[Celebrity Murder Case 08] - The Mae West Murder Case

by George Baxt

  “I can contend with a maneater. But the Tailspin on Hallowe’en night. I have an idea we three are going to need a little protection of our own.”

  Mae grinned. “I don’t need no witch to tell me tomorrow night feels like it’s gonna be a very interestin’ night!”

  NINE

  THE DETECTIVE STANDING IN THE DOORWAY of Herb Villon’s office was named Felix Dvorack. Villon described him as being slightly better looking then a Boston bull. He had a beer belly and wore a stained vest under his stained jacket. He chewed on a cigar stub and kept his thumbs jammed behind the waistline of his stained trousers. There was always stubble on his chin. Villon made it a point to avoid a face-to-face confrontation with him as it meant the possibility of asphyxiation by the garlic fumes reeking from his mouth. They loathed each other. Dvorack referred to Villon as the Big Shot, occasionally he’d nastily refer to him as Fancy Pants, and was jealous of his acquaintance with several celebrities. Villon was admired and respected by his peers and his superiors. Dvorack was tolerated though Mallory referred to him as the Bubonic Plague and wished science would stamp him out.

  Villon stared at Dvorack with disguised distaste. “You going to stand in the doorway or are you coming in?”

  Dvorack didn’t move. “The desk told me you wanted to see me the minute I got back. Well, I’m back more than a minute. That bother you?”

  Someday, thought Villon, I’m going to smack you in the mouth and send that filthy cigar stub all the way down into your bowels. “Felix, what bothers me is your sudden paralysis. Can you come into the room and sit down, or shall I come out into the hall where”—he couldn’t resist the dig—”the air is considerably fresher.”

  Dvorack stared at Villon who resumed working on his notes, knowing Dvorack would soon be sitting opposite him. The man had no guts. He couldn’t outface anyone. He knew he was disliked. He was lonely. He was a bachelor. Villon suspected he would never live to a mythical ripe old age. Herb heard the door shut. Dvorack walked heavily the few feet to a chair on the opposite side of the desk. He settled his overweight bulk into the chair as Villon looked up. The cigar stub was an obscenity. There was always a stub, just as it seemed there was always Felix Dvorack. The only compensation was that Dvorack’s retirement was promised before the end of the year.

  “Well, Villon?” Dvorack pronounced it Villain, deliberately.

  “Neon Light.”

  Dvorack obviously didn’t like hearing the name again. Villon could see it in his face.

  “Well, Felix?” Villon didn’t try to mask his impatience.

  “Well, what?”

  “Why’d you put his file on ice?”

  “Because it was finished.”

  “You nabbed his killer?”

  “Don’t be funny. You ain’t no Jack Benny.”

  “You’re no detective.”

  Dvorack moved forward, his fists clenched. “You looking for trouble?”

  “No, Felix, you’ve been looking for trouble and you’ve found it. I had a long talk with the chief about Neon Light’s case and the file being buried in the basement, and he told me to have it out with you because if he did, and you know his temper, you’d be back pounding a beat. He doesn’t want to do it to you with you so close to retirement.” He pointed a finger at Dvorack, who recognized when Villon meant business and could feel his armpits dampening. “Who told you to sink that file?”

  “Nobody told me nothing. I did it all by myself.”

  Villon’s voice rose an octave. “You’ve got no authority to close a case without first talking to the chief and the rest of us! Where the hell do you get off pulling that file?”

  “I came to a fucking dead end. There was noplace else to go, so I sank it. So what? Some faggot gets his skull bashed in in Griffith Park. Big deal! They’re always getting killed there. Who gives a shit about a fucking fairy?”

  Villon was on his feet, his hands on the desk, his face a frightening mask of snarling fury. “A good cop gives a shit! Did you get paid to bury that file?”

  Dvorack’s face was ashen. “You son of a bitch ...” His voice was low and menacing.

  Villon spit each word. “Did you get paid to bury that file? Don’t horse around with me, Felix. I’ve long suspected you had your hand in Milton Connery’s pocket!”

  “Bastard. I hate your guts.”

  “You’d be a bigger asshole than you are if you didn’t. As of now we don’t have to make believe and be polite to each other. Like every cop in this precinct, I can’t wait to see you walking out of the front door forever. You stink, Felix, not just your clothes and your filthy cigar butts and your body, you just plain stink as a person. Neon Light was a person. A brilliant talent who was admired and respected, and he’s not to be swept under a carpet or buried in the fucking basement. I’m melting that ice right now, Felix, that file is being dug up, not only because his case has been reassigned to me—”

  “You son of a bitch!”

  “—but because it’s tied in with the vampire killings.”

  “Balls!”

  “If you weren’t so quick to bury it, you’d realize Neon also did a Mae West impersonation. He had the honor to open the show. The first of the vampire’s victims.”

  “He wasn’t. It’s a coinci—” Dvorack stopped abruptly. His eyes were blinking nervously. Villon’s eyes were riveted to Dvorack’s face.

  “It’s a coincidence? How do you know?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I mean ... I mean … even though I sank the file, and you’re right … you’re right, Herb, you’re absolutely right.” He was in the hot seat and squirming. “Like I said, even though I sank the file, I been thinking … y’know, it comes slow to me, I been thinking—Gee, Neon was also an impersonator, maybe I was too quick, maybe there’s a connection with him and these vampire killings …

  “Then why didn’t you bring his file up?”

  “I—I didn’t want to be too hasty, I wanted to be sure, y’know?”

  “I know. I know you’ve had four months to recover the file. Four months in which three more impersonators were killed, and one was a woman, positively no faggot, Felix, positively no faggot.” He sat down. He was trembling. “When’d you bury the file?” Dvorack licked his lips. “You buried it before these last three murders. You buried it maybe a few weeks after Neon Light was buried. Real quick investigation, Felix. Real fast to decide you’d reached a fucking dead end. Oh, boy, am I looking forward to reading that file. I’ll bet I find you did next to nothing to try and get a lead on Neon’s murderer. I’ll bet there isn’t a mention of Milton Connery in it.”

  Dvorack blustered, “Come off it! Connery was his manager. He was very cooperative.”

  “I’ll bet he was. Why didn’t you talk to Mae West?”

  “Mae West? That whore!” Villon almost leapt across the desk to strangle Dvorack, but he was quick to realize if he did, he’d be subjected to a disciplinary embarrassment for attacking a brother officer. Some brother.

  From the way Villon stared, Dvorack realized “whore” was a mistake. He knew Villon was assigned the vampire case, a case he had campaigned to get for himself and had been flatly rejected, his chief struggling to keep from laughing in his face.

  Villon felt his temples throbbing. He stared into the other man’s face with undisguised revulsion and loathing. He finally spoke after what Dvorack found to be a long and uncomfortable silence. “Mae West is the kind of wonderful human being you can never hope to be. Mae West was Neon Light’s friend. She encouraged him. She helped create his act. Without her telling me, I know she supported him financially until he made it on his own. And to show you what a fine detective that lady is, and I mean lady in the royal sense, that lady pointed out to me that Neon Light is very likely connected to the vampire killings because he also impersonated Miss West.” He leaned forward. “And let me tell you this, Felix, if I find out you’ve been on the take, if I find out you’re a rogue cop, I will personally bring you up on charges and see to
it that they stick and then you can take your retirement and shove it where it belongs because you’ll be out on your ass a disgrace.”

  Jim Mallory had quietly come into the office and stood against the door. Dvorack was unaware of his presence. Jim had heard most of Villon’s peroration. He had never heard such vituperation coming from this man whom he loved and admired, with whom he had worked so happily these many years. It was a revelation and he loved it. It was a side of Villon he’d longed to see. Calm, cool, collected Herb Villon, keeping all that anger locked inside. Mallory suspected he must have an ulcer the size of a golf ball.

  “Who paid you?” Villon wasn’t letting the fish off the hook. “I’ll make you a promise. It’s between you and me and Mallory.”

  “Mallory? Why Mallory?”

  “Because he’s standing behind you and he’s famous for his excellent hearing.”

  Dvorack didn’t bother looking for Mallory. His eyes were glued to Villon.

  Villon said, “I won’t breathe a word of it to the chief until you’re out of here forever. Now repeat after me: Milton Connery.”

  Dvorack finally removed the cigar butt from his mouth and put it into an ashtray on the desk. “He’s done me lots of favors, Herb. Lots of favors. I owe him. I know it’s wrong, it’s very wrong. But I saw no way to break Neon Light’s case. There were no clues. No leads.”

  “There could have been plenty of clues, plenty of leads if you’d conducted an honest investigation. If you’d interviewed Miss West, the other impersonators Neon knew and was friendly with, the staff at the Tailspin Club. If you’d dug into Neon’s past and found where he came from.”

  “I did that! I did that! He was an orphan. He was adopted by this couple named Williamson.”

  “Did you talk to them.7”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure I did. They told me he had an older brother but they didn’t know who he was or where he was.”

  “So why did you stop there?”

  “I didn’t stop there. Who told you I stopped there? I kept digging. I did talk to the staff at the Tailspin. I even got tipped to talk to that witch, Agnes something.”

  “Agnes Darwin, Connery’s watering hole at the time.”

  “Oh. So that was it. I didn’t get much from her. Nothing that was of use.” He said heatedly, “I was getting close. I was getting real close. I found out about the after-hours orgies with all them Hollywood big shots and the hidden cameras and the blackmail.”

  “Is that in the file?” Villon asked quickly.

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me. I talk plain and clear.”

  “It’s not in the file.”

  “Why not?”

  “I—I—I didn’t think it had anything to do with Neon’s murder.”

  “Supposing I tell you it’s going to have everything to do with Neon’s murder.” Dvorack seemed to have gotten smaller. Although he couldn’t see his face, Mallory imagined that the Boston bull now looked like an obscene baby. His shoulders had sagged and Mallory imagined he’d grow smaller and smaller and then something would come along to mercifully blow him away into oblivion.

  Villon shifted in his seat. He couldn’t believe it, but he was feeling sorry for the man. He’d had no idea his meeting with Dvorack would lead to the man’s destruction and physical disintegration. He only wanted to know why he had hidden the file. It was fascinating to be a detective. And to think that as a teenager he’d spent three months taking tap-dancing lessons because he admired tap-dancing vaudevillian Pat Rooney, Sr. Now he was doing what he did so well: carefully, systematically getting the better of a tough opponent.

  Villon said, “Neon was in on everything in which Milton Connery was involved. I’ve got no proof, it’s all supposition, but I can’t think of an alternative scenario, not one that works as good as this one. Mae West told me Neon Light was dying. You name the disease, he had it. Take a number from one to ten. When Neon realized his days were numbered, I suspect he wanted to live it up. He probably didn’t have anything stashed away in the bank, and I suspect he wanted a large sum of money to accomplish several things. Money for this anonymous brother who had begged him not to become an impersonator. Money to give himself a joy ride like he’d never known so maybe there’d be some laughs for a kid who’d made others laugh when there was no laughter for him. Damn it, he was only twenty-three years old.” Involuntarily he banged his fist on the desk. “Jesus, was there an autopsy?”

  “I didn’t think it was necessary. God damn it, his skull was bashed in. His brains were spilled.”

  “Not in Griffith Park. He wasn’t killed in Griffith Park. I’ll lay dollars to doughnuts he was murdered at the Tailspin Club. Jesus Christ, Felix, do you really sleep at night?”

  “Yeah. I sleep at night.” He spoke quietly, they didn’t miss the irony in his voice. “Why not? There’s no one to bother me. I live alone. I got no woman. I never had no woman. All I had was whores. I prefer blondes. Like Mae West is blonde. That kind of blonde. So I retire. What’s to look forward to? A couple of beers at the local saloon. A movie. Maybe the burley-Q downtown sometimes. So what? But you see, now I can travel. Now I can get out of this goddamn garbage pail of a city. Buy some new suits. Clean myself up. I’ll only be sixty. That’s not so old, is it?” His voice choked. He was crying. Mallory was uncomfortable. He thought of giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder but he was afraid of contamination.

  Villon was all business, seemingly ignoring Dvorack’s litany of self-pity. But underneath, he was understanding the man’s unhappiness, his desperation for one last laugh, the only thing he had in common with Neon Light. “Jim, get an exhumation order for Neon Light’s body and order an autopsy. Maybe that cracked skull wasn’t the only reason for his death. And what progress have you made with Miss West’s doormen?”

  “I’ve got three nice guys on their way to see her right now. She wants you to know she’s crazy about her bodyguards. So are Goneril and Desdemona.”

  “Get a move on.” Mallory made a rapid exit.

  “What happens now?” asked Dvorack.

  “Nothing.”

  “You ain’t blowing the whistle on me?”

  “Not yet.”

  Dvorack was dumbfounded. “You’ve got the goods on me.”

  “I’ll need you when I get the goods on Connery.”

  “But I told you I accepted his bribe. Mallory’s a witness.”

  “That’s just a fraction of what I need. Orgies. Hidden cameras. Blackmail. Neon Light. I need a hell of a lot of proof, and I don’t know where I’m going to find it and I’m starting looking right now.”

  Dvorack said quietly, “Thanks, Herb. I really mean it.” Villon said nothing. There was nothing to say. Felix Dvorack struggled out of the chair and stumbled to the door. He thought of prison and the revenge that could be exacted on him there. He pulled the door open and walked blindly down the hall. The prospect of an ugly future had shattered him. He found the men’s room. He ran past an officer washing his hands and went into an empty stall. He shut the door and latched it.

  The officer said, “Glad you made it in time, Felix.”

  In the stall, Felix placed his service revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His brains made a colorful pattern on the wall behind him. The officer was in shock. Others poured into the room, including Herb Villon. Villon asked him, “Felix Dvorack?” The officer nodded dumbly. Herb commented, “It shouldn’t have come to this.”

  A few minutes later, Villon was back at his desk. Mallory came in looking as though he’d seen a ghost. “Did you hear? Did you hear what Felix did? What an awful mess. What are you going to tell the chief?”

  “What I want him to know.”

  Mallory sank into the chair Felix Dvorack had recently vacated. “What’s the next step with Milton Connery?”

  “I give him enough rope.”

  “Aren’t you going to bring him in?”

  “Why?”

  “Why? For bribing Felix.”

  “Ca
n we prove it?”

  “For crying out loud, Herb, we both heard Felix’s confession!”

  “We haven’t got it in writing. A smart lawyer would shred our testimony if we ever got Connery to trial. We have to sit back and wait until Connery hangs himself.”

  “But supposing it’s a long wait?”

  “Unlike Miss Mae West, patience is one of my virtues. When’s the autopsy scheduled?”

  “The coroner said he’d try to squeeze it in tomorrow. He’s got a big waiting list.”

  “You still got no date for tomorrow night?”

  “No. Barbara Stanwyck has other plans and his name’s Robert Taylor.”

  “Miss Stanwyck will regret this one day.” Mallory smiled. “Well, Jim, I’ve got a nice surprise for you. You have someone to escort to the Tailspin tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, God, I hate blind dates.”

  “This one isn’t blind. It’s Mae’s sister Beverly.”

  “Oh my, some days are truly luckier than others. I saw her picture in the Times this morning.”

  “So what’s wrong? Mae says her sister’s a dead ringer for her.”

  “A slightly jaded dead ringer.”

  Villon roared with laughter. His intercom buzzed. His chief said, “Herb! Felix Dvorack’s committed suicide!”

  Villon said, “And I’ve lost the one person who could have testified against my prime suspect.”

  The chief said, “You’ll come up with someone else.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears.”

  TEN

  IN MAE WEST’S ALL-WHITE LIVING room, the queen sat on her throne, her eyes cannily examining the three retired police officers recruited by Jim Mallory. She liked what she saw. They liked what they saw. It was the beginning of a mutual admiration society. Desdemona entered holding a tray that held three steins of beer and a bowl of pretzels. She distributed the beers to the men, who had identified themselves as Timothy Madden, Al Schwartz, and Roscoe Werber.