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

I

No one, not even her husband, suspected that under the veneer of Sophia’s beauty there was a core of armour-plated hardness forged there by the misery and horrible squalor of her childhood. Very few people knew that Sophia was the product of the slums of Naples.

As soon as she had been able to walk, she had roved the Naples waterfront with a band of other filthy, ragged children, preying on tourists, surrounding them, dirty hands out-stretched, while chanting the only English word she knew: “Money — money — money.”

At night she returned to the tiny hovel constructed out of two wooden crates and a strip of corrugated iron that served as her home.

She lived there with her father, a short stocky Italian, with the flat black eyes of a gangster, who had never done a day’s work in his life.

If Sophia failed to bring home less than five hundred lira a day, her father would seize hold of her, raise her ragged dress and savagely flay her naked flesh with his belt. This existence continued until she was thirteen years old. Then one night, on returning home with less than the required five hundred lira, her mind and body cringing at the thought of the thrashing she would receive, she found her father curled up on the bundle of rags that served him for a bed, a dagger buried to the hilt in his heart.

She stared down at him for a long time, savouring the joy of finding him dead, then moving up to him, she had spat in his dead, snarling face and had left, happy to realize she was on her own, that she had now only herself to think of and the bite of the strap into her flesh was now a thing of the past.

Even in rags and under a coat of grime, Sophia had been a beautiful child. It was not long before she attracted the attention of a man who called himself Giuseppe Francini, a pimp, who worked the cafés in the festering alleys off the Via Roma. He saw her possibilities, took charge of her, dressed her, found her a reasonably clean room and launched her on the career of a prostitute: all this before she had reached the age of fifteen.

Realizing the money that could be made from this profession, Sophia had entered into her new career with an enthusiasm that astonished and delighted Francini. He quickly realized that he was wasting her talents by allowing her to work the low class cafés. He arranged with a friend of his to share the expense of sending her to Rome and renting an apartment there for her.

By the time she reached the age of seventeen, Sophia was a highly successful prostitute. She had shaken off Francini, had taken a luxury apartment in the fashionable quarter of Rome, she was making a substantial income, owned an Alfa — Romeo car and had a wardrobe full of expensive, fashionable clothes that included a mink stole.

A few months after her seventeenth birthday she met Hamish Wardell, a movie director on vacation from Hollywood. Wardell, impressed by her beauty and her enthusiastic lovemaking, took her back to Hollywood with him and arranged for her to have a small part in the movie he was making.

Sophia made an immediate hit in the movie. Her beauty, her strident sex appeal, wiped all the other actresses and actors out of the picture. She made such an impact on the public that she was immediately signed up on a six-figure salary to do three movies and an increase on a further three.

From then on, money flowed unceasingly into her various bank accounts, the public’s adoration was hers and the horror of her childhood and the memories of the brutalities of her past clients when she had been walking the streets of Rome became a blurred memory.

She had met Floyd Delaney when she was twenty-four. He had fallen in love with her and they had married within six months of their first meeting.

She was now the wife of one of the richest and most powerful men in Hollywood. She had everything she could wish for. Her position in life was secure and security to Sophia was her most important possession, next to life itself.

She sat on the settee in the lounge, her knees pressed tightly together, her hands in fists as she stared at Jay who sat opposite her, his face set and pale, a muscle close to his right eye twitching.

She had no doubt that he had murdered this girl and she realized this mad act had jeopardized her own position.

If ever this thing hit the headlines of the world’s newspapers, the security and her position she had suffered so much to gain would go.

She was now recovering from the shock of seeing the girl’s body falling at her feet. The fibre in her was tough and after the initial shock of horror, she was now able to cope with the situation. Her mind was already searching for a way out. She had no intention of weakly surrendering to the situation, but before she could decide what she could do, she had to know all the facts.

“She was Lucille Balu?” she asked, staring at Jay.

“Yes.”

He too was recovering from the horrible moment when he had seen the doors of the cupboard slowly opening. His mouth was dry as he wondered what Sophia was planning to do. He was surprised that her nerves were obviously stronger than his.

“And you killed her?” Sophia said, her hands turning into fists.

“It was an accident,” Jay said and forced his lips into a tight, meaningless smile.

“How — an accident?”

The tip of his tongue moved over his lips as he hesitated, then he said, “What I told you was the truth. When I saw her in this room I knew I had made a mistake. I suppose I was tactless. I told her to get out. She became angry. She threatened to scream. I was frightened someone would hear her. I put my hand over her mouth. There was a struggle. She was stronger than I imagined. I... I must have used more force than I realized. Suddenly she went limp. I thought she had fainted. When I tried to revive her, I found she was dead.”

Watching him and listening to the flat tone of his voice, Sophia knew he was lying. She recalled the picture of him threatening her as he moved across the room, the scarlet curtain cord in his hands and she knew the girl had been deliberately strangled.

She studied him.

The dark screens of his glasses covering his eyes gave him a protective camouflage.

“Take those glasses off,” she said.

He stiffened and frowned. His hand went to his glasses, hesitated and then he took them off.

His pale, washed-out blue eyes with their lost, furtive expression gave her confidence. They told her he was more frightened and shocked than she was.

“You’re lying,” she said. “You deliberately brought her up here and killed her. You killed her with the curtain cord.”

Jay’s eyes went completely blank. They looked like the eyes of a blind man. Then his lips curled upwards and he made a little choking sound as if he were suppressing a giggle.

“You are quite right,” he said. “You’re much cleverer than I had imagined. Yes, of course. It wasn’t an accident.”

Sophia drew in a deep breath and got to her feet. She crossed the room and took a cigarette from the box that stood on the table. As she lit it she noticed her hands were quite steady and that surprised her.

She now had no doubt that the boy was insane. She had always suspected that he had inherited his mother’s mental instability. She was alone with him in this room. Was she in any kind of danger? Would he suddenly turn on her? She would have to be careful not to antagonize him.

She moved back to her chair and sat down.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, her voice gentle.

He looked sharply at her, reacting to the sympathetic note in her voice.

“Why did I do it?” he repeated and he slid further down in his chair. “Because I was bored, Sophia. You wouldn’t know what real boredom means. You wouldn’t know what it means to be always playing third fiddle: not even second fiddle. I’ve been unwanted ever since I was born. My mother hated me. Father has always regarded me as a nuisance. All my life I have been farmed out to please him or my mother or his second wife or whenever I happened to be in the way.”

Sophia nodded.

“Yes, I know. I had a rotten childhood myself. That’s why I’ve always tried to make you feel you are wanted and that you’re not in the way. Don’t think I don’t understand. I do. Your life hasn’t been much fun.”

Jay’s eyes lit up. He suddenly looked very young and eager.

“I’ve always admired you, Sophia. You are the only one who has come within any distance of understanding me, but your kindness has come a little late. Twenty years of playing third fiddle isn’t very exciting.” He leaned forward, staring at her. “Being pushed aside, unwanted and only trotted out to be shown off when it was convenient isn’t very exciting either. For years now I have searched for something in life that really means something. I have come to the conclusion that taking risks is more important than anything else in life. At first I thought that risking my freedom would be enough. When I was at school I became a burglar.” His pale lips moved into his boyish smile. “I didn’t steal anything. I broke into houses and crept into people’s bedrooms. That was quite exciting, to sit by their bedsides watching them sleep, not knowing if they would suddenly wake up and catch me. But after a time I got bored with that. I realized I didn’t put enough value on my freedom to care if I were caught or not. After a lot of thought, I decided the one thing that was irreplaceable and of most value to me was my life.”

Sophia touched off the ash in her cigarette. Her mind was active. She let Jay talk, but she was only half concentrating on what she was saying. He was trying to excuse himself. Before long, they would come to the dead girl. It didn’t matter to her why he had done it. What did matter to her was what would happen once the news broke. Jay was Floyd’s son. The thought of the publicity, the scandal, the horror of the newspaper men, the effect on Floyd’s film, the resurrection of Harriett’s suicide, the trial, the pity of their friends and the frightful newspaper headlines that would go on and on and on made her blood run cold.

“I tried Russian roulette,” Jay was saying. “Do you know what that is? You put a cartridge in the cylinder of a revolver, spin the cylinder so you don’t know if the cartridge is or is not under the firing pin, then you put the gun to your head and pull the trigger. But it is a gambler’s risk and although it provided intense excitement at the first attempt, I realized it wasn’t the kind of risk I was looking for. If I was to risk my life, I wanted to be sure that it wouldn’t be blind chance but my own planning, my own wits, my own intelligence I had to rely on. That brought me to murder. I have thought of murdering someone now for quite some time. This afternoon I decided to do it.” He was leaning forward now, his face tense. “I saw this girl. It was easy enough to persuade her to come up here; as easy to kill her. She was so pathetically unsuspecting. Of course I could have arranged it differently. I could have made it much safer and easier for myself, but I didn’t want that. I wanted a genuine risk. It seemed to me that to be landed with a dead body in this hotel would test my inventiveness to the limit. I made no plans. Even now, I don’t know what I am going to do with the body.” He ran his fingers through his hair as he continued to stare at Sophia. “I didn’t anticipate that you would be so clever, Sophia. I didn’t include you in my plan. Just what are you going to do about this thing?”

Just what was she going to do about it? Sophia asked herself. Tell Floyd? Call the police? Deliberately cut her own social throat?

Once the news hit the headlines, there would be no more dinners at the White House, no more exciting evening parties in London when it was possible that members of the royal family might look in on an unofficial visit, no longer would the rich hostesses in New York fight among themselves for the privilege of having the Delaneys on their dinner list. And Floyd? He had sunk millions in this film of his. Could the film be shown while his son was standing trial for murder?

She knew it would be fatal to confide in Floyd. His reaction would be unthinking and instinctively correct. He would call the police and hand his son over to them without hesitation. She loved and admired Floyd. He always did the right thing, but this thing couldn’t be handled like that. This was something special. A wrong move could ruin their future and she was very conscious that, at this moment, she held the destinies of Floyd, herself and this insane boy in her capable, shrewd hands.

She hedged a little because she wanted more time to think about this thing.

“What do you expect me to do?” she asked.

“Tell father,” Jay said.

“If I told him, you know what he would do.”

“Yes, I know. He would call the police.”

She looked at her wrist-watch. The time was twenty-five minutes to ten. The movie would be running now and Floyd would be wondering where she was.

“I want to think about it, Jay. I can’t keep your father waiting any longer. It’s a thing one can’t make a decision about in a moment. You’re not the only one involved. There’s your father and myself.”

Jay took his dark glasses from his pocket and put them on. She became immediately alert. She felt that this action of his was a declaration of war.

“There isn’t much time,” he said.

“I’ll come to your room after dinner,” Sophia said. “I’ll have decided by then.”

Half smiling, Jay slid out of his chair, moved quickly to the door, turned the key, took the key from the lock and dropped it into his pocket. He leaned against the door and looked across the room at her.

“I’m sorry, Sophia,” he said, his voice gentle, “but I can’t leave the decision to you. Unless you are prepared to be co-operative, I shall have to make my own arrangements.”

“Is that a threat, Jay?” Sophia asked, a little surprised that she wasn’t more frightened.

“I’m afraid it is,” he said apologetically. “This is very important to me. I can’t have you spoiling it.”

Sophia crossed her long, shapely legs.

“But wouldn’t you be in difficulties if you had two bodies on your hands?” she said.

“Of course, that is why I hope you will be co-operative.”

“What do you expect me to do, then?”

He moved back to his chair.

“It’s to your advantage and father’s advantage too if I get away with this. I think I can get away with it. If you tell father, he will rush off to the police. If you say nothing, there is a reasonable chance that no one will ever find out what I have done, so I’m asking you not to say anything.”

Sophia didn’t hesitate. What Jay had said was true. If she told Floyd, the horrible thing would be newspaper headlines within hours.

“All right, Jay. I won’t say anything. I give you my word.”

He nodded.

“I shall have to trust you, but I think you are clever enough to see that it won’t help any of us if I am caught.”

“You can trust me.” Sophia lit another cigarette. “But what are you going to do with the — the body?”

“I thought I’d put it in a trunk and leave it somewhere,” Jay said. “I haven’t really got down to making a plan.”

“The trunk would be traced to you,” Sophia said. “Besides, you couldn’t handle it yourself. No, that’s not a safe idea.”

“Perhaps you can suggest a better one?” Jay said, watching her.

“When you brought her up here, someone must have seen you.”

“Oh, no. We came up separately. It was around four o’clock. There was no one up here.”

“But you can’t be sure she wasn’t seen. She may have told someone she was coming here.”

“No, she didn’t. I warned her not to tell anyone. No one knows she came here. I’m sure of that.”

“What makes you think you won’t be found out? The police are clever. When her body is discovered, there will be an investigation. You may have left clues. Murderers always do.”

Jay put his head on one side. He was enjoying this. Sophia was showing unexpected intelligence and interest. He was surprised that she was taking this so calmly. It was as if she were dissecting the plot of a movie. He had often listened to her discussing movie plots with his father and he had been impressed by her shrewdness and her quick fault-finding.

“I don’t think I have left any clues,” he said, “but that’s part of the risk. It’s my wits against theirs. The one thing that helps the police more than anything is the motive. There is no motive to this murder. If I can get rid of the body, I should be safe.”

“I hope so.” Sophia glanced at her watch. “I think I should join your father now.”

Jay nodded.

“I’ll come too. Will you wait a moment while I change?”

“All right.”

He put the key of the door on the table.

“I won’t be a few minutes. I’m trusting you, Sophia.”

She watched him go into his bedroom and close the door, then she picked up the key.

At this moment the reaction hit her and she suddenly felt faint and sick. She fought down her faintness, and, making an effort, she got up, crossed over to the liquor cabinet and poured out a stiff shot of brandy. She drank it and then moved to the open window.

A big crowd circulated in front of the hotel on the watch for the Stars who were coming out now onto the terrace for an aperitif and to display themselves.

It was a hot night and the big moon made a glittering patch of yellow on the sea.

She stood there, leaning against the wall, staring at the active scene below.

If I can get rid of the body, I should be safe.

Jay’s words echoed and re-echoed in her mind.

How was he going to do it?

Safe? Could anyone ever hope to be safe after doing such a thing?

She heard him come out of his bedroom, close and lock the door and she turned.

He looked very handsome in his tuxedo.

He paused by the door and smiled at her.

“Shall we go?”

“Yes.”

She unlocked the door and they left the suite.

From his hiding-place, Joe Kerr watched them.

II

Jay sat in the cinema seat, his eyes staring blankly at the lighted screen. He was sharply aware of Sophia, sitting next to him. He could smell her subtle perfume and from time to time when she moved, her skirts brushed against his leg.

On her other side, his father was sitting, slightly leaning forward, his face set as he struggled to follow the action of the film by the inadequate sub-titles that kept flashing onto the screen.

They were watching a Swedish film. The photography was splendid, but neither Sophia nor Jay, who had arrived too late to pick up the thread of the plot, had the slightest idea what the film was about.

A sudden sub-title, trite in itself, gave Jay the solution to the problem he was trying to solve: the problem of how he was going to get rid of the girl’s body in reasonable safety.

When the sub-title appeared, Floyd Delaney, his schoolboy French failing him, leaned across Sophia and whispered irritably to Jay: “What the hell does that say?”

Jay translated without conscious effort: “There’s safety in numbers.”

His father grunted and settled back in his seat.

There’s safety in numbers.

Jay remembered reading somewhere — probably in the Michelin Guide — that the Plaza hotel had five hundred bedrooms. That must mean at a guess that there were a thousand people staying in the hotel. It seemed to him that a thousand to one risk of discovery was an acceptable hazard.

He decided he wouldn’t attempt to move the girl’s body out of the hotel. He would carry it into the elevator, take the elevator to the top floor and leave it there.

The body wouldn’t be discovered for several hours. How could the police find out if the killer was someone staying in the hotel or one of the hundreds of non-residents who had the run of the hotel during the Festival? How could they guess on which floor the girl had met her death, let alone in which of the five hundred bedrooms?

The solution was so obvious he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before.

The tension that had been gnawing at him now went away and for the first time since he had killed the girl he relaxed.

He was able, too, to think more clearly of the situation as it was so far. Everything depended on whether he could trust Sophia to keep silent.

Would she lose her nerve? Would she tell his father?

He thought not. Her behaviour when the girl’s body had tumbled out of the cupboard had been astonishing. She must have nerves of steel to have reacted as she had done.

Of course she had been shocked, but she hadn’t lost her head or screamed or even fainted as most women would have done. She had gone white and her hands had covered her face but she had quickly recovered. She had gone out of the room and he had seen her sit down and light a cigarette.

A woman who could do that after what had happened was not likely to lose her nerve. He looked slyly at her. Her face was expressionless as she watched the film. There was a resolute set to her mouth he hadn’t noticed before; otherwise she looked as she always looked when watching a movie.

She must know it would be disastrous for his father and herself if he were discovered. He was pretty certain that he could rely on her silence.

The film finished a few minutes to midnight.

As they made their way along the Croisette back to the Plaza hotel, Floyd questioned his son about the film. His questions were technical and Jay floundered in trying to answer them.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Delaney snapped, losing patience. “You’re talking through the back of your neck. You don’t seem to have learned the first thing about your trade. Look, have a talk with Cooper, will you? Get him to wise you up.” He turned his attention to Sophia. “I have a call to Paris before we meet the van Asters. At this hour we shouldn’t be held up.” He snapped his fingers at Harry Stone who was walking behind them. “See the car’s waiting, Harry. I want to talk to Courtney. We’re getting scarcely any coverage in the French press for our picture.”

“I’ll run along,” Jay said. “I feel like a walk.”

“Go ahead,” Delaney said curtly. He was still angry with his son for his poor showing when he had questioned him. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Jay,” Sophia said and she looked directly at him.

“Good night,” Jay said.

He tried to read a message in her eyes without success. He stood back and let them go on ahead.

Then, crossing the promenade, he paused for a moment to look back at the dense crowd, standing behind the crush barriers erected outside the hotel. He watched his father and Sophia walk up the drive and heard the buzz of voices start up as the crowd, intent on spotting the Stars, identified Sophia.

He turned away and began to walk slowly along the promenade towards the Casino. He made a lonely figure walking on his own away from the centre of activity, moving against the stream of people who were heading towards the Plaza.

Because he was wearing a tuxedo, the Star-spotters stared inquisitively at him, making sure they weren’t passing a celebrity whom they could pester for an autograph.

Jay was too preoccupied by his thoughts to notice how he was being stared at. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps this idea of his mightn’t have misfired. Now the first excitement had passed, it wasn’t as tense or as thrilling as he imagined it would be.

It was the waiting that spoilt the tension.

If he could have moved the girl’s body now; if the body could have been discovered a few minutes later and if the police could have arrived immediately and begun their investigation, the rhythm of the excitement would have been maintained. But when he realized that her body might not be discovered for another five hours the long wait for further action depressed him.

The crowd moving towards the Plaza hotel was thinning out now. He passed the Casino, and, as he moved towards Quai St. Pierre that ran alongside the harbour where the yachts and motor-boats were moored, he heard a street clock strike one.

The quay was deserted and he walked slowly, looking at the yachts and the motor-boats, lit up by the moon.

Reaching the end of the harbour, he sat on a bollard and lit a cigarette.

He sat there for maybe twenty minutes, smoking and staring emptily across the oily moon-lit water in the harbour; then he heard the sound of someone approaching, and, frowning, he turned his head to his left.

A girl had just got off a bicycle and she was pushing the machine as she walked to the edge of the quay.

She stood in the full moonlight as she propped the cycle against a coil of rope. She was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, a white sleeveless singlet and a pair of heelless slippers. She looked about his age: possibly a little younger, which would make her nineteen or twenty. She was blonde. Her hair that reached her shoulders hung free. She was pretty without being beautiful and her figure was charming without being sexually blatant.

Wondering what she could be doing on the deserted quay at this hour, Jay watched her.

The girl glanced at him as she paused at the edge of the quay, then squatting down, she took hold of a mooring rope and began to draw an open boat, equipped with an outboard motor, close to the quay.

Seeing she intended to get into the boat, Jay got to his feet and walked over to where she was squatting.

“May I help you, mademoiselle?” he asked, pausing beside the girl.

She looked up. The moonlight fell directly on her face. He was struck by the clearness and brightness of her eyes. She gave him a half smile, shaking her head.

“I can manage, monsieur, thank you.”

There was a trace of the Midi accent in her voice.

He reached down and took hold of the rope.

“I’ll hold it steady,” he said.

“Thank you.”

She slid down into the boat.

He watched her as she took the waterproof hood off the outboard engine.

“Are you going out at this hour?” he asked.

“Yes. In a quarter of an hour the tide will be just right.”

“For what?”

“For fishing, of course.”

“You are going fishing alone?”

“Of course.”

He was struck by her matter-of-fact, independent air. He watched her wind the cord around the starting wheel. By the way she pulled the cord, swinging the wheel, he saw she had more strength than he had thought.

After three attempts, the engine failed to start and she gave an exclamation of annoyance.

“The points are probably dirty,” he said. “I’ll clean them for you.”

She shook her head.

“It’s all right, thank you, monsieur. I can do it. You would get dirty.” She began to hunt in a locker for tools. “Have you just come from the cinema?”

“Yes. Look, I don’t mind getting dirty. I’d like to help you.”

“No, please. I can manage. Was the film good?”

“Not very. The photography was excellent, but the rest of it bored me.”

She found a screwdriver and began to loosen the screws holding the engine cover in place.

“Are you something to do with the movies?” she asked.

“Well, I suppose so. I’m learning.”

“You speak French very well for an American.”

He was pleased and flattered.

“I spent two years in Paris. Are you sure I can’t help you?”

“It’s all right, thank you. It must be interesting to work in the movies. I’d like to work in a Studio. Do you know many of the Stars?”

“A few.”

She paused in her work, looking up at him.

“Did you ever meet James Dean? I have a signed photo of him at home. I think he was wonderful. Did you ever meet him?”

“No.” Jay squatted on the edge of the quay. “Do you often go fishing at night?”

“Whenever the tide is right.”

“It must be fun.”

She shook her head emphatically.

“It isn’t. It is often disappointing. You see, I sell what I catch. We need the money.”

“But surely you can’t make much out of a night’s fishing.”

“I don’t, but every little helps. My father is a cripple He has a café in Rue Foch. It isn’t a very successful café, so I have to try to add to our income.”

“Do you also work in the café?”

“Of course.”

“And you fish at night?”

“Yes, when the tide is right.”

“It sounds as if you work very hard.”

She smiled.

“I do, but I don’t mind. Do you have to work hard too?”

“Sometimes.”

He wondered how she would react if he told her his father was Floyd Delaney. He had an idea that it would be a mistake to tell her.

She attracted him and interested him. He liked her easy natural way of talking. She didn’t pose and he felt she was sincere.

“What is your name, mademoiselle?” he asked.

She was screwing down the engine cover and she looked up pausing in her work.

“Ginette Bereut. What is yours?”

Jay hesitated.

“Jay Mandrel,” he said, giving his mother’s maiden name.

“Are you down here for long?” she asked as she wound the cord around the starting wheel.

“Three or four days, then I’m going on to Venice.”

“Venice? I’d love to go there. Is it to do with a film?”

“Yes. We’re shooting background material.”

“Well, I mustn’t stay here talking... ”

She pulled the cord sharply and the engine fired. She made motions to him to cast off the rope and reluctantly he pulled the end of the rope free, coiled it and tossed it into the boat.

She smiled, nodding her thanks.

Then, as the boat began to move away, Jay straightened up-right. He watched her steer the boat towards the harbor entrance.

He suddenly wished he had asked her if he could have gone with her and he was angry with himself for thinking of this too late.

He looked at his watch. The time was half-past one. He wondered when she would return. He had still two hours to wait before he need return to the Plaza. He decided to sit there a little longer in the hope of seeing her again.

As he sat on the bollard, looking across the harbour, waiting to hear the distant engine beat that would tell him the girl was returning, he began to flick the blue beads he had in his pocket far out into the water.