The Blue Movie Murders (12 page)

“No, they don't, do they?”

“What do you think happened to him?”

“The same as Fred. Maybe the river was Chongchon or some other name.”

“You think he died in Korea?”

“I'm sure of it. Xavier's sure, too, even if he won't admit it. There'd be no other reason for Sol to have remained silent all these years.”

“Couldn't Dahlman be someone right here in Rockview, living under another name?”

“But he isn't,” she insisted. “He's gone. Dead, along with Fred. I'm the only one left, and I'm a different person now.”

“What about the rest of the crew, and the film's bit players?”

“All gone, all scattered.”

“Did your husband tell Sloane this when he called Tuesday night?”

“No. He denied any knowledge of the film or of Sol.”

“Why?”

“Don't you see? Xavier can't have the film revived now, have it licensed and rated and shown in theatres! He's married to me—it would be like exposing his wife naked in public.”

“Is that your feeling?”

“That's his, and it's all that matters. I'd never go against him.”

“What would he do to keep the film from being shown?”

“Almost anything.”

“Murder?”

“You mean Sloane? But that's impossible!”

“Is it? Only Sloane wanted to revive
The Wild Nymph
and hail it as a classic. Only Sloane wanted to find the director and sign him to a contract. With Sloane dead there's no one to keep looking for Dahlman.”

“But—I simply can't believe it. Not Xavier.”

“Where was he early Wednesday morning?”

“He always rises early and drives down to the plant.”

“Even during the strike?”

“He tries to get there before the pickets, to check with the watchmen that no damage has been done in the night-time.”

“Then he could have driven to the hotel first and killed Sloane.”

“He could have, but he didn't.” She rose suddenly and stubbed out the cigarette. “I'm a very busy woman, Mr. McCall. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me.” Suddenly she was the straight-backed woman who'd interrupted his first meeting with Mann. The naked girl by the pond had vanished into the dim past. Perhaps she was really as dead as her co-star.

“Then I'll be going,” he said.

She led the way to the front door and started to open it. “What's all this outside? Are the strikers back?”

McCall glanced past her and saw three police cars blocking the driveway. Lieutenant Powell and a half-dozen men were waiting for him. “I think it's me they want,” he said. “I came through a roadblock to get here.”

“You're a very persistent man, Mr. McCall.”

He stepped around her in the doorway. Powell came forward, hesitated, then said, “You're under arrest, McCall.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Don't make me draw my gun.”

McCall turned back to Mrs. Mann. “May I use your phone?”

“No trouble. Please!”

“No trouble.” He stepped to the phone and dialled the emergency number of the State Police. When a voice answered he said, “Major Hart, please.”

“Major Hart's on road-patrol inspection, sir.”

“This is an emergency. Micah McCall, Governor's priority triple-A. Tell Major Hart I've been illegally detained by the Rockview city police at the home of Xavier Mann. He'll know where it is.”

McCall hung up and turned to face an angry Elizabeth Mann.

“What are you doing now?” she cried. “What further trouble are you causing?”

“None for you. Don't worry.”

“Get out of my house! If there's any trouble here you'll have the reporters back.”

McCall glanced out of the open front door. “They're here already,” he said, recognizing the bearded man with his camera.

Lieutenant Powell had advanced to the front steps. “Come out, McCall. We're taking you into custody for violating the lawful order of a police officer.”

He stepped outside, aware of the man from
Everyweek
and his camera, aware of the local television newsman in his garishly painted station wagon. The word had travelled fast. This was the showdown with the Governor's errand boy.

Powell reached for his handcuffs. “Are you going to come quietly, McCall, or do I need these?”

“I'm not coining quietly and you'll have no use for them. You're not arresting me, Powell.”

“The hell I'm not!” His pudgy face was red with anger. “You got me to arrest Tanner the other night instead of you, but I'm not making the same mistake twice.”

“You were following us that night, weren't you, Powell? I wouldn't be surprised if you put Tanner on to our tail.”

“That's enough out of you,” Powell said, reaching out with the handcuffs.

But McCall had already spotted the first green-and-white State Police car topping the hill. He grinned slightly and Powell turned to follow his gaze. “Did you call them?” he asked.

“I guess I did.”

“This is city property. They have no jurisdiction here.”

McCall saw Major Hart alighting from the first State Police car, and he knew the battle was won. Hart was a tall imposing figure of a man, more than a match for Powell. “Good to see you, Major,” McCall said, shaking the man's hand.

“What seems to be the trouble here?” Hart boomed out in his most impressive voice. “A little misunderstanding?”

“Would you refresh Lieutenant Powell's memory about the law regarding state highways? He wants to arrest me for going through a roadblock at the top of the hill.”

Major Hart frowned down at the stocky detective. “Well, the law reads that no state highway can be blocked by local law enforcement agencies without the express consent and cooperation of the State Police. The only exceptions are in the case of fire or other emergency situations where there is no time to notify us.”

“He's still under arrest,” Powell said, standing his ground. “I'm taking him in.”

Major Hart stepped between them as Powell made a move towards McCall. “I'm afraid I couldn't allow that. Mr. McCall is a special representative of the Governor's office. As such, he is entitled to freedom of movement. And in this case it seems you have clearly overstepped your authority, Lieutenant.”

They were frozen like characters in a tableau, waiting for the curtain to drop while the reporters and newsmen recorded it all. It seemed an impasse that only some violent action could break.

Then another car appeared over the hill, and as it drew to a stop McCall could see that Mayor Jordan was driving. He jumped out, his thin hair flying, and demanded, “What's happening here? What is this?”

Lieutenant Powell led him aside and discussed the situation in undertones. McCall looked at Major Hart and grinned. After a moment Powell came back. “All right, McCall. Get out of my sight,” he growled. He was not a happy man.

“Come on,” Major Hart said. “I'll buy you coffee, McCall.”

“Sounds good.”

He walked past Powell to his car, but Mayor Jordan intercepted him. “We don't want trouble here, McCall,” he said. “I thought I made that clear. We're close to settlement on the strike, and after the men are back at work we'll have no more problems here.”

“Aren't you forgetting one thing?” McCall asked him.

“What's that?”

“Ben Sloane's murder.”

TWELVE

Saturday, May 15

McCall followed Major Hart to the State Police barracks just outside the city. There, over steaming cups of coffee in the Major's office, he said, “Thanks for coming along. It was getting sticky for a few minutes.”

“Always glad to oblige, McCall. But you have to go a little easy on Powell and his people. I heard about your troubles at Tisquanto and Banbury, but Rockview is a different sort of city. There's no trouble with the college, and the black population is small and well-behaved. The police aren't noticeably corrupt. In fact, the Chief manages to be on vacation most of the time without anybody really minding. This killing of Sloane is the biggest thing to hit the place in years.”

“I'm listening, Major, but I'm not buying it. I've uncovered evidence that Xavier Mann has been financing the production of underground sex films at his plant for more than twenty years. That doesn't sound like an idyllic community.”

Major Hart smiled. “Perhaps love is better than war.”

“Did you know about this filming?”

“I'd heard a few rumours. And of course I received a letter of inquiry from Sloane last week.”

“I wanted to ask you about that. What have you got on Dahlman?”

“Not a thing. Never even heard the name before.”

“Did Sloane phone you the night before he was killed?”

“Not that I know of. Tuesday night I was inspecting the barracks at Hilldale, so he couldn't have reached me if he'd tried. I returned Wednesday morning and heard about the killing. First thing I did was get on the phone to Governor Holland. I knew it would be big news when a man like Sloane gets himself killed in our state.”

McCall nodded. “I was in the Governor's office when your call came through.”

“Then that's the reason you came here.”

“Partly,” McCall admitted. “That, and this blue-movie business. Some groups have been giving the Governor a hard time. Which reminds me, I really should report in.”

He used Hart's phone to dial the Governor's special number, hoping he'd catch him in his private office. He was in luck. “Governor, this is McCall.”

“Damn it, Mike, what in hell are you up to? I just had a call from the Mayor asking that I order you out of there. He said something about a confrontation between the local police and Major Hart.”

“I'm calling from Major Hart's office now, Governor. Do you want to speak with him?”

“No. I just want to know what's happening. How's the investigation coming along?”

“Very well, sir. I had a long talk with Mann yesterday. He now admits to financing the films but claims he was merely helping students of the cinema. He also offered me a bribe—or should I say a contribution to your next campaign fund?”

“My God, Mike! You didn't take it, did you?”

“I didn't even count it. All I saw was a wad of fifties, and I gave it back.”

“Good!”

“I've got more to tell you. I flew down to New York yesterday and viewed one of the few existing prints of
The Wild Nymph
.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Locked away in Sloane's vault. His secretary ran it for me. I found it quite interesting.”

“In what way?”

He glanced at Major Hart before replying. “Xavier Mann's wife was one of the stars.”

“What!”

“That's right.”

“You mean Elizabeth Mann was the girl in the film?” His voice sounded incredulous. “Are you certain, Mike?”

“Certain. I confronted her this morning and she admitted it.”

“Then she must know Dahlman.”

“She thinks he's dead, along with her co-star. Killed in Korea. But her description is quite vague. He was a friend of the boy's, and the boy is dead.”

“Mann knew this, of course.”

“Of course.”

“All right,” Sam Holland said with a tired sigh. “How much longer will you need there?”

“A couple of days, at the most. I have an idea, but it involves getting into the Mann Photo plant to check it out. Until the strike's over that's virtually impossible. But there could be a break soon. I've got the main troublemaker in jail for the weekend.”

“Just be careful you don't end up there yourself, Mike. I don't want trouble with those people up there.”

“I'll be cautious,” McCall assured him with a smile. He hung up and downed the rest of his coffee.

“Is that true?” Major Hart asked. “What you said about Mann's wife?”

“It's true. But see that it gets no further.”

“Don't worry.”

They shook hands and McCall went outside to his car. Driving away, back towards Rockview, he suddenly found himself wondering if Elizabeth Mann had told him the truth. Perhaps she really hadn't seen Sol Dahlman in over twenty years. But if he was someone close—someone in Rockview—she might have compelling reasons for wanting it kept secret. The revelation of his identity could bring fame to Dahlman, but at the same time it could tarnish or ruin the reputation of Elizabeth Mann. For him,
The Wild Nymph
had been a work of art. For her, the film had been something else—a photographic record of her passion for a boy now dead.

McCall didn't like it. He didn't like the way the case was developing, and he especially didn't like the pressure that seemed to be building on all sides. He had a feeling that his usefulness in Rockview was fast approaching an end.

Jack Kozinski and his taxi-driver brother Ron were sitting together at the counter of the Parkview coffee shop when McCall entered. He'd tried to phone April's room, but there was no answer, and he decided suddenly he was hungry. The coffee at Major Hart's was the closest he'd come to food since breakfast.

Jack Kozinski looked up as he entered, motioning him over to join them at the counter. “I hear you're still stirring things up, McCall.”

“A little.”

“Carry Tanner's been locked up for two nights now. He's going to be steaming when he finally gets out.”

“Maybe by that time the strike will be settled.”

McCall ordered a sandwich and coffee and turned to Ron Kozinski. “Any sign of George Watts around town?”

The cab driver shook his head. “Somebody told me he's sitting in his living room with a shotgun across his lap. Hasn't been out of the house in two days.”

“What's he afraid of?”