1958 - Not Safe to be Free

by James Hadley Chase

  “Hey, Sophia! What’s the idea—locking me out?”

  Almost vomiting with panic, Jay released Sophia’s feet, darted to the other end of the bath and caught her under the armpits, lifting her head clear of the water.

  “Quick! Help!”

  He didn’t recognize his own voice. It was a high-pitched scream.

  There was a sound of quick, thudding footfalls. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his father appear in the doorway.

  Even though he was panic-stricken and his heart was hammering and he could scarcely breathe, he was still able to recognize his father’s ruthless efficiency by his reaction to what he saw.

  There was no panic on his father’s face. He paused long enough to take one swift look at what was going on, then he jumped to Jay’s side, gave him a shove that sent him reeling and caught hold of Sophia, supporting her. Then he had her out of the bath, slopping water all over the bathroom floor and ran with her into the bedroom.

  Jay felt bile rush into his mouth. He had just time to get to the toilet before he began to vomit. Crouching over the toilet, cold, shivering and deadly sick, he felt his humiliation, knowing that stark fear was making him do this.

  “Come here!”

  The snap in his father’s voice brought him to his senses.

  He grabbed a towel and wiped his mouth and sweating face, then he staggered unsteadily into the bedroom.

  Sophia was lying face down on the floor. His father was kneeling over her. His face was hard and tight and his eyes were glittering as he went through the routine motions of artificial respiration.

  A little trickle of water came from Sophia’s open mouth every time Delaney pressed down on her back.

  “Pull yourself together, you damned stupe!” his father shouted at him. “Get the hotel doctor up here! Get him up here fast!”

  Jay went unsteadily into the lounge. With a shaking hand he picked up the telephone and when the girl answered, he said huskily: “The doctor! Quick! There’s been an accident!”

  He dropped the receiver back on to its cradle, then walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured two inches of whisky into a glass and drank it.

  For some moments he waited for the spirit to knit his quailing nerves together, then he went unsteadily to Sophia’s bedroom door.

  His father was still giving Sophia artificial respiration and he looked over his shoulder at Jay.

  “What happened?”

  Jay had never heard his father speak like this before. The words seemed to cut the air like a whip lash.

  “She must have fainted,” Jay said, his voice a croak. “I heard her scream and a splashing noise. I went in there and found her.”

  “Where’s that goddamn doctor?”

  “He’s coming.”

  “Go and drag him up here. Don’t stand there like a dummy! Get him up here!”

  As Jay went back into the lounge, he heard a knock on the door and the door jerked open. It was then he saw the key of the door lying on the floor. His father must have got the floor waiter to let him in. The waiter had pushed out the key in the lock with the passkey.

  The hotel doctor, bag in hand, came in.

  “In there,” Jay said, pointing to the open door, then, as the doctor walked into Sophia’s room, Jay moved silently to the door, keeping just out of sight.

  She must be dead! he told himself. She had to be dead!

  He heard his father say: “She fainted in the bath, hit her head and was under the water. I think I’ve got most of the water out of her. Here! Take over!”

  Then followed three minutes of agonizing silence.

  Was she dead?

  Jay leaned against the wall, his heart thumping, listening and waiting.

  Finally, he heard the doctor say: “She’ll be all right. She has a pretty bad concussion and she’ll be unconscious for several hours, but she’s going to be all right. It was a close thing. If you hadn’t thought of artificial respiration . . .”

  “Oh, skip it!” Delaney barked. “Let’s get her on the bed. Get nurses! Get everything you need. The sky’s the limit! I love this woman and I’m not going to lose her! Come on . . . get things organized!”

  Jay drew in a long, slow breath. So he had lost out. It had been a gamble. He had been lucky with Kerr and the fat woman. If only he had had another minute before his father had come in!

  Now he must think of himself.

  Sophia would be unconscious for at least a couple of hours. He was sure she would give him away as soon as she could speak and his father would then hand him over to the police, so, if he was to get away, he had to act at once.

  He was suddenly aware that perhaps after all this was the experience he had been looking for. The police would come after him. They would hunt him. He would have to rely on his wits and ingenuity to elude them. There could be nothing more exciting than a manhunt nor any greater test for his courage and ingenuity.

  What did he need?

  Money, of course, then clothes, toilet things and a weapon.

  He touched the .25 automatic in his hip pocket. He was lucky to have that, he thought. Now money . . .

  His father came out of the bedroom. There was sweat on his face and he looked fine—drawn, but otherwise he was his ice-cold ruthless self.

  “That was a close call, Jay,” he said and went across to the liquor cabinet and mixed himself a whisky and soda. “She’s out of danger now, poor kid. It’s damn funny. I’ve never known her to faint before.” He looked at Jay and grinned. “You were certainly in an uproar. Well, I don’t blame you. I was in a bit of an uproar myself. Thanks for going to her help.”

  Jay muttered under his breath and began to edge towards his bedroom.

  The doctor came into the lounge at this moment and allowed Jay to escape into his room.

  He shut the door, then went to the wardrobe, took from it a canvas sack he used when he went fishing and began hastily to put the various things in it he wanted to take with him. He had just completed packing and had dropped the sack out of sight behind the bed when his father looked in.

  “Better get some sleep, son. Don’t worry about her now. There’re a couple of nurses with her. I’m going to hit the sack myself. As soon as she regains consciousness, I’ll be called. You turn in.”

  “Yes,” Jay said.

  Delaney nodded and withdrew.

  Jay waited until he heard the shower going in his father’s bathroom, then he went into his father’s bedroom. On the chest of drawers was his father’s wallet, stuffed with ten thousand franc notes. Without bothering to count the money, Jay emptied the wallet, pushed the notes into his pocket, then went quickly back to his room.

  This then was the beginning of a new adventure, he thought, as he picked up the canvas sack. By tomorrow morning the police would be looking for him. The manhunt would be on!

  He had money, a gun, his wits and his ingenuity. What more could he want?

  He walked softly to his bedroom door, opened it, glanced into the empty lounge, then, moving quickly, he crossed to the door out on to the corridor, looked to right and left, then walked down the corridor to the stairs.

  The lobby was still crowded. People were standing about discussing the film they had just seen. The clock over the reception desk showed that the time was now twenty minutes to two.

  As Jay made his way through the crowd towards the exit, he felt a hand on his arm and he looked quickly around, fear gripping him.

  Harry Stone, his father’s business manager, massive and perspiring in his tuxedo, grinned at him.

  “Hey there, son,” he said. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “That’s my business,” Jay said curtly and pulling free, he continued on his way towards the revolving doors, leaving Stone staring blankly after him.

  II

  Inspector Devereaux pushed aside his pile of notes and reached for a cigarette.

  Guidet, hot and tired, reclined in an easy chair and watched his chief. He wished he could go to
bed, but he knew the Inspector wouldn’t give up now until he had decided on a new course of action.

  “As it isn’t Kerr,” Devereaux said, leaning back in his chair and blowing a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling, “we have to decide who is our next likely suspect. I have only one other man on my list who could have done it and that’s Jay Delaney.”

  Guidet lifted his shoulders.

  “Is it likely? Why should a boy like that want to kill the girl? Anyway, what makes you think he’s even a suspect?”

  Devereaux frowned.

  “There’s something very odd about him.” He leaned forward to flick ash off his cigarette. “He was the last to talk to the girl as far as we know. He was in the suite when she was up on the second floor. He had the opportunity.”

  “You’ll have to watch your step,” Guidet said. “His father’s rich and has a lot of influence. Besides, Madame Delaney was in the suite at the time the girl was killed.”

  Devereaux began poking holes in the blotter with a paperknife.

  “I know and that bothers me.” He scowled at the blotter. “Then who could have done it? Some unknown who was up there who met the girl and killed her for no reason at all? I can’t accept that. I’m now almost positive the girl wasn’t killed in suite 30. I think it was faked to make us believe that’s where she was killed, as Kerr’s death was faked to make us believe he killed her. I’m sure of it. It’s a feeling I have.”

  Guidet struggled with a yawn.

  “It’s not feelings, Inspector, we have to work on: it’s evidence.”

  Devereaux nodded.

  “Yes. Well, let’s see if we can get some evidence. Who was on duty watching the second floor during the day?”

  Guidet thought for a moment.

  “Sergeant Humbert.”

  “Is he still on duty?”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll see.”

  “If he isn’t get him here and get Lemont down here too.”

  While Devereaux waited, he again went through his notes. He saw as he read his neat handwriting that he had been immediately suspicious of Jay Delaney once he had discovered him in the apparent lie about the necklace. Then his suspicions had subsided when he had had Jay’s obvious and very simple explanation.

  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.

  An obvious explanation, but at the same time it could have been a very obvious lie: a lie calculated to cut the ground from under the Inspector’s feet, which it had done.

  Suppose it had been a lie?

  Then Delaney was obviously suspect No. 1.

  It wasn’t until after one that Guidet was able to bring both Sergeant Humbert and Detective Lemont into Devereaux’s office and it was at that moment, as they sat down in easy chairs, facing the Inspector that, upstairs, Jay was making his attempt on Sophia’s life.

  Devereaux looked at Humbert, a fat, solid man with a suntanned face and clear, lively blue eyes.

  “Do you know Floyd Delaney’s son by sight?” Devereaux asked.

  Humbert nodded.

  “Yes, Inspector. Before this happened, I was on duty organizing the crowd outside the hotel. I got to know the various film people and I know him by sight very well.”

  “During the day, did you see him leave and later return to his suite?”

  “Yes, Inspector.”

  “Did he visit any of the other suites while you were on duty?”

  Humbert, after thinking for a moment, nodded.

  “Yes. A little after ten o’clock he visited suite 30. The occupier seemed to be a friend of his. They talked for some minutes, then Delaney left. He went to his suite, then came out shortly with swimming trunks and took the elevator to the ground floor.”

  Devereaux and Guidet exchanged glances. Both of them were now a little tense.

  “You are quite sure he went into suite 30?”

  “Absolutely sure, Inspector. I logged it in my notebook.”

  “This took place before we searched the suites?”

  “That is correct.”

  Devereaux nodded, then said: “All right. You can go off duty now.”

  When Humbert had gone, Devereaux turned to Lemont.

  “Do you know Jay Delaney?”

  “No, Inspector, I can’t say I do.”

  “He is about twenty-one or two, good-looking, dark, slightly below average height and wears dark glasses,” Devereaux said. “While you were watching the Beau Rivage hotel did you see a man to match this description go into the hotel either alone or with a woman?”

  Lemont wrinkled his sweating forehead, then shook his head.

  “No, Inspector, I can’t say I did. Two or three of the men who entered the hotel were screened by the women they were with. I was watching for Kerr and I was paying more attention to those who came out of the hotel rather than those who went in.”

  Devereaux nodded.

  “Yes. Well, all right. You get off.”

  When Lemont had gone, Devereaux said to Guidet: “At least we know Jay Delaney had the opportunity of planting the bead and taking the curtain cord from suite 30. I’m not saying he did it, but he could have done.”

  Guidet moved uneasily.

  “Aren’t we wasting time, Inspector? Madame Delaney was with him at the time of the girl’s murder. You’re not suggesting she had anything to do with it, are you? Besides, what possible motive could a young fellow . . . ?”

  Devereaux waved him to silence. He was staring fixedly at the telephone that stood on the desk.

  “Now, wait a moment,” he said, his voice sharp with excitement. “I believe we can settle this. When young Delaney came in here, he asked me if he could use the telephone. Maybe he’s left his prints on it. We know the print we are looking for. Get Leroy here and get him fast!”

  The snap in Devereaux’s voice brought Guidet hurriedly to his feet and he went out of the office.

  Devereaux lit another cigarette and sank lower into his chair. His legs ached and his body longed for sleep, but his mind was alert enough.

  There was some delay in bringing Leroy, the fingerprint expert, from the Beau Rivage hotel where he was still working and it was during this delay that Jay slipped out of the hotel, unseen by the hotel staff, who were at this time fully occupied in handing out keys and taking orders for breakfast. The only man who noticed him leave was Harry Stone and he, seeing the fishing bag, assumed Jay was off on a night’s fishing expedition.

  It was a little after two o’clock in the morning that Guidet and Leroy came into the office where Devereaux waited patiently.

  As soon as Devereaux saw Leroy, he pointed to the telephone.

  “Check that. I’m hoping to find a print on it that matches the one you found on the bead and also on the electric lamp bulb at the Beau Rivage.”

  Leroy looked a little startled, but he didn’t say anything. He opened his kit and set to work. In five minutes he gave a sudden little grunt, a sound he always made when he had done a satisfactory job.

  “A beauty,” he said. “Yes, you’re right, Inspector. Here it is: on the side of the instrument. Whoever handled the electric light bulb in the Beau Rivage also handled this telephone and he also handled the bead found in suite 30.”

  Devereaux rubbed the back of his neck while he stared at Leroy.

  “Are you absolutely certain?”

  “I’m always certain,” Leroy said cheerfully. “Fingerprints don’t lie. There’s no question of a mistake.”

  There was a long silence while Devereaux stared down at his desk. He said finally: “We’d better go up and talk to him if he’s there. Guidet, ask the hall porter if he is in the suite.”

  Guidet went out and returned a few minutes later.

  “He’s up there and so are his parents.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see if he has any scratches on his arms,” Devereaux said, pushing his chair back. “You’d be
tter come, Leroy. I’ll want you to take his prints.”

  The three men left the office.

  Pausing in the lobby, Devereaux said to Guidet: “Go up there and wait outside the door. I’d better get the clerk to announce us and I don’t want the boy to have a chance of bolting. I’ll give you five minutes before calling the suite.”

  Guidet nodded and hurried up the stairs.

  While they waited, Leroy said: “This case, Inspector, will make you famous. Your name will be in every paper in every country in the world.”

  Devereaux shrugged his shoulders.

  “We’ll have to handle the boy tactfully. He may have an explanation. This is dangerous ground. His father has a lot of influence. I hope to goodness you haven’t made a mistake.”

  Leroy grinned happily.

  “We’ll soon see when I take his prints. I’m willing to bet all the money I own that he is our man.”

  “I think you are right.”

  Devereaux went over to the reception desk.

  “Will you call Mr. Jay Delaney and tell him I want to speak to him and I propose going up to his suite?” he said to the night clerk.

  The clerk looked pointedly at his wristwatch.

  “It’s a little late now to disturb Mr. Delaney,” he said. “Won’t tomorrow do?”

  “Please call the suite and tell him. I will apologize when I see him.”

  The clerk, shrugging, put through the call. There was a delay, then he said: “Will you hold on, please?” and looking Devereaux, he said: “Mr. Jay Delaney isn’t in the suite.”

  Devereaux frowned.

  “I understood he went up an hour ago.”

  “Mr. Delaney senior says he is not in the suite,” the clerk repeated.

  Devereaux took the telephone receiver out of the clerk’s hand.

  “Monsieur Delaney? This is Inspector Devereaux speaking. Cannes police. I would be glad if you would see me for a few minutes. May I come up?”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake!” Delaney sounded irritable. “I was in bed. Well, all right, come up, Inspector, but you mustn’t keep me long,” and he hung up.

  Devereaux went over to the hall porter.

  “Did you see Mr. Jay Delaney leave the hotel?”