The Clark Gable and Carole Lombard Murder Case

by George Baxt

  “No it isn’t,” said Herb. “Mike, when did you last see Lydia Austin?”

  “That’s what Groucho just asked me. And the answer’s still the same. A couple of months ago. Imagine losing a broad to Groucho Marx?”

  “I know a guy who lost his to Jimmy Durante,” countered Herb.

  Mike chuckled. “What do these comics have that we seem to lack?” He said without an underlined ego, “I’ve got looks, money, and more connections than I need. And Lydia trades me in for Groucho.” He shrugged. “Whatever it is he’s got, Groucho should package it and market it. More power to him.” He sipped the liqueur. “What about these other johns who’ve gone up in smoke? The Japs? The three other guys? I’ve been thinking about it but I can’t come up with a connection between them and Lydia.”

  “I’m beginning to think there isn’t one,” said Villon.

  “You mean Lydia might be a copycat kidnapping?”

  “I’m sure it’s no publicity stunt. Oscar Levitt swore on his wife’s grave he didn’t engineer a stunt.”

  “Oscar’s wife is alive.”

  “I guess it was wishful thinking on Oscar’s part.”

  Mike Lynton put his drink aside and began toying with a square box that contained small pellets and a series of holes in which you were supposed to drop the pellets. He wasn’t very good at it.

  Villon asked, “Was Lydia in hock to you?”

  Lynton said, “Is she dead?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You asked was Lydia in hock to me, not is Lydia in hock to me. ‘Is’ says she’s alive. ‘Was’ says she isn’t.”

  “Sorry. As far as we can tell, we assume she’s alive.”

  “I hope so. She’s a good kid. And Oscar’s offering her a big chance. I’ve read the script. It’s a dog. He’s been trying to get me to invest in it. But it’s not for me.” He tossed the box aside and became interested in the liqueur again. Villon had been studying him closely as he always did when on an interrogation. He’d met Lynton before on several occasions, mostly social. Mostly when Hazel was covering a Hollywood party and if he was free, Herb went along for the food and drink, which was usually top drawer at Hollywood parties. The Basil Rathbones gave the most lavish ones, Ouida being a superb hostess. They knew everyone worth knowing but Herb never felt out of place. Despite the fact that he looked like one, Rathbone was not a snob. In fact he was quite democratic, and slept with both men and women. Back in 1934 on an American tour with Katharine Cornell’s company, he seduced a young actor named Tyrone Power, and now he was filming with Power in The Mark of Zorro. On the set, both behaved admirably although there were times during their sword fights that Rathbone thought Power was out to draw blood, despite the fact that their swords were tipped for safety’s sake.

  It was at a party of Ann Harding’s that Herb and Lynton started discussing hunting and Herb learned Lynton was a hunting partner of both Clark and Levitt. He thought he detected a note of distaste when Lynton discussed Levitt but then, though Levitt was normally a decent enough fellow, he could be a nuisance when raising money for his independent productions.

  Lynton asked Herb, “You ever go hunting?”

  “What do you think I’m doing now?”

  “I hope Lydia’s okay. I sure hope she’s okay. There’s been no ransom note?”

  “None.”

  “That’s not good. Snatches are instigated for money. Who would pay for Lydia’s release? She has no money. She has some good jewelry I gave her but in the big time what she’s got is penny ante. Her family’s dirt poor. They couldn’t help.”

  “There’s you. There’s Groucho.”

  “And there’s a small hotel,” said Mallory.

  Mike Lynton asked, “What about her housemates? Weren’t they any help at all?”

  Jim Mallory’s eyes took on a romantic glaze as in his mind he flashed back to the three beauties who shared a house with Lydia Austin. These were Carole’s discoveries, three of the four girls she thought could make it in pictures. And when Jim and Herb questioned them that sunny morning last week, they were impressed not only with their beauty but with their intelligence.

  Mala Anouk had elected to serve tea to the detectives, a special jasmine tea sent by her mother. Herb was surprised that Eskimos drank tea or even were aware of its existence. But Mala assured him tea was as important a staple in the far north as coffee and cocoa. Preparing the tea, Mala performed a ritual which Herb seemed to remember he’d seen performed a couple of years earlier when he was in San Francisco at a detectives’ convention. It was in a Japanese restaurant where geisha girls did the honors. Herb wasn’t too sure about geisha girls in San Francisco but the girls, geisha or ersatz, put on a dazzling performance.

  Mala’s performance that morning was equally dazzling, almost as dazzling as the girl herself. Herb could tell they were in for a long morning as each girl seemed determined to answer his questions at inordinate length. In response to when they had last seen Lydia, each girl indulged in a long-winded explanation. They’re actresses, Herb reminded himself. They’re always long-winded when they hold center stage. But first Herb told Mala he had seen a similar tea ritual before but hers was more impressive.

  “Oh thank you,” said Mala with a sweet politeness. “This was taught to me by my aunt Suki, who studied at a university in Tokyo. It is very rare for an Eskimo girl to attend university. I visited her there three years ago, the year before I won the beauty contest.” She said with pride, “I was chosen as Miss Arctic Circle of 1937, which is how I come to be in Hollywood. My prize was five hundred dollars in cash and a trip to Hollywood and a six-month contract with Monogram Pictures. So here I am. Would you gentlemen care for some blubber? I’ve got lots in the refrigerator.”

  “Does she ever,” commented Nana Lewis, the girl who was in line to inherit Lydia’s lead in Darkness in Hollywood.

  “Five hundred dollars,” echoed Herb Villon.

  “Oh yes,” said Mala cheerfully. “I counted it very carefully. Would you like biscuits with the tea? I have a box of Hydrox cookies.” Both detectives refused. Mala served the tea in dainty porcelain cups. She wore lounging pajamas that clung to her beautiful body provocatively. Nana Lewis sat in an easy chair, one leg crossed over the other, clutching a rubber ball in each hand with which she exercised. Nell Corday was poised in the center of the room holding a tennis racquet with which she returned a series of phantom serves. “I’m playing at Greta Garbo’s this afternoon, doubles with Charlie Chaplin and Paulette Goddard.”

  “An all-star game,” said Herb, having decided that as far as a career was concerned, Miss Corday was seriously on the make. Garbo, Chaplin, and Goddard were quite a coup for anybody in Hollywood, let alone a young actress.

  “Charlie promised me if he needs an actress for a young gamine in his next picture, he would test me.”

  Knowing Chaplin’s reputation and his taste for pubescent young ladies, Herb suspected that Nell had already been tested, with no film in the camera.

  Mala urged Nell, “Do your impersonation of Charlie!”

  Herb had a feeling getting any help from these young women as to what they knew about the missing Lydia might be a long-drawn-out process, and Herb was always pressed for time. He was about to suggest they could do without the impersonation but like most actresses on the make, Nell was walking jerkily around the room and twirling an imaginary cane. Jim Mallory was caught off guard by the performance and thought she might be having an epileptic fit. Mala clapped her hands enthusiastically, looking like a child being given a birthday gift. Nana Lewis was stifling a yawn, undoubtedly having suffered the routine a number of times earlier. She had the dubious distinction of having worked the previous week in a Three Stooges comedy, an ordeal as she was not partial to their knockabout antics.

  “More tea?” asked Mala, standing over Herb and Jim, her right hand raised and giving Mallory the uncomfortable feeling she was about to hurl an imaginary harpoon. The men refused. Jim recogniz
ed Herb’s impatience. Herb asked Mala to sit down, and from his tone of voice Mala knew he meant business, serious business.

  “Ladies,” Herb began, “I’m sure you understand kidnapping is a very serious business.”

  Nana Lewis said, “We certainly don’t think it’s a parlor game.”

  Herb countered, “That depends on the kind of parlor games you like to play.”

  “I don’t like parlor games period,” Nana said. “Why don’t I begin? I last saw Lydia in this room last Saturday night. She said she had a date but didn’t say with whom … or is it who?” Nobody answered her. “I thought it might be with Groucho Marx. In case you didn’t know, he’s her latest conquest.”

  Herb said, “I gather she piles up a lot of conquests.”

  “She is not promiscuous!” cried Mala, coming to Lydia’s defense.

  “Of course not,” said Nana Lewis dryly, “she is one of those who live by that old bromide ‘Variety is the spice of life.’”

  Herb said, “You stand to inherit her part in Oscar Levitt’s movie.”

  She leaned forward. “I can assure you, Mr. Villon, I didn’t arrange her disappearance.”

  “I’m not inferring you might have.”

  “If I don’t do that movie, there are plenty of other opportunities for me.”

  “I’m sure there are. For the three of you.”

  Mala said wistfully. “Oh how I long to play Lady Precious Stream, but no one plans to film it.” She didn’t seem to mind being ignored. Herb found himself wondering how she survived. Although Eskimo she could certainly play Orientals, but there weren’t too many of those roles available. Even the formidable Anna May Wong, who was a friend of his and Hazel’s was having difficulty getting parts, though while at the height of her career she had been wise enough to invest in a Chinatown apartment house that now gave her a comfortable income.

  Probably Carole provided all the girls with an allowance. Herb hoped her bank account was at least as large as her heart.

  “Miss Corday?”

  She cocked her head coyly. “Yes?”

  “Have you anything to tell me about Lydia?”

  “She dyes her hair.”

  “I’m looking for answers as to her disappearance. Are Nathan Taft, Elmer Rabb, or Oscar Nolan familiar to you?”

  “Nathan Taft is.” Herb wanted to cry ‘Bingo’ but restrained himself.

  “You knew him well?”

  “Not well at all. I just knew him. At least I think it’s the Nathan Taft I knew.”

  Nana Lewis said impatiently, “You recognized his picture in the newspapers.”

  “Now just hold on there! The guy in that picture was wearing a uniform and his hat hid part of his face.”

  Herb said, “Nathan Taft was a veteran. I prefer to assume you met him.”

  “I did meet him. I met him at a party for Pola Negri. She was back from making pictures in Germany.”

  “She worked for the Nazis?” asked Jim Mallory.

  “Listen,” said Nell Corday sternly, “when you’ve been on the skids the way Pola was for a couple of years, you grab any offer when it finally comes your way. I know Pola. We go to the same beauty parlor. You see, before she came to America back in the early twenties, she’d been a big star in Germany. The Europeans don’t have the kind of short memories we have in this country. In Germany Pola will always be a big star. She’d still be there but one of Hitler’s stooges was getting too friendly, so she lammed to France and from there came back here. She made good money in Germany and it was the stake she needed to try for a comeback here. Phillips Holmes was over there too, but a fat lot of good it did him. So he joined the Canadian Air Force.”

  “Wasn’t ours good enough?” asked Nana Lewis.

  “Oh belt up,” said Nell. She said to Herb, “Pola had met Nathan Taft in Germany. I think he was in the export and import business. He did a lot of business in Germany.” Jim Mallory was diligently taking notes. “And don’t ask me what he exported and imported. I’m sure he told me but that sort of thing just evaporates when I hear it, it just doesn’t interest me. And is this interesting you, Mr. Villon?”

  “I’m mesmerized. Go on.”

  “He asked if he could call me and I said by all means if you’ve got a telephone. I’m big at checking things out so I checked him out with Pola. She didn’t know him too well either. He seemed to be a friend of some minister or another. The Nazis are very big with ministers. Pola said what difference did it make anyway. He shleps back and forth on business trips so he’s got to have money. Pola only deals with the well heeled. Her Dun and Bradstreet is very heavily thumbed. So Mr. Taft invites me to dinner.”

  “Oooh, that magnificent car he was driving when he picked you up,” oohed Mala Anouk.

  “A Hispano-Suiza,” said Nell matter-of-factly, as though it was her due to be squired about in one of the fanciest and most expensive of European makes. Herb didn’t think they made them anymore but decided not to say it was probably an overhaul bought at a bargain price, like Miss Negri. “We had dinner at Romanoff’s.”

  “Did Prince Mike fall all over him?” asked Herb. Mike Romanoff, who owned the famous Hollywood eatery, insisted he was a Russian Romanoff and was Hollywood’s most famous inside joke. But he was popular with many stars, Humphrey Bogart being his biggest champion.

  “Romanoff greeted him in a friendly way, but there were no bugs or backslapping the way there usually are.”

  “You’ve been to Romanoff’s before.”

  “I’ve been to lots of places before. And after.”

  Herb smiled. Miss Corday was one smart cookie. Whether or not she was descended from the infamous Charlotte Corday, she’d inherited from someone quite a nimble brain. “Did Taft do or say anything memorable?”

  “Yes, he ordered champagne and didn’t make a pass at me.” She smiled. “And I don’t care for either champagne or a pass. Anything else?”

  “Did Lydia Austin know Nathan Taft?”

  “Not that I know of. She might have met him at Mike Lynton’s place. Nathan said he went there a few times a week. He took me after dinner. Mike bought us drinks, told us to make ourselves at home.”

  “If he did,” said Herb, “then Taft must have looked as though he could afford to drop a bundle.”

  “He dropped some. But not a bundle. We played blackjack. The table was hot for the dealer, but not for us. Nathan didn’t lose too much, even though he played flamboyantly. That, of course, was an act for me.”

  “Lydia wasn’t around that night?”

  “Lydia was at Groucho’s. Or so she said.”

  “You don’t care too much for Lydia.”

  “She’s okay. We’re not bosom buddies, but then, I haven’t got the bosom for buddies.”

  Jim inhaled as he thought, you’ve got the bosom for this buddy. Herb stared at Jim as though he’d been reading his mind. Jim blushed.

  Herb turned his attention to Nana Lewis. “Were you and Lydia friendly rivals?”

  “In this town all of us ladies have rivals, friendly and unfriendly. Carole told me she has enemies she’s never been properly introduced to. Lydia’s a nice girl and once you find her, she’ll go on being a nice girl. She’s from the Midwest, cornfed and all that press agent crap. And I suppose you’ll hold it against me if I tell you I don’t think she’s much of an actress. But the camera loves her and that’s what really counts in this business. Oscar let us see the tests he made of us before deciding on Lydia for the lead. Lydia comes right out of the screen and knocks you for a wallop. The way that Rita Hayworth does over at Columbia. Can’t act for buttons but you can’t take your eyes off her.”

  Herb was amazed at her generosity toward other actresses and told her so. She shrugged while smiling and then said, “There’s room for all of us. I don’t give a damn if I make it to the top or not. My family sent me to finishing school and it almost finished me. Most of the girls there were spoken for by Juniors and Threes and Fours, meaning So and So, Junior, or
So and So the Second, the Third, the Fourth and so on ad infinitum. They’re the ones I envied. I was successful in drama class but they were the belles of the balls, to which I say balls and go on with my life. Would you believe Lydia was jealous of me? I get small parts over at Columbia. They like me there. Harry Cohn likes me.”

  Jim wondered if she had ever been invited into Cohn’s legendary “secret room,” the one presumably hidden behind a wall of his office at Columbia. Mallory had heard many starlets were given their initiation in that room. Cohn had a well-deserved reputation for brutality but no actress had ever filed a complaint against him. All the studio chiefs had their peccadillos (or as Carole called it, “peckerdillos”).

  Nana put paid to his curiosity. “I’ve made it without Cohn inviting me to a private party.” She had lit a cigarette. “Mr. Villon, you know as well as we all do that lots of girls over the years have disappeared out of this town.” She said firmly, “I won’t.”

  “I asked Oscar Levitt if this might be a cooked-up publicity stunt. He denies it. What do you think?”

  “If it is, Lydia would have told us. She told us everything. Right, girls?”

  Mala Anouk spoke up. “I read her tea leaves the day before she disappeared.”

  “Was it a good read?” asked Herb.

  “I will tell you the truth. I saw danger.”

  “Baloney!” snapped Nell Corday.

  Mala said in a furious flow of words, “You scoff at everything I say! I read danger in the leaves and I told that to Lydia. And she believed me!”

  “Did Lydia have any idea what the danger might be?” asked Herb.

  “She was afraid Oscar Levitt would change his mind. Give the part to Nana.”

  Nell Corday said, “That’s every actress’s fear. I don’t know any actor worth his salt who doesn’t suffer from fears of insecurity.”