‘What I omitted to tell you, gentlemen,’ I went on, ‘was that the second half of the film later came into my hands. I’ve joined the two pieces up. This excellent piece of pornography features a well-known actress and one of the heads of this studio. He disguised himself with a bushy false moustache but most of you won’t have any difficulty in recognizing him. There are no prizes, gentlemen.’
There was a deep silence in the room. I looked around the seats. Manny Freeman was stubbing out his cigar; Denise Silverman bit her lip. Sweat glistened on De Lancia’s face.
McGiver got up suddenly, towering over everyone in his position at the end of the row.
‘Thanks, Mike,’ he said. ‘We’re proposing to show this film now. I might as well say that no one will be leaving the hall until after the show. The projection box will be sealed off and my men have orders to shoot. I regret that there are ladies in the audience but this matter is too important to let prudery stand in the way. Ready, Mike?’
‘Sure,’ I said. I went down to the front of the stage and paused. We were playing it up to the hilt. Nobody moved but the atmosphere was so thick you could almost breathe it, like a wild beast panting. I walked up that long aisle carrying my tin of film, feeling like a mobile target. I didn’t look at any of the faces as I went by. They looked like wax dummies sitting in the rows. I handed the tin of film to the chief projectionist at the back of the hall. McGiver was right at my elbow.
‘Well, keep your assholes sewn up tight, gentlemen,’ the projectionist said. ‘Here we go.’
McGiver gave me a wry smile.
‘Douse the house-lights when I give you one on the button,’ he told the chief.
‘And don’t run the film until I give you two blips.’
‘Just as you say, Lieutenant,’ said the chief with a grin. ‘We don’t often get a chance to run material like this.’
‘Just keep it in focus,’ said McGiver, ‘we’ll do the rest.’
‘Will I?’ said the chief, going out quickly. A burly detective in plainclothes waited until he heard the booth-door lock, then stationed himself in front of it.
McGiver and I went back down to the front of the theatre. The Lieutenant sat in the executive chair which had a buzzer under it for relaying instructions to the projection box. The studio head leaned over towards us. His face was white in the dim lighting.
‘Is this really necessary?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely,’ McGiver answered crisply. I sat down next to him.
‘If this leaks out to press …’ said the publicity manager, mopping his red face with a zebra-striped handkerchief. ‘Boy …’
Only the girl Denise Silverman looked in command of herself. There was an obtrusive buzz of conversation behind us, which seemed to become even louder.
McGiver raised his hand. ‘We’re going to begin now,’ he said. He pressed the buzzer. The room lights began to dim and a hush fell on the room. The silence was electric. The squeaking of the screen curtain mechanism seemed to grate on the nerves. Someone stirred uneasily in the next row. McGiver let things ride for a few seconds. He was timing it nicely. Then he pressed the button again.
Light flickered on to the screen; black leader whirled dizzily past the lens. The film was much scratched and disfigured. The uneasy noises behind us increased. Then white leader dazzled the watchers in the room; the figure 12 came on the screen in black lettering, then 11, then 10 in swift succession. I glanced round. Something seemed to be happening about three rows back. Someone swore, a woman laughed nervously. Then a black shape rose up in front of the projection booth. There was a loud crack and somebody screamed. McGiver nodded and sprang to his feet; he pounded towards the rear. I followed, yanking at the Smith-Wesson. The audience divided in confusion, some diving behind the seats.
Something hummed down the cinema, splintered sharply among the seats; a small group was struggling halfway down the aisle. Then it split up in several directions. A square shape was silhouetted against the brilliance of the white screen. Flame bloomed in the gloom of the cinema and glass tinkled somewhere. I rolled to the edge of the aisle, snapped a shot with the Smith-Wesson; it cracked through the screen. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Denise Silverman fall over and wriggle away under the seats.
‘You can’t get out,’ McGiver called loudly. The gun blasted again and a man two rows back from McGiver clutched his shoulder with a groan and slumped into his seat.
I rolled forward down the gangway, fired twice; the dark shape in front of the screen sagged. A long, thin flame came out of his gun and then it was dipping towards the floor. The thick figure clawed at the air, jumped for the platform. He didn’t quite make it; I heard a Police Positive bark down near the exit and then the big man spun awkwardly; he went over backwards through the screen. It tore stiffly as his body was overlaid by the titles of The March of Time. There was a blast of metallic music and the lights went on.
People started standing up; everyone was left staring stupidly at a documentary item on share-croppers in the Deep South. McGiver buzzed again and the picture flickered off what remained of the screen. McGiver and I went over to the gaping hole and looked through. The Lieutenant lifted the sprawling figure by the shoulder and gently turned it over. Manny Freeman’s big Roman face was trembling and tears ran down from the corners of his eyes. I propped him up against one of the screen pillars; a cop ran to phone for an ambulance but I didn’t think it would do any good.
‘Jeeze, they got him right in the middle of the main title,’ said someone in awed tones. It sounded like the director of photography. The one who’d shot films for Garbo.
‘Why the March of Time?’ asked one of the directors, getting up sheepishly from under his seat.
‘You don’t really think we were going to show pornographic films in here do you?’ said one of the plainclothes policemen patiently.
‘It’s against the city statutes. But the film exists. And there’s no doubt Manny was behind the racket.’
McGiver bent down towards the man on the stage. He was trying to say something. We both moved in close so as not to miss a word as Manny Freeman began to speak.
14 - The Big Wheel
Stella put the steaming hot cup of coffee down at my elbow, went back over to the alcove to fetch her own. She sat down at her desk opposite me and stirred the hot liquid thoughtfully.
‘Haven’t seen much of you on this case, Mike,’ she said. ‘There’s some mail for you. Nothing of importance.’
‘Been busy,’ I said. I went through the letters. It was like she said. I put them down again and picked up my coffee cup.
‘So Manny Freeman was the big wheel,’ said Stella, more to herself than to me.
‘Not quite,’ I corrected her. ‘Next but one. We’re working on the top boy now, just as soon as I can make a few arrangements. You haven’t heard from McGiver yet?’
She shook her head.
‘The studio bit was the easiest,’ I said. ‘Manny Freeman forged a pass for Starr. McGiver found the phone call to DeSoto came from Freeman’s department. It must have been beautifully timed. Pity Manny had to get so greedy.’
‘Where does all this leave Zarah Fayne and Dr Crisp’s case?’ said Stella. ‘Or have you given all that up?’
‘One and the same,’ I said. ‘I’m saving that till last.’
She grinned. I lit a cigarette and gave her a number to ring. She sat at the extension while I spoke to Carol Foster. I told her what to say, what to do.
‘If anything goes wrong let me know,’ I said. ‘If I don’t hear from you I’ll take it the arrangement stands.
‘Right,’ she said.
‘Thanks for everything,’ I said and put the receiver down. I laid my cigarette on the side of the ashtray on the desk and drained my cup. Stella picked it up and went to refill it without being asked. The door buzzer sounded softly as she came back. She went to the reception-room and came in with McGiver. He looked shy and unsure of himself.
‘You could use
a cup of coffee?’ Stella asked him.
He blinked. ‘Sure. Many thanks.’ He looked like he wasn’t used to kindness; probably came from working out of County Police HQ I got a chair for him and he sat the other side of my desk and frowned at his toe-caps. He took the cup from Stella and sipped appreciatively. I gave him a cigarette. He blew out the smoke and smiled.
‘I had a bit of a struggle with Captain Tucker,’ he said, ‘but I made him see it your way.’
I grinned; I could imagine Dan Tucker’s face.
‘So he’s going to let me finish the job?’ I said.
‘Just this once,’ McGiver went on. ‘You go in and we wait for your signal. A phone call to me on the ground floor. If we hear nothing after forty minutes then we go in anyway.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘I appreciate this.’
McGiver lifted his coffee cup again, drained it. He sat back and picked up his cigarette.
‘Seems fair to me,’ he said. ‘After all, it was your show.’
‘The police don’t always see it that way,’ I said.
Stella got up, and went over to the Lieutenant.
‘You look like a man who could do with another cup of coffee,’ she told him.
We sat and smoked until it was time to go.
*
The thin pink finger of the Mylar Building shot skywards; I pulled the Buick into the parking lot and got out. There were lights on the ground floor, then a large area of blackness until the neon signs began. Then there was more darkness until the lit windows of the offices on top. McGiver and his boys weren’t due to arrive until ten minutes after I hit. That would be around 8:10. I walked into the lobby, nodded to the commissionaire. I took a note of the number of the lobby phone.
I got in the self-operated night elevator and buttoned the floor I wanted. The elevator whined quietly upwards. I checked the Smith-Wesson and put it back in the holster. The cage stopped and I got out. Vacuum cleaners were going behind the frosted glass doors. I walked on down the corridor until I found the door I wanted. I tried it quietly. It wasn’t locked so I went on in. The reception room was dark but a light shone from under the far door. This was only the second time I’d been here I remembered.
I gum-shoed down the room and found the door was ajar when I got up to it. Dr Nathan Crisp sat behind his desk, frowning at some papers. He didn’t have the blinds drawn and the neon signs made a bloody halo round his white, immaculately groomed head. He looked up as he heard my footsteps over the carpet but he didn’t seem at all surprised.
‘Hullo, Faraday,’ he said mildly.
‘Thought you’d like a rundown on the case,’ I said.
‘Sure,’ he said, like I wanted my fallen arches seen to. ‘Have a seat. Bad business about Manny Freeman.’
‘Bad business all around,’ I said, sinking into the comfortable chair across from him. ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind me coming up to your office tonight. I had a job finding you lately.’
‘Been out of town for a while,’ he said absently.
‘That’s what they’ve been telling me,’ I said.
He smiled. It looked good on his firm, pink face.
‘So that’s why Miss Foster asked me if I’d be here tonight,’ he said. ‘No, of course I don’t mind. Why should I mind?’
‘Because it isn’t good news, doc,’ I said.
He didn’t make any sign that he had heard what I’d said, just went on fooling with his papers.
‘You made three big mistakes when you hired me,’ I said.
He turned a face to me in which his eyelids had dropped like hoods over his eyes. ‘Oh,’ he said quietly.
‘You forgot to mention the one place where I might reasonably expect to find Miss Fayne,’ I said. ‘Your cabin up at Caribou Lake. That aroused my suspicions straight away. The second mistake was in letting Zarah’s body come up too soon.’
Dr Crisp leaned forward and took a heavy lighter from the surface of his desk; the cellophane wrapper of a cigar crackled as he unwrapped it. He pierced the cigar with a pen-knife he took from his pocket. The lighter made little pockets of flame on his face as he lit the cigar. The neons changed from red to green behind his head. The green hair made him look like the demon in a pantomime.
‘Go on, Mr Faraday,’ he said. ‘This is an interesting story and I’ve nothing else to do this evening.’
‘You hired me to provide an alibi,’ I went on. ‘Zarah Fayne was already dead, at the bottom of Caribou Lake. You were in love with someone else, have been for some time. And there were other things to think of.’
Dr Crisp snapped the lighter shut on the flame and put it back on his desk.
‘Like what?’ he said.
‘Like the blue film racket,’ I said. ‘Which you’d been running for some time, with Manny Freeman as your number two. Zarah cooperated, sure, and she enjoyed making the films. And she had the social contacts to get the prominent people involved. And that’s when the blackmail began. You weren’t satisfied with the fortune the movies were making.’
Dr Crisp smiled. He spread his well-manicured hands wide on the desk. ‘There were lots of expenses,’ he said.
‘Zarah was a nympho,’ I said, ‘and she wasn’t discreet. And that’s when things started to get dangerous. You wanted to get rid of Zarah and marry your girlfriend. And Zarah was running with Chuck Esterbrook, which made it necessary to move fast. Chuck Esterbrook was in the film racket too, but he didn’t know the respectable Dr Crisp with his impeccable social contacts and distribution system was at the head of it. Only Manny Freeman and Zarah knew that. And at any moment Zarah might spill what she knew, in her cups, or during an amorous moment with Chuck. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.’
Dr Nathan Crisp gave me a long look with his heavy-lidded eyes. He seemed bored, almost amused by my talking. I was beginning to feel old and tired the more I went on. I guess this case had me bugged. ‘So you fixed Zarah,’ I said. ‘You and your girlfriend. Something in her drink, perhaps, or in her coffee; any one of half a dozen drugs available to a doctor would do. You and the girl packed the body in the tonneau of Zarah’s car and drove up to the lake. Zarah went in the lake, secured by rope to lead weights. End of Act One. Act Two. You had a better idea. Zarah had a new white two-piece in which she looked great. This, with her red scarf, made her a distinctive figure. So you planned something a little fancy that a shabby L.A. peeper might be expected to overlook.’
I stopped, stared blankly out of the window; the neon had changed to orange now.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
Crisp inclined his head. ‘Go ahead.’
I lit up, inhaled the smoke gratefully. I looked at my watch. I had been here ten minutes already.’
‘Where was I?’
‘You said I was planning something fancy,’ said Crisp imperturbably.
‘Your girlfriend was about the same height and build as Zarah,’ I went on. ‘She bought an outfit identical to Zarah’s. With a dark wig and similar make-up she would pass at a distance if anyone was expecting to see Zarah Fayne. She began the little comedy. You called me in and the fake Zarah Fayne was making guest appearances, here and there. A morning at Caribou Lake and so on. She went up to the Santa Monica house, waited till Jasmine was out and collected some of Zarah’s things. That was why she wouldn’t open up when Jasmine came back. She called through the door and drove off in a hurry.’
Crisp looked like he was highly amused. ‘And my third-mistake?’
‘That was when you said your fifty thousand was missing,’ I said. ‘The real Zarah would have used that for cab fare. And you yourself wouldn’t have felt the pinch. It wouldn’t do, doctor. But you almost fooled me. That was when the fake Zarah called me up and arranged a meeting. A meeting at night, in a dim room with shaded lamps and hired plug-uglies to break up the conversation before I had time to penetrate the disguise. That was a good scheme, doc, and it almost came off. I hadn’t brought my gun and I had to get out fast. The fake Zarah pl
ayed her part well; I’d never met your wife but I thought then that she looked younger than she did in her pictures. The fake Zarah was supposed to disappear soon after that. That was the alibi. Then, when the real Zarah surfaced months afterwards I would be off the trail and you and your girlfriend in the clear.’
Dr Crisp studied the end of his cigar intently. ‘It’s a good story, Faraday,’ he said. ‘What went wrong?’
‘The time-table,’ I said. ‘The fake Zarah was up at the lake the other morning, impressing the natives with fleeting appearances between the trees. She was also checking on the body. Unfortunately for the pair of you, it hadn’t been anchored very securely. Either that or the rope rotted through. And the real Zarah came up, only a day after I’d seen her in Hollywood. And her condition proved she’d been in the water for weeks.’
Dr Crisp made a clicking noise deep down in his throat.
‘Dear me, Mr Faraday,’ he said. ‘Someone was careless.’
I put out my cigarette in a tray on his desk, lit another. I felt like I’d been talking for hours. Nearly twenty minutes. Dr Crisp chuckled to himself. The neon sign changed to purple behind his head.
‘This is going to be awfully difficult to prove, Mr Faraday. But it has some merits as entertainment.’
I went on like I hadn’t heard him. ‘But you couldn’t leave it alone. You thought I might get an inkling of the truth. And you were worried about Esterbrook. So you gave Manny Freeman orders to get Esterbrook. He hired the pro Starr and Starr was out to get me.’
Dr Crisp held up his hand. ‘Steady on, Mr Faraday. An entertainment’s an entertainment. I don’t mind being nailed for things I’m responsible for. But enough is enough.’
‘And then Starr got Hud Gibson,’ I went on. ‘Three kills and an attempted. That’s not bad. Now Manny Freeman’s dead there’ll be no one to share in the benefits except you and your girlfriend. If you buck the chair, which is doubtful, you’ll both draw life. You should be pushing ninety-five by the time you’re ready to get married. I hope you think it’s worth it.’
‘Now look here, Faraday,’ said Crisp, all the smoothness gone from his voice. ‘Fair’s fair. Between these walls I admit we did fix Zarah the way you said but I don’t know a thing about Starr and the other killings you mentioned.’
Scratch on the Dark (A Mike Faraday Mystery Book 4) Page 12