The Blue Movie Murders (13 page)

“Tanner, I suppose.”

“Tanner's in jail.”

Kozinski shrugged. “Maybe he thinks he'll get killed like Ben Sloane did. I hear tell that Sloane came to Rockview to find out about the sex movies Mann's been making.”

“The movies seem to be fairly common knowledge around town.”

“Not that common, but you hear things. Hell, my brother works there, remember!”

Jack nodded agreement. “Tanner had it in for Watts because he appeared in one of the movies with a white girl. That's why Watts is scared. Is it true Sloane came here because of the movies?”

“In a sense, yes. But he was no threat to anyone. There was no reason for killing him.”

Ron Kozinski grumbled at that. “There's a reason for killing everyone, if you know them well enough.”

Jack chuckled. “He was always the brooding philosopher of the family.”

As McCall finished his sandwich he glanced through the glass door and saw April crossing the lobby. “See you guys later,” he said, and slipped two one-dollar bills under his plate.

He caught up with her at the elevator. She saw him coming and smiled. “The word is all over town about you.”

He grinned and took her arm, steering her into the elevator. “What word? About how great a lover I am?”

“God, you're conceited! I was thinking of your run-in with Lieutenant Powell this morning. Is it true you called the State Police to rescue you?”

“I called and they came, but it wasn't exactly to rescue me.”

They got off at her floor and he followed her into the room. It was glossy but old, like the entire hotel. He glanced out of the tall window, but there was no park in view, only a row of faded buildings. The Parkview had been built in better days, a long time ago.

She settled into a chair by the window, exposing firm, perfect legs beneath a brief pleated skirt. “What were you doing out at Mann's house, anyway?”

“Look, I work for Governor Holland. You still haven't told me who you work for.”

“Maybe for myself. Maybe I'm writing a book.”

“Maybe,” he said sceptically.

“Come on, tell me. Why the interest in Mann? I know he wasn't at the house this morning. He was meeting with the strikers at Mayor Jordan's office.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I was there, camped outside, trying to get a line on what was happening.” Her eyes narrowed with mock speculation. “And since Mann was there, that means you were visiting his wife, Mr. McCall. Guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty.”

“Isn't she a little old for you?”

“All right, you win. Elizabeth Mann was one of the stars of
The Wild Nymph
more than twenty years ago. I saw a print of the film and recognized her.”

“Well, well.… Very interesting. Then she told you who and where Sol Dahlman is.”

“I only wish she had. Her co-star was killed in Korea and she thinks Dahlman might have died there too.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don't know what to believe, frankly.”

“If Elizabeth Mann was in that film I'll bet anything that Xavier Mann is our mysterious missing director.”

“How so?”

“If the man financed all those sex films for the last two decades, isn't it reasonable to assume he'd want to have a hand in making them?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Some guys just get their kicks watching that sort of thing, not participating in them.”

“But Xavier Mann
is
a participator,” she argued. “After all, he married the girl, didn't he?”

McCall had to admit the point. He'd already admitted to himself the possibility that Mrs. Mann had lied. “You could be right.”

“I'll go further than that, Mike. Suppose there never was a Sol Dahlman. Suppose Elizabeth Mann not only starred in the film but directed it as well.”

But he wouldn't buy that. “She was in her early twenties at the time. I hardly think she'd have had the ability to direct such a film.”

April chuckled. “Don't let the women's lib gals hear you talking that way!”

As if on cue, there was a roar from the street below. McCall glanced out of the window and saw a parade of a half-dozen cars moving slowly down May Street. The lead car was a convertible with its top down, filled with chanting women.

“Holland, Holland! Be a man! Filthy films need a ban!”

“That's all I need,” McCall sighed.

April stepped to his side. “Do you know those people, Mike?”

“I'm afraid I do,” he admitted. He could already see the
Cynthia's Raiders
pennant flying from the radio antenna of the convertible. “That girl in black is Cynthia Rhodes, the women's liberation writer.”

At that moment Cynthia caught a glimpse of him standing in the tall upper window. She lifted a battery-powered megaphone to her lips and bellowed, “I see you, McCall! Come down and fight!”

“What are you going to do?” April asked.

McCall shrugged and headed for the door. “Go down and fight, I guess.”

THIRTEEN

Saturday, May 15

Cynthia's small motorcade had collected quite an audience by the time McCall reached the street. The cars, moving slowly, had reached the next block, and he had to sprint along crowded sidewalks to pull even with the convertible. The chanted slogans and cheers were bringing more and more people into the street, some with angry frowns and others with smiles of amused tolerance.

When she saw him, Cynthia Rhodes handed the megaphone to the girl at her side and hopped out of the slowly moving car. She ran over to join him on the sidewalk. “Hello, McCall. We meet again.”

“Seems as if we do. I was sort of hoping you'd gone back to New York.”

“When we found out you were here I decided this was where the action is.” She gestured up the street. “We're heading for the motel.”

He saw the white lettering of her red
Cynthia's Raiders
button and remembered the mate to it he'd found in the parking lot of the Rockview Motel. “You've never been to Rockview before?”

“Hardly! You think spending time in a burg like this is my idea of living?”

“Then what brought you here today? Besides me?”

The cars had moved down May Street, and the surging crowd of curious onlookers had followed in its wake. He felt a little like a child abandoned after a parade.

“I know about the blue movies,” she said in answer to his question. “I know they're being turned out at the Mann Photo plant and distributed all over the country. The law doesn't have any teeth to stop it but
we
can stop it. I wonder what Governor Holland will think when we do his work for him and shut down the biggest sex film business in the country.”

“I'm sure he'd thank you for it,” McCall answered blandly. “But who told you about Mann Photo?”

“It's true, isn't it?” she challenged, her green eyes sparkling with triumph.

“I couldn't say. The plant's been involved in a long and violent strike, and I've been unable to get inside to look it over.”

“You just follow us, McCall. We'll clear the way for you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” A knot of apprehension formed in his stomach. Whatever Cynthia Rhodes was planning, it could only complicate his job.

“We're going to raid Mann Photo, that's what it means! Attack the plant and stage a sit-in!” She pushed the hair back from her eyes. “We'll show Holland how to get action in this state!”

Occasional passers-by were glancing their way, and he took her by the arm. “Look, let me buy a drink and we'll talk this over.”

“At one o'clock in the afternoon?”

“Sure, why not?”

She considered for a moment. “All right. But only if I can pay for my own drink.”

“You liberated women could save us males a lot of money.”

He considered the bar at the Parkview House, but immediately rejected it. April Evans hadn't been that pleased by his sudden departure from the room and he didn't want her encountering him over drinks with Cynthia. He chose instead a tiny side-street bar with fly-specked windows and a red neon sign that proclaimed it
The Watering Hole
. The inside was dim and almost empty, with only a handful of bar patrons lined up on their stools as the bulky bartender adjusted the overhead television set for the Saturday afternoon ball game.

They chose a cramped booth with high wooden backs and Cynthia ordered a straight Scotch. “You drink like a man, too,” McCall observed.

“Think like a man, drink like a man. That's the only way to get anywhere in this world, McCall.”

“I'm sure there are other ways.” When the bartender had brought the drinks over to their booth McCall said, “You know the Governor can't do anything against these films. He'd need a whole set of state laws, and even then there's more than an even chance the Supreme Court would overturn them.”

“He could do
something
.”

“He is doing something. That's why I'm here in Rockview—to show that Sam Holland cares about this problem and is looking into every aspect of it.”

“That's campaign talk, McCall, and you know it.”

“Nevertheless, it happens to be true. Let me tell you something about Governor Holland. I've come in contact with a hell of a lot of politicians during these last few years, and Sam Holland is without question the most honest, forthright, dedicated one I've ever met.”

She sipped her drink, her eyes hard and uncompromising. “You know he refused to meet us.”

“He refuses to meet any group that tries to win its battles in the street. But I can tell you he is in complete sympathy with many of the aims of the women's liberation movement. Certainly there's no disagreement with the main thrust of your argument. Pornography degrades women. I'll go further and say that it degrades men too. It degrades the human spirit and the act of procreation.”

“First campaign talk and now pulpit talk!”

“Your big trouble, Cynthia, is that you're too cynical. You see everything as men against women—all men against all women. Because blue movies degrade the female, you immediately jump to the conclusion that we male chauvinists are all in favour of them.”

“Why not? You're in favour of higher pay for men, and anti-abortion laws, and …” Her face took on a sort of angular beauty as she talked, and he could understand her attractiveness to men. Unlike some of the women's lib supporters, who flaunted their masculine-lesbian tendencies, Cynthia Rhodes was all woman.

Suddenly he held up a hand to interrupt her as the scene on the flickering television screen shifted from a pre-game warm up to the head and shoulders of Mayor Frank Jordan. “It's an announcement of some sort,” McCall said.

The men along the bar grumbled momentarily, then fell silent. The mayor was speaking. “… pleased to announce the settlement of the longest labour dispute in Rockview's history. We have worked long and hard to bring about this settlement, which we believe to be fair to both sides. Mann Photo Service employs only a few hundred of our people, yet the effects of this strike have been tragic and far-reaching. I'm sure everyone within the sound of my voice will give a sigh of relief that it's finally over. As a one-time employee—and plant manager—of Mann Photo, I have taken a special interest in the negotiations from the very beginning. I believe I brought to the conference table, along with my position and voice as mayor of Rockview, the wisdom and understanding of both management and labour in this long and harrowing dispute. I feel—”

“Can you stand that man?” Cynthia snorted. “He's almost too good to be true!”

“Quiet. I want to hear this.”

“—to hear from the president of Mann Photo, and Rockview's leading citizen, Mr. Xavier Mann.”

Another camera picked up Mann's smiling face, and McCall thought he looked like nothing so much as a purring, satiated cat after a meal of fish. “Good evening fellow workers, fellow citizens!”

There were a few mumbles from the men at the bar. “It's good to be back on the job, and I know you'll all feel the same way. The strike is over, the terms are good—for both labour and management. This is not a strike that anybody won or lost. This is a strike that was settled by hard bargaining and mutual respect. The exact money terms will be spelled out later by your union leaders when they ask you to ratify the agreement. For now let me say only that we have tried to be fair to
all
our workers, regardless of the colour of their skin, regardless of their position on the economic ladder. And in addition to the monetary settlement I'm pleased to announce that your company has fully agreed to three other outstanding conditions: two extra paid holidays each year, increased overtime pay for all Sunday shifts, and the immediate release of all jailed strikers.”

“That's Tanner!” one of the men at the bar yelled. “They're springing Tanner!”

“And now a final word,” Xavier Mann droned on. “I know tomorrow is Sunday, but I'm certain you're all as anxious to get back on the job as I am. So I am calling maintenance crews into the plant tonight, and a full Sunday shift—at the new overtime rates—to work tomorrow morning. Let's roll up our sleeves and make up for lost time. Thank you.”

“Are there still men like that around, McCall?” Cynthia wondered. “He's from the dark ages!”

“Apparently they're still around in Rockview. And even on television.”

The picture faded, to be replaced by the baseball game, and the men at the bar settled back to their routine. There were a few comments about the strike, and about Tanner's impending freedom, but for the most part they'd taken the news calmly.

“Tomorrow,” Cynthia said. “Tomorrow would be a damn good day for a demonstration.”

“Stay away from there, for God's sake! There's been enough trouble in this town already.”