“That’s out.” Bannock shook his head. “I don’t want anyone to know this. If the news got out, it would queer my deal with See-More for sure.”
“Our second alternative,” I continued, “is to take these threats seriously and drop the investigation.”
“Drop a hundred and ninety-five grand, you mean? Not me, sweetheart.”
“But suppose somebody means business with these threats?”
Bannock scowled. “I’m not chicken. Are you?”
I pulled at my mustache. “No.”
“Well, I am!” Daisy put her arm on Bannock’s shoulder. “I don’t like this, Harry. You know I was angry when I found out you’d bought those films and tied all our money up. I said it was a big risk, and that’s how it worked out. But risking money’s one thing, and risking your life is another.”
“Don’t get panicky,” Bannock said, “Just because some lunatic makes a crazy threat—”
“Lunatic?” Daisy’s face was pale. “Ryan was murdered. Whoever killed him is still at large. Maybe he’s just crazy enough to kill you, too.”
“But the money—”
“I’d rather see you lose the money than your life. Please, Harry, lay off, for my sake.”
“For your sake.” Bannock nodded. “Listen, Daisy. It’s you I’m thinking about. What do you think I’ve worked for all these years, built up this business from a two-bit hole-in-the-wall? So that you’d have something. And I made the grade. Now everything I own is tied up in this deal. I’ve got to go through with it.”
“We could get along,” Daisy said. “You’ve got your clients, there’s money coming in.”
“I’m not going to let an anonymous phone call trick me out of the biggest deal I ever made,” Bannock declared. “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.” He cocked his head at me. “That’s why we’ve got Mark here.”
I smiled at him. “Which brings us to our third alternative,” I said. “We can go through with our plans. As carefully as possible and as quickly as possible.”
“Right.” Bannock pushed his chair back from the table. “We’ve got to work fast. I take it you have some idea of where you want to begin?”
I nodded. “Best thing to do is take each suspect in turn,” I told him. “And I’m going to start with Ryan’s girlfriend, Miss Polly Foster. Can you get me lined up with a studio pass for tomorrow?”
“Now you’re talking. Sure, I’ll fix it for you.” He led us into the other room, stepped over to the bar. “What’ll it be?”
“What are you drinking?”
“Straight rye.”
“Make mine the same.”
“And me.” Daisy smiled at him, then at me.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” I said.
“I don’t, as a rule.” The smile never left her face. “But right now I could use one. I’m always a little bit uncomfortable when I’m around corpses.”
“Daisy, please!” Bannock sighed.
“I can’t help it.” She went to him and put her arms around his neck. “Harry, I’m scared. There’s something wrong with this whole thing, I know it. It isn’t just a murder, there’s more to it than that: something we don’t know; something we aren’t supposed to find out. You talked about a lunatic. Maybe it’s that, maybe worse.”
“What do you mean, worse?”
She walked around him, found a bottle and a glass, and poured herself a stiff hooker. “Hollywood,” she said. I watched her neck go back as she lifted the glass and downed the drink.
“What kind of a remark is that?”
“You ought to know,” Daisy answered. “You’ve been out here long enough to have heard the stories. Thirty years ago a director named Taylor was murdered. Nobody ever found out who did it or why. But you’ve heard rumors, haven’t you? About big names who hushed things up with other murders?”
Her voice lowered. “Didn’t you ever hear the rumor about Tom Ince, the producer? They said he died suddenly of poison, but there’s another story, too. About a murder, and about a big fix, because of the big names involved. And there are other cases—plenty of them.
“Harry, listen to me. Whoever killed Ryan must be crazy. You heard what Mark told us, what the detective said about how Ryan was killed. Anybody who’d do that wouldn’t be afraid to strike again, if necessary. And suppose there are others involved, who want him to strike? Please!”
Bannock shook his head.
Daisy stared for a moment, then returned to the bar and poured herself another drink.
I walked over and waited as Bannock filled our glasses. “About Polly Foster,” he said. “You can tell her you’re there for an interview. Figure out some kind of a story.”
“Right,” I answered. “I’ll handle it.”
We raised our glasses. “Here’s luck,” Bannock said.
“Luck,” I echoed.
Daisy stared at both of us over the rim of her glass. “Don’t forget,” she whispered. “There are two kinds of luck. Good...and bad.”
She drank quickly and left the room. “I’m going to bed,” she told Bannock. In a few moments we heard the sound of a radio drift down from upstairs.
“Sorry,” Bannock said. “It’s her nerves.” He reached for the bottle, chuckling a little. “Can’t say that I blame her, at that. I feel a little edgy myself.” He looked at me. “Have another?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be running along. Got a big day tomorrow. Shall I stop by your office for the pass?”
“Right. If I’m not there, Harriet will give it to you.”
He walked me to the door. “Look, Mark, I’ve been thinking it over. Maybe Daisy’s right. This could turn out to be dangerous.”
“Change your mind?”
He stood in the doorway and looked out at the night sky. “No. I’m going ahead with it because I have to. The business is in hock and it’s not as easy as she thinks. Didn’t want to worry her, but if I can’t clear up this murder and make my TV sale, it’s curtains for me. I’ve got to take the risk, no matter who threatens me.”
“I understand.”
“But I’m thinking about you. No sense getting yourself killed over a thing like this.”
“Don’t worry about me.” I said “I’m going through with it.”
“Good boy.”
“See you tomorrow.” I started down the walk. “And don’t worry, we aren’t ready for Forest Lawn yet.” I smiled and headed for the car.
Driving away, in darkness, the smile slipped off my face. It hadn’t been glued on very well in the first place. Because I really was scared.
Daisy’s notion made sense to me. I remembered all those stories about unsolved killings and mysterious suicides and sudden deaths. Everybody who has anything to do with the industry hears a dozen of them. I could understand why, too. If you’re mixed up in a billion dollar business and your success or failure depends on publicity, you’ll take steps to see that the publicity is good. You won’t hesitate to frame and fix in order to protect your good name or the good name of your product.
Not that Hollywood is any different than any other city, or the motion pictures different than any other industry. Detroit has its scandals and its unsolved murders, too. The automotive business holds secrets and so does steel and the railroads and the mines. You can’t indict the automobile industry as a whole because of a few black marks. And you can’t indict Hollywood because of the few exceptions.
On the other hand, the exceptions do exist; the black marks crop up from time to time. Ugly black marks, like the smudging X where the body is found. And if somebody threatens to rub you out, make another X, it’s worth thinking about.
I thought about it a lot during the long drive back across town. Suppose Daisy was right, and a lunatic had killed Ryan? Thompson spoke about the possibility of a pervert or a sex fiend at work. Such a man wouldn’t hesitate a moment. He’d be ready to kill again, and again if necessary. And he’d be clever. Clever enough to find out (he had found out, somehow, what we were planning) and clever enough to act.