The Blue Movie Murders (9 page)

“Go ahead,” Governor Holland said. “You know you have a free hand.”

“Fine.” Then McCall had another thought. “What about Cynthia Rhodes?”

“All I know is that she's left town. She might very well turn up in Rockview.”

“I'll be watching for her.”

“Mike?”

“Yes, Governor?”

“Keep me advised of any developments, will you? I want to stay very close to this one.”

“I'm planning to confront Xavier Mann with what I've learned. I'll try to call you later in the day.”

“I'll be expecting your call, Mike.”

McCall fretted through breakfast, watching the clock until he thought it was late enough to call California without getting Parker out of bed. When he finally reached the man, he heard a grunt and grumble from the other end.

“Damn it, McCall, don't you know what time it is out here?”

“Time you should be up and about, you lazy bum. Come on, I've got a job for you.”

“I thought you were out of the detective business. Somebody said you were working for the Governor now.”

“I still handle some investigations. Look, you know about Ben Sloane being killed here, don't you?”

“Sure! It's big news in all the papers.”

“Here's what I need,” he told Parker, talking fast. “I want a dossier on Ben Sloane's life, with special emphasis on his movements about twenty years ago. Bracket it from fifteen to twenty-five years ago. He was producing films during all that period, so it shouldn't be too difficult to trace his movements.”

“Are you asking for a day-by-day rundown, Mike? That would be just about impossible.”

“No, no. Just a general rundown of what he was doing and where he was.”

“How soon do you need it?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Soon as you can. Okay, fella?”

“I'll do my best, Mike. Where can I reach you?”

“Right now at the Rockview Motel. I'll give you the number. If I'm not here, I'll be back in the capital.”

After he'd hung up, McCall strolled across the lobby to the registration desk. A new young man was working there, and he smiled helpfully. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Suzanne Walsh. Has she checked out?”

The clerk ran down the registration list. “I believe so. There was some confusion, because we had listed her in the wrong room. Just a moment, please.” He stepped over to the cashier and returned carrying a ledger card. “Yes, Miss Walsh checked out just before noon yesterday.”

“What address did she give when she registered?”

The smiling helpfulness clouded, and McCall showed his gold shield. The desk man inspected it briefly, then turned around the registration card so that McCall could copy the address. It was in lower Manhattan, on the fringes of Greenwich Village.

This call was not so easy to get through. She didn't answer at her apartment and he wondered for a moment if she might have flown west with Sloane's body. Finally he had the operator give him the number of Sloane Enterprises' New York office, and he tried her there. He was in luck. After a few moments' wait he heard her familiar voice.

“Miss Walsh, this is Micah McCall. You may remember meeting me up at Rockview.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. McCall.”

“We discussed Sloane's letter and his search for the man who directed the film
The Wild Nymph
.”

“I remember,” she said.

“Well, the thought occurs to me that if Ben Sloane was really such an expert judge of this film, he must have seen it several times.”

“He did.”

“At the cocktail party the other day he told me he owned one of the few prints of
The Wild Nymph
in existence.”

“That's so.”

“Have you ever seen it, Miss Walsh?”

“No, but he's told me about it.”

“And where would that print be stored? Certainly in a safer place than his home.”

“The print is right here, locked in the vault of our east coast office.”

McCall grinned into the telephone. The gods were smiling on him today. “Could you let me borrow that print, Miss Walsh, to view it? I believe it may give us a lead to Mr. Sloane's killer.”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Certainly I want to help in every way possible, but I'm afraid I couldn't allow the print out of my possession. It's a valuable part of Mr. Sloane's estate. You understand I have a loyalty to my employer even in death, Mr. McCall.”

“Certainly.” He thought for a second. “Then how about this? Could you bring the print up here with you?”

But she balked at that. “I'm never setting foot in that city again. If you want to see it you'll have to come down here, Mr. McCall.”

His free hand was already pulling the airline schedule from his breast pocket. He could fly to New York and be back by evening. “How would this afternoon be?”

“If you make it late—after four o'clock. I still have to make final arrangements for the funeral tomorrow.”

“He's being buried in New York?”

“Yes. He had no family out west, and very few friends. I decided he'd rather be buried here.”

“I'll be at your office at four.”

“Very good, Mr. McCall.”

NINE

Friday, May 14

He phoned April Evan's at her hotel and told her he'd be out of town for the day. “I thought I might see you last night,” she said softly, making it some sort of unspoken accusation.

“I told you I had to see Watts. It was late when I left him.”

“And where are you off to today?”

“We each have our secrets,” he said. “If you tell me who you really are, I might break down and tell you where I'm going.”

She breathed into the phone. “Will you be back tonight?”

“I expect to be. I'm leaving my car at the airport and flying to New York.”

“Oh?”

“See? I told you after all.”

“New York's a very big city.”

“So it is.”

“What flight will you be returning on?”

“With luck I'll be back by ten.”

“Phone me.”

“You'll still be around?”

“I'll still be around.”

“Then maybe I'll phone you.”

He hung up, grinning slightly, and headed for the parking lot. There was no need to catch the noon flight to New York, since there was another at 1.30 that would still get him into Manhattan by four o'clock. But if he had the time, he could drop in at the library and do some personal research on Sloane and Dahlman.

“Mr. McCall?”

A bearded man in a turtleneck sweater was blocking his path, and McCall remembered him from the previous morning. He was the reporter who'd taken photographs of the Rockview Motel from across the street. “Yes? I'm on my way to an appointment.”

“Just a few questions, sir. I'm with
Everyweek
magazine. We understand Governor Holland has taken a personal interest in the murder of Ben Sloane, and we wonder if you could tell us why. Is it true that Sloane's death is somehow linked to a million-dollar vice ring?”

“If that's what your readers want, go ahead and give it to them. I have no comment.”

“But this is a matter of great public interest—”

“Let me pass, please. Any story will have to come from the local police or from Governor Holland's office.”

“Could I just get a picture of you?”

But McCall kept walking and the man did not follow. He knew that reporters were thick in the city, and he was thankful this had been his first encounter with one. He'd never got along well with the press, even though he kept telling himself they had a job to do.

He'd unlocked his car door and was just getting in when a grey limousine pulled into the parking space next to him. At first he saw only the driver, a nondescript man wearing sunglasses, who looked like a chauffeur even though he wore no uniform. But then he became aware of a tapping on the glass and saw Xavier Mann sitting alone in the back seat.

“Get in,” Mann said. “I want to talk with you.”

There was always the later plane, so McCall climbed into the back seat and said, “I was thinking of coming out to see you again.”

“Then it's fortunate I came by.”

“If we're going to talk, though, I'd suggest we move away from here. There's a reporter inside and he just might spot us together.”

Mann nodded and said, “Chuck, drive down the road a bit.”

They'd gone perhaps a quarter mile when McCall asked, “Is it all right to talk in front of your chauffeur?”

Xavier Mann uttered a hearty laugh. “Chuck is hardly my chauffeur. He's the plant manager of Mann Photo. Chuck Verry, meet Mike McCall.”

The man in the sunglasses nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. There was no way of telling if McCall's remark had offended him. “In that case, Mr. Mann, I think I can speak freely.”

“Certainly.”

“Governor Holland sent me here to investigate rumours that Rockview was the centre of a thriving blue-movie industry.” The statement wasn't completely true, but it served McCall's purpose. “There's evidence that sex films are being turned out at your plant, Mr. Mann, and have been for two decades.”

Xavier Mann let a slow hiss of air escape from between his thick pale lips. “I don't deny the facts you offer, McCall, but I do deny the interpretation you place on them. I'll tell you how it was, and I'm sure Chuck here will back me up.”

“Just as Mayor Jordan would?”

“Yes, Jordan held the position of plant manager before Chuck. You can ask him about it.”

“I already have,” McCall said. “He denied any knowledge of sex films. He said all testing work was carried out beyond his jurisdiction.”

“And so it was. I'll tell you about it, McCall, because you did me a favour last night getting Tanner locked up. I couldn't do it myself without bringing the other strikers down on my head, but with him out of the way I think the strike is well on its way to settlement.”

“He'll be out on bail.”

“But not right away,” Xavier Mann grinned slightly. “It's much easier to keep someone in jail once they're there. I'm assured he can be held through the weekend.”

McCall decided it was really a company town, despite its size. “We were talking about the films.”

“Ah, yes, the films. You see, McCall, Mann Photo has long manufactured its own brand of colour-reversal film, in competition with Kodak and a few smaller companies. Naturally, with a product of this sort, a continuing test programme is necessary. About twenty years ago I hit on the idea of permitting young film makers—mainly college students—the use of our facilities and equipment with no strings attached. I felt I was doing something—contributing to the art of the motion picture—while at the same time testing our film under actual working conditions.”

“But these pictures were all sex films,” McCall pointed out. “Blue movies that you later distributed to underground outlets throughout the country.”

“Not at all. I will admit that many of these student efforts dealt with sex, because after all it is a subject of dominant interest to young people. But there were other films as well.”

“You did distribute these films and profit from them?”

“Perhaps to some small extent. But I'd hardly call our operation a factory for sex films or anything of the sort. We had the facilities and we made them available to young people. It was more a public-relations effort than anything else.”

McCall smiled. “An
un
publicized public-relations effort?”

“Well, we don't publicize it in Rockview because the people might misunderstand.”

“What about a film called
The Wild Nymph
, made by Sol Dahlman?”

“It was one of our very earliest efforts, a true classic of its kind. I welcomed the efforts of Sloane to locate Dahlman and honour him.”

“You told me at your home that you knew nothing of Dahlman.”

“That's what I told Sloane. And that's what I had to tell you. But now I'm telling you the truth.”

“If the film-making operation was as innocent as you claim, why lie about it? Why tell Sloane you never heard of Sol Dahlman?”

The balding man turned over a hand in a gesture meant to imply helplessness. “I have my business to think of, McCall. I couldn't have Sloane and his movie people trying to cash in on this thing through publicity. It may have made me famous in cultist film circles, but it would have ruined me in Rockview. Especially with the strike going on! My God, you know that madman Tanner—he was already making trouble for one of our black employees who appeared in a film.”

McCall nodded. “I wanted to ask your manager about that.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Mr. Verry, I understand you paid George Watts five hundred dollars to appear in a sex film with a white actress. I suppose that was part of the public-relations effort.”

“I work for Mr. Mann,” the plant manager replied without turning his head. “He'll tell you what you want to know.” Mann smiled slightly, obviously pleased by the response, and McCall decided that Chuck Verry was bucking for mayor. He wondered if Mayor Jordan had followed a similar path during his years with Mann.

“I don't buy it,” McCall told them both. “One minute you say you welcomed Sloane's efforts to find and honour Dahlman, the next minute you tell me the publicity would ruin you in Rockview. You talk about student film makers, but you admit to the lowest sort of vice.”

“Hardly, McCall. Hardly that. And there's really no inconsistency in my statements. I welcome the honour to Dahlman, but not to me. My part in all this must not be known.”

“All right,” McCall said with a sigh. “Then tell me about Dahlman. Who is he? Where is he?”

Xavier Mann turned over his hand again. “I never met him, never laid eyes on him. I financed his film and lent him my facilities, but I never saw him. At the time he was only one of a score of young film makers. I know nothing more about him.”