[Celebrity Murder Case 05] - The Greta Garbo Murder Case Page 9

  Arnold in turn left messages at various checkpoints for Herb Villon, who was soon located and joined Arnold and Lisa at the Garden of Allah.

  In Arnold’s bungalow, they listened to Lisa’s story of her encounter with Peter Lorre. When she was finished, she said, “I don’t think anyone saw me leave the lot. I should go back.” Neither of the men said anything. “Werner Lieb is one of Guiss’s henchmen. I’m positive he was in that meeting at the beach.”

  Arnold finally spoke. “Going back could be dangerous.”

  Villon said, “Not going back could be equally as dangerous.”

  “That’s what I think,” said Lisa. “I’m all for going back and brazening it out. What’s the worst that could happen to me?”

  “You could be killed,” said Arnold. Lisa exhaled and reached for the scotch on the rocks he had poured her. “We know for sure there’s something subversive and dangerous going on there. The movie’s a front for some kind of undercover activity and it smells to high heaven.”

  Lisa didn’t try to disguise her skepticism. “You don’t think Garbo would be part of any subversive activity, do you?”

  “Who knows? Look at some of the fifth columnists we’ve been rounding up. Respected politicians, pillars of society, the country’s one big nest of underground communist activity.”

  “I thought the reds were our allies,” offered Villon.

  “Lately, but with that mother Stalin, who the hell can be sure of what’s next? Garbo lived and worked in Germany back in 1925. That picture she made …”

  ‘The Joyless Street, ” said Lisa.

  “Didn’t she tell you some of those actors she worked with became Nazis?”

  “She did,” Lisa said, then added hotly, “but there were some of them who didn’t. All that happened years after Greta came to the U.S. I tell you she’s absolutely apolitical. She’s not dumb, but she’s not all that smart What she is is shrewd and very self-protective. The lady isn’t quick to give an inch, let alone a yard. I think she’s been suckered into this deal and it was easy to land her because she was so confused and upset at parting company with Metro.”

  Arnold persisted, “What about her romance with Guiss?”

  “I don’t think she’s serious. It amuses her. She finds him and his gang funny. You heard me, to her they’re one big collective laugh. She’s getting a million bucks, she can afford to laugh.” Lisa lit a cigarette. “What I’m wondering is, how does Lorre fit into this scenario? I heard his name mentioned out at the beach. It was he who brought Guiss’s offer to Garbo.”

  “And it was her two girlfriends who steamrollered her into finally giving the deal the nod,” added Arnold.

  Villon asked Arnold, “Viertel and de Acosta are clear, aren’t they?”

  “On the surface it would seem so,” said Arnold. “They contribute heavily to antifascist causes. They work on a lot of committees. Garbo doesn’t.”

  Lisa said, “Garbo is Garbo. I told you. She’s not a political animal. You know she’s always shied away from the public eye. She’s very choosy about who she associates with. I’m amazed that she seemed to take to me immediately.”

  “You’re a direct line to von Stroheim. She can make use of that.”

  “She tried to get Lorre off my back. She didn’t have to do that” Villon asked, ‘This Werner Lieb …”

  Lisa said, “I’m sure he believes Lorre. That bunch took after me that night, at least some of them. Now they see I’ve weaseled my way into the production. I’m sure they see me as a threat.”

  Arnold said gravely. “Look, toots, you’re my girl. You’re important to me. But we’re painted into a comer. If you disappear, they’ll be positive we’re on to them and we’ll never learn another thing.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” She smiled. “Garbo could be a help.”

  Villon chuckled. “Are you crazy? Garbo doing cloak and dagger, you’ve got to be kidding.”

  “She sure knows how to dig for information, and get it” Lisa sipped her drink. “Keep her in mind. She’s going to cross-examine me about Lorre’s accusation. What do we do about him?”

  Villon said, “I know him slightly. We sweat it out in the same steambath on Thursday night where the celebrities go. You know, Bogart, Eddie Robinson, Vic McLaglen…”

  Arnold said sharply, “You be careful of McLaglen.”

  “That big idiot?” Villon had an incredulous look on his face.

  “Don’t you know he has his own private army? Cavalry. They meet every week and go through maneuvers and they wear black shirts. McLaglen’s Irish. And the Irish are very much on Hitler’s side. Hitler’s ships and submarines use Irish ports for repairing and refueling.”

  “I’m flabbergasted,” said Villon.

  “It’s no big secret. Northern Ireland especially. They’ve no love for Great Britain. They want their independence.”

  Lisa said, “They’re lousy lays.”

  Arnold smiled. “We can send you to Mexico until this blows over.”

  “The food doesn’t agree with me. No, gentlemen, the lady is frightened shitless but she’s going back to the studio. If anything happens to me, at least you know where to investigate, and who to investigate. By the by, this Risa Barron, the one with all the jewelry, she blabs to everyone she’s been intimate with Hitler and Mussolini.”

  “So was Guiss.” Arnold had them riveted. “And Hitler offered Garbo his world if she’d return to Germany.”

  Villon said, “Well it’s obvious she turned him down.”

  Arnold Lake was very tired. “It’s way past my bedtime.” He asked Lisa, “You sure you want to go back tonight? Why don’t you go home and get some sleep. You start shooting tomorrow and it’s going to be a rough day.”

  “You’re right. I’m going home. And I’ll be in constant touch.” Arnold kissed her. “And Arnold, be sure to tell my mom and dad how much I love them.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Just in case.”

  “I got here as fast as I can. Driving in the blackout is hell. Is there any coffee?” Salka Viertel took off her suede jacket and flung it across the back of a chair.

  “In one of those thermoses.” Garbo watched her friend opening and closing thermos bottles until she found the coffee.

  “What’s wrong? You’re terribly tired. You should go home. What time’s your first scene?”

  “It will be in the afternoon now. Von is having serious technical problems. Sit down, Salka. I have something very important to discuss with you.” She told her of Lorre’s confrontation with Lisa Schmidt.

  “So? What do you think this means?”

  “I think it means something dangerous is going on around here. Maybe Lisa Schmidt is involved in some kind of espionage.”

  Salka laughed. “You overdramatize everything.”

  “Oh no. Not this. Not her being pursued on the beach, if it really was her. How we suspected that Wolheim family were a strange bunch because none of them resembled each other. Guiss and his cohorts. And this ugly Gustav Henkel. I don’t think he ever wrote the first script of Joan. ”

  “Now really, Greta.”

  “I mean that, Salka. What writer doesn’t fight to do his own rewrite? He calmly sits back and lets them put Brecht on the job? He only wrote one draft. At least demand the right to do the first revision. But no, he sits back without uttering a peep and lets himself be replaced. And Risa Barron with that fantastic jewelry that would make Maria Montez suicidal with envy. She brags about having relations with Hitler and Mussolini. And Guiss. How he woos me. How he promises me the world if I would become his lover.”

  “Have you?”

  “I don’t want the world. It’s difficult enough to cope with Hollywood.” She thought for a moment. “They sent Peter with the offer. They hired von Stroheim when they supposedly couldn’t get anyone else, not even von Sternberg. But he’s Jewish.”

  Salka was confused. “What are you getting at?”

  “But von Strohei
m’s also Jewish. He and Joe weren’t born to their ‘vons.’ They added the ‘von’ to their names when they were getting started, to make themselves sound like aristocracy. Ha ha ha! How docs Greta von Garbo sound to you? Ha ha ha!” Garbo settled into a chair and crossed her legs.

  “It sounds perfectly awful. Greta, what are you suspicious of?”

  “These people. I think they are frauds.” She leaned forward and hypnotized Viertel with a steady, piercing look. “Why did you and Mercedes work so hard to convince me to play Joan? Why?”

  Salka tasted her coffee, but it was tepid. She put the cup back in the saucer. “We did it for von Stroheim. The three of us—Peter, Mercedes and myself. Without you, there would be no film. Guiss set up this project to get to know you. He is besotted with you. He has been for years.”

  “Five million dollars for Greta Garbo? Compared to that, what Louis paid me was a pittance and yet I’m a millionaire. Fate is so ridiculous. Really, Salka. Is that all? Is that really all? Has Guiss severed all his ties with the Germans?”

  "I don’t know anything about that. I don’t know what his ties were to the fascists other than he claims they’ve confiscated billions of dollars worth of his property. You should know more about this then I do! Louella says …”

  “Oh to hell with Louella.” She was on her feet pacing, wringing her hands agitatedly, eyes darting about like a frightened sparrow’s. “I have such a presentiment, Salka. Something terrible is going to happen.”

  “You’re being very silly, Greta. What’s in those other jugs? They must still be hot. Drink something and then we’ll go home.”

  “Home. Yes, home. Home to my Lottie. She’ll protect me.”

  “This hot chocolate smells wonderful.”

  ‘That’s how Lottie poisoned her husband. With hot chocolate.”

  “Forget the hot chocolate. Ah! Chicken soup. It smells scrumptious. What’s Lottie’s stand on chicken soup?”

  “Oh Salka, Salka. I fear for Lisa Schmidt. Oh that fool Peter. Accusing her in front of Werner Lieb.”

  “Lieb?”

  “Another flunky. Supposedly the co-producer. If anything happens to Lisa … oh God!” She flung herself onto the couch. “I should go to Switzerland, where they’re neutral.” She looked up at Salka. “Believe me, Salka, there’s something rotten going on in this studio. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s going on. I have a lot of thinking to do. Yes, I think I’ll go home.”

  TEN

  Lisa Schmidt an American agent?" Albert Guiss swallowed the information Werner Lieb gave him, took time digesting it, and then said, “Are you quite positive?”

  “Quite positive, no. We have only Peter Lorre’s word for it.”

  “Lorre’s word, as we well know, could be as shaky as his health. Well, if she was the spy at the beach house, she couldn’t have heard all that much. We only discussed the film. Risa, what do you think?”

  Risa was thinking she’d rather be in her bed getting some much-needed beauty sleep. She was staring at Gustav Henkel, who seemed to be dozing in his easy chair, but with that one you never could tell. Perhaps he was feigning sleep. He did that frequently when conversations were too deep and over his head. “I think Gustav is asleep.”

  Guiss looked at the writer and smirked. “Perhaps not, perhaps his mind is wandering.”

  “Not without a road map,” offered Risa, who didn’t like Henkel. She thought him common and quite ordinary and wished he’d do something to improve his teeth.

  “Let’s get back to Lisa Schmidt. What’s your opinion of her, Risa?”

  “Opinion? Opinion? Opinion about what?” When she was tired, she became testy. “Is she a spy? How do I know? I only know her from her work on the film. And she’s terribly competent. I know von Stroheim is very pleased with her and when his wife visited the studio last week I don’t think she was happy to see that Lisa is so beautiful. Greta seems to like her.”

  “Very much so,” added Lieb as he polished his monocle with a silk handkerchief.

  “That’s important,” said Guiss. “Greta relates to so few people.” Henkel spoke softly. “She asks a lot of questions.”

  Guiss arched an eyebrow. “Greta?”

  “Lisa Schmidt.”

  “What kind of questions?” pursued Guiss.

  “How long have you been here. Where do you come from. Where is your family. How long have you been with Guiss, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Sometimes it is dizzying to be evasive. I have made up a whole new biography of myself just to satisfy her inquisitive nature. And the trouble with that is, I can’t remember half the lies I fed her.”

  “If she’s really an agent with the FBI, your lies have been recorded and examined. And you’re such a brilliant liar I’m sure they find your information most entertaining.”

  Werner Lieb interrupted. “What’s the decision about Lisa Schmidt?”

  “To act against her now on such flimsy evidence as Lorre’s would in my opinion be very stupid.” Guiss had left his position behind his desk and crossed to a map of the world framed and hanging on the opposite wall. The inevitable cigarette in the pearl holder was clenched tightly between his teeth. He studied the map and then, with his hands clasped behind his back, paced the length of the study. “We must do nothing that could jeopardize the progress of the film. We are heavily invested in it and our fate lies in the hands of an egomaniacal director and a manic-depressive actress who, for reasons beyond my capabilities to understand, wants to become a saint.”

  Risa was studying Guiss. Lover, friend, philanthropist, sadist, bon vivant. Truly a mess of contradictions. She said, “Albert, I agree with you. To move against Lisa would mean doing away with her, and that will mean the police, and if she is really an agent, it will mean the FBI. We don’t desire the company of either. We will just have to be very careful. We must somehow convey to Lorre we’d appreciate he keep his mouth shut about her…”

  “That’s easy,” said Werner. “We could threaten him with an inferior brand of narcotics. Like that swamp grass some crooked dealers import from Central America.”

  “It’s after one a.m.,” Risa announced impatiently, “let’s get some rest. We have to be on the set early tomorrow morning. It’s the first day of shooting. How about that? We have at least accomplished that! I feel very satisfied!”

  “Feel very satisfied,” said Guiss, “but don’t feel smug. Good night.”

  At seven the next morning, Martin Gruber met Lisa Schmidt for breakfast in the coffee shop in Culver City, a safe distance from the Goldwyn Studios, where no one would see them. She told him about the encounter with Lorre, and although Gruber was crumbling his prune Danish instead of eating it, this was the only sign that the incident disturbed him. His mouth wasn’t twitching the way it usually did when something disturbed him. She continued with her meeting at the Garden of Allah and, when that dissertation was over, finally took a bite of her buttered bagel.

  Gruber motioned to the waitress for coffee refills, asked her to remove the destroyed prune Danish and replace it with a wholewheat muffin with raisins, cream cheese on the side. They sat in silence for a while, Lisa chewing her bagel, Gruber looking past her outside the window at the Metro studio down the street, which was beginning to hum with activity. Finally he spoke. “Guiss had a meeting late last night. Werner, Risa, Henkel. I was excluded.”

  “Does that worry you?”

  “Not at all. It’s a pattern I’ve grown to recognize. When it’s top secret. I’m excluded. But I can guess you were the topic under discussion.” He waited until the waitress deposited his muffin and refilled their coffee cups, and then continued. “Guiss is too clever to engage the police or the FBI right now. Sooner or later it will probably have to happen, but not right now. Because if they suspect you’re an agent and kill you, then they are the targets of an investigation they positively don’t want. After all,” he said with a coy smile, “remove the r and the e from corpse and you are left with cops”

  “Cute. Give
me a bite of your muffin, it looks good.”

  “Help yourself.” He sipped his coffee. “Go to the studio. Do your job. From the snatches of conversation I hear, you are liked. Certainly Risa Barron speaks well of you.”

  “Well that’s a comfort.”

  “You see, it would be easier to ease you out of your job, and avoid the possibility of your continuing to be a threat to them, than kick over a hornet’s nest by killing you. To me that would be the sensible move to make.”

  “If they haven’t thought of it themselves, don’t you suggest it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Supposing Lorre doesn’t let up on me?”

  “It is my calculated guess, Lisa, he will no longer be a problem. Lorre is himself in a difficult situation. His family and his wife’s family are still in Europe. Lorre’s a Jew. As long as he plays nice with Guiss, the families are protected.”

  “He’s been trying to get them out, you know. He’s petitioned the White House.”

  Gruber chuckled. “The White House! It’s too late for that even with the White House. The war is on and there’s no exit for anyone except Axis agents.” He looked at the wall clock over the counter. “Isn’t it time you got going to the studio? I know Guiss will soon begin to miss me. I’ll get the check. We go dutch as usual, yes?”

  “Next job you get, ask for an expense account”

  * * *

  At the studio, Goldwyn and Sophie Gang were crossing the lot to the set of Joan the Magnificent. He always greeted the start of a new rental production by personally appearing on the set to welcome the newcomers. He liked activity; he thrived on seeing actors and technicians going about their business with alacrity. Making films was his life’s blood and he was as enthusiastic about rival producers’ projects as he was about his own. “Sophie, take a memo.”

  “I don’t have my book.”

  “So put it in your head!” he fumed. “Later we’ll take it out. I have come to a mountainous decision. I am going to make The Brothers Karamazov. ”