The Hollywood Murders-The Gretch Bayonne Action Adventure Series-Book 3

by Steven M. Thomas

  Four of the women could not be found. No one knew where they lived. So Wolf put question marks by their names.

  “The killer wrote in his letter that he knows who is being protected and who is not,” Wolf said.

  “Yes,” I replied. “That's right.”

  “If you are right about him having inside information from the police department, then that just leaves five women who could be his next victims.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “There's only four whose whereabouts are unknown, not five.”

  “Five who are unprotected,” Wolf said, “And four who can't be located.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

  “We don't know where four of them are,” he explained, “but we do know where the fifth one is. Patty Albright.”

  “They aren't at her house because she is staying here with Bela and me,” I said.

  “But what if the two of you had a falling out?” Wolf said. “And she had to move back to her apartment alone? Her address is well known down at the police station ever since you broke into her house.”

  “There is no way that is going to happen!” I said. “And even if we did, I wouldn't let her go back there!”

  “But what if we make it look like she moved back?” Wolf said. “If this guy is watching, he may try to waltz in on her at night, but we will be there instead.”

  “We can't let the police know,” I replied, “or they will set up shop at her place and scare him away.”

  It was a long shot, but I didn't have any better ideas. And it beat the hell out of leaving it all up to Bannon and his bumbling detectives.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bela suddenly announced that he was going to marry Lillian. I had never seen him with a woman, but he had been married twice before. Despite the thirty-year age gap, I felt confident that it would work out for them.

  “Congratulations!” I said. “When is this going to happen?”

  “We haven't exactly set a date yet,” Bela said, “but probably after I wrap this movie. I would like you to be the best man, that is, if you don't mind.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “I'd be honored! You just let me know when and I will be there!”

  The happy couple went for a drive in Bela's new Packard, leaving Patty and me alone in the big house.

  I took the opportunity to tell her about Wolf's plan to sack the killer in her house. It wasn't an easy sell.

  “We think he knows who is being protected and who is not,” I explained. “If he thinks you are home alone, he may make a surprise visit. Of course, we will only make it look like you are there.”

  “Who will be?” she asked. “You and Wolf?”

  “Of course,” I replied. “Who else?”

  “You can't do that!” she said. “He may kill both of you! You know you can't stay awake all night and still work all day. You may be able to keep that up for a couple of days, but eventually, you are going to fall asleep.”

  Patty was right. I can barely stay up past midnight these days. Especially if I've had a few drinks.

  “And if he is watching,” she added, “he will probably see the two of you go in the house. He is not stupid, Bay!”

  “We were going to park in the alley and use the backdoor,” I said.

  “That would most likely be what the killer would do!” she said. “He's going to see your cars.”

  I decided to call Wolf at his hotel and run all of this by him. Why in hell are women so smart and men are so dumb?

  “Yeah,” Wolf said, “I thought of all that. So I had to update the plan a bit. In fact, I just got off the phone with Colonel Kots.”

  “You talked to Kots?” I asked. “What for?”

  “He's going to get that girl agent for us,” Wolf explained. The one who lured Spah up to the Rose for us.”

  “You mean Eva?” I asked.

  “That's right,” he replied. “We're going to make her look like Patty. She is one tough cookie. A weapons and martial arts expert. I pity the killer if he does pay her a visit.”

  “That may work,” I said. “But how the hell did you find Kots anyway?”

  “He found me,” Wolf said. “When our book first came out, he got in touch with me and gave me his personal telephone number. He said he loved the book and wanted me to sign it for him sometime.”

  “Well, I'll be damned,” I said. “Did he say anything about The Rose?”

  “Just that it is still docked at Area 51 and they are working on the power supply issues,” Wolf said. “He said the Army knows how to fix it, but Hearst won't let them anywhere near it.”

  “All of those years spent building it,” I replied. “And god knows how many millions were spent, and the damned thing is just sitting there. What a shame. We were the only ones who actually got any use out of it.”

  “We, and the military,” Wolf replied. They took it all over the world while they weren't carting us around. That's what pissed the old man off. That's why he stopped letting them have access.”

  “What were they doing?” I asked.

  “Spying, of course,” Wolf said. “The Rose can get live moving pictures on the ground anywhere she happens to be. They made regular trips to Russia, China, Germany, and god only knows where else.”

  “We could use that in Hollywood right now,” I said.

  Wolf fell silent. I thought I'd lost the telephone connection.

  “Hello?” I asked. “Are you still there?”

  “That's a good idea,” Wolf finally responded.

  “What?” I asked. “Did I miss something?”

  “The Rose,” he replied. “She can see in the dark, undetected by anyone. And she can cover the entire Los Angeles area in a matter of seconds. Bay, we need to talk to Hearst.”

  “There's no way he's going to go along with that,” I said. “He'd rather let The Rose sit beneath the earth in silence than to turn it back over to Kots.”

  “But that was because they were spying on our global neighbors,” Wolf said. “This is far different. This time our enemy is not something that is imagined by the military. This time our enemy is right here at home. He is in Hearst's own backyard. This bastard is preying on Hollywood.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Over one hundred women showed up at the Hearst mansion claiming to have been in a Valentino movie. As it turned out, not one of them actually had. It took the Hearst people almost a week to figure it out, and by then, half the silverware and china were missing.

  “He might as well turn the mansion into a shelter for the homeless,” I told Patty.

  That is effectively what Hearst did before kicking them all back out onto the streets.

  “He had good intentions,” Patty said. “It's just a shame that they all lied to him.”

  It's always hard to tell what Hearst's real angel is. I think he made the offer to make himself look good. He certainly achieved that for a week or so. But the idea wasn't his. It was Nancy who somehow talked him into it. The teenage reporter managed to do what few could. She influenced William Randolph Hearst. It wouldn't be the last time.

  “Hearst hasn't returned my calls,” Wolf told me. “I think we should just go to his house and knock on the door. I am tired of waiting around!”

  “You don't just go knocking on his door,” I replied. “Have you ever seen the mansion? It is a fortress!”

  “I've done nothing but hang around the Los Angeles police department for the last week,” Wolf replied. “Every time they think they have a suspect, something doesn't add up and clears him. It's a damned circus.”

  “The good news is no one has gotten killed lately,” I said.

  “Not since Hearst opened his place up to any women with a story about Rudolph Valentino,” Wolf said. “And then made them leave.That's what worries me.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “None of those dames actually worked with Valentino. They aren't in danger.”

  “Are you sure?” Wolf asked. “Do you
remember what Nancy told us?”

  “Something about thinking like a crazy person,” I replied.

  “That's right,” Wolf said. “One hundred women lied about working with Valentino to get the opportunity to stay at the Hearst mansion for a week. What they didn't know then was the price of that stay.”

  “They could all be future victims of the Valentino Killer,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Wolf replied.

  “I don't think so,” I said. “The victims have that one common denominator of actually having worked in a Valentino film. The killer would know that. He would know it better than anyone.”

  “I hope you are right,” Wolf replied. “Otherwise, we have one hundred women to worry about and no idea where to find them.”

  Wolf was going nuts with this case. He was all over the place with theories of who the Hollywood killer could be. It was someone tied with the police department, he thought. Another theory was that it was a former agent of stars from the pre-talkie days who fell on hard times. Anyone and everyone who didn't cross over to the talkies in Hollywood were thought of as either possible victims or the murderer. I was glad I wasn't Wolf. I didn't really want to know all the sordid details and theories.

  Wolf showed up at Bela's house the next day with photos and details he'd acquired from the crime scenes. It was more than I really wanted to know or see. But he insisted on showing me anyway.

  Victim number one: Alma Rubens. Stabbed seventeen times in the chest and facial area. A “V” like pattern was predominant in shallow wounds to her chest.

  Victim number two: Agnes Ayers. Fourteen stab wounds. Photos showed Agnes laying face down on her kitchen floor, but all of her wounds were inflicted to the front of her body, indicating that she rolled over before she died.

  Victim number three: May Murray. Multiple stab wounds to the face, hands and upper torso. Indications were she had fought off her attacker, thereby sustaining cuts virtually all over her body. She was found dead near her back kitchen door.

  Victim number four: Alice Lake. Nine stab wounds to the chest and neck. Two large slash wounds to the abdomen formed the letter “V.” Her lifeless body was found still sitting in the chair she had died in.

  I flipped through the photographs again and again and felt sick to my stomach. It was the eeriest feeling I'd ever had. I had been there, on the scenes of the murders after they had occurred, and was familiar with the rooms depicted in the photographs. But the bodies were removed by the time I'd showed up. I was seeing the victims for the first time as they had been found. It was horrifying.

  “You have to talk to Hearst,” Wolf said. “You are the only one who can convince him to get The Rose to help us find the Valentino Killer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  No one in Hollywood wanted to think about the Valentino Killer. That was last week's news, and the machine that is the motion picture industry is only interested in today. Besides, none of the victims were box office draws anymore. If Jean Harlow were murdered, that would be a different story.

  “The last day of shooting is always sad and joyous at the same time,” Jean told me. “I hate to leave this character and all of these people behind, but look forward to the next movie.”

  “Like an old pair of shoes,” I replied. “They are familiar and comfortable, but worn out. You know you have to get a new pair and break them in.”

  Jean smiled at me and nodded her head.

  “I never throw shoes away!” she said. “I just put them in the back of the closet in case I want to drag them out again someday!”

  “What's next for you, Jean?” I asked.

  “Bombshell,” Jean replied. “It is going to be great! It's all about Clara Bow, really! I get to play a movie star!”

  “That should be quite a stretch for you,” I joked.

  “It's a comedy!” Jean said. “And I get to work with the great director, Victor Fleming! What about you?”

  “The Gable film, Strange Interlude,” I said. “Patty has a part in it, too.”

  “You can both be in Bombshell as well,” Jean said.

  In Hollywood, it's not always what you know, or how well you can act, but who you know and how much of a position they have over the studios. It looked like Patty and I would have work for quite sometime. After all, once a Grafer, always a Grafer. But I was distracted from the job offers and dinner invitations. I knew there was a cancer growing in Hollywood that wouldn't just go away. Sure, you can ignore it. But until you cut it out, it is always going to be there.

  “Are you going to the wrap party tonight?” Jean asked.

  “I don't think so,” I said. “I have a lot to do.”

  “You have got to go!” she replied. “And bring Patty! A lot of people are going to be there, including Poppy!”

  “Not that nickname again,” I replied. “You're talking about Hearst?”

  “Yes,” Jean said. “The old man ventures out rarely these days. You really should go and at least say hello.”

  There must have been two hundred people at Peroni's Restaurant that night. Patty and I passed by dozens of stars without so much as looking at them and headed straight for Hearst's table. It was filled with nothing but Grafers.

  Marion Davies stood up and greeted Patty and me. Hearst only glanced at me and nodded his head in acknowledgement. James Cagney also stood and smiled broadly. There were no empty seats at the old man's table, but I was hell bent on talking with him.

  “May we make room?” I asked Cagney.

  Everyone moved their chairs and plates over to accommodate Patty and me. I got the distinct impression that they knew I was there to talk to Hearst about the Valentino Killer. Suddenly, I was the most important person in the room, but you wouldn't know it judging from the old man's indifference. There was a lot of tension in the room. I could smell it.

  “It is good to see you again, finally,” I told Hearst.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Your book is doing quite well. I may even make a movie out of it someday.”

  “Not without the rights to option it as a movie,” I said.

  “Those rights can be bought,” Hearst said as he took a bite of his filet mignon.

  “Only if the author agrees to the terms of the sale,” I said.

  “Is that what you came here for?” the old man asked, dropping his fork onto his plate. “To negotiate the rights to the Graf book?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I don't care about the book or the money. You can have it. I came here to ask for your help.”

  Hearst pushed his plate forward and wiped his mouth with an expensive cloth napkin.

  “That young girl,” he said. “What is her name again?”

  “Nancy,” I replied. “Her name is Nancy. She's Alma Rubens’ niece.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Nancy. It is a good story she has. She told me you are going to help her write a book about these murders. And I will definitely see to it that it gets published.”

  “That is not the kind of help I am referring to,” I said. “I am talking about help in finding this killer.”

  “From me?” Hearst asked. “I've done all I can. I provided names to the police. I even took in women to protect them and got robbed for my efforts. What further would you expect me to do?”

  “The Rose,” I said. “I want you to allow Colonel Kots and his men to use The Rose to look for the killer.”

  “The Rose,” the old man said, trailing off and staring into space. “She isn't well. They are working on healing her.”

  “Wolf told me that Colonel Kots and his men know what is wrong with the ship,” I explained. “The power supply has glitches in it, but they can repair it.”

  A slow wave of whispers filled the restaurant from one side to the other. At first, I thought there might be a fire or something. Waitresses hurried around in near panic, and patrons stood up and started leaving.

  “What he hell is going on?” I said.

  “There's been another murder!” a woman answered.


  I'd never seen a group of people so shocked and panicked simultaneously.

  “It's Mabel Normand,” someone said. “She's been murdered!”

  The restaurant was literally being evacuated as if it were set afire. Hearst looked at me and grimaced.

  “You tell Kots to fix the Rose,” he said. “And use it in any way necessary to stop this! Tell him to do it now!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The police station was eerily quiet. A dozen cops were milling around as usual, but no one was saying anything.

  “I need to see Bannon,” I announced.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me with blank stares.

  “He wants to see you too,” one of them said. “He's at the murder scene. Fifty-third and Cole.”

  “I have no idea where that is,” I replied.

  “Come on then,” he said. “I will take you there.”

  The detectives were wrapping up their work as I arrived at the tiny house located twenty miles east of Hollywood.

  “We've got all sorts of evidence from this one,” Wolf said.

  “I still want you to look around, though,” Bannon added.

  It was the same as the other scenes. The murder appeared to take place in the kitchen. Blood tracks were left from the kitchen to the front door. And there were those damned bicycle tire tracks.

  I glanced around the rooms, but my head wasn't on straight. No matter how many times you see something like that, you never get used to it.

  “I don't see anything,” I told them. “What did you find?”

  “The main thing is the bloody clothes,” Wolf said. “We found them in the kitchen trash can. Imagine that? The killer didn't even bother putting them in the outside bin.”

  “I guess he figured we would find them anyway,” I said.

  “And get this,” Wolf continued. “They are ladies' clothes. There's even a broach on the blouse.”

  “You don't think they belong to Mae, do you?” I asked.