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

Then suddenly she broke free and turned away, her breathing quick and hard.

“We mustn’t do this, Jay. Please... ”

For some seconds, he remained motionless, his mind in a daze, then he said unsteadily: “Why not? I love you.”

The words sounded horribly trite to him. Every character in every one of his father’s movies said I love you sooner or later: the cheap, stylized jargon of the commercial cinema.

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes searching and questioning.

“I know so little about you,” she said. “You are a stranger to me. I can’t understand why I should feel as I do feel about you. We’ve only met for an hour or so and we talk of love.”

“I know.” He lifted his hands helplessly. “For me it is different. I’ve been lonely and unwanted all my life. Then I meet you and I’m no longer lonely.”

She turned, smiling at him.

“We won’t do any more of this,” she said, waving her hands at the glasses still to be washed. “I’ll show you your room.”

He looked at her and he saw how bright her eyes were and how quickly she was breathing and because the excitement inside him was almost too strong for him to bear, he went out of the kitchen into the semi-darkness of the bar room and picked up the sack he had left on the floor.

She turned out the light in the kitchen and moved to a door leading to a steep flight of stairs. She paused in the doorway, turning on the light so he could see the stairs and he looked at her; seeing the expression in her eyes he knew for certain what was going to happen and he hesitated.

Sexual experience was an unknown factor in his suppressed, enclosed life. He had never considered it because he had never expected any girl would want to yield to him. Now he saw Ginette was ready to offer herself to him, his nerve quailed. He thought of the girl he had killed and he regretted the act. The excitement, the test of his ingenuity, wits and courage seemed suddenly petty and ridiculous. What Ginette would offer him was the ultimate thing in a man’s life, he told himself. He was suddenly sure of it. The other — the act of killing, the false excitement, the pitting of wits — was a sham and he was sickened at the thought that now he could never again lead a normal life. He would never know when the police would catch up with him.

“It’s on the first floor,” Ginette said.

He watched her climb the stairs and he was now acutely aware of her body in the tight-fitting singlet and cotton trousers she was wearing.

He picked up the sack and followed her up the steep stairs to a door at the head of the stairs.

As she turned on the light in the room, she smiled at him.

“It’s not much of a room, but the bed is comfortable,” she said.

He moved up to her, looking beyond her into the small, clean room with its bed, its strip of carpet, its chest of drawers and the bright oil painting of Cannes harbour on the wall.

“It’s wonderful,” he said. “I couldn’t wish for anything better.”

He tossed the sack down by the bed, then deliberately went over to the window and faced her.

They looked at each other, then Ginette came into the room and closed the door.

“Jay... I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t help myself. I love you so,” she said. “Please be kind to me.”

“Kind?” His breathing was quick and his heart hammering. “Why, of course.” He put his arms round her and drew her close to him. “You need never be frightened of me, Ginette.” He pressed his face against hers. “You are the special thing in my life.”

The hot sunlight coming through the shutters and lying across the bed woke Jay.

He moved drowsily and then lifted his head, staring around the unfamiliar little room.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, then looking around and seeing Ginette asleep at his side, he relaxed back on the pillow.

He lay still, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds in the street below.

Then, languidly, he reached for his watch, lying on the bedside table and saw it was twenty-five minutes past six.

He raised himself up on his elbow to look more closely at Ginette, who moved in her sleep, her hand sliding across his naked chest.

His mind came alert.

By this time the police would know he had killed the Balu girl and they would be searching for him. His description would probably be in the morning papers.

He lay back, sliding his arm under Ginette’s shoulders, drawing her close to him and he thought of what he must do.

It would be better, he told himself, for him to remain out of sight in this room until the first intensive search for him had died down.

He would be safe here. When he was sure the search had slackened, then he would slip away one night and make for Paris.

There would be difficulties. His description would be in all the newspapers. Ginette might see the description and recognize him. How would she react? Without her cooperation, he might easily fail to get away.

He turned his head to look at her and, as he did so, she opened her eyes, smiling sleepily at him.

“What is the time, Jay?” she asked.

“Half-past six.”

She gave a little sigh of content and pressed herself against him.

“We don’t have to get up until nine. Go to sleep,” she said, her lips now against his neck. “I’ve never been so happy... ”

He lay motionless, his arm tightening around her and in a moment or so, her quick, light breathing told him she was sleeping.

I’ve never been so happy...

Remorse bit into him as he thought of that ghastly moment when he had tightened the scarlet cord around the girl’s throat.

Why had he done this thing? he asked himself. It wasn’t because he had been bored. That was a lie he had told Sophia to try to justify his act. Neither was it because he wanted to test his courage and his wits. He realized that now. That had also been a lie to try to justify what he had done to himself.

He felt a cold chill creep over him as he was forced to recognize the fact that he had killed the girl because of an inner compulsion. Something inside him had urged him to kill her: a force he had been powerless to control.

Was this then the thing people called insanity? Was he really out of his mind? Yet, lying here, with this girl at his side, feeling her breath against his neck, he felt as sane as he imagined any sane person would feel.

He drew Ginette closer. His thoughts were of the activity that must be going on at the Cannes police headquarters. The police were already hunting for him. If he made one slip, he would be caught.

Guilty but insane.

If the jury brought in that verdict, what would they do with him?

He would be put away in a cell, away from Ginette, shut up like a dangerous animal, not just for a few months, but for the rest of his days.

Sweat broke out on his face at the thought.

What a fool he had been! To have deliberately put himself in such a situation!

Unable to remain any longer in bed, he drew his arm gently from under Ginette’s shoulders, moved the sheet aside and silently left the bed. Moving over to the window he lifted the blind a few inches.

Already the early sun felt hot against his face as he looked down the narrow street.

A few people were walking to work. The shutters of the shop windows were still drawn. A man pushing a handcart on which were piled vast bunches of white, red and purple carnations passed just below the bedroom window.

Jay looked over at the Beau Rivage hotel. A gendarme stood in the shade, just inside the entrance, his face tight with boredom. A little further up the road stood a police van, its long radio aerial pointing like an accusing finger towards the blue sky.