[Celebrity Murder Case 07] - The Marlene Dietrich Muder Case Read online

  Ramon Novarro was with a group that included Basil Rath- bone and his wife, Ouida Bergere, and Lionel Barrymore, who was standing and bravely enduring the arthritic pain that would soon paralyze his body. “To think she was murdered right there before our eyes,’’ said Ramon. “And how ironic, she had earlier predicted some of us at the party would be murder victims.”

  “Did she name names?’’ asked Lionel Barrymore.

  “Oh no, she was much to discreet for that. Imagine if she had pointed a finger at me and said, ‘Ramon Novarro, you are going to be murdered.’ Ha ha ha. I’m sure if she’d had, I’d have sued her for causing me mental distress.”

  Ouida Bergere said to Hazel, “Isn’t detective Villon your heartthrob of the moment, Hazel?”

  “Not if he doesn’t show up soon.” Hazel was working up to her third gin and orange juice.

  Ouida continued, “Raymond Souvir told us you and Marlene sat in on his interrogations. Isn’t that a bit unorthodox?”

  “Oh, phooey. Everybody in town knows Herb gives me preferential treatment. It’s no different than Irving Thalberg making sure Norma gets the best scripts at Metro. And Marlene sat in because the murder took place in her house and Herb felt she had every right to sit in.”

  “Well, come on,” prompted Rathbone, “let’s hear what went on.”

  “You can read it tomorrow in Louella’s column.”

  “Hazel,” said Rathbone, “start talking or you’ll never get another item out of me or Ouida.” Hazel was one of the few news hens invited to the Rathbone’s frequent parties. She told them almost as much as she could remember while minimizing the importance of Mai Mai’s charts. Lionel Barrymore wandered away in search of something to sit on and was grateful when Ruth Chatterton indicated she would love his company beside her on a sofa.

  “I see Hazel’s probably been filling you in on the murder, and don’t ask what murder; today it’s our only murder.”

  “No, as a matter of fact, it isn’t.”

  “Oh?”

  “Seems a man was found dead this morning, stabbed in the back with a carving knife. It was on the radio. It turns out he was a waiter at last night’s party.”

  “Isn’t that fascinating! Do you suppose there’s a connection between the two?”

  “Well, Ruth, I don’t have much of a deductive mind, so it didn’t interest me if there’s a connection or not. There’s a good man on the case, Herb Villon, and if there’s a connection then he knows about it. I’m sure the authorities aren’t too eager to release too much information about the murders, but sooner or later we’ll have all the facts and if they’re sordid enough, all Hollywood will wallow in them. Where’s your husband?”

  “You mean Ralph?” She was married to actor Ralph Forbes.

  “As I recall that’s his name.”

  “He’s staying at his mother’s.”

  “Is she ill?”

  “No. I told Ralphie I wanted a divorce and he was so angry with me he packed his bags and went home to mother. Which made a great deal of sense as I couldn’t very well pack my bags and go home to mother as mother’s been dead for years and you don’t pack your bags and go to a cemetery.”

  “I’m sorry to hear this. Ralph’s a nice man.”

  “Oh, terribly nice. They don’t come any nicer. Or more tiresome. 1 think Ralph will always be remembered for having passed through life without giving offense. How’s the composing going?”

  “Still slogging away at it. I don’t get much time the way Metro schedules me in one picture after another.”

  “Have you met Dong See?”

  “The violinist? Is he here?”

  “Yes, he’s over there by the buffet. I’ll see if I can catch his eye.”

  “Oh, don’t bother. He’s with that Monte Trevor, and he had me cornered for ten minutes convincing me I should play Herod in his Salome movie.”

  “It looks like a pretty heated conversation. I wish I could read lips.”

  Monte Trevor had told Dong See about the group going to Mai Mai Shu’s loft and his fears that the charts would reveal something incriminating. Dong See was telling him, “There was nothing that I found worrisome when Mai Mai read my chart to me.”

  “Did she let you read any of it yourself?”

  “Of course not. I couldn’t anyway. I caught a glimpse of it and it was written in a script I don’t understand. Probably Mandarin.”

  “But don’t you see, I suspect Mai Mai told us only what she wanted us to know. I tell you, there’s going to be trouble if we don’t do something about those charts.”

  “What can we do? If the police have them, forget it. It’s out of our hands.”

  “If the charts are in Chinese, doesn’t it stand to reason they may have asked Anna May Wong to help translate them and they’re in her possession?”

  “I suppose you’ve told all this to Raymond? Look at him. Now he’s got Dorothy di Frasso all worked up.”

  The Countess di Frasso was wearing a dress with floral patterns and a matching hat and handbag. Ouida Rathbone had commented that she looked like a float in a holiday parade. At the moment, di Frasso’s language was as colorful as her outfit. “Don’t be an ass, Raymond. The earth won’t open up and swallow us. When Mai Mai read me she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. I mean, to tell me I’d be involved in a long series of love affairs is like telling a pickpocket he’d have his hand in a lot of things.”

  “I should not have let myself be seduced into the promise of a glorious future,” said Souvir.

  “Hogwash. You’ve been on the make ever since I met you. You’re a very ambitious little twit, and while you may never admit it, I know you’ll let nothing stand in your way. Do you think I’m blind to the way you’re sucking up to Marlene? Getting her to do the screen test with you and no less than von Sternberg to direct it.”

  “I didn’t get her to do anything,” he stormed. “She volunteered.”

  “Lower your voice. People are looking at us.”

  “Let them look, and let them listen.”

  “Oh, the hell with you!” Di Frasso went in search of more pleasurable—and wealthier—company.

  Dong See replaced her at Raymond’s side. “You’re behaving very foolishly, Raymond.”

  “I’m worried, and you should be too.”

  “There’s nothing to be done. It’s out of our hands. We have to wait and see what develops. And look, there’s detective Villon.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Leave God alone. He has too much to occupy his attention these days. Have a look. Villon is with his lady, the Hazel Dickson person. And she seems to be giving him a hard time.”

  Villon warned Hazel, “You make a scene and I’ll walk out.”

  “Don’t you dare. Did you find the charts?”

  “Not now, Hazel.”

  “Why not now? Herb!”

  “Because this is no time or place to discuss them.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s all they’re talking about here! It’s Mai Mai this and Mai Mai that. I’m thinking it might be profitable opening a restaurant and calling it Mai Mai’s.”

  “Good idea. It might take your mind off trivialities.”

  “Oh, so now I deal in trivialities.” He walked away from her. “Where are you going!”

  “To get myself a drink.” She hurried after him. When she was after information, she was relentless. Villon was hoping Marlene would arrive. He had sad news for her and he wanted to tell her before she was seen by the other guests. Luck was on his side. Through a window near the bar he saw her car drive up and the chauffeur getting out to open the back door. Herb hurried outside while Hazel, seeing it was Dietrich he was joining, was wise enough to keep her distance. Marlene saw him and smiled.

  “Herb! You look so handsome. Did you know Morton Duncan’s murder was on the news today?”

  “Yes, I heard it at the precinct. Listen Marlene, before you go into the party, take a walk in the garden with me.”
r />   “You’ll make Hazel jealous. She’s standing on the veranda watching us.” She had a wicked notion and waved at Hazel. “Hazel, darling, I’ll be with you in a minute.” Then Marlene took Herb’s arm while serving him one of her most dazzling smiles.

  Hazel went to the bar for another gin and orange juice, her face grim, her request made through clenched teeth.

  Novarro’s garden was one of the most beautiful ones in Beverly Hills. It was dotted with a series of fountains designed and built for him in Italy. The centerpiece of one fountain was Venus de Milo, and the centerpiece of another was an Egyptian houri. Marlene saw Adonis in one fountain and Apollo in another. They were unusually well endowed, especially for statues.

  “You look so serious, Herb. You certainly couldn’t have heard from Anna May this soon.”

  “No, it’s nothing to do with the case. At least I don’t think it does. Last night you hired two actors to play Father Time and the New Year Baby.”

  “How do you know? They never made their appearance. They had passed out in a room where I had them waiting. They drank an awful lot of gin and it was good stuff too.”

  “The midget told one of my men. He and the actor who was Father Time were living in the same boarding house. Father Time was Lewis Tate. He’d been a big name in silents once.”

  “Yes, I know that. A mutual friend implored me to hire him and his friend. Tate’s in very desperate straits. Oh dear. Has he done something terrible?”

  “Very terrible. He hung himself.”

  Marlene said nothing. She walked away from Herb and stared into a bed of jack-in-the-pulpits. It took her a minute before she could compose herself. Then she came back to Villon. “When Mai Mai generalized that there would be murder victims and suicide victims, do you suppose she knew her predictions had traveled upstairs and embraced a tired old man who probably knew then that this would be the last New Year he’d welcome? Well, welcome is hardly the appropriate word.” She took his arm and headed him back to the house.

  “I want to pay for his funeral,” said Marlene.

  “That’s very kind, but we’ve made arrangements with the county.”

  “You mean bury him in a pauper’s grave?”

  “We can’t trace a family. He’s been living on welfare for the past couple of years.”

  Marlene was firm. “He will not have a pauper’s grave. He is Lewis Tate. He is a star. And he shall have a proper place in Forest Lawn and I shall order a stone to mark his grave, and on it will be his name and a reminder that he starred in films. Yes, that’s what I shall do. His final billing. Come, I need a drink.”

  TWELVE

  FROM THE MOMENT she swept into the house, Marlene Dietrich took center stage and held it. The room rang with many varieties of “Hello Marlene” and “Darling” in various octaves and “Loved your party” and “Wasn’t it awful about Mai Mai Chu” and “Is it true you’re working with the police” and “Are you sure you’re not in danger yourself,” and Marlene batted answers to the infield and the outfield until confronted by Ouida Bergere.

  “What’s wrong, Marlene? Why weren’t Basil and I invited to your party?”

  “But you were, darling. I’m positive my secretary sent you an invitation.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Would you like me to repeat the sentence in the presence of a notary public?” Dietrich, like so many women in Hollywood, didn’t like Ouida Bergere. She was pushy and pretentious and a climber who kept her husband constantly in debt with her expensive parties and gift-giving and other extravagances.

  Ouida realized she was behaving foolishly. “Well, communications are always being snarled up in this town. 1 see Basil needs me. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

  “What’s with the human icicle?” Marlene turned and was happy to see her good friend Adela Rogers St. John. Adela was just about the best chronicler of life in Hollywood, and magazines across the world paid handsomely for her services. Her father had been the notorious and sadly alcoholic criminal lawyer Earl Rogers. But when sober, he was a genius in the courtroom. A Free Soul, which starred Norma Shearer and Lionel Barrymore, was based on Adela and her father and made a star of Clark Gable as the sadistic gangster who slapped Miss Shearer around.

  “Very upset she wasn’t invited to my blowout last night.”

  “And what a blowout, from what I read in the papers and heard on the radio.”

  “Why didn’t you show up? You could have had it all first-hand.”

  “There were so many parties to attend, I took in the one closest to me and then promptly at midnight fled home without leaving a glass slipper behind. I’d like to talk to you about the murder; I could use a good story.”

  “The good story is what Herb Villon is looking for. He’s the detective on the case. He’s over at the bar with Hazel Dickson, his sweetheart, and she’s very jealous of me.”

  “I’m very jealous of Hazel. Isn’t Mr. Villon something?”

  “He has an adorable assistant who’s smitten with me.”

  “Every male I know is smitten with you. Be a good gal and introduce me to Mr. Villon.”

  “No problem. But I’m warning you, there’s not much to tell you that you haven’t already read about or heard.”

  “I knew Mai Mai. She was a great gal. If she was murdered, I deduce it had something to do with astrology and those weird predictions of hers.”

  “That’s what we think.”

  “We? Have you joined the police force?”

  “Let’s just say Mr. Villon thinks I’m just about the best amateur detective he’s ever met..’’ She told St. John about the incident of finding the folders in Mai Mai’s bedroom.”

  “Good thinking indeed, ” said St. John with sincerity. “Who are these suspects and why?”

  “I can’t tell you why because that information has yet to be unearthed. I can tell you who because you’ll be happy to know some of them are here.” She pointed out Monte Trevor, Raymond Souvir, Dong See, and the Countess di Frasso.”

  “Di Frasso doesn’t murder women. She’s a man killer,” said St. John wryly. “Who’s among the missing?”

  “Ivar Tensha and a couple with the Russian Embassy, Gregory and Natalia Ivanov.”

  “Well, they’re a mixed bag and I’ve seen lots of mixed bags in my lifetime. What about this waiter who was stabbed to death?”

  Marlene didn’t dare reveal the truth about his administering the strychnine pill.

  She said matter-of-factly, “Villon has him under investigation now. I don’t think he’s learned anything yet.”

  Adela Rogers St. John was nobody’s fool. She chucked Dietrich under the chin playfully. “I think he’s learned plenty and you’re just playing possum.”

  Marlene smiled. “Come, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Villon. I assume you and Hazel have already crossed paths.”

  “And swords.”

  Herb Villon had read many of St. John’s articles and pleased her when he praised her fine writing. Hazel kept a stiff smile on her face while the bartender poured champagne for Marlene. While Adela carefully and cleverly questioned Herb about the murders, Marlene decided it would be politic to engage Hazel in conversation.

  “Hazel, I know so little about you.” Hazel suppressed a hiccup. “As a child, did your parents urge you to do anything specific?”

  “Run away.”

  Dietrich wasn’t fazed. “And so you did and here you are.”

  “It took longer than that to get here. There was once a husband. I can’t tell you much about him because his face, like his brain, is a blank. But he was Dickson and I kept his name because it was easier to deal with than the one I was born with, which has too many syllables and ends with a ski. All I remember is we lived with his parents and they treated me like one of the family. Miserably. Barkeep! Another gin and orange.”

  Marlene’s and Herb’s eyes met and they told each other Hazel had had too much. Marlene hoped Herb hadn’t told her too much, if anything, about the aftern
oon’s excursion to Mai Mai’s loft. Alcohol loosens tongues and Hazel’s tongue was rarely tied. Gently, Herb put his arm around Hazel while signaling the bartender to go easy with the gin. Hazel shrugged the arm away and leaned against the bar, drink in hand, looking like a “B” girl in a sleazy bar waiting for some sleazy company. “I don’t like this party,” she slurred.

  “Let’s go. I’ll take you home,” said Villon.

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  Adela suggested to Villon, “There’s a guest bedroom on this floor. It’s through that door at the end. Down the hallway the last door on the left. It’ll be quiet and you can reclaim her when you’re ready to leave. You don’t want to go now, do you? The party’s just warming up.”

  “Okay, Hazel baby, we’re going for a little walk.” He had a firm grip on her arm. Adela relieved Hazel of her drink and placed it on the bar.

  “I know where we’re going. This is the Last Mile. And there’s going to be no last-minute reprieve from the governor. I’m innocent, I tell you, I’m innocent!”

  “Demand a retrial, dahling,” growled Tallulah Bankhead, holding a glass of bourbon with a little ice. “Some women drink much too much, dahlings,” she said over her shoulder to Marlene and Adela. “As for myself, I can never get enough of it. Do you mind if I leave my group in the lurch, which is where I found them in the first place, and join you two dahlings? Murder becomes you, Marlene. You should be framed and hung in the Louvre.”

  “I can take the compliment two ways.” She smiled at Adela. “Framed and hung.”

  Tallulah roared with laughter. “Of course! Of course! Ha ha ha ha! But I truly meant it as a compliment, dahling. By the way, now that I’ve got you, why won’t von Sternberg direct my next picture?”

  “I don’t know, Tallulah, maybe because he’s already set to direct mine.”

  “It’s really a terrific script. The Devil and the Deep. Gary Cooper’s opposite me and there’s a dishy newcomer, Cary Grant, in the brief role of one of my lovers, which is too true to life. All of my lovers have been brief, and most of them not brief enough. And for my husband they’re giving me something from England called Charles Laughton. Talk about England, do you believe Winston Churchill once made a pass at Ethel Barrymore? Ethel claims he did, but she also claims she’s the first lady of the theater, and where does that leave Lynn Fontanne and Helen Hayes? Although there are those who insist Lynnie’s husband, Mr. Alfred Lunt, is the first lady of the theater. Talk about first ladies, how do you think Eleanor Roosevelt will shape up? I adore her myself and I’m exhausted campaigning for him, but I think she has a tendency to fade into the background. Come clean, Marlene, who murdered Mai Mai Chu?”