by George Baxt
“He molested once too often “
“Yes?” There was a charming lilt when she spoke the word. She dropped two lumps of sugar into her husband's coffee and passed him the cup and saucer.
“He's being accused of statuary rape. His own gardeners daughter, can you believe it?”
“Believe it? I can't wait to phone Edna Purviance and tell her.”
“I thought you had lunch with her today.”
“She canceled “
“You mean at last she got an offer to do a movie?”
“Nothing that lucky. She was auditioning chauffeurs.”
“Since when does she need a chauffeur?”
“She doesn't I had lunch with Helen Roland instead. What's this about another actress murdered at Alex's studio?”
'That one we met in New York, that Fairweather woman “
Frances made a face “Poor Alex. What a run of bad luck.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. Do you think he could murder anybody?”
“He hasn't got the sensitivity “ She sat up straight “Now really, Sam, you don't think Alex could possibly kill anyone, let alone his own actresses.”
‘Who knows? That first one that was killed, that Leddy girl, he was sleeping with her. You know that. Helen Roland is one of your best friends. She always tells you who Alex is sleeping with.”
Frances was thinking with amusement, she also tells me who you're sleeping with, but let sleeping dogs lie. She said, ’The poor thing. She was just a baby.1'
“So Annamary Darling is taking her place in the picture.”
“Helen told me that too.”
“Not at lunch' That decision wasn't made until after lunch, I know, because Jason Cutts, Sophie Gang’s spy at Diamond, didn't phone her until—”
“All right, Sam. All right, Helen phoned me to tell me.”
“With all the phoning that goes on around this place, I should buy stock in the company.”
“Sam, you already own stock in the phone company “
“I do? You see how smart I am?”
Frances set her cup and saucer aside “Sam, have you had a chance to talk to Alex?”
“What for? I don't need anything from him.”
“I think there’s something terribly sinister going on at Diamond “
“I'm sure the police agree with you.”
“It's not just the how of these murders. But the why. On the surface, they seem so pointless. Like the murders of Dolly Lovelace and her father “
“He wasn't her father. He was her husband.”
“You're joking “
“Frances, you should know by now that the only time I joke is when I'm serious. Didn't you read the paper today? It was there in black and wide “
“I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. I was saving it for later, for when you're snoring “ She crossed to the fireplace and positioned herself with one hand on the mantel. “Do you think the four murders have a connection?”
“Everybody in this town has a connection.” He exhaled smoke “You're suspecting something?”
“I don't know. Woman’s intuition.”
“Women shouldn't spend so much time on their tuition. Listen. Tell me the truth. Why does Helen Roland want to go back into pictures? I think she'll have a tough time in talkers. She's too soft.”
“Helen's stronger than you think. She wants to work again because she's bored “
“She should get herself a boyfriend.”
'That doesn’t interest her.”
“Maybe she killed Alicia Leddy.”
“She didn't mention it.”
In Alexander Roland's office, Jim Mallory referred to his notes as he spoke “It's much like Mrs. Roland told us. Graze received a box of biscuits in the mail.”
“Home-baked?”
“Homicide didn’t say.”
“What's the difference?” asked Hazel Dickson.
“It's not so easy putting poison in packaged goods.”
“Why not, Herb? Supposing it's those Hydrox cookies, the chocolate ones with the white cream in between. You can pry one side up, poison the filling, and then press it back together again “ She folded her arms. “That's the way I eat them.”
“With poison inside?”
“Oh, so's your old man! I eat a biscuit, lick the cream, then eat the second biscuit.” Helen Roland was cringing. “They last longer that way.”
Villon said, “Go on, Jim.”
Mallory went on. “She told Homicide she ate one herself and fed a couple to her parrot to shut her up. Seems the parrot always put up a squawk when she saw Graze eating “
“It must have been a pretty fat parrot,” commented Villon.
“Homicide didn't say.”
Villon was hungry. He wondered for the umpteenth time why he ever chose to become a police officer “Did Graze know who sent the package?”
“She didn't know It was nicely wrapped for Christmas, with a ribbon and seals.”
“Poisoned cookies for Christmas,” said Hazel “It’s the thought that counts.”
“Quiet, Hazel. So being Bertha Graze, a pig, a glutton, she gets an anonymous package of cookies and rips into them without giving a damn if they might have been doctored. When it's Bertha Graze, that makes sense. What about the postmark?”
“Downtown LA.”
“That’s a dead end “
“Graze’s stomach was pumped and the result was analyzed. Cyanide.”
“Not very original,” commented Hazel.
“But can be very effective,” said Villon ‘Try it some time.”
'They do an autopsy on the parrot, or had Bertha eaten it?”
“Also cyanide. Bertha had it stuffed and mounted. It’s in her bedroom. Please don’t ask me to verify that.”
“What kind of an investigation was done? What about forensics?”
'The only prints on the box were Bertha's. She was kept in the hospital for a couple of nights but then she insisted on being discharged Once she got home, she stopped being cooperative with Homicide. They kept at it for a while but then decided to file it away until the next attempt on her life. If any more have happened, they haven’t heard about it.”
“Maybe she's hired a food taster,” suggested Hazel “And talking about food. I'd sure like to taste some.”
Helen Roland could tell there was something on her husband's mind, and it wasn't food. “What's wrong, Alex?”
Roland spoke to Villon. “Mr Villon, the way you were questioning Jack Darling. Do you think he murdered Alicia Leddy?”
“He's a suspect”
“But why would he want to kill her?”
“Mr Roland, I have only one theory about the reason for both murders because it seems to be the only one that makes sense. Whoever committed these murders had nothing personal against the victims.”
“How terrible!” said Helen Roland “How perfectly terrible!” She asked Hazel, “Don't you agree?”
“Perfectly terrible,” said Hazel, thinking of the barren state of her stomach
“Then this is the work of a maniac,” said Roland. “He could be planning to kill more people.”
“Yes, she might.”
“You think it's a woman?”
“Not necessarily,” said Villon, “I was just trying to tell you there's an alternative. You suggested it's a man responsible, I'm just saying it could also be a woman.”
Roland leaned forward. “I assume it's a man because what woman would have the strength to carry Fairweather up into the flies?“
“Marie Dressier,” suggested Hazel
“She's at Metro,” countered Roland.
“Marie Darling,” suggested Villon.
Roland exhaled smoke. “Marie's a killer, Mr. Villon, but I don't think she could kill.”
“Why not? She could very easily have killed Dolly Lovelace and her husband. Killing Dolly must have been a cinch. She was drunk and on drugs at the time. Marie could have fed her a poisoned biscuit and then burnt her m
outh with acid. I haven't questioned her gardener yet.”
“Assuming she has one,” interjected Hazel.
“They have one,” said Mallory. “We've checked.”
“And there's all varieties of acid in the gardeners shed,” said Villon. “As for Mr Lovelace, she denied knowing where he lives but Annamary contradicted her. Some kid who lives near Lovelaces place says he saw a sissy man leaving it. I place that immediately after his murder. Sissy man could mean a woman dressed as a man, there's a lot of that going on in this town.”
“And vice versa,” contributed Hazel.
“Marie had a good motive for killing the two of them, to prevent the scandal of Dolly's bigamy “
“But that's out in the open now,” said Helen Roland
“Too bad it couldn't have been revealed before the murders. The Lovelaces might still be alive.”
“Mr. Villon,” asked Roland, “what do you think is going to happen next?”
“Maybe we should phone Bertha Graze and ask her if she knows.”
“She couldn't have done these killings. I mean how could she have gone undetected?” Roland asked with agitation.
“Disguised as a zeppelin,” suggested Hazel
“You're very tired, Hazel,” said Villon.
“I’m very hungry and you promised me dinner.”
Helen Roland said to her husband, “How about it, Alex? Dinner at a restaurant or do we go home and raid the icebox?”
“No, let's go to Franco's. I'd like to hear some music after a day like this.”
Half an hour later, Villon, Hazel, and Mallory were seated in a booth in a Chinese restaurant. After ordering drinks and dinner, Hazel said to Villon, who she recognized was wrapped in his own thoughts, “I'm no cheapskate, Herb. A nickel for them.”
“I was just wondering Fairweather's body comes hurtling down from the flies. It just misses hitting Rita Gerber. Jack Darling says he was there and heard someone yell, ’Here she comes now.' You know, we've never looked to see exactly where from the flies did the body drop.”
Hazel groaned. “What difference does it make as long as it made it to the bottom?”
“With a whooshing noise,” said Villon.
“How do you know?” Hazel's skepticism was legendary. “You weren't there.”
Villon said, “That's what Jack Darling said. He said he heard this whooshing noise as the body fell, barely missing Rita Gerber.” The waiter brought their drinks and a bowl of Oysterettes. Mallory was the first to nibble “I wonder if it's possible …” He had their rapt attention. “If it's possible to have propped up Fairweather's body in such a way that it might start slipping into space very gradually, giving the killer time to get back down to the set and establish an alibi.”
“I am not going anywhere until I have eaten,” said Hazel sharply “You two can go back to soundstage five and poke around, but I'm eating first!”
Mallory joined the rebellion. “I'm paralyzed with hunger, Herb Let's eat.”
“Oh, I’m in no rush to get back there. It can wait. I don't like keeping the murderer in a state of anxiety.”
“Meaning what?” asked Hazel while ravenously watching the waiter place bowls of steaming food on the table.
“I have an idea the killer knows I'm on to him. And he also knows I can't prove a damn thing. I haven't one shred of useful evidence that I can use against him .”
Hazel was digging into her plate of food with chopsticks. “You think you can scare him into confessing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, sweetheart, I hope you're right. He's killed four times but they can only hang him once.”
“He didn't kill the Lovelaces.” With which bombshell, he attacked his egg foo young with relish.
FIFTEEN
In a secluded booth in Franco's restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard, Helen Roland studied her husband's tired face. They had eaten mostly in silence, and now over coffee and brandies, Roland having lit a cigar, Helen said, “I'm beginning to wonder if making a comeback in a talker is such a good idea
“Helen, I wish the talkers had never been invented. But they're here and they're here to stay. In the past year of struggling to retool from silents to talkers, to adjust so painfully to a new medium, to participate willingly, but often unwittingly, in the destruction of careers, lives, marriages, God knows what, I'm beginning to come to a serious realization—it's not worth it.”
She put her hand over his and said intensely, “Let's get out, Alex. Let's go to Europe and start a new life. Look at Pearl White. She’s living like an empress in the south of France. Rex Ingram and Alice Terry swear they'll never come back from France It's so much cheaper to live there.”
“Helen, I'm almost broke.”
“But I'm not.”
“Please …”
“Please, my eye. I appreciate your pride but in your case it positively goeth before the fall. I've made millions. I own two city blocks in downtown LA.!”
Roland's eyes widened. “Since when?”
“Since long before I married you. It's all money I can't possibly spend it in my lifetime. We haven't any children, I haven't any family. All I have is you.”
“You've been shortchanged.”
“Well, Alex, our marriage hasn't been as good as others. But still, it hasn't been as bad as most “
“You still love me? Maybe a little bit?”
She smiled and said, “It depends on the weather”
Roland emitted a sigh that weighed a ton “I don't think I’ll ever get out from under. I'm in so deep, I don't know how to get out. That’s the truth, Helen, ! don't know how to get out.”
“Why don't you talk to Sam Goldwyn? He can get out of anything. He's a good friend. He'll help you.”
“I suppose you've already discussed this with Frances?”
“She suggested it. Who else can you turn to? Your lawyers? Your accountants? Those monsters in the New York office? You know they're waiting to pounce and tear you to shreds. I mean really, Alex, where are your friends?”
“Most of my friends are either dead or disorganized.” He took a sip of brandy. “Exile. Like Napoleon.”
“Napoleon didn’t have indoor plumbing. Think Alex, think. We could find each other again, fall in love all over again “ Her face was shining the way he remembered it shining in the days when he was first pursuing her.
“You think we could bring back what we once had? You think it's that easy?”
“It won't be easy. But we could have one hell of a good time while we work at it. I've never been to Greece.”
“Who needs it?”
“And Egypt I've always dreamed of taking a cruise up the Nile.”
“There's a lot of disease and poverty in Egypt. There's also crocodiles”
“The crocodiles are more dangerous in Hollywood.”
He was now clasping her hand tightly, having set the cigar in an ashtray. “You really don’t want to do this picture for Schenck?”
She replied sincerely, “I really don't. I only agreed to do it out of boredom and loneliness. I thought you didn't love me anymore.“
“I'll always love you. It's getting old I don't love. That's why those dumb affairs. Ah, hell What damn fools we are, men like me.“ He searched her face. “Do you still love me a little bit?”
“Enough to fight for you “
He kissed her hand, gently and tenderly. “Helen, I have to warn you, the worst is yet to come.'1
“What do you mean? More murders?”
“I don't know about murders But I have the feeling the past is about to catch up with me, and when it does, it's going to do its worst “
“Alex, whatever it is, we'll be there facing it together “
“I love you, Helen. And nobody wrote those words for me.”
“You're not going to leave me down here by myself!” Hazel Dickson ended the sentence on the edge of a shriek.
“Come along, if you like,” said Villon affably. “It's a long climb up.”
Hazel hurried after Villon and Mallory.
The soundstage was still awash with light. Technicians and other personnel were working at fever pitch preparing for the next day's shooting. Jason Cutts had been reached at his home by a New York agent who informed him that Norma Terris and Howard Marsh, the original Magnolia and Gaylord Ravenal of Florenz Ziegfeld's production of Show Boat, were available to replace Lotus Fairweather and Donald Carewe in Daughter of the Casbah. Jason had phoned Roland at home after he and Helen returned from dinner at Franco's. Roland okayed the casting with alacrity, and the two replacements were routed to the West Coast. They’d be there in four days.
Helen Roland wore a happy smile for her husband when he told her the news. She had never heard of the actors, but then, she was not alone; few people west of New York had heard of them. She heard Alex say, “At least I won't have to scrap the picture. It'll cost less to finish it than to scrap it. At least we can hope for some decent reviews and maybe enough people will buy enough tickets to help us break even. I don't believe your smile .”
“I'm happy for you, Alex.” It took all her gifts as an actress to make the words sound heartfelt.
“Sweetheart, I'm not going back on my promise. I'm getting out of the studio. We'll leave this lousy town. But when I leave, I want to leave holding my head up high “
“You're right. It's got to be that way “
“I don't want to go down in defeat the way old man Selznick did. I haven't two sons like his David and Myron to swear revenge for what was done to their father. I want to leave clean and with maybe a little respect.”
“You're darn right The south of France will always be there. In the meantime …”
’You want to do the picture for Joe Schenck.”
“Please don't mind, Alex It'll give me something to do.”
“Yes. Yes. It's not fair to you. Go ahead with it. And sweetheart, you'll be terrific.” The thought of her being “terrific” frightened him. She had convinced him he must get out of the movie business now. But what if she had an amazing success? What if she was elevated to a new height from which she had no intention of descending?
“What is it, dear? What’s wrong?”
He took her in his arms and embraced her tightly. “Sweetheart, my sweet Helen. Promise me. Promise me. Whatever happens, we get out of here. We get the hell out of here.”