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

by George Baxt

  “After your display of knowledge tonight,” said Arnold, “I think if you want to, you could hold your own with them.”

  “Don’t let me kid you, I do hold my own. After all. I’m Garbo. They aren’t. But Garbo is a façade created by Hollywood. Behind that façade, as I’m sure you have guessed, hides a very frightened little girl. But enough of this.” She paused to light a new cigarette. “Arnold, Herbert, I’m going to say something that you’re going to think, quite possibly, is very silly. It’s very melodramatic, something that belongs in a film starring Basil Rathbone.”

  “Let’s hear it,” said Arnold.

  “I think the person who gives Albert Guiss his instructions is here, here in Los Angeles. I really believe such a person exists, and we probably have met this person. This person is much more powerful than Guiss, and therefore much more dangerous. What do you think? Is it logical or is it foolish melodrama?”

  Arnold Lake said, “I think you’re right on the nose again, Greta.” She clapped her hands. “Well then, I think it’s up to me to find and unmask this mysterious creature.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m pretty sure I can do it. Don’t try to discourage me. It’s an incentive to do something for my country. Oh yes, it’s my country. I shall become a citizen.” She smiled sweetly, “And when I do, I hope you’ll be there as my witnesses.” She clapped her hands again. “And then well go to some quiet saloon near the courthouse and get pleasantly drunk and maybe reveal secrets about ourselves to each other that are better left … ah well. What are secrets really? They are so unimportant. Do I sound foolish?”

  Villon spoke from his heart. “You sound wonderful. And I love you.”

  “Of course,” said Garbo, “of course.”

  EIGHTEEN

  In less than a week, the unsolved murders were consigned to near limbo by the press. The war reclaimed the headlines. The Joan the Magnificent company was working at full speed. Von Stroheim astonished everyone, especially Guiss, with his accelerated energies. It was almost at a point where the set builders couldn’t keep up with him. He shouted less and was politer when he demanded something. He wasn’t subtle about his feelings for Alysia Hoffman, and no one was too surprised when he elevated her to the featured role of one of the Dauphin’s courtesans. No longer was she in danger of being beheaded as one of Joan’s fellow prisoners. There was doubt, anyway, in the research department, that any form of guillotine existed as yet; otherwise, why not lop Joan’s head off instead of burning her at the stake?

  Garbo was pleased for Alysia and told her so. “Are you in love with Von?”

  Alysia didn’t commit herself. “He’s been nice to me. He’s separated from his wife. He adores his son. He doesn’t seem to have many friends and I have a very good time with him. Is this wrong?”

  “Of course not,” Garbo reassured her, “as long as you recognize that Von is not a man given to permanent commitments. He had a number of mistresses when he worked in France and believe me. I’m not being catty if I warn you there might be some competition of yours in the vicinity.”

  Alysia laughed. “That doesn’t bother me. I live only for the day.”

  “How wise. Just as I do.”

  Martin Gruber materialized. He was carrying a large florist’s box. Lottie Lynton sniffed and said, “More flowers.”

  “From Mr. Guiss of course,” said Gruber with a small smile. Garbo said to Alysia, “He inundates me with flowers. I send them to local hospitals. What has come over him?”

  “Oh you’re very funny, Greta. This past week you’ve gone off with him after the day’s shooting at least three times that I know of.” Garbo assumed a haughty air. “You mustn’t count, Alysia. It’s bad luck.” She said to Gruber, “The snapshots were excellent, Martin. You’re a very good photographer.”

  Alysia said, “Didn’t Von want to know where he could buy one of those cameras?”

  “That’s right, Martin asked me. But I’m totally in the dark. I haven’t the vaguest idea if they’re available in this country.” Gruber said, “I’ve made some inquiries. I canvassed some camera shops. They offer no hope. It seems to be of a kind not available here.”

  Alysia said, “Maybe it’s one of a kind.”

  Garbo was at the dressing table, lightening her eye shadow. “Wouldn't that be unusual? Surely it is unprofitable just to manufacture one camera, one teeny teeny camera. Imagine if General Electric manufactured only one refrigerator, or one toaster. Hal There would be economic chaos. You know, I was thinking of offering the camera to Erich as a gift when the picture finishes, but now I can’t find it. Lottie and I hunted high and low for it, but we can’t find it.” Lottie said from the kitchenette, “Well I don’t recall ever seeing the damn thing in the house. Are you sure Mr. Gruber gave it back to you?”

  “I’m very sure,” said Garbo.

  “I remember returning it,” said Gruber. “Lisa was there when I gave it to you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Martin. It doesn’t matter. I have plenty of other cameras and this one will turn up again. I’m always misplacing things and then find them days later. Martin, tell Mr. Guiss I will thank him in person for the flowers. Later.”

  Martin left and Alysia watched Lottie arranging the long-stemmed roses in a vase. The others didn’t notice her arcane expression.

  Sam Goldwyn was listening to Sophie Gang’s litany of memos.

  “Mrs. Goldwyn called and said she’s received a cash donation for her children’s relief society. It’s a large sum but there was no card or anything and she doesn’t know who to thank.”

  “So why should she bother? It’s a synonymous donation.”

  “I gave Mr. Guiss your budget for Up in Arms, and he said he’ll let you know in a few days if he’s interested in investing.”

  “The hell with him. Who needs his money? You know I always do my own financing. Go get the budget back.”

  Sophie was aghast. “I can’t do that. That would be impolite.”

  “I don’t like that man anyway. There’s something wrong with him. He never eats in the dining room with the rest of us pheasants. Who does he think he is? Hitler? The bum.”

  Sophie cast a “Heaven help us” glance at the ceiling and returned to her notes. “New York called. They’re sending us a very interesting set of galleys. A book Random House is publishing next fall. They’re very high on it.”

  “So what’s it about?” He bit off the end of a cigar.

  “It’s about euthanasia.”

  “Oh for heaven’s seven, Sophie. Why would I want to do a picture about Chinese teenagers?”

  Werner Lieb was in Guiss’s office in the studio with Henkel and Risa Barron. Guiss was exuberant about the picture’s progress and said, “Von Stroheim is really doing an extraordinary job. It’s a vast improvement on those first awful days.”

  Risa said, as she fingered her necklace of lapus lazuli, “Alysia Hoffman has had a tonic effect on him. Now she has a bigger role. Greta better look out. Soon Hoffman might be playing Joan. Don’t make such a face, Henkel.”

  “She doesn’t have it in her to be Joan. What are those pictures you’re looking at, Werner?”

  Lieb removed the monocle from his eye, blew breath on it, and then polished it with a handkerchief. “These are pictures of the set taken by Martin with a very strange, very unique camera.” He told them about his incident with Martin and the camera earlier that week, in fact the day Kriegman was murdered.

  “So these are the photographs he took?” said Guiss. “He gave you this set?”

  “Yes he did. He promised I’d have a look, I found the camera so unique. He said he took them at Greta’s request.”

  “That’s right,” said Guiss. “She showed them to me. They’re quite good.”

  Werner Lieb agreed. “They’re excellent.” He handed the set to Risa, who wasn’t very interested in the pictures and passed them on to Henkel. Lieb continued, “Kriegman was murdered on the fourteenth. The developers always date the film on the back. Turn
one over, Henkel. What’s the date?”

  “The sixteenth.”

  ‘‘Yes. So these are not the snapshots from the film in the camera when I spoke to Martin in the hallway. These films were shot at a later date. So what he had on the film in the camera was obviously something entirely different.”

  Henkel asked, “You think he used the camera to photograph something else?”

  Lieb said, “Am I the only one among us who has noticed that Martin and Lisa appear to be very very friendly?”

  “Well, what’s wrong with that?” asked Risa. “She’s young and pretty and he’s young and handsome. How did they used to say in silent pictures, ‘Youth calls to youth?’ ”

  Lieb continued. “Peter Lorre thought she was the woman on the beach the night we were spied on.”

  “So?” questioned Guiss. “He just as quickly said he was mistaken.”

  “Much too quickly,” said Lieb. “Supposing she really was that woman. And they got to Lorre in order to protect her. His eyesight is damned good.”

  “He’s on dope, Werner,” said Risa wearily. She was bored with actors. She was bored with film making. She wanted to be in Brazil, in Rio, where most of her friends had decamped to. Where they were living high on the hog. She was bored with international intrigue. She was tired of looking over her shoulder to see if she was being followed. And she was bored with the men in this room and their constant presence.

  Lieb spoke calmly, coolly and with authority. “I think Lisa Schmidt was that woman on the beach. I think Martin Gruber was given that sophisticated camera to photograph Kriegman because Greta suspected he was Wolheim. Gruber got his photograph and Garbo made a positive identification and so Kriegman was eliminated.”

  Guiss leaned on the desk with his elbows and made a pyramid of his fingers. “Why would they eliminate him? Why not arrest him? The sensible thing would be for the federals to take him into custody and interrogate him mercilessly. You know, the way we’ve seen Edward G. Robinson do it. It makes no sense that they killed Kriegman and Hannah Baum. It makes no sense at all. It’s totally illogical.”

  Risa Barron had a new cigarette holder. It was decorated with tiny chips of valuable gems. She took a puff, a long and languorous one, exhaled, and then said matter-of-factly, “Now Greta is a threat to the others.” She was enjoying the look of annoyance on Guiss’s face. “She can identify Agathe and the three boys. If Agathe is arrested, I think she’ll go over to the other side to save her neck. Kriegman’s murder didn’t do much to improve her shaky morale.” She chuckled. “The smallest sounds make her jump with fear. Do you know, just this morning she likened the clatter of the lawn mower to a machine-gun attack. Can you imagine that? And Albert, why do we need so many gardeners? They’re all over the place. It’s impossible to stroll the grounds without one of them popping out from behind a tree or a bush to scare the hell out of me. But I must say the pool crew are so young and attractive. Don’t you agree, Albert? Greta is a threat to our security?”

  “If she ever was, she no longer is.”

  “You sound so positive,” said Risa.

  “I have reason to believe Greta regrets having cooperated with the authorities. You know how she treasures her privacy. Since finding Kriegman’s body, her life has been hell. She is besieged by reporters and cameramen at her beach house. You’ve seen them yourselves at the entrance to the studio, lying in ambush for her. Now she’s impatient to complete the film and leave Hollywood.”

  “To go where?”

  They had been strolling the castle grounds a few nights earlier, Garbo with her arms folded, a sweater around her shoulders to fend off the night chill, Guiss with his arm around her shoulder. Of late when he made that move she didn’t shrug it away. It was obvious to her he was in love with her. She recognized the signs. She was still a master at the art of creating lovers. She said huskily, “There is an unhealthy atmosphere here in Hollywood. It’s not just the war, it’s the industry' itself. The Jews have a stranglehold on the industry. Mayer, the Warner brothers, Sam Goldwyn. Now there’s this influx of Jews from Europe and they too have become infected with this need, this sick desire for power. I don’t like it. I have to get away.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I’m giving that some thought. For a while I’m thinking of relocating to New York City. There I’ll wait for the war to end. Then I will go to Switzerland. Salka has a house there in Gstaad.”

  “And Salka is one Jew who does not seek power?” He had removed his hand from her shoulder and was lighting a cigarette. “Have you never known a Jew you liked?”

  “I’ve never had much traffic with them.”

  “You’re pulling my leg!”

  “I wish I was.”

  “Be serious. You haven’t dealt with Jewish financiers? How could you avoid that, you silly man.”

  Guiss’s face froze. “I am not a silly man. Those who I deal with in finances mean nothing to me. I don’t care what their origins are, only the financial condition of their empires. I learned long ago to be emotional about nothing. I’m a tough trader, Greta, and that’s because socially I keep those in power at arm’s length. Yes, I have a drink with them, of necessity I dine with them, there have been occasions when I took trips with them, but I have a strict rule: never become intimate with them.”

  She laughed. “You’re so contradictory. Here I am, alone with you under the stars, in a garden that is heavenly scented, gloriously scented, you have had your arm around me, this is not intimate?”

  “This is not a business transaction. This is a man and a woman,” he took her hand and kissed it, and then he whispered, “I want to give you the world, Greta.”

  “I don’t want the world,” she said impatiendy. “It is much too much to manage. And besides, to offer me the world now is to offer me damaged goods. If the world was mine I’d be responsible for repairing and reconstructing all the ruined cities, the ruined nations. What an appalling thought.”

  “I will make you the queen of the European film industry.”

  “Ah, now you are diminishing your offer. First you offer me the world, and now you narrow your offer down to Europe.” She decided the time was right to take the plunge. ‘Tell me the truth, Albert. You’re a friend of Hitler’s, aren’t you?” They were standing in the shadow of a gazebo. There was little light from the stars and the crescent moon. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but from his intake of breath, she knew she had struck a nerve. “I need to know, Albert. It’s important to my future.”

  “Why?” The manner in which he spoke the word gave her no clue as to his feelings.

  “I’ll tell you why and you will respect this confidence, as I certainly will respect yours. Before the war. Hitler made me an offer through his embassy here to return to Germany and make films there. He promised me the run of the UFA studios. Magnificent real estate. I hope the Allies don’t bomb it into oblivion. I think of some day owning it. I turned the offer down because not only did I then think it was presumptuous, but because my career was on an upturn thanks to the success of Ninotchka. ”

  “You were surrounded by Jews on that one.”

  “Very gifted ones—Lubitsch, Billy Wilder, Melvyn Douglas.”

  “Ina Claire?”

  “Good God no, she’s a shicksa. A very wicked woman. Did you know she married my John Gilbert after I stood him up at the altar? Never mind, it’s not important. It’s ancient history and I am not a historian. What I have been doing of late, Albert, is a lot of thinking about myself and my future as an actress. If there is a future for me, it’s no longer in this country. It will have to be in Europe. I speak many languages. My native Swedish, French, my Spanish is not bad, and I’m very fluent in German. If you have a direct line to Hitler, and his offer is still open, then I am interested.”

  “Bravo! Bravo Greta!” He took her in his arms and kissed her with a fervent passion that took her by surprise. She struggled for air.

  “Why Albert, your ardor is such a rev
elation!”

  “I’m insane about you!”

  “Oh don’t be insane, insanity is so difficult for me to cope with. I always thought my father was insane and he was such a brute.” He continued holding her in his arms, strafing her ears with words she was anxious to repeat to Villon and Arnold. “Bravo, not because you are ready to return to the Fatherland, but Bravo because your words fill me with confidence, that you feel sure we will win the war …

  Fatherland. We will win the war. And yet why do I not struggle out of his arms? Why? Because I’m a good soldier. I am also a spy, and if I must say so myself, a damned good one.

  “… that we will prevail,” continued Guiss without pausing to take a breath, “Greta, Greta, my enchanting Greta, my exquisite jewel, when all this is finished, marry me, oh my darling, marry me.”

  “When all what is finished? You mean the picture? Surely there will be retakes.”

  He released her. She patted some stray hairs back into place. “You’re jesting,” he said. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “The thought of marriage usually disturbs me. I am not a person to be bound by a ring and a piece of paper. If we must, we will talk about it some other time. I’m sorry, Albert. Marriage has never been for me and I don’t think it ever will be. So if our relationship is predicated on that, then perhaps we should both forget this conversation, try to make believe it never took place.”

  He watched her as she strolled away from him. His words brought her to a halt. “I will not forget this conversation. I love you too much. I will contact Goebbels and he will tell Adolf. I’m sure despite severe losses on the battlefields, they will be very pleased. Eva Braun is a great fan of yours.” Garbo shuddered. “I’m sure you girls will have a great deal to talk about when you meet.”