Greta was roughly ten yards below the road, close enough that the person trying to kill her might be able to reach her. A lifetime of climbing through the mountains of Austria allowed her to quickly scramble down and under a slight overhang, shielding her from view of the road. The only way someone could see her would be if he climbed down after her. Miraculously, she still had her gun in her purse, so if someone was foolhardy enough to chase her, she’d put him down. That was the advantage to her upbringing as a hunter and outdoorswoman.
Not to mention her training with Hitler’s S.S.
Unfortunately, the only problem with her hiding place was that she couldn’t see who was after her. She was tempted to peek out, but that was the disadvantage to being blonde. The moonlight could easily give her away.
She heard her enemy’s car door creak open, then the sound of shoes, possibly boots, on the pavement, then on the soft gravel of the shoulder of the road. She imagined he was looking at the wreckage below, trying to see signs of whether she was dead. Fortunately, it had rained earlier that day, lessening any chance that the fire would spread up the mountain. But it must be visible for miles around, and it was only a matter of time before the fire department arrived. Yet, her hunter was in no hurry to leave. Perhaps he’d seen her jump out of the car. Or maybe he knew her well enough to realize that her skills gave her a better chance of living through this than most people. Now she could even smell his cigarette smoke, though it was hard to tell what brand it was because of the smoke from the fire. About half a mile away, she saw the lights of a car coming toward them through the winding roads. She hoped it wasn’t an accomplice coming to help track her down.
But then she heard the man walk onto the pavement and get in his car, slamming the heavy door as he did so. A moment later, he drove off at a sedate pace to not draw attention to himself as he passed the car driving toward them. She could see the lights of the other car passing by above her, then heard it slow, as it neared the site of the accident. It drew to a stop, its engine still running, then went on its way again. Greta heard the sirens before she saw the fire trucks making their way through the winding roads. She couldn’t be caught in the area, so she scrambled up the hill, then crossed over to the south side of the road, which had more residences. She could find her way home from there.
As she walked, she realized that other than cuts and bruises – and the loss of her favorite shoes – she was in remarkably good shape. She knew it was a risk to return to her home since someone wanted her dead and he almost certainly knew where she lived. But she’d already secured her home with excellent locks and any number of weapons hidden throughout. She wasn’t afraid of anyone there, where she could easily deal with any intruder. It was the outside world which made her uneasy.
She went through the likely suspects in her mind. It could have been one of the radical communists. Most of the men and women in Hollywood who claimed they were communists were simply actors in want of a hobby or a role. But there were some who truly wished to overturn the United States government. They saw fascism as their ideological enemy, not realizing that destabilizing the United States would help both Russia and Germany. It was odd how one so often shared goals with an enemy.
Greta winced as she stepped on a particularly sharp rock and chided herself for becoming so soft. The deprivations of her early life should’ve prepared her for a barefoot walk through paved streets on a warm night. But it was the idea of being hunted down by an unknown enemy which really had her steaming.
She wondered if it was one of the men she’d been with at the League that night. Any of them could’ve seen her leave. Straub was the most likely suspect, since he hated having his authority questioned. Zimmer was another possibility. He was desperate to curry Hitler’s favor, which was why he’d spent a small fortune building his compound near Malibu. Of course, the problem was that he’d paid for it using a significant amount of cash he’d embezzled from the government. Greta didn’t have proof of that yet, but if Zimmer thought she did, he’d find a way to silence her.
Ralph Harris had been accepting payments from the German government for years as a means of influencing what was seen on the newsreels in theaters. It was his job to keep inflammatory stories about Hitler away from the American public and lately he’d been doing a poor job of it. Greta could have him replaced at any moment. She could have him killed at any moment, and she suspected he knew that.
Finn O’Donnell was another likely suspect. He was too weak to do it himself, but his drug business meant he could hire someone to do it for him, including that detective who shadowed his every move.
And, of course, it could’ve been the two time travelers who’d come back to 1936 for reasons she didn’t yet understand.
But she would.
And she continued to think of that on her long walk home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Josie had to marvel at how very different it was to wake up in Los Angeles in 1936. She could be certain the slight haze in the air was fog and not pollution. The smell of orange trees and fresh plants came wafting into the house and there were no traffic warnings on the radio. Of course, there was no Internet or TV to catch up on the news, so she had to rely on the newspapers. Fortunately, Lawrence subscribed to both a morning paper and an afternoon one, but it was odd to spend so much of the day not knowing what was happening in the world around her, especially when she knew history had changed.
Josie and David walked into Lawrence’s large kitchen to the smell of coffee brewing in the percolator, but not much else.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to eat my cooking,” said Lawrence, as he whisked eggs for an omelet. “Eduardo has gone missing, again.”
“Did you alert the authorities?” asked David.
“No, it happens from time to time. He goes off on adventures, then eventually finds his way home. Help yourself to anything you’d like.”
Josie looked at the appliances which were top of the line for the era but completely foreign to her. “I think I’ll just have toast, thank you.”
“Do you know how to use a toaster in this era?” asked David.
“Maybe I’ll just have an orange,” she replied as she took one and began peeling it.
Grant Barker entered the room, freshly showered and wearing a suit. “That was quite some riot last night. I’m glad none of you were hurt.”
“I still haven’t heard from Blake,” said Dora, who entered the kitchen, looking like she hadn’t slept. “There was no answer at his house, until I finally gave up at four and tried to get some sleep. Where’s Eduardo?”
“On walkabout again,” said Lawrence.
“I guess it was time.” She grabbed an orange, sniffed it, then put it down. “I can never take those things without champagne.”
“There’s some in the cellar,” said Lawrence.
“I can’t drink until I know Blake is safe.”
Lawrence raised a brow. “You really must be worried.”
Grant poured himself a cup of coffee. “Quite a few people were arrested last night, Dora. Blake might’ve been one of them.”
“Do you think he’s all right? The police haven’t always been good to communists, even when we’re demonstrating peacefully.”
Grant swallowed a large gulp of hot coffee then grimaced. “From what I heard, last night wasn’t so peaceful. Trouble jumped off when a few demonstrators threw trash cans through the windows.”
“It may have started with the communists,” said David. “But those weren’t Boy Scouts running out to fight, they were Hitler Youth. They were more than a match for a bunch of Hollywood dilettantes chanting slogans.” He turned to Dora and Lawrence. “No offense, of course.”
“I am proud to wear the dilettante label,” said Lawrence. “But I must admit to being surprised by some of the strong beliefs held by certain members of the party. There are a few who whisper about extreme measures and I don’t think they’re just the fanciful imaginings of drunkards.” He turned to Dora. �
�No offense, darling.”
“None taken. I’ll admit I’ve heard a few things, as well, though I thought most of it was hot air.”
“Who are you talking about?” asked Grant.
Dora frowned. “I’ve never been one to inform on my friends. And you are a fed, though a particularly nice one with a wonderful wife and family.”
“Then pretend you’re talking to Lydia and remember that we still don’t know where Blake is.”
That seemed to ease Dora’s conscience. “I guess the person I heard talking that way the most was Caroline Armitage. As Lawrence said, most people at the meetings are more interested in the free booze and food than anything having to do with Lenin or Marx. But every once in a while, someone comes up with a radical idea and Caroline encourages it, even builds on it. In some ways, I think she almost wanted last night to come to violence.”
“She was the one who came to get Blake last night,” said Josie. “If not for her, he might’ve left with us.”
“What happened?” asked Grant.
Josie and the others filled him in.
“What if something has happened to Blake?” asked Dora, really worried now.
Lawrence hugged his best friend. “I’m sure he’s all right. He’s survived Hollywood, hasn’t he? The studio system is twice as rough as any riot.”
“What I’d like to know,” said Josie, “is why Ralph Harris was accepting a briefcase full of cash in a back room of the League last night.”
“He’s a studio man,” said Lawrence. “They like money.”
“But he’s one of the people who determines what content is shown in America, right?” asked Josie as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “What if the Germans are paying him to play Nazi propaganda films or convincing him to censor newsreel footage making its way out of Berlin? Maybe we’ve been looking at this all wrong. Maybe Kurt isn’t the reason the U.S. delayed getting into the war. Perhaps Ralph Harris is. Americans don’t want another war in Europe. If Harris can convince them Hitler is just misunderstood, then perhaps he’s the one we should be focusing on.”
“Are we going to kill Ralph Harris?” asked Dora. “Normally, I’m opposed to violence, but he is odious.” She looked at Grant. “Not that I go around killing odious people in Hollywood, of course.”
Lawrence nodded. “If you killed all the jerks in Hollywood, you wouldn’t get any other work done, though the movies would be better, especially if you killed the odious and dumb executives first.” Then he looked at Grant. “Not that we would do that. Unless you ordered us to.”
The phone rang, startling all of them. Lawrence answered the kitchen extension then smiled. “We were just talking about you. Dora’s been worried sick. Are you all right?” He looked a bit surprised as he listened. “Hang in there. I’ll give you to Dora.” He held out the phone to her. “Blake stayed overnight at an exclusive little boarding house called the Los Angeles County Jail. I believe he wants you to bail him out.”
Dora gleefully took the phone, then walked as far into the hall as the cord would allow for some privacy.
“She really is in love, isn’t she?” asked Josie.
“I think so,” said Lawrence. “I’m glad to see her so happy. True love is hard to find in the best of circumstances. It’s almost impossible in Hollywood.”
There was something so wistful in his tone, that even Grant picked up on it. “Don’t give up hope for yourself. If I can have my own happily ever after, surely you’re next.”
Dora hung up the phone, grinning. “Lawrence, I don’t suppose you have bail money.”
“I always keep some on hand for occasions such as this. What happened last night?”
“I guess they really got into it. At first it was just some smashed windows, but once the Hitler Youth came outside it turned into a full-out brawl. There were weapons on both sides, then the cops arrived and it was a free-for-all. There were ambulances, fire trucks and paddy wagons to haul everyone off to jail, which was where Blake was all night. It took him this long to get processed. I don’t want to keep him waiting, so I’ll get dressed, grab bail money and be on my way.” She kissed Lawrence on the cheek. “Thanks, love.”
As Dora left the room, David poured more coffee for everyone. “Grant, you should also know we were invited to a house party near Malibu.” He filled his friend in on the details. “From what Josie knows of this place, I think we should go.”
“It sounds dangerous. I’ll come with you.”
Josie blew on her coffee. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. They’ll be too careful if a federal agent is there. The only way we’re going to learn anything is if they don’t think we’re a threat. Greta is already suspicious of me. I’m pretty sure she’d clam up altogether if you were there.”
The phone rang again. “I wonder who else needs bail money,” said Lawrence before answering. After a moment, he handed it to Grant. “It’s your office.”
“Barker,” said Grant as he took the call. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. What?” He looked at his friends. “What’s the address?” He motioned for someone to hand him pen and paper, then wrote down an address. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. And Whiteley, I’ll have a couple consultants with me. One of them’s a woman... No, she can’t bring you coffee! We’ll be there within the hour.” He hung up. “One of our undercover agents has been murdered, a gal named Wilma Medway. But you knew her by a different name, Caroline Armitage.”
“The radical communist?” asked David.
“The apparently fake radical communist who was inciting everyone to riot,” said Lawrence. “Did you know who she was when we were talking about her, Grant?”
“Nope. I only recently started learning about the L.A. counter-intelligence operation. I assumed we had someone undercover but didn’t know the name until just now.”
“How was she killed?” asked Lawrence.
“Shot in her home. It looks like a professional job, too. David, Josie, I thought you’d like to come with me in case your Twenty-First Century imaginations can see anything I can’t. Lawrence, I think you should find Dora and Blake as soon as possible.”
“Do you think they’re in danger?”
“Could be. All I know is someone has murdered the leader of your political group, and I think all of you should watch your backs.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
An hour later, Josie and David were walking behind Grant as he strode toward the entrance of a slightly shabby Queen Anne Victorian which had been converted into apartments in the Bunker Hill section of downtown. Until sometime the previous night, it had been Agent Medway’s safe house.
“This neighborhood is a lot more rundown than the last time I was in Los Angeles,” said David quietly, as Grant talked to the Los Angeles police detective in charge of the homicide investigation. It didn’t appear as if the man was anxious to cede his authority to the FBI.
Josie looked at the houses on the block. “This neighborhood didn’t even exist when I lived in L.A. It was torn down to make way for a modern downtown. The funicular is still here, but not much else survived. Not even the hill.”
“Why did they tear down a hill?”
“My theory is money was involved. Where are we in comparison to last night?”
David took a look around, then pointed east. “The German American League hall is about a dozen blocks in that direction.”
“What about the jail?”
“If memory serves…”
“What do you mean ‘if memory serves?’ Were you ever an inmate at the L.A. County Jail? David Remington, you’re a man of many secrets.”
“No, I’m only a man with a good memory for American cities. I was here in ’26, because I’d heard that motion picture sound was being developed. I thought it might be a good investment.”
“Did you invest?”
“Nope.”
“Ohhh, that was a mistake.”
“Yes, I believe it might’ve been. One of the studio guys gave me a tour of the city, i
ncluding downtown.”
“And the jail?”
“Any good bootlegger is at least somewhat aware of the locations of various jails and prisons. Fortunately, I only saw the L.A. jail as we drove by. But if memory serves it’s about ten blocks northwest of here.”
Josie looked in the direction of the hall, then the jail. “I guess it would’ve been possible for Caroline, I mean, Agent Medway, to evade the riot police. She easily could’ve run through the back streets and wound up here.”
“I’m assuming they didn’t arrest her because she was undercover.”
“But that’s what’s so weird about this. It would’ve made more sense if they had arrested her since it would’ve been better for her cover.”
“Josie is right,” said Grant, as he joined them. “The best way to convince others that she was who she said she was would’ve been to go to jail with the rest of them. Detective Pain in the Butt over there said the LAPD arrested hundreds of people last night. It would’ve made sense for Agent Medway to spend the night with the rest of them. You can learn a lot in one overnight stint in jail.”
“What was she trying to learn?” asked Josie.
“I haven’t been briefed on the case yet, but I presume she wanted to know just how serious the communist threat is and how far-reaching.”
“From what Lawrence and Dora said, she was the main agitator,” said Josie. “It seems like she was egging them on to incriminate people.”
“You’re catching on,” said Grant with a smile of approval and a gentle punch in the arm. “Modern law enforcement at its best.”
“We call that entrapment in my day.”
“Tomato, to-mah-to. Detective Endless Complainer is only giving us ten minutes to see the body, so we’d better get in there. One more thing, I had to tell him David’s a specialist from Washington to get access.”
The Tinseltown Murderer Page 11