Murder on a Yellow Brick Road tp-2

by Stuart M. Kaminsky

  “You want to tell me about it?” I said.

  “No,” said Hoff, “but I will. I just can’t believe what this implies.”

  “It doesn’t imply anything,” I said. “It proves it. Maybe not good enough for a judge and jury, but good enough for anyone who can add with two hands. Cassie James killed Grundy and Cash. There’s no other answer. Now, what can you contribute to the cause?”

  Back in his office, he poured another drink and told his tale. Cassie had gotten close to him, very close to him. Close enough over the period of a year to get him to help her smuggle out pieces of film and to get him to let her use certain sets for a film she was doing. As a publicity executive, he could explain that it was all part of a publicity campaign. Besides, she never wanted to use anything that was in demand.

  Hoff didn’t know exactly why she was doing it. He was told that it was part of a scheme to get cheap screen test reels for young actors. The actors would be able to take finished reels around with them when they applied for jobs.

  “It sounded innocent enough,” he said. Hoff was on his third drink when he said it, and the words were starting to run together.

  “It was a lousy story,” I said. “She didn’t even bother to make up a decent lie.”

  “I know,” said Hoff, “but I believed her. I wanted to believe her, and she didn’t make a big thing out of it. It was all kind of casual.”

  “You must have thought something was up when Cash was found dead.”

  He admitted that he had and had wanted to talk to Cassie about it. That was why he had been so nervous on Friday morning when he met me. While I was talking to Judy Garland, Cassie was outside the door convincing him that she had nothing to do with the death of the midget.

  “She made me feel like a fool for even asking,” he said. “Why would her screen test idea lead to murder? It was just two midgets who were to be in a screen test with a young actor. The midgets had fought, and one of them had killed the other one. She said if I told about the screen test business we’d both lose our jobs and for nothing. The film had nothing to do with the murder. She can be very convincing, Peters.”

  I knew how convincing Cassie James could be. She had convinced me into corners for three days. I fed her everything I knew, and she had Grundy try to take me out. She even had him get Peese when I got too close. Hoff was an amateur idiot compared to me.

  “Where is she now?” I asked. Hoff didn’t know, but he said he’d try to find out. I thought he was too drunk to handle the phone, but he became a changed man with the phone in his hand. It was his tool and, drunk or sober, he knew how to handle it. He started calling places on the lot where she might still be, but he came up blank. Finally, someone on the set of Ziegfield Girl remembered that Judy Garland had said she was going to dinner with Cassie James.

  “O.K., Warren. Here’s what I want you to do,” I said, popping a pain pill. I hoped they weren’t addictive. “You call Cassie’s house. If she’s there, try to find out if Judy’s with her. Got that?”

  “What else?” he said soberly.

  “That’s all. Cassie put the poison in that water pitcher to harrass Judy. Cassie had Grundy or Peese call Judy Garland on Friday and tell her to go to the Munchkin City set. Cassie James does not like Judy Garland. You got that straight?”

  He got it straight. He didn’t have to look up the number in the green notebook or his own. I only got his side of the conversation, but he was worth listening to.

  “Cassie,” he said happily, “how are you… Yes… No, I’m just clearing up a few things here… Yes… the police are sure that Grundy killed both midgets and Peters killed Grundy… I am, too… Cassie, I was wondering if I might come over tonight. It’s been a while… oh, sure. I understand. No, not at all. Give her my best.” He hung up and turned to me. “She’s there.”

  I got Andy Markopulis on the phone. He was at home. The guys who were watching Judy Garland had no radio in their car. Even if they were outside of Cassie’s place in Santa Monica, they’d never think she was in any danger inside. They’d work at keeping people out.

  “Warren,” I said. “Go home. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  The drive to Santa Monica took about fifteen minutes. I ran lights and kicked well past the speed limit. When I got to Cassie’s house, the lights were on. I cut my lights and let the car glide in neutral down the hill. The sound of the surf covered the clinks of the Ford. I wanted a surprise knock or a chance to sneak in and get Judy Garland out. If Cassie saw me coming, she might use her knife act again.

  Everything was going well. I parked against the shadow of a hill and got out. Moving as slowly as I could, I went down to the beach and into the sand to approach the house from the ocean. I was about ten feet from the porch leading to the beach when they jumped me. They were both good at that. One hit me high. The other low.

  The surf covered the sounds of our grunts and groans as we rolled over, getting sand in our ears and eyes. My main fear was that my stitches would open. I wanted to end the fight before that happened.

  I got to my feet by backing away on my behind and starting to run. Then I turned on them. Their faces were clear in the moonlight. One of the two wore a smile and was rangy. The other one was solid. The rangy one got to me first. I put both of my hands together in a double fist and drove them into his stomach. He went down with an “ooph” sound. The second guy hit me running, and we tumbled over again. I threw my elbow into his neck and he groaned.

  I stood over them, gasping for air.

  “You two Woodman and Fearaven?”

  The rangy one got to his knees and said he was Fearaven. The only fight I’d won in weeks had been with two guys on my side. I helped them both up, telling who I was, giving Andy’s name and showing my wallet. It convinced them, but they were all for rushing the house and taking Cassie by surprise. I admitted that it might work, but convinced them there was a better way.

  The better way involved my walking up to the front door and spinning a tale while they found a way in through the back. If Cassie wasn’t armed, there was no problem. If she was, we needed the surprise.

  We brushed each other off and moved. I went up the beach to the front of the house. I couldn’t see Woodman and Fearaven, but through the window I could see Cassie and Judy Garland seated at the table near the window. They were having coffee, but the dishes weren’t cleared yet and there was a steak knife in front of Cassie.

  Cassie’s color for the day was brown. Judy Garland was wearing a skirt and fluffy blouse. Her hair was in pigtails, probably to contrast with that grownup role she was living in her movie and probably trying to live in her life.

  I knocked three quick raps and stood back to see the reaction. It wasn’t what I wanted. Cassie didn’t get up. She just shouted, “Come in!”

  The door was open, and I stepped in.

  Cassie smiled at me with a look of true love. Judy Garland looked slightly surprised.

  “Sorry to drop in without calling,” I said, “but I need help.” I plopped in a chair.

  “Can I get you anything?” said Cassie, with a voice filled with concern.

  “I could use a drink,” I said.

  Something in the way I said it must have tipped her off or made her suspicious. Her voice had changed, dropped a tone or two when she said, “It’s by the wall. Help yourself.”

  Judy Garland had fallen for the act and started to get up, but Cassie firmly motioned her to sit down. The motion was maternal and friendly, but to deny it was to disobey.

  “What are you doing here, Toby?” Cassie demanded. “The police are looking for you for the murder of that man Grundy.”

  Judy Garland rose a little in concern.

  “Mr. Peters, did you?”

  “No,” I said, “but I know who did. So does Cassie. Don’t you, love?”

  “I have no idea,” she said, looking as perplexed as innocence should look. I almost faltered. Maybe I was all screwed up, seeing things that weren’t th
ere, backing away from a show of commitment.

  “You killed Grundy, Cassie.”

  Cassie laughed, and Judy Garland’s mouth dropped open. Cassie poured herself a fresh cup of coffee from the steaming pot in front of her and asked if I wanted some. I said no.

  “Cassie, what’s he talking about?” Judy said, looking at both of us and wondering why we were so calm in the face of flying accusations. Judy had never played this one before.

  “Let’s tell stories,” I said. “You want to start, Cassie?”

  “I think not,” she said, sipping her coffee and throwing back her head. The gesture was perfect. The light caught the black of her hair and sent out moonbeams.

  “O.K., I’ll start. You, Grundy, Cash, and Peese were in business together-the porno movie business. Everything was going well until one of your partners wanted to know why his share of the profits was so low. I’ve seen the way Cash lived. If there was gravy in this, he wasn’t getting any. He found out that Peese was living high, and they argued on Friday morning just before Grundy was set to shoot a scene. Cash started to talk about getting out, about telling the cops or M.G.M. You couldn’t have that so you put a knife in him. Right so far?”

  Cassie didn’t answer. She just looked at me tolerantly. Judy’s eyes were wide and fixed on her.

  “You and Grundy worked out the scheme to frame Wherthman,” I went on. “Peese must have remembered that the two of them had picked on the Swiss bookworm. The foul-up came when Judy called me, and Mayer thought I had connections. When I got too close to figuring out that the calls to Judy and to me were by someone without an accent, and couldn’t be Wherthman, Grundy panicked. I can’t see you breaking under so little pressure, but Grundy would. Then I started to get close to Peese. It was pretty clever of you to come up with his name and give it to me. You knew I’d get it from Wherthman or someone around the studio. You got more information out of me the other night, too. I think you were really surprised the first time I told you that someone had tried to kill me.”

  “I was surprised,” she said softly.

  “But the second time, when Grundy followed me to Hearst’s Castle, was no surprise. I told you where I was going. You gave him the information. He botched it again. Then I got to Peese a little faster than you expected. Grundy was right behind me. What was Peese holding over you to rate that place downtown-the film?”

  Cassie just kept drinking coffee.

  “Well, Grundy got the film, and I was in the wrong place at the right time. You started to figure that it was only a matter of time till the cops or I figured out that Grundy was involved. When I got the film from Grundy, you made up your mind. You got me to the studio, called Grundy, watched a few feet of the porno film with me and pulled your shocked act. I think the act came so I’d stop looking at the picture. I have a feeling there’s something on that film that connects you to Grundy, Cash, and Peese.”

  “Like what?” she asked innocently.

  “Like maybe this house being used as a location?”

  She stiffened enough for me to see, but she didn’t break. I didn’t think she would.

  “I’ll go on. You had Grundy waiting for me at my car after you lulled me to sleep with your soft couch and body. Grundy was ready to kill me, or I’d kill him. You would have been all right either way. When he knocked me out you didn’t know whether I was dead or alive. You had Grundy carry me to the prop room, and then you repeated your knife act. You got rid of Grundy, and if I didn’t die, chances were good that the cops would blame me. You had the roll of film and there were no witnesses. But, Cassie, the cops were bound to start turning up people you used in your movies. And how long did you really think you could fool Hoff?”

  That got her. She put the cup down. I got up as if I were stretching my legs and kept talking.

  “Now all this would be good guess work on my part if it weren’t for one thing.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Cassie.

  “I talked to Hoff and we found the film, exactly where you hid it.”

  She thought I might be bluffing, and she said so.

  “A big brown book in your office,” I said.

  “I see,” she said.

  “Can I ask you one question or two, Cassie?”

  “Yes,” she said sweetly.

  “Why did you want Judy to find the body? Why did you try to poison her? And what the hell did you get into all this for? You don’t need the money.”

  Cassie looked at Judy calmly, and I took a few steps toward them as if I just wanted to hear what was being said.

  “I hate her,” said Cassie with a thin smile.

  Judy started to rise, and Cassie picked up the knife. It was sharp, long, and in the hands of an expert.

  “Sit down, Judy,” I said calmly. She sat down and kept her eyes fixed on me. Cassie’s eyes were fixed on the girl in front of her as she spoke.

  “She got what I deserved, what I worked for. I had the looks and the talent. I still do, but I didn’t have the luck. I got over it, though. I had a second chance through my sister. My kid sister was even better than I was, and I put everything I had into her career. I bought costumes, publicity. I set up parties, gave her lessons. She was doing fine. In another year she would have made it. We both would have made it, but she lost a part to Judy. It wasn’t much. She,” Cassie said, nodding at Judy, “probably doesn’t even remember it or my sister’s name: Jean James.”

  I could see by Judy’s face that the name meant nothing to her.

  “She lost another part to you, too,” Cassie went on, her lips getting thinner and her brow tighter. “Then she began the drinking and the pills. I warned her, but in less than a year her looks were almost gone. She tried to live a lifetime in one year. She died two years ago in a car crash. I have no more sisters.”

  “I’ve got another explanation,” I said. “Got it from a doctor named Roloff. Your jealousy of Judy has nothing to do with your sister. You’re jealous of her success because you see it as sexual success. So you take men who come near her, and you turn out porno movies that ridicule her. I’ll bet you even appear in the movies.”

  “You’re dirt,” she hissed at me as I took a step toward her. She moved quickly to Judy’s side and put the knife at the girl’s throat.

  “You don’t need the money,” I said. “You need the excitement; the sex and the sexual substitute. You needed the next substitute, murder. You started putting that long knife into men. Was I next, or was it Hoff? I don’t think you even know, do you, Cassie?”

  “I’ll have the satisfaction of killing her,” Cassie said, her eyes glaring at me.

  I could see Woodman and Fearaven out of the corner of my eye. Woodman had a gun in his hand, but I knew he couldn’t take a chance. He’d have to be good to be sure he wouldn’t hit Judy. There was nothing much we could do but wait while I tried to keep her off balance.

  At least that’s what we thought. While I was trying to dig a new track out of my head, Judy suddenly threw the coffee pot at Cassie James. I hadn’t seen it, but the girl had been reaching her hand out for it while she did her fear act. Cassie screamed and looked ready to plunge the knife. I leaped forward and fell a few feet short on the table. Woodman took a shot and missed. Time was frozen. I waited for the enraged Cassie, coffee dripping from her hair and eyes, to move forward. But it was Judy Garland who moved. She threw her elbow into Cassie’s stomach and pushed the woman away from her. It was an act of rejection I would have liked to make, but wasn’t sure I could have.

  The knife hit the floor, and Woodman and Fearaven were on Cassie. She turned, suddenly calm as they lifted her. She was a wet, dripping mess. Her beauty was still there, but it was ruined by her makeup, which looked as if it had melted under strong lights.

  “I trusted you,” Judy said quietly.

  “I hated you,” Cassie said, without looking at the girl.

  I called my brother while the two men held Cassie. Then I took Judy out and into my car.

  “It
’s like a bad dream,” she said.

  I agreed. It was like a bad dream for both of us. I wasn’t sure whose loss was greater, but since I’d lived longer I gave her the benefit of the doubt and hoped her life wouldn’t be a series of disappointments from people she put her trust in.

  On the way to her house, she told me she was thinking of getting married. She said he was a composer or bandleader named Rose. I’d never heard of him, but I told her I hoped he was a good man. When I drove up in front of her house, she leaned over and kissed me.

  “I’m glad I called you, Mr. Peters.” Then she ran out of the car and up the walk.

  I wasn’t so sure I was glad she called me. I’d lived a lifetime in three days. At least Cassie’s sister had a year. My pay for the trouble would be some bad memories and about $300 from M.G.M. My body told me to pull over and go to sleep, but my mind reminded me of what happened the last time I’d slept in a car. My brother would find me if I went home, and Shelly was probably at the office wondering what the hell happened to his car. I could go to a few people to be put up, but a better idea came to me.

  In fifteen minutes I was back at the hospital. A woman at the front desk tried to stop me. She said visiting hours were over. I told her I wasn’t a visitor; I was an in-patient.

  The elevator took me up slowly, and the lampshade nurse met me when the doors opened. Her face was lined with professional anger and a look of betrayal.

  “Where were you?” she asked.

  “Saving Judy Garland’s life,” I said, and walked into my room. I flopped on the bed in the dark and fell asleep.

  There were no dreams of flying monkeys, muscled maniacs, or Koko the clown. There was only darkness, which suited me just fine.

  10

  When my eyes opened on Wednesday morning, Franklin Roosevelt was sure of another four years in the White House, but I didn’t know that for a while. What I knew was that someone had taken my clothes off and put a gown on me, that a termite in my head was trying to get out the hard way, and that my brother and Charlie Cimaglia, the little muscle man, were looking down on me.