[Celebrity Murder Case 07] - The Marlene Dietrich Muder Case Page 9

  “I saw that movie and I hated it.”

  “I didn’t see any movie. I made it all up. I don’t think Monte Trevor could conspire to form a poker game. But here he is, arriving at the party in the company of the very socially prominent Dorothy di Frasso and the very powerful and fearsome Ivar Tensha. I don’t see Tensha as a man who suffers fools easily, so Monte Trevor must have some kind of a certain something to attract Tensha to him.”

  “I should think Tensha’s the type who needs a lot of errand boys, a master at demanding servility. I’m sure he has his henchmen deployed all over the world.”

  “Henchmen, hmm. Monte Trevor could be an ideal henchman, couldn’t he?”

  “Especially if it could mean raising the financing for a movie.”

  Marlene gestured at the bottle and Villon refilled her glass. “Dorothy di Frasso is a very shrewd, very calculating woman. She’s been welcomed in international circles for years. She has a charming facade and is very democratic. She entertains royalty and commoners alike. Of course, she adores Mussolini, which makes her suspect in my book. Could she be a conspirator? And if so, to what purpose?”

  “She has useful contacts, you say.” Marlene nodded. “That’s very important to a conspiracy.”

  “So we mustn’t dismiss Dorothy too easily. Although I also suspect she has designs on Tensha.”

  “Why not?”

  “She hasn’t a hope in hell. Men like Tensha never marry, and if they do, they sequester the little woman in a villa in some forest or another where she takes up with her chauffeur or else spends most of her time developing housemaid’s knee from all that genuflecting in church.”

  Villon said, “Tensha would have to be playing a very important, very powerful role. I don’t see him taking a backseat or playing a secondary role.”

  Marlene was staring into her drink. Herb exaggerated clearing his throat and Marlene looked up. “I was thinking of Raymond Souvir stopping the waiter who was bringing Mai Mai her drink.”

  “Butler,” Villon corrected her.

  “Butler, waiter, they’re all the same damn thing. Wait a minute!” She was on her feet. “He wasn’t one in my regular employ. He was hired for the party along with several others. I got them all from an agency. My butlers weren’t circulating serving drinks. I placed them in doorways so they could guide people to the bathrooms or whatever, take coats, keep out the uninvited.”

  “You think this man might have doctored Mai Mai’s drink?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why yes? Could he have known Mai Mai? Highly unlikely.”

  “But he could have been paid to drop the pill. Isn’t that possible?”

  “In a case of murder, anything’s possible.” Villon’s back ached, and he was beginning to long to get home and postpone further speculation to a time later in the day, but Marlene was just warming up and not about to let him escape.

  “You need food. Let’s go to the kitchen and scramble some eggs.” She put on her shoes. He dutifully made his way with her to the kitchen, where the hired help were still cleaning up. Marlene grabbed Herb’s wrist. “That’s him. The butler. The one drying the pans.”

  The man looked tired but smiled affably when Marlene put her hand on his shoulder. “You did a very good job tonight. You all did.” Her voice encompassed all the help, who managed to look pleased by the compliment. “Of course,” she said to the man, whose name was Morton Duncan, “it was terrible that Madam Chu was murdered.”

  “It must be awful for you,” commiserated Duncan, “having her done in right here on the premises. Being such a good friend of yours.”

  “Yes, it was sad she was ‘done in,’ as you so quaintly put it, but she was not a good friend; tonight’s the first I laid eyes on her.”

  “Oh. I was under the impression she was an old friend.” Herb took over. “You brought the drink to Madam Chu, didn’t you?”

  Duncan looked uncomfortable. “Sir, I didn’t know it was poisoned.”

  “I’m not saying you did. Who asked you to bring the drink to her?”

  “Miss Wong. She took it from the bartender and placed it on my tray and asked me to take it to Madam Chu, but to use discretion when interrupting her dissertation.”

  Marlene said, “Anna May most certainly did not poison the drink. You couldn’t possibly suspect her.”

  “I could suspect anybody. It’s a free country.” He asked Duncan, “And Mr. Souvir stopped and asked you to bring him a glass too, didn’t he?”

  “If you mean the Frenchman, he did that.”

  “You didn’t see someone’s hand passing over the glass?” continued Villon.

  “Well, sir, in the moment or so that the Frenchman distracted me, that could have happened, but I didn’t see it. There was such a crush of people around me, I was having difficulty getting through to Madam Chu. Believe me if I had seen anything that seemed out of sorts I would say so, Miss Dietrich. It pains me to know that I was the bearer of death.”

  Bearer of death. Marlene stifled a laugh. The ancients killed the messenger who brought bad news. They should kill critics who write bad reviews. She said to Duncan, “I’m sure it’s a very painful memory. But you were just an instrument, don’t blame yourself.”

  They left the man and Dietrich was soon busy scrambling eggs. Marlene asked Villon, “What do you think? Do you believe him?”

  “I have to believe him. I’ll do a check on him. See if he has any record.”

  “I hope he doesn’t. I think he might be a poet. ‘Bearer of death.’ Wasn’t that sweet? Can you imagine those words spoken by Erich von Stroheim? He’d really make you tremble at the sound of them.” With a cigarette dangling from her mouth, she continued scrambling the eggs, into which she poured some cream, then added a dash of cinnamon and just a drop of curry powder. Villon heated ham, which he cut from the bone, a remnant of the party’s buffet.

  “You know something, Herb? I just had a terrible thought. There were so many people at the party tonight, maybe we’re barking up the wrong conspiracy. Maybe one of the other guests is the guilty party.”

  “They weren’t clustered around a waiter carrying a tray that held a poisoned glass of champagne. Believe me, Marlene, the killer is one of my seven suspects…”

  “Our seven suspects, Mr. Villon. I’m in on this with you, and don’t you dare try to cut me out! Don’t slice so much ham; we’ll have to eat it all or it dries out. And there’s nothing so appalling as dried out ham. Take it from me, I’ve worked with enough of them. Now, before 1 forget, what time tomorrow are we going to Mai Mai’s loft? Not too early, we both need some sleep. Of course, Anna May must be there with us, in case there are things written in Chinese, and she can translate for us. And, of course, that darling assistant of yours, Jim Mallory. Now wasn’t that strange, fainting the way he did.”

  “He was overcome with love.”

  “Love? Nobody has fainted because of love since the middle of the last century, and even then, I suspect it was all feigned. Who’s he in love with?”

  “You.”

  “Really? How adorable. But in a very nice way, you must tell him he’ll have to step to the rear of the line. Herb, if only you knew what I have to put up with. Get the plates. The eggs are ready.”

  In the guest room, Anna May Wong was pacing the floor. She couldn’t sleep what with Mai Mai’s face contorted in the agony of her death throes reflected everywhere she looked. She could still hear her father’s cry when she told him Mai Mai was dead, murdered.

  “How often I warned her, how often I pleaded with her to exercise greater discretion with her premonitions. Why didn’t she listen? She was always so headstrong, so foolhardy. She was not a true Chinese woman.”

  Poor father. A true Chinese woman. And what is that? Subservient, obedient, with bound feet. Thank God I never had to undergo that agony of the primitive custom of the binding of women’s feet.

  Always so headstrong, always so foolhardy.

  Stubborn. Like Taurus the
bull. Stubborn, like Dong See, a Taurus. Why think of him now? Strange, his friendship with Raymond Souvir. Such an unlikely pairing. But still, why not?

  She found a negligee in the closet and put it on. She recognized it as one Marlene had worn in Dishonored. She left the room quietly in search of the kitchen to warm up some milk. When she reached the kitchen, there were Marlene and Villon eating ham and eggs.

  “Oh good!” cried Marlene.

  “What’s good about not being able to sleep? I’m going to warm up some milk.”

  “Warm up some red wine. That’ll make you sleep.”

  “No, thank you, I’ve drunk enough tonight.”

  “Tomorrow, Anna May, we go to Mai Mai’s apartment. We need you there in case there’s any Chinese that needs translating.”

  “Marlene, it’s all in Chinese. She always did her charts in Chinese.” They now had the kitchen to themselves. Anna May stirred the milk with a spoon. “My father said on the phone tonight, Mai Mai was always so headstrong, so foolhardy. If she knew something of such great importance, why didn’t she take it to the proper authorities?”

  Marlene placed her fork on her plate. “Maybe she did. And whatever authority she went to was the wrong authority. Isn’t that a possibility, Herb? And of course it’s a probability the wrong authority was a guest at my party tonight.” Herb chewed thoughtfully. “Anna May, the milk’s boiling over.”

  “So are all of our conjectures,” said Herb. “We’ve got an awful lot on the plate. Now to sift what we’ve got and sort it out and then put it back together again in a different shape, which will show us the face of the killer.”

  Marlene looked at her wristwatch. “It’s 4 a.m. If we meet again at two this afternoon, that ought to give us plenty of time to sleep. I’ve got several New Year’s Day invitations, but the hell with them. Finding Mai Mai’s killer takes top priority.” She rubbed her hands together at the prospect of unmasking a murderer. “I wonder which of our suspects are boiling some milk to help them get some sleep.”

  EIGHT

  SLEEP ELUDED DOROTHY di Frasso. She was annoyed when Ivar Tensha refused her offer of a nightcap. They had dropped off Monte Trevor at his hotel, the Beverly Wilshire, the producer accepting his dismissal reluctantly. Thankfully the bar was still open and catering to some noisy revelers. Monte had a horn blown in his ear and confetti flung in his face and tried to look good-natured about it, but barely succeeded. He ordered a highball with a double shot of scotch and settled onto a stool to rerun in his mind the reel of film whose subject was Dietrich’s party and Mai Mai Chu’s murder. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

  Dangerous. Very dangerous. Di Frasso wore her most diaphanous negligee as she reclined on the chaise longue in her bedroom. She puffed on a Sweet Caporal and watched the smoke rising to the ceiling, which was decorated with several seraphs in various suggestive poses. She wasn’t thinking of a least likely suspect, although a voracious reader of murder mysteries; she was thinking of a least likely victim. Mai Mai Chu. Strychnine. Dear God. She, di Frasso, came close to being the victim. Her throat was parched and she considered swiping the champagne from the tray while there was the opportunity when Raymond had the butler’s ear for a few moments. Thank God she hadn’t. Whoever dropped that pill was good, very damned good. She considered herself a highly observant person—one had to be to survive in the circles in which she traveled—yet she had not seen the hand that presumably passed over the glass, dropping its lethal potion like a bomb over enemy territory. To do that required nerves of steel and a deadly variety of chutzpah.

  Chutzpah was a popular word in Monte Trevor’s vocabulary. The definition of chutzpah was a man who murders his parents and then throws himself at the mercy of the court as an orphan. Monte was feeling like an orphan. He was always wallowing in loneliness and self-pity on holidays. He was a bachelor, and what little family he had were scattered to the four winds and did not keep in touch with each other. He had hoped the night would continue with Tensha and di Frasso; there was much to discuss and disseminate about the party and the murder. He recognized that di Frasso’s priority was getting a romantic stranglehold on Tensha, and he also recognized that Tensha was not interested in falling under whatever spell she was hoping to cast. A more important thought possessed him: Why kill Mai Mai Chu in full view of Marlene’s guests? From his point of view it was a foolish move, but he had to admit it took the courage of an egomaniac to kill her there. The bartender placed a bowl of peanuts in front of Monte, and the producer gratefully helped himself. He’d eaten nothing at the party. Villon’s questioning had erased his appetite. Why didn’t di Frasso find him appealing?

  The Countess had poured herself a glass of chardonnay and was chain-smoking. How did Monte Trevor weasel his way into Tensha’s good graces? She was surprised to find him in the car when Tensha came to pick her up. She’d known him in London and once almost succumbed to his entreaty for her to do a screen test for a movie he was planning about Lucrezia Borgia, With This Ring I Thee Kill. That was another of his projects that never came to fruition. Had I done the role, would I be in a different position today? Would my star be shining as lustrously as Marlene’s? I would have made it in talkies, I’m sure; I have a lovely voice and my speech is without impediments like the problem Marlene and Kay Francis have in common. Marlene does a pretty good job of masking hers, while Kay doesn’t give a damn and knows her fans find it adorable when she calls to her beloved Wichard or Wobert or Wonald. Oh, to hell with those clever females. What have I gotten myself into? Oh Christ, it’ll be headlines today. My face will be plastered on every front page of every newspaper across the country and probably most of the rest of the world. Those reporters and photographers were positively ruthless in pursuit of their stories.

  Dottie! That news hen called her Dottie! How dare she! I am the Countess Dorothy di Frasso! Not Dottie! “Hey Dottie! Poison is a woman’s weapon! Did you have it in for Chu?’’

  Rude guttersnipe. What desperation, what fear, what awesome fear did it take to compel Mai Mai’s elimination in full view of all those people? I must say Marlene handled the incident magnificently. That crude detective person letting her and Anna May sit in on the interrogations, how irregular! Hmmm. I wonder if there’s something going on between Marlene and that Herbert Villon. I gathered they only just met tonight, or last night as it’s now five in the morning; could Marlene have operated that quickly?

  Now who the hell is phoning me at this hour? The hell with them. I won’t answer. They’ll go away. They’ll assume I have the phone turned off. How dare they have the chutzpah to call me at this hour of the morning and on New Year’s Day of all things! Oh, but supposing it’s Tensha. He can’t sleep either and he’s wondering if he might drop by for a spot of breakfast. She hurried to the phone.

  “Hello?’’ Disappointment. “Monte, you’re drunk. Sleep it off. What? How dare you make such a suggestion! I could kill you!”

  * * *

  Gregory Ivanov sat on a kitchen chair holding a glass of hot tea into which Natalia had dropped his usual four lumps of sugar plus a soupçon of slivovitz. Natalia shuffled about the room, which was as shabby and worn as the bathrobe she was wearing. The two-story house that claimed to be the Russian Embassy was equally shabby and worn, but the rent was gratefully cheap. The owner had reclaimed it from a prostitute whose specialty was bondage, and the basement was a wreck what with the all the chains that had to be pried loose from the walls, all the bloodstains that had to be scrubbed clean with a powerful detergent, and the cloying scent of lilac toilet water, which the prostitute had favored. Natalia was sipping from a snifter of brandy and smoking a cheap Mexican-made cigarillo, listening to her husband shlurping his tea.

  Her voice was dark with foreboding. “It was wrong to murder Mai Mai at the party.”

  Gregory said with irritation, “What difference does it make where she was killed as long as the deed is done.”

  “Not there. Not in full view of all those people. That detective
is no fool, he’s not your typical dumb officer of the law we have seen in so many American films played by Tom Kennedy. Ha ha. Very funny.”

  “What’s very funny?”

  “Tom Kennedy.”

  “He’s an oaf. We will be hearing from this Villon again, you know.”

  “You fool. We have diplomatic immunity. We could have refused to be questioned.”

  Gregory snorted and almost spilled some tea. “Wouldn’t that have been clever. Then one or the other of us would surely be suspected as the guilty party. Poisoned pill! Borshamoy!” He knew his addressing God was pointless, as He had turned a deaf ear long ago to the revolutionaries who had overthrown and assassinated the Romanoffs. He was in the basement where the czar and his family had been herded together on that last day of their lives. He was recruited to be one of the killers. The little czarevitch was so brave, so hopelessly brave as he stared at the soldiers who were about to pull the triggers. It mattered not to the boy, he was doomed to die soon of the deadly hemophelia with which he had been cursed at birth. And Anastasia, the beautiful child with her sweet, little puppy eyes. Was it possible the rumor was true that she had survived that massacre? But how? Gregory was, like Nimrod, a deadly shot. He was positive he’d gotten her between the eyes, and what came dripping down her face was not mascara as he knew the czarina forbade her daughters the use of cosmetics.

  Natalia now sat at the kitchen table, which was covered with a piece of peeling oilcloth; she said firmly, “Gregory, we must rise above this. We must prevail. We are here for a purpose that could make us both very powerful, and power is a tool which we can use to turn some formidable profits.”

  “You are talking capitalism!” he thundered.