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 motorboats were moored, he heard a street clock strike one.
The quay was deserted and he walked slowly, looking at the yachts and the motorboats, 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 moonlit 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 cafe in Rue Foch. It isn’t a very successful cafe, so I have to try to add to our income.”
“Do you also work in the cafe?”
“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 upright. 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.
Chapter Five
I
Floyd Delaney drove his big Bentley along the Moyenne Corniche with Sophia at his side.
The dinner at the Chateau de Madrid had been impeccable; the croustade de langouste, the restaurant’s specialty, delicious, the van Asters amusing, the magnificent aerial view of the harbour of Villefranche and the twinkling lights of Cap Ferrat like fairyland and the Ausone 1947 had been the finest wine he had tasted.
Delaney told himself he should feel content and relaxed, but he didn’t. He felt edgy and irritable and the wretched little Citroen hogging the road ahead of him, preventing him from passing, infuriated him. He drove the Bentley to within a foot of the Citroen’s rear bumper, then putting the palm of his hand down hard on the button that operated the triple airhorns, he blasted the crawling car almost off the road.
He shot the Bentley past the Citroen and st
ormed on down the long hill into Nice.
Why wasn’t he relaxed? he asked himself.
He glanced sideways at Sophia. She sat motionless, her face expressionless. Was there something wrong? Usually she was so vivacious, talkative and entertaining? Tonight she had been silent and withdrawn and whenever he had looked at her he had been disturbed to see how hard her eyes were and there was a thrust to her chin that he hadn’t noticed before, giving her an almost aggressive look.
This bothered him. He was used to her solicitous attention. His wishes were her wishes, his needs her needs, but tonight it was as if he didn’t exist.
“Have you something on your mind, baby?” he asked abruptly as he slowed the car to negotiate the roundabout by the harbour.
Sophia continued to stare ahead, paying no attention.
“Hey! What’s the matter with you?” Delaney demanded, raising his voice. “Did you hear what I said?”
Sophia started and looked at him, then she smiled.
“Sorry, darling. I was thinking. What was it?”
Delaney frowned.
“You seem to have something on your mind. What’s biting you? You’ve been dreamy all the evening.”
All the evening Sophia’s mind had been haunted by the thought of the dead girl in Jay’s cupboard. The more she thought about what had happened the more angry she had become. To think that because Jay had thirsted for an exciting experience, this young, pretty girl, beginning a successful career, should now be a lifeless lump of clay in the bottom of a cupboard.
Several times during the evening, Sophia had nearly blurted out the whole story, not only to Floyd but also to the van Asters, but she had checked herself. Floyd was like a bull at a gate. There was nothing subtle about him. Murder meant the police. It would never cross his mind not to call the police.
If she could, she was determined to save him and herself from the horror of the publicity, but that didn’t mean she was going to let Jay go unpunished. Once she was sure the police didn’t suspect that he had been responsible for the girl’s death and once they were out of France, she would tell Floyd. Arrangements would have to be made to put the boy in a home and they must make sure he would never get out.
He must never be allowed his liberty again. He might easily be tempted to repeat the experiment later on and some other unsuspecting girl would die at his hands.
Sophia was annoyed with herself for betraying her preoccupation.
She quickly steered Floyd away from the real subject of her thoughts.
“Sorry, Floyd. I’ve been thinking about my silver mink. I must have the collar altered,” she said lightly. “It’s quite a problem. I saw Maggie in hers yesterday. It’s cut like mine and what a fright she looked!”
Delaney drew in a long breath of exasperation.
“For heaven’s sake! Do you mean to tell me you’ve been worrying about that coat all the evening? I was beginning to think there was something seriously wrong.”
“If I’m going to look the way Maggie looked, darling, then something is seriously wrong.”
Delaney shook his head, helpless. He reached out and patted her knee.
“Forget it. Get another coat. I’ll pay. I don’t want you to worry about a thing like that. Have a look around tomorrow. You may find something you like. If you do—buy it.”
Sophia leaned against him, rubbing her face against his shoulder.
“My man!” she said softly. “My lovely, kind, generous man!”
Delaney expanded his chest. This was better. This was the treatment he could absorb twenty-four hours of the day.
“Well, maybe I’m not so lousy,” he said, grinning, “but that’s a bet, honey.” He increased the speed of the car as they got on to the broad sea road leading to Antibes. “You know, the older I get and the longer I live, the surer I am that money fixes everything. You get blue because your mink coat looks wrong. Okay, I can get you another and you’re not blue anymore. Take this car. I like a good car. I don’t want a showy thing all chromium and yards long. I want a car that looks a million bucks, acts a million bucks and makes me feel like two million bucks. If I hadn’t the money, wanting a car like that would eat my heart out. But I’ve got the money, so I can buy this beauty and I don’t get a frustration complex. Money fixes everything. You’ve just got to have enough of it.”
But all Floyd’s money wouldn’t fix this dreadful thing that Jay had done, Sophia thought. It wouldn’t fix murder. He might try to pull strings, get the smartest attorneys, even talk to the judge, but once the facts were put to the jury, Jay would be found guilty and no money on earth could buy off the press nor hush up the horror that Floyd Delaney’s son was a homicidal lunatic.
It was as they were crawling through the bottleneck just outside Antibes, to get on to the main road to Cannes, that Delaney said suddenly: “I’ve decided not to take Jay to Venice. I’m going to leave him in Nice.”
Sophia stiffened. She looked quickly at her husband.
“Is that such a good idea, darling?”
“Yeah. The boy doesn’t know the first thing about filmmaking. Verneuil is making a movie at the Nice Studios. He’s a good technician and he knows his job inside out. I want Jay to watch him work. It’ll be more useful to him than lounging about in Venice.”
Sophia became alarmed. Jay wasn’t fit to be left alone. There was no knowing what he might get up to. Besides, when the police began their investigation, it would be much safer to have him out of France.
“He’s looking forward to Venice,” she said tentatively. “Is it quite fair, Floyd? After all, he is on vacation. It may be his last chance for years to see the place and we know it is well worth seeing.”
Delaney’s face darkened.
“Look, honey, let me handle this. It’s more important for the boy to learn his trade than to fool around in Venice. Plenty of time for him to go there. I want him to get to know something of the French technique while he is here.”
By now Sophia knew Floyd well enough not to press him. Once he had made up his mind, he reacted badly to any opposition. She thought with dismay of the danger of leaving Jay here alone and again she was tempted to tell Floyd the truth. But she resisted the temptation to be free of the responsibility.
They had still three more days before they left for Venice.
She would wait and see what happened during those three days before making a decision.
She looked at the lighted clock on the dashboard of the car.
It was now twenty minutes to three. She must talk to Jay when she got back to the hotel. She had to know what he intended to do with the girl’s body. She felt cold and ill when she thought of that. How could Jay hope to get the girl’s body out of the hotel without being seen? What was he doing at this moment? she wondered. It would have alarmed her if she had known just what Jay was doing as Floyd drove her along the main road to Cannes.
Jay had waited an hour and a half for Ginette’s return.
When he heard the steady beat of the outboard engine, he had got to his feet, aware of an undiscovered feeling of pleasure and excitement.
Ginette was surprised to find him waiting for her and for a moment she hesitated before taking his outstretched hand to help her out of the boat.
“Did you have any luck?” he asked as she stooped to tie-up the boat.
“A little: better than last night. Tomorrow night will be better because the tide will be earlier.” She set down the basket she had got from the boat and surveyed him. “Have you been waiting here all the time?”
“Yes. It’s nice here. Besides, I wanted to see you again.”
She looked straight at him, smiling and there was no coyness in her eyes.
“Did you? I wondered about you when I was fishing.”
“I should have asked you to let me come with you. Could I come tomorrow?”
She nodded.
“Of course, if you want to. I shall be here about midnight.”
“Then I’ll meet you here.”
“All right.”
She picked up the basket and fishing lines and moved over to her bicycle.
“Where did you say your cafe was?”
“Rue Foch. It’s at the corner. It is called La Boule d’Or.” She laughed. “There’s nothing gold about it except the goldfish in the window.” She paused, looking at him. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Where are you staying?”
He felt instinctively that it would be a mistake to tell her he was staying at the Plaza hotel. She mustn’t know that he was the son of a millionaire. He was sure it would affect their association together.
“I’m staying at the Paris,” he said, naming a modest hotel on the Boulevard Alsace. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added. “I think you are beautiful. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
In the hard light of the moon, he saw the blood mount to her face.
“Do you?” She smiled and he could see she was pleased. “Thank you. I am glad you think so.” She slung the basket by its strap over her shoulder and prepared to mount her cycle. “Then I will see you tomorrow night?”
Yes, you’ll see me tomorrow night, Jay thought, unless I am caught carrying the body of that girl out of the suite and into the elevator. What did the Catholics say? Between the stirrup and the ground? So much could happen between this intimate moment and tomorrow night.
“I’ll be here tomorrow at midnight.”
She held out her hand.
“Then good night.”
The feel of her firm cool flesh made his heart beat quicken.
He was suddenly sure that, if he had met her sooner, he wouldn’t have done what he had done.
“Good night.”
He watched her cycle away and then he began the lone walk back to the Plaza hotel.
II
His head nodding, his mouth slack, Joe Kerr slept and dreamed of his wife. It was a nightmare dream that haunted his sleep. He saw himself again in his Cadillac, the horror of his wife’s one blood-chilling scream ringing in his ears. He saw himself get out of the car and move to where she was pinned between the rear bumper and the garage wall. The red taillights of the car lit up her crushed, bleeding body.
1958 - Not Safe to be Free Page 7