaux got to his feet.

“I’m afraid, monsieur, it is very serious. I must ask you to allow my men to examine your son’s room.”

“My son?” Delaney suddenly remembered that Sophia had told him Jay had had a girl up in their suite. Could the girl have been Lucille Balu? “What’s my son got to do with this?”

“I have reason to believe he is responsible for the girl’s death,” Devereaux said.

“That’s a lie!” Delaney said, his voice even and quiet. “Are you suggesting that my son murdered the girl?”

“I have reason to believe that he did.”

Delaney drew in a long, deep breath.

“You have? Then you’d better state your reasons pretty damn quick or you could find yourself out of a job!”

“Have you any objections to my men examining your son’s room, monsieur?” Devereaux asked. He felt sorry for this big, powerful American whose eyes plainly showed his increasing anxiety.

“Go ahead! I am quite sure my son has nothing to hide!”

Devereaux stepped to the door, opened it and beckoned to Guidet and Leroy.

The two detectives entered the suite.

“Look for prints,” Devereaux said to Leroy in an undertone, “and hurry.”

The two detectives went into Jay’s room and there was a long, awkward pause.

Delaney sat down and stared at the carpet, his face was pale.