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

I

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.”

“I see. I’m sorry. Well, then to-morrow. I’ll come and see you to-morrow,” 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 to-morrow then.”

“Yes.”

Until to-morrow, Jay thought as he hung up. To-morrow 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 sun-glasses.

“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

As 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.

Sophia saw Jay and joined him as the elevator doors opened. They rode up to the second floor without exchanging a word, conscious of the attendant who kept looking at Sophia with furtive admiration.

It wasn’t until they had left the elevator and while Jay was unlocking the door to their suite that Sophia said in a tense, low voice, “Well? What have you been doing?”

“Arranging things,” Jay said, opening the door and standing aside. “As I said I would.”

Sophia entered the lounge, crossed over to the cocktail cabinet and poured a brandy to which she added a lump of ice and some soda water.

While she was making a drink, Jay closed the door and moved over to sit in one of the armchairs.

She turned and faced him.

“Well? For heaven’s sake! Don’t try to be mysterious! What have you done?”

How tense she looked! he thought. Smart as she is, she wouldn’t have been able to have handled this thing the way I did. She would either have paid those two blackmailers for the rest of her days or she would have given up and weakly submitted to being arrested. It would never have crossed her mind to have silenced them.

“I have arranged things, Sophia,” he said. “Everything is now all right.”

His smug little smile made her want to slap his face, but she controlled herself.

“Don’t talk like a fool!” she said angrily. “How can everything possibly be all right? Those two... ”

He held up his hand.

“I said I would arrange things and I have arranged them. The photographs and the negatives are destroyed. I destroyed them myself.”

She stared at him.

There was something about him she hadn’t ever seen before. There was this smug little smile, but his cocky air of confidence disturbed her.

She sipped her brandy, then she sat down, frowning at him.

“You’ve destroyed them? But how?”

“I went to the hotel,” he said airily. “I talked to the woman. She was difficult, of course, but I went prepared. Blackmailers are always cowards. I frightened her and I frightened Kerr. They gave me the photographs and the negatives and I burned them.”

“You? You frightened that woman! I don’t believe it!” Sophia’s scorn made Jay flush angrily. “A callow boy like you couldn’t frighten such a woman!”

“Don’t you think so?” Jay’s lips were in a tight smile. “I’m not saying it was easy, but I did it.” He put his hand into his hip pocket and took out the razor. He opened it and let the light from the reading lamp glitter on its blade.

Sophia caught her breath sharply.

“You see? It even frightens you,” Jay said softly. “It’s odd — people have a horror of sharp steel. I threatened them with this. It had the required effect.”

Sophia felt a little sick as she stared at him. Sitting there, his face pale, his eyes hidden by the dark glasses, a cruel smile on his lips and the razor in his hand, he looked horribly dangerous.

“Put that thing away!” she said her voice was husky.

Jay closed the razor and began to tap his knee with it.

“So you have nothing to worry about, Sophia. You can forget the whole thing.”

“You insane fool! Even if they gave you the photographs and the negatives that won’t stop them going to the police and telling them!” Sophia burst out angrily.

He flinched.

“Of course, you are still thinking of yourself, Sophia,” he said, “but I assure you it is going to be all right. They won’t say anything. I can promise you that.”

“But why are you so sure?”

“I just know.” He paused and cocked his head a little on one side. “You can forget the whole thing. You do understand, don’t you? It would be better if you forgot all about it.”

She stiffened. The note in his voice was distinctly hostile.

“Is it my turn now to be threatened?” she asked.

His meaningless smile moved into place.

“After all, Sophia, you are now the only person who can do anything about this business. The other two won’t and you are the only other one who knows about it. If you hadn’t returned when you did, everything would have worked out very well, so it does make it a little difficult between us, doesn’t it?”

“I would like to get this quite clear, Jay,” Sophia said. “Are you threatening me?”

He opened the razor and stared down at the glittering blade.

“I don’t think it is necessary to threaten you, because you are clever,” he said. “After all, if you did give me away, I would have to involve you as an accessory. You wouldn’t want to go to prison, would you?”

She was suddenly so angry that she threw caution to the wind.

“Listen to me, you mad little fool!” she said furiously. “You don’t imagine you are going to get away with this horrible thing, do you?”

“I think I have told you before,” he said, his face set, “I am not mad. I am going to get away with it. Of course you have thought what you imagine is best to be done. No doubt you plan to tell father when we are out of France and persuade him to put me in a home, but I warn you, I’m not going to a home. Rather than that I will give myself up to the police and give you up too.”

“You don’t think you can be allowed to go free after what you have done?” Sophia said. “You are a mental case. You will have to have special treatment. Why, you could do this horrible thing again.”

Then suddenly his inner voice began to whisper to him.

“It would be better if she died,” the voice told him. “It would be safer. With her out of the way, no one would ever know. You can’t trust her. Sooner or later, she will tell your father. You are alone with her. It would be quite easy to arrange. All you would have to do is to stun her, take off her clothes and put her in the bath. They would think she slipped in the bath, hit her head on the taps and drowned. An accident like that so often happens. Do it now. You have time. Your father won’t be up for another half hour.”

As Jay listened to the voice, he glanced at his wrist-watch. The time was twenty minutes to one. He had the time.

“I wouldn’t ever do it again, Sophia,” he said, his voice suddenly mild. “I have got it out or my system now. But if it would satisfy you, I would be willing to go to some doctor and let him talk to me. I can understand you wouldn’t want me living with you and father any longer. I would be prepared to live alone if you would persuade father to let me have my own apartment.”

He saw her hesitate, then she said: “If you are willing to submit to a thorough examination and if you are willing to abide by the doctor’s decision, then I won’t say anything more about this.” She made a little movement with her hand. “But you must have some kind of help and treatment to get you straightened out.”

“You see?” whispered the voice. “She thinks you are mad. You can never have any safety until she is out of the way.”

Behind the shield of his dark glasses, he looked around the room for a weapon with which to stun her.

He had now no compunction about killing her. She had brought it on herself. All she thought about was herself. She hadn’t helped him because she was afraid of what would happen to him. She had helped him because she had been afraid of what would happen to her own social position and to his father’s reputation.

He must first reassure her and then, when she was off her guard...

“Well, all right, Sophia,” he said as his eyes found the weapon he was looking for. It was a heavy paperweight in silver his father carried around with him that stood on the desk. It was an ideal weapon. He would have to be careful not to hit her too hard, he told himself, but he would have to hit her hard enough to make her unconscious. “I suppose I do want straightening out, as you put it. In fact, it would be a relief to have someone to talk confidentially to and I would welcome living away from father. Do you think you could persuade him to let me have a place of my own?”

“I think so.”

He wished she was a little more relaxed. It was disconcerting to see how closely she was watching him. She was, of course, extremely sensitive to atmosphere. Surely she didn’t guess what was going on in his mind?

It mustn’t be bungled, he thought. He could hear footsteps and voices as people passed the door of the suite, going to their rooms. She mustn’t have a chance to scream.

“So if I agree to those conditions, Sophia,” he said, “then you won’t give me away?”

She got to her feet and put the scarcely touched brandy on the table.

“I’m tired now, Jay. We’ll talk about this to-morrow. I’m going to bed.”

He got up casually and strolled over to the desk.

“You haven’t finished your drink,” he said, his fingers closing over the paperweight.

“I don’t want it. Good night, Jay.”

He glanced at her.

She had reached her bedroom door.

She must be nervous, he thought. She hasn’t once turned her back on me.

“I’m sorry about all this, Sophia,” he said. He began to move slowly across the room towards her, the paperweight held down by his side, out of sight. “I wish I hadn’t done it now. At the time it seemed important. I’ll get straightened out. I’m relying on you to help me.”

He felt his anger rising against her as she didn’t react in any way to this.

She stood in the doorway of her bedroom, watching him, her expression alert.

“Good night, Jay,” she said and before he could reach her, she stepped into the room and abruptly closed the door in his face. He heard the key turn in the lock.

For a second or two he remained motionless, then he moved silently to the door leading to the outside corridor and turned the key. Would she forget to lock the door between her room and his father’s room?

Moving softly, he crossed the lounge and opened the door into his father’s room. Leaving the door open so he could see where he was going, he crossed the room to the door that led into Sophia’s room. He listened, his head against the door panel. He could hear Sophia moving about in the inner room. He looked at his watch: the time was now ten minutes to one. His margin of safety was running out.

He put his hand on the door-handle and began to turn it very slowly. It seemed to take a long time before the handle fully turned.

Had she locked this door?

He pulled gently and as he felt the door move towards him, he stopped pulling and his lips curled into a triumphant grin.

Again he listened.

He heard Sophia clear her throat and then put something down on the dressing table.

He eased the door open a crack, his right hand gripping the paperweight so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He could see into the room now.

Sophia had taken off her evening dress and was peeling off her stockings.

Jay measured the distance between them. It was too great. She would have time to start to her feet and scream before he could reach her.

He watched her slip on a wrap, then undo her suspender belt and toss it on a chair, then she walked into the bathroom.

He heard the bath water running.

Better wait for her to get into the bath, he thought. He remembered she would be sitting with her back to the door once she was in the bath.

All he would have to do then was to move in silently and hit her before she even knew he was in there.

He waited, his breathing fast and hard, his heart thumping. He glanced at his watch. It was now three minutes to one. The margin of safety was narrowing.

He stiffened when he heard the bath water stop running and then he heard the unmistakable sound of splashing.

She must be in the bath!

His lips moved into his meaningless smile as he opened the door and moved silently across the bedroom to the bathroom door.

He reached for the handle, turned it and pushed gently.

The door swung silently open.

III

Never before in the sordid history of the Beau Rivage hotel had the hotel been so quiet and dark as when Inspector Devereaux drove up in his car.

A small crowd stood outside the entrance, held back by three sweating gendarmes.

Guidet stood just inside the dark entrance and came across the pavement to meet Devereaux.

“Why in darkness?” Devereaux asked, staring up at the dark outline of the building.

“The lights have fused. As soon as we put in a new fuse, it blows.” Guidet sounded exasperated. “I’ve got an electrician checking the wiring. In the meantime we have candles.”

“So he is dead?” Devereaux said, walking into the lobby.

“Yes, he’s dead,” Guidet said. “He hanged himself.”

On the reception desk were five flickering candles that threw a yellow circle of light on Madame Brossette’s gross body lying where it had fallen at the foot of the stairs.

“Hello!” Devereaux exclaimed, coming to an abrupt stop. “What happened here?”

“My guess is she found Kerr, rushed downstairs to call the ambulance and fell,” Guidet said indifferently. “The stairs are dangerously steep. Anyway, it’s saved her getting into trouble with us. She deliberately lied when we asked her if Kerr was here.”

At this moment the Medical Officer, Dr. Mathieu, came in.

He went immediately to the body and made a quick examination.

“Her neck is broken,” he said, looking at Devereaux. “A woman of such a weight... such a fall... ” He shrugged his shoulders.

“And Kerr?” Devereaux asked.

“Upstairs.”

Guidet turned on a powerful electric torch and guided Devereaux up the narrow stairs.

“So he was here all the time,” Devereaux said as he walked into the room beyond the broom cupboard. “No wonder we didn’t find him.”

Lemont was in the room, lighting more candles.

Guidet threw the beam of his torch on Joe Kerr.

Joe hung from the scarlet cord that was fastened to a hook on the back of the door. His long, bony legs were curled up so that the weight of his body had tightened the running noose of the cord. His raddled face was a pale mauve colour; his lips were drawn off his teeth in a snarl of terror.

“He hanged himself with the missing curtain cord,” Guidet said. “I’ve been through his pockets. In one of them I found a blue bead.” He went over to the bedside table and pointed to the bead. “It’s from the girl’s necklace.”

Devereaux glanced at the bead, then back to Joe.

“No confession or suicide note?”

“No.” Guidet picked up the half empty bottle of whisky. “Looks as if he had been drinking heavily.”

“Well, there doesn’t seem much doubt that he killed the girl and in a drunken fit of remorse, he hanged himself,” Devereaux said.

While he was speaking the lights went on.

“Ah! That’s better,” Guidet said. “I’ll have the body photographed and then taken down.”

Devereaux nodded. He was feeling tired, but satisfied. The case had cleared up nicely.

“I wonder why he did it,” he said. “You know, Guidet, this seems almost too simple, but it often happens this way. Just when one thinks one has a difficult case on one’s hands, the thing solves itself. Still, we’d better be on the safe side. Take his fingerprints. Let’s see if they check with the print we found on the other bead.”

Guidet shrugged his shoulders.

“All right, but I don’t think there’s any doubt about it — he’s our man.”

Lemont, who had gone downstairs to fetch the police photographer, now returned, followed by the photographer.

Devereaux moved out into the passage to give the photographer room in which to work.

A man, carrying a metal toolbox, came out of a room at the head of the stairs. He paused when he saw Devereaux.

“The blown fuse was caused by this, monsieur,” he said and handed Devereaux a ten franc piece. “It was screwed into the light socket in that room.”

Devereaux thanked the man. When the electrician had gone, Devereaux beckoned to Lemont.

“Did the lights go out before or after you heard the woman fall?”

“Some minutes after. They went out when I was examining the body. I imagine one of the men caught here fused the lights in order to get away. As soon as the lights failed, there was a rush for the exit. Farcau had no chance of stopping anyone.”

Devereaux grinned.

“I can’t say I blame them.”

He dropped the ten franc piece into his pocket.

Dr. Mathieu came up the stairs.

“Another customer for you, doctor,” Devereaux said. “Take a look at him. I don’t think there’s any doubt he’s the one who killed the poor girl.”

Dr. Mathieu nodded and went into the room beyond the broom cupboard. The photographer had completed his work and Guidet and Lemont got Joe’s body on to the bed.

Ten minutes later Mathieu came out into the passage, a puzzled frown on his face.

“Well?” Devereaux asked. He was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette, thinking longingly of his bed.

“I’ll arrange to have him taken to the mortuary, Inspector. I want to check him over much more thoroughly. There are a couple of points that puzzle me. He has a bruise in the middle of his back. It’s a recent one and I’m wondering how he got it. I’ve seen a bruise like that before and it is consistent with a knee being forced between the shoulder blades.”

Devereaux stiffened.

“You mean he didn’t commit suicide? That someone strangled him?”

Mathieu shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know, but the bruise worries me.”

“And the second point?”

“You remember I told you I found skin under the girl’s fingernails indicating that she badly scratched her killer? This man has no scratches on his body.”

Devereaux made a movement of exasperation.

“You are sure she scratched her killer?”

“There’s no doubt about it.”

“And there’re no scratches of any kind on this man?”

“None.”

Devereaux exchanged glances with Guidet.

“The finger-prints?”

“They’re being checked now.”

As Dr. Mathieu moved down the stairs, Devereaux took the ten franc piece from his pocket and stared at it, then he called Lemont.

“You were watching outside the hotel. Did you see a man enter on his own?”

Lemont shook his head.

“No, Inspector. Every man who came here had a woman with him.”

The finger-print expert came out into the passage.

“The print we found on the bead in suite 30 of the Plaza hotel doesn’t match any of Kerr’s prints.”

Devereaux swore softly under his breath, then he thought for a moment.

“Go into that room,” he said, pointing to the room at the head of the stairs, “and check the prints on the electric light bulb.”

The finger-print expert went down the corridor and entered the room in which Jay had hidden.

There was a long pause while Devereaux continued to lean against the wall, smoking, his face set in a heavy scowl.

Recognizing the scowl as a danger sign that the Inspector was testy and tired, both Guidet and Lemont kept quiet.

A few minutes later, the finger-print expert came out of the room.

“A good guess, Inspector. There’s a print on the lamp bulb that matches the one on the bead. No doubt about it.”

Devereaux dropped his half-smoked cigarette on the floor, then stepped viciously on it.

“So we haven’t solved the case,” he said. “I had an idea it was too simple. Well, all right. We’ll start again. At least we know whoever made that print is our man. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find him.” He beckoned to Guidet. “Come with me. We’ll go to the Plaza hotel and we’ll make a fresh start.”

Lemont watched the two men walk down the stairs, then he took out a packet of cigarettes, lit a cigarette and gratefully inhaled the smoke.