Joe winced.
No, it wouldn’t be all right to tell them he was here. Once they got him down to headquarters and that cold fish Devereaux started to work on him he would either have to tell them the truth and give up the idea of putting the bite on Delaney or he would have to lie and that would make him an accessory to murder.
He had to see Delaney before the police got at him. If Delaney refused to part with the money, then he would go to the police and tell them what he had seen. If Delaney gave him the money, then he would have to risk lying to the police: to have that amount of money would be worth any risk.
He had hoped to have handled this thing himself. He knew that, once Madame Brossette knew about it, she would take charge. She would control the money he got from Delaney. She would buy the villa for him and heaven help him if he invited any other woman to the villa and she got to hear about it.
But he knew enough of her background to be satisfied that she was much more capable of handling this thing than he was, and, weakly, he decided to shift the responsibility onto her fat, massive shoulders.
“There’s nothing wrong,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “but . . .”
Then the whole story poured out of him.
Her big red hands in her lap, her emerald-green eyes fixed in a stare of concentration, Madame Brossette listened. The story told to her made her breathe quickly and when she breathed quickly her enormous bosom was agitated.
She said nothing until he had finished, then she held out her hand and said briefly: “Let’s have a look.”
He gave her the wet prints and watched her examine them.
She handed them back, then, scratching the side of her neck, she said: “Give me a cigarette, Joe.”
He gave her one and lit it and one for himself.
“What do you think?” he asked anxiously.
“What do I think?” she repeated and her small, red mouth moved into a smile. “I think we have a gold mine here, Joe. What were you going to ask for the negatives? Five million francs?”
“Something like that,” Joe said. “He can afford it.”
“So you were going to Delaney?”
“Of course. Who else has the money? Of course he’s the one to go to.”
“You’re wrong, Joe. I’ve seen him. A man with a face like his doesn’t pay blackmail. He’d hand you over to the police before you knew where you were. The one way go to is the woman. I know something about her. Do you know where she was born?”
Joe stared at her.
“Born? What does it matter where she was born?”
Madame Brossette showed her even white teeth in a humourless smile.
“A lot, Joe. She was dragged up in the back streets of Naples. She’s not going to lose what she’s gained. She’s the one we’ll deal with. Maybe she hasn’t much cash, but she’s got plenty of jewels. Her diamonds alone are worth fifty million francs I took a look at them when she wore them at the opening night. We’ve got a steady income for life here, Joe. We’ll let her down gently at first. I’ll get her to part with some small stuff around twenty million first, then gradually we’ll put on the pressure. This could be a gold mine if we handle it right.”
Joe moved uneasily.
“I’d rather settle for an outright payment. I don t like this steady income idea. It’s too much like blackmail.”
Madame Brossette patted his knee.
“You leave this to me, Joe. I’ll handle it. You’re going to keep out of it. You’ll have to stay in your room, out of sight until I’ve come to terms with her, then you’ll be able to show yourself. I’ll arrange for you to have a room at a hotel of a friend of mine in Antibes. That way you can explain to the police why they didn’t find you in Cannes. As soon as we know she’s going to part, you’ll have to go to the police and tell them a story. We’ll work that out together later.”
“It’ll make me an accessory,” Joe said feebly.
Madame Brossette continued to smile.
“Just relax, Joe. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. If they find out you’ve told them a lie or two, they’ll also find out I’ve made some money out of her.” Her smile widened. “I don’t look worried, do I? For the money we’re going to collect, the risk is worth it. At least they can’t kill us and that’s more than young Delaney can say.” She stood up. “I’ll go down and telephone her. You get back to your room.”
Ten minutes later, Joe heard her coming slowly up the steep stairs and went to his door, expectant and uneasy.
Madame Brossette smiled reassuringly at him.
“It’s all right. She’s coming to see me. She’ll be round here in half an hour.”
“Coming here?” Joe said, his voice shooting up. “That’s not a good idea, is it?”
“You don’t imagine I want to talk to her at the Plaza, do you, Joe? Here I can get a little rough with her if it is necessary. She’s not a weak one, Joe, I can tell you. She’ll need handling.”
Joe fingered his chin uneasily. He suddenly wished he hadn’t brought her into this and he felt an urgent need for a drink.
“Well, all right. I’ll leave it to you.” He began to back into his tiny bedroom. “You let me know.”
“Don’t worry about anything. Just give me the photographs and I’ll do the rest.”
Joe got the damp prints and handed them to her. He watched her walk heavily down the stairs, then he turned quickly, shut the door of his room and reached for the whisky bottle.
II
Inspector Devereaux waved Jay to a chair and then sat down behind the desk.
He looked searchingly at Jay. A good-looking young fellow, he thought. He seems nervous. Well, that’s understandable. Everyone is nervous when I talk to them. Possibly he has something on his conscience. Most people have and they usually discover it when they meet me. I don’t want to frighten him.
“I’m sorry to be taking up your time, monsieur,” he said, leaning forward and resting his hands on the blotter, “but I believe you may be able to help me. Let me explain. This morning, a young woman’s body was discovered in an elevator here. She had been murdered. I have reason to believe you are one of the last people to see her alive.”
Jay sank lower in his chair. He was thankful for his dark glasses. They gave him a feeling of protection. He was slightly relieved that Devereaux’s voice and manner seemed suddenly friendly, but he warned himself to be on his guard. This man might be laying a trap for him.
“Murdered?” he said. “Who is she?”
“Lucille Balu,” Devereaux said and picking up his pencil he began to make patterns on the blotter. “I believe you talked to her about half-past three yesterday afternoon?”
“Lucille Balu?” Somehow Jay managed to instill shocked surprise into his voice. “She has been murdered? Who did it?”
Devereaux smiled patiently.
“That is what I am trying to discover, monsieur. You talked to her yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, that’s right. She had been posing for photographers. I was on the beach. My father was interested in her and I made casual conversation.” He was wondering who had told the police that they had been seen talking together. They certainly found that out fast enough. “I can’t really remember what we talked about. We only talked for a few minutes.”
“She didn’t say where she was going when she left the beach?”
“No. I think I said I hoped my father would give her a contract and I believe I asked her if she wanted to live in Hollywood. It was that kind of conversation,” Jay said, gaining confidence.
It was only because he had been rash enough to come down to the hotel lobby that he had been caught up in this interrogation, he told himself. But he must still be on his guard, although now he was sure this police officer was merely making routine inquiries.
Devereaux tapped with his pencil on the desk as he asked, “You returned to the hotel about four o’clock?”
“Yes. I had been on the beach
for some time and I decided to have a swim. I returned to the hotel for my swimming trunks.”
“Mademoiselle Balu wasn’t visiting your father, by any chance?” Devereaux asked.
Jay felt his heart give a little kick against his side.
“My father? Why, no. My father was in the cinema at that time.”
“Perhaps she didn’t know that. She didn’t mention that she intended to visit him?”
“Of course not.” Jay was aware that his voice was unnecessarily loud and he controlled it. “There was no question of her visiting my father.”
Devereaux laid down his pencil.
“The reason why I asked, Mr. Delaney, is because we know for certain that she was visiting someone who had a suite on the second floor. You didn’t see her when you went up to your suite?”
Jay’s mouth suddenly turned dry. How on earth had they discovered she had come to the second floor? Had someone seen her? Was it possible someone had seen her rapping on the door of the suite?
“No, I didn’t. I would have told you if I had.”
“Of course. So you went up to the suite, got your swimsuit and left: is that correct?”
Jay saw the trap. It was possible this man knew more than he was making out.
“I was about to leave when my stepmother came in. We talked. She also had the idea of taking a swim. She collected her costume and then left. I left later. I had a letter to write.”
Devereaux nodded.
“And at no time after you had spoken to the girl on the beach did you see her in the hotel?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you see anyone, apart from Mademoiselle Balu, when you walked down the corridor to your suite, monsieur?”
“No. At that time most of the suites are empty.”
“You didn’t notice a man hanging about in the corridor: a man with a camera?”
“A man with a camera?” Jay stiffened. “Why, no. I didn’t see anyone. Was there a man up there?”
Devereaux nodded.
“Yes He was seen by the hotel detective knocking on the door of your suite after you had left. He is a press photographer. His name is Joe Kerr. We are looking for him now.”
Joe Kerr. . .
The name sounded familiar, then Jay remembered the red, raddled face: the man who had asked him if he could arrange an interview with his father. He must have come up to the suite in the hope of catching Floyd Delaney after Jay had left.
Jay told Devereaux how he had spoken to Kerr on the beach and how Kerr had asked him to arrange a meeting with his father.
Devereaux listened, disappointment clearly showing on his face.
“So he had a reason to be knocking on your door?”
“I suppose he had. No doubt he wanted to talk to my father.”
Devereaux thought for a moment, then laid down his pencil.
“Well, I think that is all, Mr. Delaney. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”
With a feeling of acute relief, Jay got to his feet.
“That’s all right. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“Every scrap of information helps, monsieur,” Devereaux said, standing up. “I wonder if you could describe the bead necklace the girl was wearing?”
“Why, yes,” Jay said, without thinking. “They were big sapphire blue beads . . .” Then he could have bitten his tongue out for he remembered that the girl hadn’t been wearing a necklace when she had been on the beach. She had put the necklace on when she had come to the suite!
Devereaux was saying casually: “Sapphire blue? Yes, that was what the hall porter said. The beads must be very distinctive for you to remember them.” He walked round the desk and opened the door. “The necklace is missing. We’re trying to find it. Well, thank you, monsieur.”
Jay walked out of the office and started across the lobby towards the exit. He was feeling cold. What a stupid blunder to have made! he thought. Luckily the police officer hadn’t noticed it. The chances were that he wouldn’t think to check if the girl was wearing the necklace or not when she had been on the beach. If he did he would probably have forgotten that Jay had said he had seen her wearing it. But it was dangerous. By admitting having seen the necklace, he was also admitting having seen the girl when she came to the hotel and this he had denied. A stupid mistake like that could lose a man his life!
“Jay!”
Startled, he looked around.
Sophia was crossing the lobby. She had on a pair of white slacks, a red beach coat and her hair was caught back by a white silk scarf. There was a bony, scraped look about her face that Jay hadn’t seen before. For the first time since he had known her, he realized with a sense of shock, that this girl was as hard as a diamond.
“Why, hello, Sophia,” he said uneasily. “Where are you going?”
“Come with me,” she said curtly and continued across the lobby to the revolving doors.
Then he knew something must be badly wrong and again panic edged into his mind. He followed her out into the hot sunshine.
“Where’s father?” he asked as he fell into step beside her.
“Still sleeping,” she said curtly.
She crossed the road and went down into the Plaza beach enclosure.
At that hour—it was now a few minutes after ten—the enclosure was deserted.
She sat down at one of the tables and waved the waiter who had appeared impatiently away.
Jay sat opposite her. He put his clenched fists between his knees and squeezed them.
“What’s wrong?” he asked huskily.
Sophia opened her bag and took out her cigarette case. She lit a cigarette while she stared at Jay, her dark eyes glittering.
“You might well ask that!” There was a cold fury in her voice that made him flinch. “You contemptible, degenerate fool! You might well ask what’s wrong!”
“Don’t talk to me like that!” Jay said, feeling blood mount to his face. “What has happened?”
“A woman telephoned,” Sophia said, keeping her voice down with an effort. “She said she wanted to see me and she’s given me the address of some little hotel in Rue Foch. She knows you did it!”
Jay sat very still.
“What do you mean?” he managed to say. “Who is she? How could she know?”
“She said her name was Brossette and she was the owner of the Beau Rivage hotel. She said I would be interested to see some photographs connected with the affair that happened yesterday afternoon in the Plaza hotel. She said she expected me to come to her place within an hour and she hung up.”
“Photographs? What photographs? What are they of?” Jay said, trying to control the panic that seized him.
“That’s all she said and keep your voice down! Could anyone have photographed you as you took the girl to the elevator?”
“Of course not! Not in that light! They would have had to use a flashlight . . .” Then he broke off, remembering what Devereaux had said.
You didn’t notice a man hanging about in the corridor: a man with a camera? He was seen by the hotel detective knocking on the door of your suite. He is a press photographer. His name is Joe Kerr.
Jay recalled the shabby, down-at-heel man with his drink-ruined face: a man capable of anything. He remembered the Rolliflex camera that had hung from a strap around his neck.
“I think I know. . .” He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and hands. “There was a press photographer seen up there. The police told me.”
“The police?” Sophia stiffened. “Have you been talking to the police?”
“They found out that I had spoken to the girl on the beach. They wanted to know if I could help them,” Jay said. “The Inspector mentioned this man. His name is Joe Kerr. The police are looking for him now.”
Sophia’s hands gripped her handbag until her knuckles turned white.
“You should have persevered with your Russian roulette game, Jay,” she said, her voice seething with anger. “If you had blown
your horrible, insane brains out, I wouldn’t be in this position now. How are you enjoying the excitement? You planned to put your life in danger, didn’t you? Well, it certainly is in danger now. You don’t appear to be wildly excited about the prospect. In fact you look like a badly frightened rabbit!”
Jay made an angry gesture.
“You must talk to her. The photographs may be harmless.”
“Do you think so?” She got to her feet. “We’ll soon see. You realize your father will have to know now?”
“That may not be necessary,” Jay said, shifting uneasily. “Find out first what these photographs are and how much she wants for them. Then we can see what to do.”
“It doesn’t bother you, Jay, that you have drawn me into this ghastly thing?” Sophia asked, leaning forward and staring at him.
Jay shrugged his shoulders.
“I didn’t draw you into it, Sophia. You were thinking of yourself. You could have called the police. You preferred taking a risk than facing the publicity. You said so. You had the choice so don’t try to make out I’ve drawn you into anything.”
Sophia made a resigned movement with her hands.
“Yes, I should have told the police.” She got to her feet. “I don’t know how long this will take. You’d better go back to the hotel and tell your father I’ve gone for a swim. He’ll be wondering where I am.”
“All right,” Jay said. “I’ll wait for you in the suite.”
He watched her leave the enclosure, cross to where her Cadillac convertible stood and drive away.
He sat for some minutes, thinking.
He had got over his first feeling of fear and now he began to look for a way out. Before he could solve that problem, he had to know how dangerous the photographs were. They must be pretty dangerous, otherwise this woman wouldn’t have dared to get into touch with Sophia. Obviously, he would have to try to get hold of the photographs and the negatives, then he would have to think of a way to make sure the woman didn’t bother him again.
Where was Kerr? He also had to be taken care of. The chances were he was at this hotel and the woman was acting as his mouthpiece. The police were hunting for Kerr. It was possible they suspected that he had killed the girl.
1958 - Not Safe to be Free Page 11
