1958 - Not Safe to be Free (8 page)

She looked at her wristwatch. The time was twenty-five minutes to ten. The movie would be running now and Floyd would be wondering where she was.

“I want to think about it, Jay. I can’t keep your father waiting any longer. It’s a thing one can’t make a decision about in a moment. You’re not the only one involved. There’s your father and myself.”

Jay took his dark glasses from his pocket and put them on.

She became immediately alert. She felt that this action of his was a declaration of war.

“There isn’t much time,” he said.

“I’ll come to your room after dinner,” Sophia said. “I’ll have decided by then.”

Half smiling, Jay slid out of his chair, moved quickly to the door, turned the key, took the key from the lock and dropped it into his pocket. He leaned against the door and looked across the room at her.

“I’m sorry, Sophia,” he said, his voice gentle, “but I can’t leave the decision to you. Unless you are prepared to be cooperative, I shall have to make my own arrangements.”

“Is that a threat, Jay?” Sophia asked, a little surprised that she wasn’t more frightened.

“I’m afraid it is,” he said apologetically. “This is very important to me. I can’t have you spoiling it.”

Sophia crossed her long, shapely legs.

“But wouldn’t you be in difficulties if you had two bodies on your hands?” she said.

“Of course, that is why I hope you will be cooperative.”

“What do you expect me to do, then?”

He moved back to his chair.

“It’s to your advantage and father’s advantage too if I get away with this. I think I can get away with it. If you tell father, he will rush off to the police. If you say nothing, there is a reasonable chance that no one will ever find out what I have done, so I’m asking you not to say anything.”

Sophia didn’t hesitate. What Jay had said was true. If she told Floyd, the horrible thing would be newspaper headlines within hours.

“All right, Jay. I won’t say anything. I give you my word.”

He nodded.

“I shall have to trust you, but I think you are clever enough to see that it won’t help any of us if I am caught.”

“You can trust me.” Sophia lit another cigarette. “But what are you going to do with the—the body?”

“I thought I’d put it in a trunk and leave it somewhere,” Jay said. “I haven’t really got down to making a plan.”

“The trunk would be traced to you,” Sophia said. “Besides, you couldn’t handle it yourself. No, that’s not a safe idea.”

“Perhaps you can suggest a better one?” Jay said, watching her.

“When you brought her up here, someone must have seen you.”

“Oh, no. We came up separately. It was around four o’clock. There was no one up here.”

“But you can’t be sure she wasn’t seen. She may have told someone she was coming here.”

“No, she didn’t. I warned her not to tell anyone. No one knows she came here. I’m sure of that.”

“What makes you think you won’t be found out? The police are clever. When her body is discovered, there will be an investigation. You may have left clues. Murderers always do.”

Jay put his head on one side. He was enjoying this. Sophia was showing unexpected intelligence and interest. He was surprised that she was taking this so calmly. It was as if she were dissecting the plot of a movie. He had often listened to her discussing movie plots with his father and he had been impressed by her shrewdness and her quick fault-finding.

“I don’t think I have left any clues,” he said, “but that’s part of the risk. It’s my wits against theirs. The one thing that helps the police more than anything is the motive. There is no motive to this murder. If I can get rid of the body, I should be safe.”

“I hope so.” Sophia glanced at her watch. “I think I should join your father now.”

Jay nodded.

“I’ll come too. Will you wait a moment while I change?”

“All right.”

He put the key of the door on the table.

“I won’t be a few minutes. I’m trusting you, Sophia.”

She watched him go into his bedroom and close the door, then she picked up the key. At this moment the reaction hit her and she suddenly felt faint and sick. She fought down her faintness, and, making an effort, she got up, crossed over to the liquor cabinet and poured out a stiff shot of brandy. She drank it and then moved to the open window.

A big crowd circulated in front of the hotel on the watch for the Stars who were coming out now onto the terrace for an aperitif and to display themselves.

It was a hot night and the big moon made a glittering patch of yellow on the sea.

She stood there, leaning against the wall, staring at the active scene below.

If I can get rid of the body, I should be safe
.

Jay’s words echoed and re-echoed in her mind.

How was he going to do it?

Safe? Could anyone ever hope to be safe after doing such a thing?

She heard him come out of his bedroom, close and lock the door and she turned.

He looked very handsome in his tuxedo.

He paused by the door and smiled at her.

“Shall we go?”

“Yes.”

She unlocked the door and they left the suite.

From his hiding place, Joe Kerr watched them.

II

J
ay sat in the cinema seat, his eyes staring blankly at the lighted screen. He was sharply aware of Sophia, sitting next to him. He could smell her subtle perfume and from time to time when she moved, her skirts brushed against his leg.

On her other side, his father was sitting, slightly leaning forward, his face set as he struggled to follow the action of the film by the inadequate subtitles that kept flashing onto the screen.

They were watching a Swedish film. The photography was splendid, but neither Sophia nor Jay, who had arrived too late to pick up the thread of the plot, had the slightest idea what the film was about.

A sudden subtitle, trite in itself, gave Jay the solution to the problem he was trying to solve: the problem of how he was going to get rid of the girl’s body in reasonable safety. When the subtitle appeared, Floyd Delaney, his schoolboy French failing him, leaned across Sophia and whispered irritably to Jay: “What the hell does that say?”

Jay translated without conscious effort: “There’s safety in numbers.”

His father grunted and settled back in his seat.

There’s safety in numbers
.

Jay remembered reading somewhere—probably in the Michelin Guide—that the Plaza hotel had five hundred bedrooms. That must mean at a guess that there were a thousand people staying in the hotel. It seemed to him that a thousand to one risk of discovery was an acceptable hazard. He decided he wouldn’t attempt to move the girl’s body out of the hotel. He would carry it into the elevator, take the elevator to the top floor and leave it there.

The body wouldn’t be discovered for several hours. How could the police find out if the killer was someone staying in the hotel or one of the hundreds of non-residents who had the run of the hotel during the Festival? How could they guess on which floor the girl had met her death, let alone in which of the five hundred bedrooms?

The solution was so obvious he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before.

The tension that had been gnawing at him now went away and for the first time since he had killed the girl he relaxed.

He was able, too, to think more clearly of the situation as it was so far. Everything depended on whether he could trust Sophia to keep silent.

Would she lose her nerve? Would she tell his father?

He thought not. Her behaviour when the girl’s body had tumbled out of the cupboard had been astonishing. She must have nerves of steel to have reacted as she had done. Of course she had been shocked, but she hadn’t lost her head or screamed or even fainted as most women would have done. She had gone white and her hands had covered her face but she had quickly recovered. She had gone out of the room and he had seen her sit down and light a cigarette.

A woman who could do that after what had happened was not likely to lose her nerve. He looked slyly at her. Her face was expressionless as she watched the film. There was a resolute set to her mouth he hadn’t noticed before; otherwise she looked as she always looked when watching a movie.

She must know it would be disastrous for his father and herself if he were discovered. He was pretty certain that he could rely on her silence.

The film finished a few minutes to midnight.

As they made their way along the Croisette back to the Plaza hotel, Floyd questioned his son about the film. His questions were technical and Jay floundered in trying to answer them.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Delaney snapped, losing patience. “You’re talking through the back of your neck. You don’t seem to have learned the first thing about your trade. Look, have a talk with Cooper, will you? Get him to wise you up.”

He turned his attention to Sophia. “I have a call to Paris before we meet the van Asters. At this hour we shouldn’t be held up.” He snapped his fingers at Harry Stone who was walking behind them. “See the car’s waiting, Harry. I want to talk to Courtney. We’re getting scarcely any coverage in the French press for our picture.”

“I’ll run along,” Jay said. “I feel like a walk.”

“Go ahead,” Delaney said curtly. He was still angry with his son for his poor showing when he had questioned him.

“See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Jay,” Sophia said and she looked directly at him.

“Good night,” Jay said.

He tried to read a message in her eyes without success. He stood back and let them go on ahead. Then, crossing the promenade, he paused for a moment to look back at the dense crowd, standing behind the crush barriers erected outside the hotel. He watched his father and Sophia walk up the drive and heard the buzz of voices start up as the crowd, intent on spotting the Stars, identified Sophia.

He turned away and began to walk slowly along the promenade towards the Casino. He made a lonely figure walking on his own away from the centre of activity, moving against the stream of people who were heading towards the Plaza.

Because he was wearing a tuxedo, the Star-spotters stared inquisitively at him, making sure they weren’t passing a celebrity whom they could pester for an autograph. Jay was too preoccupied by his thoughts to notice how he was being stared at. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps this idea of his mightn’t have misfired. Now the first excitement had passed, it wasn’t as tense or as thrilling as he imagined it would be.

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.