Tabloid Page #7

for bad acting

far more than abducting

Mormon priests.

She was having, really,

the time of her life.

There was no sense of anxiety.

She was just enjoying it.

And giving us all

this nonsense,

which was a totally sanitized

version of the truth.

And we were falling for it,

of course,

getting it all onto these little

tape recorders, and thinking,

"God, hasn't the Express

got a great story here!"

Joyce brought in this suitcase,

took about three of us

to get it in the room.

I daresay she just put

her finger on the button.

The thing exploded.

And these disguises

and wigs and...

not bondage gear,

I hasten to add.

At least, I didn't see any.

I expected the FBI

to come crashing in through

the windows at any minute,

'cause as far as I knew, I mean,

we were aiding

and abetting fugitives.

It wasn't clear, really,

what Keith May's motive was

except that he adored Joyce.

And Joyce kind of did,

from time to time,

treat him as if he was

in some kind

of mistress-slave fantasy.

Like, "Down, slave,"

she would say to him.

"Down, slave!

Down, slave!"

But she would say it

humorously, joking.

But it did occur to us

at the time

that this is all the language

of the world of bondage.

I speak as if I'm an expert,

but I mean...

I assume that you are.

But it's all this kind of

master-mistress power thing,

domination thing that seems

to run through this whole story.

It seems to be a theme.

Keith had probably

an obsession for Joyce

just like Joyce had

an obsession for Kirk.

The fact that he was just able

to be around her

and helping her

where he could

satisfied his emotions.

There are tabloids in England

that are filth.

At the top of the list

would be the Daily Mirror.

The Daily Mirror had...

meantime...

had their reporters

in Los Angeles

digging up all this stuff

about her activities as a...

I don't know...

not a call girl, but as a...

well, I suppose she was.

I mean, she was being paid

for sexual services.

But this was all long before

her escapades in the U.K.

This was earlier

Joyce McKinney history.

They had a tip.

I think it was from

a police officer in London

to one of our London reporters

that was covering the story,

who said that it might be worth

looking up an address

that we know

she had in Los Angeles

and a boyfriend called

Steve Moskowitz.

Joyce had been in touch with him

from England saying,

"Destroy any pictures.

If any journalists turn up,

do not talk to anybody."

Steve was very uncooperative

when I first met him.

Once he told me that he was

still madly in love with her,

I said, "Look, Steve,

if you want to be at her side

"for the trial

at the Old Bailey,

"we will pay

a first-class air ticket for you

and put you up in a hotel in

London so you can be with her."

The next morning,

I'm in the hotel

at Santa Monica.

the phone goes.

Steve.

"I'm downstairs."

He produced six strips

of black-and-white contacts.

There was nothing really

that bad on them.

She was sitting on a horse.

They were glamour pictures,

as such.

I said, "Well, look, Steve,

"this doesn't take us

very much further,

"but I will hang on to them.

We need more."

I said, "By the way,

the editor in London

wants me to take a picture

of you."

He said, "Can you make it look

as if I've not posed for it?"

I said, "What do you mean?"

He said, "Well,

I've got Joyce's car here,

"and I've got Millie.

"I often take the dog out,

put him in the car,

take the dog away for a walk."

He didn't want Joyce to know

he was cooperating.

So he's betraying her.

He knows he's betraying her.

I don't think he realized

how much he was giving us.

It was only when he said to me,

"She placed these ads

in the Hollywood Free Press,

in Freep. "

He took us to one

of their offices,

which had back numbers

of some of the ads

that she'd posted in there,

and it read:

"Gorgeous former Miss USA

contestant desires work.

"Beauty, brains and talent.

The best gal in the Freep.

"38-24-36.

"Slim, sweet, Southern blonde.

"How would you like her

to leisurely bathe you,

"lovingly blow dry/style

your hair,

"and then give you

a delicious nude massage

"on her fur-covered waterbed?

"Your fantasy is her specialty.

"S&M.

B&D.

"Escort service.

"Nude wrestling.

Modeling.

"Erotic phone calls.

"Dirty panties or pictures.

Mail your fantasy

or specialty to Joey."

I love this bit.

"P.S., Joey says,

'I love shy boys, dirty old men,

and sugar daddies."'

I couldn't believe

what I was seeing.

I could not believe

that that was Joyce

advertising those services.

But that was only the beginning,

because once we had

all of that,

we then had to start thinking,

"Who's got pictures

of all this?"

It was only when he named

that photographer.

He said, "I've never

photographed Joyce McKinney.

I have no idea who she is."

And I said, "Well,

according to a friend of mine

"and a friend of hers,

she always came on modeling

assignments with her dog."

"Ah."

He dug out some magazines.

Soon as I saw it,

I said, "That's her."

I took that away, and I thought,

"Job well done."

We were getting somewhere.

We went back

to Steve's apartment,

and he brought up a phone bill.

Every itemized phone call Joyce

had made from the apartment

in the last three, four months.

Right.

Away we went

with the phone bill.

Frank Power and I

spent three hours

hitting every one

of those numbers on there.

Nobody had heard

of Joyce McKinney.

No idea who she was.

The dog was the link.

Always the dog.

It was only when Steve told me

that she took

the dog with her

that the photographer

could put a face to an alias.

You learn, when you're famous,

who your friends are.

When the payrollees come out,

the checkbook journalists.

People that are real jealous

or maybe didn't like you

or need money, it's, "Yeah?

What do ya wanna know about her?

How much you pay me?"

I had a false friend,

and his name was Steve,

and he was a creep.

He had the key

to the outside of my apartment

so he could go in

and walk my dog.

He broke in a steamer trunk.

I had huge pictures of me in

there from a modeling portfolio.

He sold those to The Sun

and the Daily Mirror.

Both were in contests

to see who could do the worst

Joyce McKinney story.

When those Daily Mirror

reporters

showed up on his doorstep,

they turned him

and bragged about it.

They sent him and

his prostitute crony to Mexico

so that they

wouldn't be prosecuted

for breaking and entering

my apartment.

We were worried about Steve,

that somebody

was gonna get to him.

So we kept Steve out of the way

of all our opposition in Mexico

for about ten days until we

finished with the story.

He didn't realize that it was

to keep him out of the way.

I mean, he could've made

a lot of money

by telling his side

of the story.

All he got from us

was a promise

to be at the Old Bailey

when Joyce goes to trial.

We were coming up with more

material than you could believe,

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