“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
Moving 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.
She looked at him. That dreadful, meaningless smile gave her the key. No one sane would smile like that.
“But I can’t go to Paris with you,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “My father . . .”
“Oh, yes, you can. I have plenty of money. I’ll see your father doesn’t suffer.” He moved towards her. “You want to help me, don’t you?”
Before she could control herself, she cried out in a wild, terrified voice: “Don’t come near me!”
He stopped abruptly.
A sudden vicious spurt of anger shot through him. Was there no one who would try to understand him? She had said she loved him. She had given herself to him and now she was crouching away from him, staring at him as if he were dangerous. So she did believe he was mad, as Sophia believed he was mad.
“I told you you don’t have to be frightened of me,” he said, his voice hardening, “but if you are going to be stupid and if you prefer to believe the lies in the paper, then I’ll have to take precautions.”
Ginette shrank further back.
“Please don’t touch me,” she begged. “I’ll help you if I can, but please don’t come near me.”
Then into his mind came the stealthy voice whispering to him that it would be safer to kill her. It was the same urgent, compelling voice that he had heard when he had been watching
Lucille Balu on the beach and when he had been talking to Sophia.
The voice said in his mind: “You can’t trust her now. She thinks you are mad. You can never get away if you leave her here alive. Why should you hesitate? A girl who could give herself to you and then won’t believe you isn’t fit to live. Kill her quickly and
then go. You can get down to the harbour and take her boat. They won’t think of looking for you in the boat. Do it now! Do it quickly!”
As he hesitated, trying not to listen to the voice, he thought of last night and what he had said to her.
You need never be frightened of me, Ginette. You are the special thing in my life.
He thought: it would be better for me to be caught than to hurt her. She gave me the loveliest and happiest experience of my life. I mustn’t repay her by death.
But the voice was growing louder and more insistent in his mind.
“See the way she is looking at you,” the voice said. “Do you call that love? She thinks you are mad. Kill her, you sentimental fool! You’ll never get away unless she’s dead. The moment you leave here, she’ll raise the alarm. You’ll never even reach the harbour.”
Jay found himself beginning to surrender to the urgency of the voice and his hand moved behind him, his fingers closing over the butt of the .25 automatic.
“Don’t use that!” the voice shouted at him. “Don’t shoot her! The noise of the gun will bring the police! Hit her over the head. There’s a bottle on the table. Use that! Hit her now!”
Jay moved over to the table, slightly away from the one at which Ginette was sitting.
I mustn’t do it, he thought, as his fingers closed around the neck of the bottle. She is the special thing in my life. I mustn’t hurt her.
“Do it now!” the voice inside his mind raved at him. “Quick! Don’t hesitate! She’ll start to scream in a moment and then you’ll never get away!”
He picked up the bottle.
Ginette sat paralysed, watching him. She was so frightened the scream forming in her throat made no sound.
“Now! Now! Now!” the voice urged. “Quickly!”
But with an effort that brought sweat to his face, Jay put the bottle back on the table.
“Get out of here! Go quickly!” His voice was strangled. “Quick! Get out of here!”
Instinctively she realized that for her sake he was holding on desperately to his tottering sanity and fighting to control a mad urge to kill her. She could see the struggle going on from the expression on his face.
She scrambled to her feet and darted across the room. She began to tear blindly at the bolts on the door.
Jay felt his control leave him. The voice inside him was screaming abuse at him. He felt himself turn and his hand reach for the bottle.
As he picked it up, Ginette wrenched open the door and stumbled into the street. She fell on her knees on the pavement, hiding her face in her hands and she began to scream wildly.
Police cars were pulling up at this moment.
Devereaux and Delaney were the first out of the cars.
Devereaux ran to the screaming girl and pulled her to her feet.
“It’s all right! It’s all right!” he cried. “Stop screaming! Where is he?”
Ginette pointed to the cafe, then her eyes rolled back and she went limp in the Inspector’s arms.
“Here—take her!” Devereaux said, thrusting the unconscious girl into the hands of the nearest gendarme. He moved towards the cafe entrance as the police, spilling out of the cars, began to control the crowd that had immediately collected.
Floyd Delaney caught the Inspector by his arm.
“Wait!” he said. “I’ll go in there. If he sees you, he’ll probably use the gun.”
“Better not,” Devereaux said, uneasily. “He’s dangerous. Better leave him to us.”
“Do you think I’m frightened of my own son?” Delaney said. “I can handle him. Keep out of the way!”
He walked into the cafe and paused just inside, looking into the gloom.
“Jay? Where are you?”
He heard no sound except the murmur of the crowd behind him. Without hesitation, he walked further into the bar room.
“Jay? Come on, son. I’ve come to take you home,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. You and I can work this thing out together.”
And as he said this, he realized the futility of his words. He had left it far too late now to help the boy.
Then the sudden sharp bang of the .25 automatic made him start. The sound came from the half-open door that led into the kitchen. The bang of the gun was immediately followed by the sound of a heavy fall, then a gasping, sobbing sigh.
Delaney flinched and turned away.
Through the half-open door, a thin wisp of cordite smoke drifted on the still air. It hung for a second or so, then dispersed like a departing spirit.
Devereaux came quickly into the bar room.
He looked at Delaney, who was pressing his hands to his face, then he walked across to the kitchen and pushed the door wide open.
1958 - Not Safe to be Free Page 22
