1958 - Not Safe to be Free (27 page)

“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.

They stood staring at each other, then Ginette’s eyes opened very wide and she put her hand to her mouth as if to stop a scream.

Chapter Fourteen

I

S
oon after eight o’clock, as Floyd Delaney was finishing his morning coffee, the night nurse came into the lounge.

“Madame Delaney is asking for you, monsieur,” she said. “You’ll be careful not to excite her?”

“Sure, sure,” Delaney said, getting hastily to his feet. “How is she?”

“She has a bad headache, but otherwise she is doing very well.”

Delaney went into Sophia’s bedroom.

Sophia, her head in bandages, lay flat on her back. She looked very small and fragile and beautiful and Delaney felt a tug at his heart as he sat by her side and took her hand.

“Hello, honey doll,” he said. “Gee! You certainly gave me a fright. I thought I was going to lose my lovely.”

Her fingers tightened on his.

“Where’s Jay, Floyd?”

This was unexpected and Delaney’s face stiffened. Ever since Devereaux had explained why he suspected Jay of killing Lucille Balu and Joe Kerr, Delaney had been in a fever of apprehension. He had told the Inspector that he didn’t believe his son was guilty, but, after the Inspector had gone and he had had time to recover from the shock and to think over what the Inspector had told him, he was forced to accept the fact that the insane fool of a boy had done this thing.

He didn’t intend to tell Sophia while she was in this condition, so he said casually: “I guess he’s out taking a swim or something. Look, baby . . .”

“He tried to kill me,” Sophia said huskily. “I’m so frightened.”

Delaney stared at her.

“Jay? He tried to kill you? Why, the boy rescued you. If it hadn’t been for him . . .”

“He hit me with the paperweight. He intended to silence me. Oh, Floyd darling, I’ve been so stupid. I knew he had killed the girl. I didn’t tell anyone, as I wanted to protect us from the awful publicity.”

Delaney drew in a sharp breath.

“Now take it easy, Sophia. The nurse says you’re not to get worked up.”

“Oh, damn the nurse!” Sophia exclaimed. “Where’s Jay? I must know! I’m frightened he’ll come back here and finish me. He’s mad, Floyd! He’s not safe to be free.”

“It’s all right, kid,” Delaney said soothingly. “The police are hunting for him now and you have nothing to worry about. Do you think you feel like telling me about it? How did you know he killed the girl?”

Speaking rapidly, Sophia poured out the whole story right from the moment she had walked into the suite and had suspected the girl was in Jay’s bedroom to the moment when she had realized the safety-catch was still on the gun and she had seen the paperweight flashing down on her head.

Delaney sat motionless, his face hard and lined, his hand covering hers as he listened. When she had finished, he bent and kissed her, then he got up and began to prowl around the room.

“Darling, what about the film tonight?” Sophia asked, her eyes bright with tears.

“Never mind about the film,” Delaney said. “It’s good enough to ride this. I’m not worrying about that. It’s the boy! I never realized he was that crazy. I blame myself for not realizing the condition he was in.” He frowned suddenly. “I’ll be right back.” He went into Sophia’s bathroom and looked around. On the toilet table stood the heavy paperweight, but he wasn’t interested in that, he was looking; for Sophia’s gun. When he was satisfied it wasn’t in the bathroom, he went back to Sophia. “Look, honey, I must talk to the Inspector. I must tell him how dangerous the boy is. I’ll keep you out of this. Maybe it’ll have to come out that you knew what was happening, but we’ll take that when it comes. For the moment, I’ll say nothing about it, but I must tell him the boy attacked you.” He patted her hand, then said casually: “By the way, honey, was your gun loaded?”

“Yes.”

He saw her eyes open very wide. She tightened her grip on his arm.

“Has he taken the gun?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid he has. At least, it’s not in the bathroom. I’ll look in his room just to make sure, but I think he’s taken it.”

“Oh, God!”

Sophia closed her eyes and began to weep.

Delaney went to the door and beckoned to the nurse.

“Don’t leave her for a second. I’ll be back in a little while.”

He went briskly into Jay’s room and glanced around. It was so obvious that the two detectives had searched the room thoroughly that he didn’t waste time looking for the gun. If

Jay had left it in the room, the detectives would have found it.

He left the suite, carefully locking the door after him, then went downstairs to Devereaux’s office. The time was now five minutes past nine.

Devereaux sat behind the desk, drinking coffee. His face was drawn with fatigue and his eyes were deep-set, but he got to his feet briskly enough when Delaney came in.

“Have you found him?” Delaney asked as he shut the door.

“No, monsieur; not yet.”

“Have you released the news to the press?”

“It will be soon enough when we’ve caught him.”

“You may have to get the press to help you,” Delaney said grimly. “He has a gun.”

Devereaux stiffened.

“You are sure of that, monsieur?”

“Pretty sure. He’s not only got a gun, but he has a cutthroat razor as well. You’d better warn your men to be careful how they corner him.”

Devereaux crossed to the door and opened it. He beckoned to Guidet, who was trying to keep awake as he lolled in a lounging chair waiting for orders. Devereaux spoke to him, then he returned to the office.

“I’m afraid the boy’s completely out of his mind,” Delaney said. “His mother was the same. She killed herself after trying to kill me. Now this boy tried to kill my wife.” He went on to give Devereaux the details of Sophia’s escape.

“Why do you think he tried to kill your wife, monsieur?” Devereaux asked, poking holes in the blotter with the paperknife he had picked up.

“I don’t know. It looks as if he gets the urge to kill and he just kills.”

“Have you a photograph of him, monsieur?”

“Not here. I have a number in my New York home, of course. I don’t know if my publicity man has any.”

“I’ll have to give this to the press now. There is no sign of him and we’ll have to ask the public to help. He may have left Cannes. He may be anywhere by now. He’s had a seven hour start. A photograph would be helpful.”

“I’ll see if I can get one for you,” Delaney said. “He has money. He took nearly three million francs from my wallet.”

Devereaux looked at him.

“I realize what this means to you, monsieur, but I am afraid the consequences are inevitable. At least, it won’t be necessary to tell the press about the attack on your wife.”

Delaney nodded.

“Thanks, Inspector. Well, I guess I asked for it. I should have taken more interest in the boy. I’ll see if I can dig up a photograph for you.”

When he had gone, Guidet came in.

“The warning has gone out that he is armed,” he said, closing the door. “There’s still no sign of him.”

“Monsieur Delaney tells me the boy took nearly three million francs when he bolted, so he’s not short of money,” Devereaux said wearily. He laid the paper knife down on the blotter and then suddenly paused to stare at a pencil scribble just by the point of the knife. It was a telephone number that Jay had given the operator when he had been in the office for questioning. Devereaux remembered the brief conversation. The boy had arranged to meet someone this day.

Devereaux became alert.

“Here, find out whose telephone number this is,” he said, scribbling the number on a slip of paper and giving it to Guidet, “and hurry.”

A little bewildered Guidet took up the telephone receiver and asked the switchboard girl to connect him with Information. A few seconds later, he hung up.

“It’s the telephone number of La Boule d’Or,” he said.

“That’s Jean Bereut’s place,” Devereaux said, frowning. “What would the boy want with him?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. “Of course! It’s the girl . . . Bereut’s daughter. He must have made an appointment to see her this morning. Call the cafe and ask Bereut if he has seen the boy.”

Guidet gave the number and after a long wait, he shook his head and hung up.

“There’s no answer.”

Devereaux stared at him.

“But someone must be there at this hour. . . .” Then he jumped to his feet. “We’ll go down there! Get twenty men and see they are armed. Hurry!”

As Guidet went quickly from the room, Floyd Delaney came in.

“I have a photograph for you . . .” he began.

“I don’t think it will be necessary,” Devereaux said. “I think I know where he is. I would be glad if you would come with me. You may be able to help us.”

“Sure,” Delaney said, his face paling. “Anything I can do, I’ll do.”

“In a few minutes, then,” Devereaux said.

They waited.

Delaney prowled around the room while Devereaux sat on the edge of the desk. Then Guidet came in.

“All right, Inspector.”

Devereaux stood up. He looked at Delaney.

“Let us go, monsieur,” he said.

II

M
oving unsteadily, her eyes fixed on Jay’s white, frightened face, Ginette backed away until she reached the bar, then, unable to back further, she remained motionless.

It couldn’t be possible, she was trying to assure herself, that he was the killer the police were looking for. This boy she had been moved to love so passionately and in whose arms she had passed the night! It couldn’t be! Nothing could be more horrible! But if he wasn’t this man, then why was he looking at her like this, his eyes glittering, a muscle twitching in his face, his lips twisted in a frightened, meaningless smile and his hand trying to hide the three livid scratches on his arm?

Neither of them spoke. They just stood in the shadowy bar room, facing each other, with the sounds of the traffic in their ears.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, the telephone bell began to ring: a strident, nagging noise that made Jay start violently.

Ginette made an effort and fought down the faintness that gripped her.

“I’ll answer it,” she said, her voice trembling.

The telephone was across the room and Jay stood between her and the instrument. With a cold feeling of dread, she saw that he remained motionless, watching her with this frightening expression on his face.

She began to move slowly forward, circling him so she wouldn’t pass close to him and he pivoted on his heels, his eyes never leaving her.

Then as she was nearly within reach of the telephone, he said softly: “Don’t touch it, Ginette.”

“But why not?” She stopped abruptly, aware of the hidden threat in his voice. “It—it may be my father.”

“Let it ring,” he said. “You mustn’t answer it.”

Then she felt weak because she was now certain he was the man the police were looking for.

“Don’t look so frightened, Ginette,” Jay said. “You don’t have to be frightened of me. I told you last night I’ll always be kind to you and I mean it.”

She sat down abruptly in one of the chairs by a table.

The telephone bell continued to ring.

They waited. Then, after what seemed an endless age, the bell abruptly ceased to ring.

The silence in the room was almost unbearable to Ginette after the strident clamour of the bell.

“I want to tell you about it,” Jay said, speaking urgently and abruptly. “All that stuff in the paper about me being mad is a filthy lie. I’m not mad. You know that. I’m as sane as you are. I didn’t mean to kill her. It was an accident. She tried to make love to me. I told her to get out. We were in my father’s suite. She began to scream. I had to stop that. I took her by the throat . . . but it was an accident. You must believe me.”

Ginette put her hands to her face and shuddered.

“Kerr was trying to blackmail me,” Jay went on, his words coming faster, his eyes more desperate. “You’re listening, aren’t you? He was trying to blackmail me. I said I would tell the police. He was frightened then. All blackmailers are cowards. He hanged himself. It’s ridiculous for anyone to say I killed him. He took his own worthless life. I admit he did it because I said I was going to the police, but no one can say I murdered him.”

Ginette put her hands over her ears. The tense, guilty voice carried no sincerity and she knew he was lying.

“Please don’t say anymore,” she begged, not looking at him. “Will you go now? Will you please, please go? “

He stared at her, his hands turning into fists.

“Go? Where can I go? I’m relying on you to help me get away. You love me, Ginette. You said so last night. When two people love each other, they help each other. I must have help. I’m relying on you. Tonight we’ll leave here together. We’ll go to Paris.”

She was recovering from the shock now and she realized the danger she was in. If he were insane, he might turn on her if she didn’t pretend to cooperate. But was it possible the newspaper had exaggerated? Perhaps he wasn’t insane. He hadn’t acted that way last night. She had loved him and yet she was sure he was lying when he had said the girl’s death was an accident. There was a horrible glibness in his tone and a callousness that shocked her.