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

by George Baxt

  Desdemona appeared. “Miss Mae, there’s no Bromo Seltzer. If we don’t have some soon, we will die.”

  “Serves you right, the way the two of you drank and carried on last night. Phone the drugstore, they’ll send it up. And while you’re at it, tell them to send up some smellin’ salts.”

  “You feelin’ faint?” asked Desdemona in a monotone.

  “No, I ain’t feelin’ faint, but there could be an emergency later.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll send you a letter by special delivery! Now beat it!” Mae smiled at the detectives as Desdemona picked her way slowly and delicately back to the kitchen. “It’s goin’ to be a real rough day around here.” She looked at her diamond-encrusted wrist-watch. “I got a date to go to church.” They waited for her to continue. “I phoned Father Riggs to tell him I’m comin’ in for confession. He dropped the phone. When he picked it up, I gave him a song and dance about bein’ depressed by all these killin’s and needin’ some comfortin’. He offered to come here but I said no, today I’d like to do it accordin’ to the rules. No special privileges. I told him Seymour would pilot me there in the Rolls, otherwise I’d be alone. Well, whaddya think, Herb? Do you think he knows we know?”

  “I think he’s tired of the game. Also, he’s a man of the cloth.”

  “Seems to me that slipped his mind a long time ago. Poor son of a bitch. With those looks he could have been a movie star. If he hadn’t have come back to the club last night, he’d still be on the loose. Do you think he wanted to be caught?”

  “You’ve heard that old one about the murderer always returning to the scene of the crime? Well, in this case, I think he realized killing Milton Connery in the club was a mistake. Killing anyone in the club was a mistake. What’s wrong, Mae?” She suppressed a shudder. “He had me right there. He was standin’ over me. He could have settled it once and for all. You really believe he wants to kill me because I convinced Neon to go on with his career?”

  “Absolutely. The man’s a lunatic.”

  Mae’s hands were upturned, showing her palms. She was incredulous. “I ain’t known any priests before who were lunatics! How will he face his maker after all he’s done?” She thought and then answered her question herself. “He’ll probably throw himself on the mercy of the court as an orphan.” She asked Mallory to get her some fresh coffee from the sideboard. “And killin’ them facsimiles of me, not because they needed to die but because he wanted to frighten the hell out of me.” Her eyes met Villon’s. “And the Williamsons? That was him too?”

  “At first my money was on Connery. Dvorack must have told him they were planning to hire a private dick to continue the investigation. But then I thought of Riggs’s hatred of them too because they encouraged Neon. Anyway, Connery’s dead and out of it. As for Father Riggs, it’s Judgment Day.”

  “I’ll wear somethin’ subdued in keepin’ with the occasion. You know, I’m always sayin’ to my friends, ‘See you in church’. Well now I’m goin’ and it ain’t even Sunday. Come on in, James.” Timony nodded to the detectives. “You still plannin’ to take off tomorrow momin’?”

  “I said I’d leave when the murderer is caught and you’re out of danger.”

  “He ain’t caught yet. There’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip. And here’s slipping beauty.”

  Beverly entered briskly. “Hello everybody, what a glorious morning!”

  “The girls in the kitchen don’t think so,” said Mae. “There’s coffee and rolls on the sideboard. It’s all I could scrape up. Unless Goneril’s got some stuff hidden away in case of a famine.”

  Beverly said to Villon, “Will I be in danger if I borrow a bodyguard and go shopping at Bullock’s?”

  Villon said, “Give it a couple of hours.”

  “Oh, heavens, it’ll take me longer than that to get ready! These rolls look stale.”

  Mae was on her way to her boudoir. “There are a lot of things around here that look stale.” She said to Villon and Mallory, “I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

  The circles under Father Riggs’s eyes were deep and dark. It had been a sleepless night. A night of constant prayer and pleading to the Almighty for forgiveness. He found a picture of his baby brother Mickey at the bottom of his desk drawer and placed it on the mantel of the fireplace in his living room. He lit a votive candle and set it against the photo of his brother. He wept bitterly. Then the phone call from Mae West. Mae West. MAE WEST. Yes, Mae, confess. Confess your multitude of sins. Confess, Mae. You’re as responsible for these killings as I am. If you hadn’t interfered, if you hadn’t led Mickey astray, he’d be alive today. Those infernal impersonators wouldn’t have had to die. The Williamsons wouldn’t be dead. He was at the desk staring into the open top drawer. Staring at the knife reposing on a velvet cloth. Staring at the bat’s head ring with its deadly fangs. MAE WEST.

  The buzzer told him someone was waiting for him in the confessional. It couldn’t be her. It was too early. He dried his eyes. Slowly he left the apartment and entered his side of the confessional.

  “You there, Father.7” It was him again. The nut case. Brothers under the skin.

  “Yes, my son.”

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. But you know that already if you read this morning’s papers. I sure gave that party last night some extra added attractions. You know, sometimes I confuse myself. I don’t know why I killed that man Canary.”

  “Connery.”

  “Yeah, right, Connery. Doesn’t seem to me as he had any connection to Mae West. But, oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. You know, Father, I keep wondering, ain’t you itching to expose me to the cops?”

  “Not at all,” he said softly. “Perhaps you don’t realize you’ve been doing a service to mankind.”

  “Yeah? You mean like I’m a scientist, something like that?”

  “Milton Connery was a terrible man.”

  “You knew him?” He was startled.

  “I knew of him.” His head was throbbing. He felt in his pocket. The ring and the knife were there. Perhaps he should murder this fool. Put him out of his misery. On the other hand, he might be enjoying himself. Domiciled in his fool’s paradise. Oh, why doesn’t he go away?

  “Father? Why are you so quiet? Am I boring you?”

  He wanted to scream, Yes, yes, yes, you all bore me, is this what lies in store for me for the rest of my life? Listening to the confessions of blithering idiots like you, listening to old ladies chatter away not because they feel the need to confess anything but because they’re lonely and want somebody to talk to, listening to religious fanatics who drone on and on about how they don’t think they’re giving the best of themselves to Jesus. And Jesus. What of Him? I have betrayed Him, as I have betrayed myself. He heard himself say, “Fifty Hail Marys!”

  “You crazy? I mean, forgive me, Father, but—”

  “Fifty Hail Marys! Now go on, get the hell out of here!” Father Wally went back to his apartment. He leaned against the door gasping for breath. MAE WEST. He had to make ready. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for. He removed the knife and ring from the pocket and placed them on his dressing table. He murmered, “Hail Mary—full of shit“

  The Rolls-Royce was parked outside the entrance to the church. Mae sat in the backseat between Villon and Mallory. Seymour Steel Cheeks was wondering what had compelled this sudden urge of Mae’s to go to church. And it was Friday, not Sunday. On Sunday they went to church on the reservation. The kids never wanted to go, but if they remonstrated they were rewarded with the whack of a wet towel.

  “It ain’t much of a church, is it?” drawled Mae. “That’s why I’m so generous with my donations. It’s limited seatin’ in there, which don’t do much for the box office. Listen, boys, I got to tell you somethin’ that’s on my mind. I hope I don’t sound like no hypocrite, which I ain’t. I wish it was anybody but Father Wally. I have a soft spot in my heart for him. I think I always will. Him and the rabbi have affected me, e
ach in his own way. It sometimes makes me wish I was more religious.”

  Villon said, “Mae, I think in your own way, you are.”

  She patted his cheek. “Give me a few minutes to settle into the confessional and then come tiptoein’ in. And please, gentlemen, try not to hurt him.” She held out her hand to Villon. He placed his bat’s head ring on her palm. She put it in her handbag where it was easily accessible. “Seymour! I’m ready to enter the church.”

  He was out of the car and on the sidewalk, opening the door for Mae. On the sidewalk, she looked at the handsome Indian who was nursing a brutal hangover. “Seymour, I’ve seen you lookin’ better. You should lay off the firewater.” She patted his cheek. “I think it’s time to maybe give you a little annuity.” Annuity! At last! Annuity! He watched her sauntering up the walk to the church entrance. Bells should be ringing, thought Seymour, bells, lots of bells. Saint Mae is giving me an annuity!

  Once inside the church, Mae’s eyes swept the interior. Shabby little house of worship. It could use a couple of coats of paint. Pieces had been carved out of the backs and armrests of some pews. Several of the stained-glass windows had cracks in them. I suppose the condition of this place is enough to drive anyone to murder, thought Mae. She strolled down the aisle to the confessional. Once seated she pressed the buzzer with her index finger, which bore the weight of an enormous diamond. There were diamond rings on eight fingers. They gave her comfort, the kind of comfort she could never expect from a priest. She heard Father Riggs take his place on the opposite side of the grille. She wet her lips. She opened her hand and stared at the ring. Finally, after taking a deep breath, she spoke. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “Yes, my child.” His voice was soft and strained.

  “This has been weighin’ heavily on me for a long time and after some tragic events last night, I knew it was time to get it off my chest. Well, you see, here’s the scenario that I’m dictatin’ to you. I’m as much responsible for these here impersonator killin’s as the murderer is. If I hadn’t convinced his kid brother he belonged in the drag queen business, all them unfortunates would be alive today and struttin’ their stuff like they was me, which unfortunately they ain’t and never will be.” She reached into her purse and found a perfumed handkerchief, which she held to her nose. “What you’re smellin’ is my special perfume, Noche de Diablo. The Night of the Devil. The Devil’s been havin’ an awful lot of night’s these past couple of months. Too damn—sorry—many of them.”

  Villon and Mallory had entered quietly, and just as quietly walked down the carpeted aisle where they positioned themselves a few feet from Mae’s side of the confessional. They could hear her clearly.

  “But, Father, that don’t excuse the murderer for the awful things he’s done. Five victims. Now, that’s a disgrace. And, Father, I don’t want to drag this on—no pun intended—much longer, because you know I know you’re the killer and I’m gonna tell you how come I know. You slipped up twice last night at the Tailspin. When it turned out Connery might not be a Catholic, you said ‘Perhaps the person in the garden.’ Nobody knew then that Billie Doux was dead in the garden exceptin’ me and the cops. And then when you were told Billie was a Catholic for sure, you headed straight for the garden before I could tell Simon LeGrand to direct you there. So you already knew the way to the garden because you’d been there killin’ Billie Doux. And in my handbag I’ve got the twin of that bat’s head ring your kid brother bought at the Witches’ Brew to give you as a gift.

  “Father, you shouldn’t have been ashamed of Neon. He was a great talent. And if you really wanted him out of the racket, you should have revealed your true identity to me and you would have won me over to your side. But you were too heated up with anger to reveal your true identity. If you had, that poor kid brother of yours would be alive today. You—”

  The screech that filled the church was the cry of a demented banshee. Villon and Mallory watched with amazement as Father Riggs came out of the confessional, face twisted with hatred, on his index finger, the bat’s head ring with its deadly fangs exposed. In his left hand, the priest held a knife.

  She said in her soft drawl, “Father, I don’t like the look of that knife.”

  He moved toward her with menace. She didn’t flinch. She saw Villon and Mallory coming up behind him. They wrestled him to the floor. Seymour Steel Cheeks, curious to see what was going on, came into the church. “Seymour!” Mae shouted. “Give the boys a hand.” She stepped out of the confessional and watched Villon pin the priest’s hands behind his back and handcuff them. Then the priest was helped to his feet, sobbing, fighting for breath, and staring at Mae with the kind of hatred she hoped never to see again. “Seymour, go find a phone and call the precinct.”

  “That’s not necessary,” said Villon. “There’s a couple of squad cars parked around the corner.”

  “You think of everythin’, don’t you.”

  “Mae, if I was to tell you some of the things I think about, it might bring a blush to your cheeks.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why don’tcha try me?”

  Father Riggs said to Mae with an ugly snarl, “I should have killed you first!” and was hurried away.

  “I should have killed you first.”

  Mae stared at the man as he was guided out. I should have killed you first. Never before had she heard or experienced such hatred. She was stunned. After all those checks she gave him!

  Mae sat in a pew and commanded, “Seymour! Gimme them smellin’ salts!” For the first time in a long time, she was fighting back tears.