[Celebrity Murder Case 05] - The Greta Garbo Murder Case Read online

  Haines continued his impersonation. “So if you want me out, I am out. Otherwise, go away and leave me to conduct the progress of the film. Greta is gorgeous and Lorre will improve …”

  Greta squealed with delight. “Did he really say I was gorgeous? Oh Billy, how that pleases me. Then Lorre and I will be wonderful today. I’ll grab Peter by the throat and make him give a performance. He broods too much about the mysterious woman on the beach.”

  Weirdly on cue, Lisa tapped at the door, which was wide open as Haines had left it, and joined them. “Good morning all.” She said to Greta, “You’ll be pleased to learn the monster thinks you look great in the rushes. I agree.”

  “You saw them?”

  “Of course. I’m the director’s assistant. I have to sit next to him with my notebook and translate his growls.”

  This amused Garbo. “Erich growls?”

  “He provides a large variety of sound effects, few of them pleasant.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Oh I’m growing very fond of him.” She was helping herself to coffee and accepted a cookie from Lottie Lynton. “He’s growing on me. His insults are becoming melodious, and his complaints deserve a harp accompaniment.” She took a bite of cookie and a sip of coffee. “All that bluster is a cover for his fear.”

  “But what is he afraid of?”

  “Failure!” snapped Haines. He explained to Villon and Arnold, “Failure is the bubonic plague of Hollywood. Fail and you’re out and the job offers decline and disappear and you’re no longer needed as the extra man to complete somebody’s dinner table arrangements, so you either take to drink or dope or both if you’re not already hooked or else you go to Europe to look for a job, except these days there’s a paucity of European want ads.”

  “Or you’re very wise to turn to interior decorating and make a whole new career for yourself,” Garbo said while smiling at Haines with admiration.

  But Haines was now off on a tack of his own. “Or you’re crazy enough to go into set decorating and spend the day dodging the slings and arrows of a demented martinet.” He suddenly shrieked, ‘Fuschia!’” Arnold’s eyes widened at the outburst while Villon, with his eyes, caught Lisa’s attention and subtly indicated the camera Arnold was holding. “The sunnuvabitch doesn’t like fuschia! It reminds him of his mother’s bedroom. How could a mother allow a son like that in her bedroom!”

  Garbo reminded him mournfully, “But he was once an innocent little boy like you were.”

  Haines said haughtily. “I was never innocent. I was the smartest kid in the neighborhood. I slept with all the right people and got free ice cream and candy and didn’t have to pay for my movie tickets. Oh the hell with it. I survived Louis B. Mayer, I’ll survive Erich von Stroheim.” He turned on Lisa. “I suppose he sent you here to find me?”

  “No, he’s busy excoriating Mr. Lorre. He’s threatening to replace him with Donald O’Connor.”

  Garbo was horrified. “A teenage tap dancer as the Dauphin of France?”

  “Why not?” asked Lisa, amused that Garbo would take von Stroheim’s threat seriously. “Remember he tried to make a dramatic actress out of Fay Wray, but she ended up frustrating a big ape.” Haines asked from out of left field, “What’s with that murder on the beach? Did you know the woman, Greta?”

  “Only by sight. I assume you’ve read the papers. They say Salka and I recognized her. How tragic to die alone like that. But then, I shall also die alone, I think. Let us not dwell on death. We are surrounded by too much of it and it is inevitable and I am happy to be working again and I want to stay in a happy mood at least until I finish my scenes with Peter. They are supposed to be funny and I can’t be funny if I’m not happy. And here’s Alvsia. Come in, Alysia. Am I needed on the set?”

  Alysia Hoffman came in and Garbo realized there had been a dramatic change in the woman since the day Mercedes had introduced them to each other. She wore new clothes, simple but becoming. Where once her movements had been timid and tentative, she was now assured and straightforward. Garbo wondered if she had ever been a gym teacher before turning to acting. Alysia told her von Stroheim was still fussing with the camera setups.

  Hearing the word “camera” reminded Arnold of their real mission to the studio. He heard Garbo introducing him and Villon to Alysia

  Hoffman and wondered why her expression seemed to change when Garbo identified them as detectives. He wondered how Hoffman would react if he corrected Garbo and unmasked himself, albeit foolishly, as a government agent. Garbo further explained they were investigating the murder on the beach. Arnold asked matter-of-factly, “I don’t suppose by some long arm of coincidence you might have known Mrs. Wolheim?”

  “Me? How would I know her? You mean because I am also German?” She laughed and it was a very small laugh that could have used some energy. “We refugees don’t all know each other. 'Here are so many of us.” Villon refrained from commenting “too many.”

  “Anyway, since coming here, I have lived in a sort of self-enforced isolation caused by an economical situation. Now that has improved and I shall attempt to get out in the world a bit more, no?”

  Lisa complimented her on the smart suit she was wearing. Alysia thanked her. Haines in his smart-aleck way asked the lawmen, “You guys got any hot leads?”

  Villon folded his arms and said, “We’re rounding up the usual suspects.”

  “Which is by way of telling me to mind my own damn business.” Haines sighed and said to Greta with a finger to his cheek and with a little boy’s voice, “Why is it the big boys don’t want to play with me?”

  Garbo ignored the question and told Villon and Arnold, “Alysia has been very kind in consenting to be my stand-in.” Lisa admired Garbo for the generosity of the statement. Garbo continued, “In Europe she was a much bigger star then me.”

  “Oh no no,” Alysia remonstrated, but not too strongly, thought Lisa.

  “Oh yes yes. Alysia made pictures in all the major studios in Europe.” Garbo ticked off the list and Villon and Arnold looked interested, though they were anxious to be alone with Lisa and get the camera to her without arousing suspicion. ‘It was being brought to Mexico for a film that sadly did not materialize that brought her to this end of the world. She had a hard time getting into America. Oh my heavens!” Her hands flew to her temples in a familiar Garbo gesture. “If I ever left the country now, they might not permit me to return!”

  “Why not?” asked Villon.

  “I’m not a citizen! I too am an alien!”

  Villon asked, “Don’t you want to become a citizen?”

  “Oh yes. I should, shouldn’t I? I’ve been here seventeen years, it’s time I did something positive. I shall write to Eleanor Roosevelt and ask her to tell her husband to make me a citizen. You know,” she began giggling, “she has sent me several fan letters. After seeing me as Camille, she asked for a lock of my hair.” The giggle matured into a roar of laughter.

  Arnold said through the din, “Mrs. Roosevelt asks for lots of locks of women’s hair.”

  Garbo stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Well, now that you tell me this, I am no longer unique. Oh dear, how disappointing.” Then she giggled again, “It wasn’t my hair I sent her anyhow. I snipped off one of Freddie Bartholomew’s curls and sent her that instead. Ha ha ha ha ha!”

  Lisa Schmidt said, “I’d better get back to the set. If von Stroheim’s missing me, he might blow a fuse.”

  Arnold interjected swiftly, “I don’t suppose we could get a look at the set? I’ve never been in a movie studio before.”

  Lisa said, “But of course. Come with me.”

  Greta walked the three to the door. She said to Villon and Arnold, “You will keep me apprised of your progress?” Villon reveled in her conspiratorial tone of voice. “I feel so much a part of your case, now that I helped identify that poor woman.”

  ‘‘You’ll certainly be hearing from us,” Arnold assured her. Alysia Hoffman mumbled something
about probably being needed on the set too and followed the three out of the dressing room. Garbo said sadly, “They wouldn’t let me take their picture.”

  Haines said, “Maybe they’re on the lam?”

  Garbo said indignantly, “Oh don’t be so childish. What are you going to do about the fuschia?”

  With hands on hips and a pout on his lips, he said, “I shall scrub the fuschia and shower the fucker with electric pink and with any luck it’ll give him a deadly ease of diarrhoea.” With a chuckle, he left.

  Garbo was preoccupied with her own disturbing thoughts. Looking back on the previous half hour, she had the uneasy feeling the atmosphere had been charged with strange undercurrents. What was there about Arnold’s camera that disturbed her? He said he had bought it in South America, but there was no manufacturer’s identification to be seen anywhere. She had examined the camera carefully because cameras fascinated her, she had faced so many of them in the lifetime of her career. She demanded of her photographers complete and thorough details about how they were focusing on her and what were they trying to achieve. She had wanted to ask Arnold if it was possible to secure such a camera for herself, but she had a suspicion it was a make only an officer of the law could obtain. She knew cameras and that was a very special camera.

  She accepted another cup of coffee from Lottie Lynton, who recognized the expression on Garbo’s face and returned to the kitchenette, leaving Garbo to her thoughts. Garbo was now dwelling on Alysia Hoffman. Was Garbo crazy or had the woman seemed annoyed when Garbo was telling Villon and Arnold how famous Alysia had been and how she came into this country through Mexico?

  Garbo was sitting at her dressing table and caught a glimpse of her dark expression. “Oh my, Greta! You must look happy. You must think happy. You have to play a happy scene! Did you hear what Lisa said, Lottie? I look wonderful in the rushes. I must phone Salka and Mercedes and tell them. Mercedes is a little cross with us today. She’s jealous that we identified Mrs. Wolheim. Poor Mercedes. Perhaps she’ll be lucky and find a murder victim of her own to identify.”

  Samuel Goldwyn said to Sophie Gang, “I’m grudging him but you have to hand it to von Stroheim. He’s still an original.” He had seen the morning’s rushes from a clandestine position in the projection booth, his cigar smoke polluting it and nauseating the projectionist. “He’s a master of composition. And that Greta, she’s all by herself. There’s nobody like her.”

  “I hear Peter Lorre’s disappointing.”

  “He’ll get better. Von Stroheim will show him the rushes and Lorre will be ashamed of himself and do better today. He’s a wonderful actor. Here in Hollywood he’s wasted. He should play Hamlet . he said, pronouncing it “omelet”, “and maybe that king …”

  “Lear?” asked Sophie.

  ‘That’s it, Lear. And also in that play about die schwartzer…”

  “Otbello?”

  “Yeah, what I saw Paul Robeson play on Broadway. He should play the troublemaker …”

  “Iago”

  “Say listen, smarting pants, how do you know so much about Shakingspeares?”

  “I majored in English literature in college,”

  “You went to college? I didn’t know you’re a college graduate. Well well well. So I really got a bargain when I hired you." He sounded as though he had just pulled off a big deal on Wall Street. “Anyway, Peter will improve. You should face it, for him, acting is like water off a dike’s back.”

  It was all done so swiftly, no one noticed the progression of the camera from Arnold to Lisa and from Lisa to Martin Gruber. Gruber hurried away quickly, passing Alysia Hoffman as she returned to the set, ignoring her “Hello, Martin” in his anxiety to get to his office and secrete his contraband in the tote bag he’d brought with him to the studio. Strange, thought Alysia, he’s never rude.

  Fifteen minutes later, Gruber was in Guiss’s office where the financier and his three associates were holding a council of war. Lieb was saying, “Perhaps wc should admit von Stroheim is a mistake.”

  Guiss replied, “Don’t be so quick to think of replacing him. We’ve only seen one day’s work. Perhaps the man’s right. We have to wait until he has more footage to work with, until he has what he calls the beginning of an assemblage. Then well be in a better position to judge what he’s accomplishing."

  Loeb insisted. “But look at all the waste! If that continues every day then the film will be vastly over budget and that must not happen.”

  Guiss exploded. Martin Gruber just jotted down notes, amused by the way these amateurs were at each other’s throats already, and only a miniscule amount of footage in the can. Guiss shouted. “Since when have you become an authority on budgets? On a film you don’t calculate money spent on a day-to-day basis, you have to wait a few weeks and then see where you are. Right, Henkel?”

  “How should I know? This is my first movie.”

  Risa looked at him with undisguised revulsion. Guiss sometimes had incredibly strange tastes in associates. Vi here had her lover found this creature, she wondered. He was in residence long before her arrival and it was not easy to weasel information about himself out of him. He was as agile at evading answers as a farmer was crossing a field and avoiding piles of cow dung.

  Guiss slammed a fist down on the desk. “I’m right and I will not be disagreed with!”

  Ah, thought Gruber, he’s already gone Hollywood.

  Risa lit a cigarette, blew a smoke ring in Guiss’s direction, and then said in a firm. strong voice. “Gentleman, we are avoiding a more pressing problem.”

  “And what is that?” asked Guiss, trying to control the trace of anger still left in his voice.

  “Kriegman. What do we do about Kriegman? If Greta and Salka Viertal recognized Hannah Baum …” which was the name of the woman who had posed as Mrs. Wolheim “… surely Greta will have recognized Kriegman as having impersonated Mr. Wolheim.”

  Guiss was uneasy in his chair and finally crossed his legs. “She’s seen him several times. She has said nothing.”

  “Perhaps she’s playing a game.” said Henkel “She likes games, doesn’t she?”

  “She’s a whiz at Chinese checkers,” conceded Guiss.

  “It’s unfortunate it was she who had to be one of the group who recognized Hannah. That could pose a serious problem,” said Risa.

  “Meaning?” Guiss was obviously not happy with this conversation.

  “Meaning sooner or later, if it already hasn’t dawned on her, she will recall that Kriegman was indeed Wolheim. Those three oafs who posed as the sons arc barely recognizable in those operetta costumes you have them wearing when they carry the spears, but again, there might come a time when she’ll recognize them. And as for that tower of quivering jelly who is now my maid, Greta might realize at some point soon that she posed as the Wolheim daughter.”

  Guiss said, “Greta will not be coming to the house for a long long time. She had made it quite clear she doesn’t accept social engagements when she is engaged in filming.”

  Risa commented sarcastically, “Such dedication to one’s craft is only to be admired.”

  Werner Lieb said, “Miss Garbo has become dangerous. She is a threat to us and our assignment.”

  Guiss was lacing and unlacing his fingers. Martin Gruber cursed himself for perspiring. Guiss said, “Are you suggesting we consider eliminating her?”

  Lieb said nothing. He watched Henkel stifling his perpetual nervous yawn.

  “And what becomes of this project? What becomes of Joan the Magnificent?” asked Henkel.

  Lieb said matter-of-factly, “If we play with fire, we’ll get burned.”

  Guiss exploded again. “You damn fool! Murder Greta? Would you dare dynamite the Lincoln Memorial?”

  “It’s under consideration.”

  “Dumkopf! If Kriegman and the others are unmasked, it is simple to deny any knowledge of their background. Our story is that they were recently hired to augment my staff. How should I have suspected they are subver
sives? They came with excellent references and it is very difficult in these trying times to get competent household help, and so I was grateful to find them and hire them! Is that understood? And not another word about eliminating Greta, do you hear? Not another word!”

  Henkel stifled another yawn.

  FIFTEEN

  It had taken courage and patience and cunning, but Martin Gruber got his picture of Kriegman. He happened upon him walking in the garden and in an agitated state, talking to himself. Gruber, unseen by Kriegman, positioned himself behind a privet hedge and got a succession of candid shots that, had Kriegman seen them, might have fired him with the ambition to become a professional model.

  Gruber arranged to meet Lisa Schmidt to give her the roll of film. It had been agreed he was never to contact Arnold at the Garden of Allah or Villon at his precinct, for fear of being seen in either place and recognized by a German agent. As Arnold impressed on Gruber, they were all over the place. One of them was making a small fortune as a masseur to the stars and had developed a profitable sideline feeding items to the town’s hungry gossip columnists.

  Lisa dropped into the Garden of Allah for a drink the next evening, after leaving the studio, and found a seat at the bar next to Arnold Lake. As they chitchatted amiably, Lisa slipped the roll of film into Arnold’s jacket pocket. After her third sidecar, Lisa was amenable to seeing the interior of Arnold’s bungalow and so the evening was not a total loss for either one of them.