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

by Steven M. Thomas

  “The Rose is here,” the old man said, looking towards the ceiling. “Colonel Kots is anxious to meet you, Mr. Bannon. It is time for you to go now.”

  “What is The Rose?” Bannon asked.

  “Let's go outside,” I said. “We'll explain on the way.”

  A clap of thunder greeted us outside Hearst's mansion as the giant black tube shot down from the sky onto the massive circle driveway.

  “Good god!” Bannon screamed as he ran back towards the door.

  “It's okay!” Wolf shouted. “We have to get in now!”

  “Get in what?” Bannon asked, panicking.

  “The tube!” I said. “It will take us up to the ship!”

  “That storm cloud?” Bannon asked. “No way! Something is wrong, we have to go back inside!”

  Bannon disappeared back inside the mansion, leaving us no choice but to go retrieve him.

  “It's best that we explain it before taking him up anyway,” I said. “You remember what happened to you when you first went up.”

  “Yes,” Wolf answered. “And you'd already explained it to me. It nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  We sat Bannon down and told him the whole story. For the next half hour, he sat mesmerized and didn't say a word. After several minutes of total silence, he finally spoke.

  “Let's roll,” he said.

  “Then you are ready to go now?” I asked.

  “I can't wait to see this!” Bannon answered.

  In seconds, the tube bounced us up to the transportation room, like a roller coaster. The door whooshed open, and there stood our old friend Colonel Kots.

  “Welcome aboard, gentlemen,” Kots said. “Follow me, please.”

  To Wolf and me, it was a joyous occasion. Bannon, on the other hand, could barely walk.

  “It's okay,” I said, as Wolf and I helped him into the pilot room.

  “This is what we've learned so far about the suspect,” Kots said, pointing to one of the small screens.

  “Detective Bannon doesn't know anything about James Allen,” Wolf said. “We need to bring him up to speed on this before you launch into anything else.”

  “Allen?” Bannon asked. “You don't mean James Allen the police officer, do you?”

  “I'm afraid so,” Wolf said.

  “You do know who his uncle is, right?” Bannon asked.

  “Which one?” I replied. “The Chief of Police or the Governor?”

  We ran down the story for a very shocked Bannon. To begin with, he was aboard a ship only gods can dream of, and now we were telling him that the Governor's nephew was our chief suspect in the Hollywood murders.

  “Does anyone else in the department know about this?” Bannon asked.

  “Of course not,” Wolf replied. “We didn't tell you, did we? Do you think we would tell anyone else?”

  “May I continue then?” Kots asked.

  “By all means,” Wolf said.

  “Eva went to Allen's house the day after he showed up at Patty's place,” Kots said. “She told him she was Patty's niece, and that she was just spending the night and was leaving that day.”

  “Wasn't he suspicious about how Eva found him?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Kots said. “We were prepared for that. Eva told him that she happened to be driving by his house and noticed his automobile. She thought it looked like the same one he left Patty's residence in. She explained that she felt bad in scaring him off.”

  “Did he buy that?” I asked. “It seems far-fetched.”

  “We believe he did,” Kots replied, “because he has been driving by Patty's house several times a day ever since. We have been tracking his every move, and recording it on film.”

  “Maybe he just has a thing for Patty,” Bannon said, finally speaking up.

  “Maybe,” Kots replied. “But we have more. We have images of Allen leaving his house at night dressed in women's clothing. The film also shows him going in and out of nightclubs that are known to be frequented by male prostitutes. Last night he went to a private club called Kenny's Kiss. We have film of him beating a man behind the club. We got to the victim before the police could and interviewed him. He said that Allen was chanting Valentino! over and over as he kicked him in the stomach.” We sat in stunned silence as Kots displayed images of the beating on one of the screens before us.

  “That sick bastard!” Bannon said. “I knew he was a crooked cop, hell, everyone did. His family always protected him. But I had no idea he was doing things like this.”

  “This just happened last night?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Bannon said. “And guess what happened today?”

  “Hell, I have no idea,” I answered.

  “We took it upon ourselves to look around his house while he was at work,” Kots explained. “And guess what we found?”

  “Enough with the guessing,” I said. “What the hell did you find?”

  “You remember that first suspect?” Kots asked. “The one with the German bicycle?”

  “How could I forget?” I asked. “We were cellmates.”

  “Six bicycles were stolen after the Summer Olympics,” Kots said. That poor bastard they arrested in connection with the first murders happened to be unfortunate enough to purchase one.”

  “Yeah,” I interjected. “We know. The tire tracks matched the ones left at the crime scenes.”

  “Apparently the man who stole those bicycles was caught after only selling one of them,” Kots said.

  “Where is this going?” Wolf asked.

  “Allen caught him,” Kots said. “But he didn't bother to report it.”

  “How do you figure?” I asked.

  “The other five German bicycles are in his house,” Kots replied. “All five of them. That means he is the only viable suspect. James Allen is the Valentino Killer.”

  Chapter Forty

  J. Edgar Hoover was patched through to The Rose via the White House to talk to us about the case.

  “Detective Bannon?” he asked. “Are you there?”

  “Yes, sir,” Bannon replied.

  “Whoever else is in the room,” the B.O.I. chief said, “please identify yourselves for the record.” The two other officers besides Kots immediately left the room.

  “Colonel Kots here, United States Army.”

  “This is Wolf. I am here.”

  “Bay,” I said.

  “Yes, Bay,” Hoover said. “I am glad you could attend this meeting. I take it no one is getting married today.”

  I badly wanted to pull Hoover through the phone and whip his ass, but Wolf shook his head at me to keep my mouth shut.

  “As you gentlemen are aware,” the chief began, “this case now takes precedence over any other in our nation. President Roosevelt and I agree that nothing is more urgent than finding the man who is responsible for these murders.”

  “So you are going to let Bonnie and Clyde slide for a while?” I asked.

  Wolf mouthed the words “shut up!” to me. It was too late, I'd already offended Hoover.

  “We have to prioritize, Mr. Bay,” he said. “The Texas Rangers are working on that now. But if you would be so gracious as to let me continue, I would like to ask the questions.”

  “Ask away,” I shot back. “It's your phone call.”

  “What do you have?” Hoover asked.

  “We have a damned sensitive situation,” I answered. “That's what we have.”

  “I was asking Detective Bannon,” Hoover said.

  “We have a very viable suspect,” Bannon replied. “I just found out about this. But we have him under constant surveillance. We just need more, to charge him with the murders.”

  “Mr. Hearst briefed me on that already,” Hoover said. “I know about James Allen. The nephew of the LAPD Chief of Police Brady and Governor Rolph of California. Your former bosses, Detective Bannon.”

  “May I ask you a question?” Bannon said.

  “What is it?” Hoover replied.

  “Is this why I
was forced out of the LAPD?” Bannon asked. “Because the chief suspect is a police officer and related to these men? Is that why you brought me into the B.O.I?”

  “No,” Hoover said. “You were brought in on the referral of William Randolph Hearst. A mutual decision was made. No one on the local level knows anything about it. Not even Governor Rolph. And we obviously want to keep it that way, especially in light of the identity of your new suspect.”

  “May I explain something?” Colonel Kots said.

  “What is it?” Hoover asked.

  “I was just briefing Detective Bannon about the situation when you called, sir,” Kots said. “And since you are joining our conversation, I would like permission to continue so that you will be apprised as well.”

  “Go on,” Hoover replied.

  “I feel very strongly that unless he is apprehended, the Valentino Killer will strike again,” Kots explained.

  “We almost had him in a sting operation at actress Patty Albright's apartment. We had a double agent posing as her, and he came to the house, but fled when he realized our agent was not her.”

  “Eva looks more like Jean Harlow than Patty,” I said. “That bastard wasn't falling for it. I told you it was a bad idea.”

  “Yes,” Kots replied. “You have told me that, much to your pleasure, apparently.”

  “Get on with it,” Hoover said.

  “Bay was right,” Kots said. “We need to set this guy up again. But this time, we need to take Bay's advice.”

  “My advice about what?” I asked.

  “I hate to interrupt,” Colonel Kots said, “but our man is pulling out of his driveway as we speak.”

  Hoover had no knowledge of The Rose. No one did, outside of a small handful of people. Wolf and I only alluded to it in the Graf book. I always thought it was funny that no one seemed to question how we shot around the country so quickly. If Hoover knew anything about it, he was playing ignorant. Sometimes plausible deniability keeps people out of trouble. Especially hot shots like J. Edgar Hoover.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Patty and I both had parts in the new Clark Gable and Jean Harlow movie, Hold Your Man. It was great to be working in films again, and not having to worry about the Hollywood murders.

  On the first day of shooting, Director Sam Wood asked to speak with me in private. I was hoping he was going to ask me to write additional dialogue, but I wasn't that lucky.

  “Are they any closer to finding the Valentino Killer?” Wood asked me.

  “I'm sorry, Sam,” I replied. “But I can't talk about the case. Not to anyone.”

  The director nodded his head in agreement.

  “I understand,” he said. “But I am not going to tell anyone. We are going to be working closely the next few weeks, and it would help if the two of us could talk openly to each other.”

  “Of course,” I said. “We can talk about whatever you'd like. Just not about the investigation. Besides, I am no longer involved in that. I came here to make movies.”

  It was hard to tell if the Wood was ticked off about my silence on the subject. If he was, it didn't show. But I felt there was a distance between us on the set that day.

  After a long day of take after take, Patty and I finally went home to Bela's house.

  There was a note on the kitchen table from Yioko. The housekeeper wasn't a keen note taker, so it was a bit confusing.

  “House,” it read. And there was a phone number.

  I dialed the number, not knowing what to expect. It could be another damned reporter for all I knew. Of course, there was no answer.

  The minute I hung up, a call came in. It was Anita Hollenbach, the real estate agent I'd been working with.

  “Bay,” she said. “That house you wanted, you won't believe what happened! They accepted your offer!”

  “The one in the same neighborhood as Bela's?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “It was the only one you actually bid on. They agreed to sell it to you for that price!”

  “That's great!” I answered. “How much did I offer?”

  “You don't remember?” Anita laughed. “Eighty-eight thousand. It is worth more than that, but they want to sell it fast! Like, tomorrow!”

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I loved that damned house. It was the exact same layout as Lugosi's, right down to the swimming pool. Apparently it was built by the same developer.

  “I have to sign papers, don't I?” I asked.

  “That's right,” Anita replied. “Quite a few papers! And you will need to get a cashier's check.”

  “I don't have eighty-eight thousand dollars,” I said.

  “Not for the whole amount!” she replied. “Just ten percent. The bank will finance the rest.”

  I agreed to meet Anita at my bank the following morning at 9:00 AM. Patty would go to the studio and explain that I would be late arriving.

  “That is such wonderful news!” Patty said. “We should celebrate!”

  “You Hollywood people are always celebrating,” I said. “But in this case, I agree with you! I've never owned a house before. And Patty, this one is right here in Hollywood! I am going to be a Hollywoodite!”

  We cracked open a bottle of wine from Bela's cabinet and shared in a toast.

  “To your new home!” Patty said. “May you live there happily ever!”

  One toast led to another, and soon, we had toasted through three bottles of Bela's expensive wine.

  “I will replace these,” I said.

  “Of course you will,” Patty said. That was her last words as she passed out on the sofa. I helped her to bed and set her alarm clock for 6:00 AM. Then I grabbed another bottle of wine and went into Bela's library.

  I am going to own a home in Hollywood, California! I sang. I was happily drunk off my ass and decided to write a song. It didn't turn out too well, but I didn't care. It sounded good to me.

  I noticed a small stack of letters addressed to me sitting on the desk and decided to look through them. They were from the usual Hollywood magazines, so I didn't bother to open them. But one of them was from Hearst Publishing, so I ripped it open. It was another check. This one was for thirty-two thousand dollars.

  It was a damned sobering sight. A check made out to me for thirty-two thousand dollars! I couldn't believe it. That meant I had earned fifty-four thousand dollars from the Graf book. No wonder people were clamoring for me to write for them. There was a note along with the check saying that the book had broken all previous sales records.

  “With worldwide sales in excess of four million copies,” the letter read, “Chase The Rabbit is the largest selling book in history, second only to The Bible.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The man at the bank was damned happy to see me. I just wanted to sign the papers and get back to the set of Hold Your Man.

  When we were finally done, the banker produced a copy of Chase The Rabbit and asked me to sign it for him.

  “I'm sorry,” I said. “But I think I have signed enough for one day.”

  He looked puzzled and a bit embarrassed for asking.

  “He doesn't sign books,” Anita, the real estate agent said. “It's nothing personal.”

  “He doesn't sign books?” the banker asked. “Why on earth not?”

  “I don't know,” I replied. “I just don't.”

  “But it is great publicity,” he replied. “People love to have a book signed by the author. Everyone does it. It helps to sell books.”

  “Mine seem to be doing just fine without me signing them,” I replied. “Besides, you already bought a copy. And I don't recall Jesus and the twelve apostle's signing any either.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I replied. “I signed your papers because I had to. Now are we done here?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Bay,” the banker said. “Thank you for your business. If there is anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to call.”

  Anita gave me a r
ide to the studio, which gave her ample time to tell me all about what the house I had just purchased would need in the way of fixing up.

  “It has been neglected,” she said. “But with a little painting and redoing, you'll have a wonderful property!”

  “I remember,” I replied. “I saw it. I know it needs a lot of work.”

  “The master bathroom needs new plumbing,” she continued, “the kitchen floor should be replaced because of the flooding from the faulty sink, oh, and the roof should be replaced as well.”

  “What the hell happened to the roof?” I asked.

  “I thought I told you,” Anita said. “The previous owner shot holes through the roof.”

  “No, you didn't tell me about that,” I said. “Why did he do that?”

  “Not he,” Anita answered. “It was the wife. She caught him cheating on her with the maid and chased them through the house. Just as she was about to shoot them both, she changed her mind and raised the gun to the roof. I think she wanted to scare him.”

  “Good lord!” I said. “No wonder I got the house so cheap! How much are all of these repairs going to cost?”

  “Probably somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty- thousand,” she replied. “But even so, it was still a great deal!”

  “I don't remember seeing holes in the ceiling,” I said.

  “They painted over them,” Anita said. “I didn't find out until I read the house inspection report this morning.”

  “Shouldn't the buyer have access to that inspection report?” I asked. “I mean, it seems like it would be good information to have.”

  “You signed off on the inspection report,” she said. “I could tell you weren't really reading the papers. You were just signing where we told you to sign. That is why I am telling you all of this now, Bay.”

  “You noticed that?” I asked. “I guess I am not such a good actor after all.”

  “If you weren't a good actor I wouldn't be driving you to the MGM studios,” Anita said. “Now go make your movie, Bay, and congratulations on your new home.”

  I arrived on the set of Hold Your Man and was shocked that the entire cast had planned a celebration party for me. They had a cake and balloons, and everyone cheered as I walked in.