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

The sight of the gendarme and the police van made Jay feel sick. He remained motionless, watching the gendarme, unable to drag his eyes away from this symbol of his possible destruction.

“Jay... what have you done to your arm?”

He started and looked quickly around.

Ginette had thrown aside the sheet and lay outstretched on the bed. She made a picture of beauty that quickened his heartbeat.

“My arm? Why, nothing.”

He moved away from the window.

“But you have... look.”

Then he saw the three long ragged scratches, the marks from Lucille Balu’s fingernails. They looked inflamed against the brownness of his skin.

“Oh, that... ” He shrugged. “It is nothing. I scratched myself on a nail.”

“But doesn’t it hurt?” She was solicitous and he was pleased. No one had ever bothered before when he had hurt himself.

“It’s nothing.”

He came and sat beside her and bending over her, he put his mouth gently on hers. She gave a little sigh and her arms slid around his neck, pulling him to her.

“Dear, dear Jay... ”

And no one had ever spoken to him like that before and he felt hot tears sting his eyes as he gripped her fiercely and lovingly.

The hands of the clock moved on from six-thirty to eight o’clock.

When Jay woke again he found Ginette no longer at his side and immediately he started up, his mind crawling with alarm.

Where was she?

Had the police come for him?

In sudden panic, he scrambled off the bed and darted across the room to where he had left his clothes. He was groping frantically for the gun he had left in his trousers pocket when the door swung open.

He felt a kick of fear against his heart as he looked over his shoulder.

Ginette came in carrying a breakfast tray. She was wearing the blue jeans and a yellow cotton shirt. She was smiling, but her smile faded as she paused in the doorway and stared at him.

The stiff motionless way in which he was crouching, the expression on his face, gave her the idea that he was frightened.

“What is it, Jay?”

He made an effort and pulled himself together.

“Nothing. I woke suddenly and I wondered where you had got to,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. He pulled on his pale blue cotton trousers. “Breakfast? Good. I’m hungry.”

She gave him a puzzled look, then set the tray down on the table. There was crisp bread, a large pat of butter, jam and coffee.

They sat side by side on the bed while they breakfasted.

Ginette said suddenly, “Jay... I don’t even know what work you do, except you do something in the film world.”

“I’m in publicity,” Jay said. “It’s not much of a job.”

“Will you be working this morning?”

“Oh, no. My work’s finished here now. I’m taking a vacation. Then I’ll have to go to Venice.”

“Won’t you be coming back, Jay?” she asked as she refilled his coffee cup.

“I don’t know. Would you like to come to Venice with me?”

She stared at him, her eyes opening wide.

“Venice?” She shook her head. “I’d love it, but it’s not possible. I couldn’t leave my father.”

He said what he knew was now impossible because he would never again be able to use his real name in safety.

“We could get married.”

She smiled at him and put her hand on his.

“My father is helpless. He has no other means of earning a living. We French are loyal to our parents. It is a tradition. It’s something in our blood. I can’t marry so long as he is alive.”

“You’re wasting your life,” Jay said impatiently. “When he dies what will happen to you?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Don’t let’s talk about it. What are you going to do this morning? I won’t be free until half past two; then we can go for a swim. The café reopens at six.”

“I’ll stay here,” Jay said. “Do you mind? I’m tired.”

“Of course you can stay here, but wouldn’t it be better for you to go out in the sun?”

He finished his coffee and then lay back on the bed.

“I’ve had enough of the sun. I like it here.” He smiled at her. “We have a few days together, Ginette. We are going to be very happy.”

She touched his face gently.

“I must go now. I have a lot to do.”

“Is the café open yet?”

“We don’t open until ten.”

She bent over him and kissed him, her fingers smoothing back his hair, then, smiling at him, she picked up the tray and went out of the room.

He put his hand to the place where she had kissed him and he had to struggle against the desire to weep. For some time he lay in an emotional vacuum, then he forced himself to think how he could get out of this trap he had dug for himself. If he could get to Paris, he felt he might be safe.

As he lay thinking, he heard a murmur of voices downstairs. Immediately, he stiffened and sat up.

The police?

He went over to the window and looked out. The gendarme still guarded the entrance to the Beau Rivage hotel, but the police van had gone.

Leaving the window, he crossed the room and eased open the door, his hand closing over the butt of the gun in his hip pocket.

He heard a man’s voice say something and Ginette reply, although he couldn’t hear what was said. He moved silently into the passage and peered over the banister rail.

He could see Ginette’s slim legs and small feet as she stood by the bar. The man she was talking to was out of sight.

“It was murder,” Jay heard the man say. “There’s no doubt about it. I was talking to the gendarme just now. He says it was a clumsy attempt to make it look like suicide.”

Jay’s fingers gripped the banister rail as he leaned forward to catch what the man was saying.

“He told me the killer is insane. They know who he is. You’d better be careful who comes in here to-day.”

Ginette laughed.

“I’m not worrying. He isn’t likely to return to this district,” she said.

“That’s where you are wrong. Killers often come back. They can’t keep away from the scene of their crime. Still, you don’t have anything to worry about. The gendarme are across the way. He’ll keep an eye on you.”

“Well, I must get on. I have work to do.”

“You’ll be busy to-day. People will come to look at the hotel. I’ll see you to-morrow.”

Ginette moved out of Jay’s sight. He heard the café door open, then close and the key turn in the lock.

How had the police found out that Kerr hadn’t killed himself? Jay wondered. If they were as clever as this, how was he to get away?

Moving like a ghost, he started down the stairs until he could see into the bar.

Ginette was bending over a table on which was spread a newspaper, her back turned to him. He watched her and, after a few moments, she became aware of him and she turned.

“The police have found the man they were asking about yesterday — Joe Kerr,” she said, a little breathlessly. “They found him dead in the Beau Rivage hotel across the way. They say he was murdered and they think the man who killed Lucille Balu did it. They say he is insane.”

“He isn’t insane,” Jay said, suddenly angry. “I explained that to you before. Of course he isn’t insane.”

“But he must be,” Ginette said, turning back to the newspaper. “Inspector Devereaux is in charge of the case. He is very clever. He comes here quite often to talk to father. The paper says the Inspector knows who did it and he says that this man killed Kerr to make the police think it was Kerr who killed the girl.”

“How do they know Kerr didn’t kill himself?” Jay asked, his lips stiff.

“They don’t say.” Ginette paused while she studied the account in the newspaper, then she began to read the account aloud: “A quantity of human skin was found under the dead girl’s fingernails. It is believed she put up a desperate struggle while the killer was strangling her and she inflicted deep scratches on his arms and hands. The police ask anyone who has noticed a man with recent scratches on his arms to notify them at once.” She straightened and turned. “It’s strange isn’t it, how it is the little things that give murderers away? The scratches on his arm... ” She stopped short, staring at Jay, who had begun to back away, his face white, his eyes glittering, his left hand trying to cover the inflamed scratches that ran from his wrist to his elbow.