1958 - Not Safe to be Free (21 page)

The thud of her body made an appalling sound and it was immediately followed by a violent crashing of bottles on the shelf over the bar, jerked loose by the shock of the woman’s fall.

Jay jumped up the three stairs and moved quickly into his bedroom, closing the door. He threw the bolster on the bed, then taking out his handkerchief he wiped his sweating face.

Was she dead?

He couldn’t imagine anyone falling like that without being instantly killed, but there was a chance that she had survived the fall.

For a few seconds there was no movement nor sound in the hotel. It was as if everyone who had heard the sound of the fall were paralysed, staring at each other, listening and wondering.

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.

Chapter Eleven

I

I
nspector 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 cafe.”

“I see. I’m sorry. Well, then tomorrow. I’ll come and see you tomorrow,” Jay said, glancing at Devereaux, who was munching his sandwich and appearing to be paying no attention to the conversation.

“All right. I’m sorry too.”

“I understand. Until tomorrow then.”

“Yes.”

Until tomorrow, Jay thought as he hung up. Tomorrow seemed suddenly a long way off.

“I’m afraid I have spoilt your evening, monsieur,” Devereaux said.

“It’s all right,” Jay said irritably. “Well? What is it?”

Devereaux finished his sandwich. He again took out his handkerchief and wiped his fingers.

“There is a point I would like to raise with you, monsieur, to do with the statement you made this morning.” He lifted a sheet of paper off the top of his pile of notes. “You said this morning that, after you had spoken to Mademoiselle Balu when you met her on the beach, you didn’t see her again—that is to say, you didn’t see her at any time after she had left the beach. That is correct?”

So that was it, Jay thought. The necklace. This man is no fool. He’s spotted my slip. But I can get out of it. There’s no need to panic.

“Yes, that is what I said and it is correct,” he said and looked straight at Devereaux, again thankful for the blue screens of his sunglasses.

“A little later I asked you to describe the necklace she was wearing.”

Jay nodded.

“I remember and I described the necklace,” he said quietly.

He saw Devereaux lift his eyebrows as if surprised.

“You described it accurately,” Devereaux said. “Would you now look at this photograph?”

He handed Jay a photograph of Lucille Balu, posing on the beach.

Jay studied the photograph. Of course the girl isn’t wearing the necklace, he thought. It was smart of him to have noticed that.

He laid down the photograph and looked inquiringly at the Inspector.

“Well?”

“You see nothing out of the way in the picture, monsieur?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jay said and leaned forward and again studied the picture. “Is there something odd about it?”

“She is not wearing a necklace,” Devereaux said, his voice sharpening.

Jay leaned back in his chair.

“That doesn’t seem odd to me. I’d be surprised if she had been wearing one on the beach.”

Devereaux drew in a deep breath.

“You said, monsieur, that you had seen the necklace. You said you didn’t see her after she had left the beach. Then how could you have seen the necklace if she wasn’t wearing it?”

This is the moment, Jay thought. I’ve got to convince him or this could be dangerous.

For several seconds he stared at the Inspector, a look of astonishment on his face.

“Do you mean to tell me you have made me break an appointment for such a trivial thing as that?” he said. “I never said she was wearing the necklace. I described it because it happened to fall out of her beach bag while we were talking and I picked it up and returned it to her. I remember I said I thought it was a pretty thing. Does that answer your question?”

Devereaux ran his fingers through his hair, frowning, then he gave an irritable shrug. The explanation was so simple and so obvious it made him feel foolish.

“Thank you, monsieur. You must excuse me. I’m afraid I have bothered you for nothing, but every statement I get has to be checked. I hope you understand.”

Jay kept his face expressionless with an effort, but inside himself he felt a surge of triumph. He had done it! He had fooled this man! It had been so easy! Again it had been due to his ingenuity and nerve and now—he was safe!

“That’s all right,” he said. “Of course, I understand. Well . . .” He got to his feet. “Is there anything else?”

Devereaux also got to his feet.

“No, monsieur. Only my regrets. . .”

“It’s nothing,” Jay said. “I’m only too happy to help.” He paused, then went on: “You have no suspect yet?”

Devereaux shrugged his shoulders.

“We are only just beginning the investigation, monsieur. I have been working on murder cases now for thirty years and in my experience, very few murderers escape. There is always the unexpected factor that brings about their downfall. It is usually at the moment when they are quite sure they are safe that they get caught. I am a patient man. I ask questions. I write down answers. I check statements. That is all I do. It is the murderer who usually gives himself away. Solving a murder case is merely a matter of patience.”

Well, this time, Jay thought, you will be disappointed, my friend. You can have all the patience in the world, but you won’t catch me in a mistake.

At this moment the telephone bell rang and Devereaux reached for the receiver.

“Excuse me, monsieur,” he said. “Don’t let me detain you any longer.”

“Thank you,” Jay said and nodding, he went out of the room.

It was Guidet calling on the telephone and he sounded excited. He told Devereaux that they had found Joe Kerr at the Beau Rivage hotel.

“And about time too,” Devereaux growled. “Well, bring him to headquarters. I’ll be right over. Has he made a statement?”

“It would be better for you to come here, Inspector,” Guidet said, unable to resist the drama of the situation. “He is dead.”

Devereaux stiffened.

“Dead?”

“Yes. He’s our man all right. I found one of the blue beads in his pocket. He hanged himself with a red curtain cord—the cord that is missing from the hotel.”

Devereaux refused to give him the satisfaction of appearing startled.

“I’ll be right over,” he said and hung up.

II

A
s Jay crossed the lobby to the elevator, he saw Sophia come in with his father and four other men. The men paused to say good night to Sophia before going with his father towards the bar.