[Celebrity Murder Case 07] - The Marlene Dietrich Muder Case

by George Baxt

  “Perhaps it would be wise for you to send for reinforcements, Mr. Villon.”

  “Call me Herb. Why do I need reinforcements?”

  “The danger!” exclaimed Dietrich.

  “What danger?”

  “The danger I just told you about! Mai Mai Chu’s premonition.” Hazel shifted from one foot to another while Villon explained to Marlene, “I can’t call for reinforcements because of a psychic’s premonition.”

  “Why not?”

  “My chief would think I’m nuts.”

  “You can’t be nuts. I can see for myself you’re a highly intelligent person.”

  “Marlene, this is New Year’s Eve. The entire police force is out keeping law and order. People go wild on New Year’s Eve. They might send for me to go out there and help.”

  Marlene stared into his big brown eyes and at his craggy good looks and respected the intensity with which he spoke to her. “But supposing something terrible happens?”

  “Then I request a backup and we pray there’s a backup available.”

  Anna May Wong joined them. She knew Hazel well and was happy to meet Villon. She told Marlene, “Mai Mai is creating quite a stir. She either amuses people or makes them uncomfortable. She’s foreseeing things and I think she’s in a mood to perform. Would you like her to?”

  Dietrich gave the offer some thought and then smiled. “Will she be outrageous?”

  “She will be whatever she will want to be. I’ve seen Mai Mai in situations like this before, and I can assure you, she’s never boring.”

  “I’m a bit of a psychic myself,” said Dietrich, “and I have a feeling this will be a night to remember. Come. Let’s get her started.”

  The ballroom was hushed. Mai Mai Chu sat on a plush chair on the orchestra platform. She looked like a porcelain statuette come to life. She spoke softly but clearly, and everyone in the room could hear her. Anna May Wong stood next to her. She addressed the guests.

  “With Marlene’s kind permission, I have asked my dear friend Madam Mai Mai Chu to perform for us tonight. Actually, Madam Chu volunteered. She has much on her mind that she wishes to share with all of us. Madam Chu is a world-renowned and respected astrologer …”—Carroll Richter stood stiffly at a bar clenching a highball and choking on the scream welling up in his throat—“… and equally of importance, she is a psychic possessed of the most amazing, and perhaps to some of us, very frightening powers.”

  There was a buzz humming in the ballroom. It was a buzz familiar to veteran Hollywood party-goers. It consisted of amusement mingled with expectation peppered with cynicism and a dollop of incredulity. Hazel heard a dimwitted starlet ask her escort, “I thought a psychic was something you took when you have an upset stomach.”

  Anna May continued. “This afternoon, when I phoned from this house to invite Mai Mai to join the celebration tonight, she told me she sensed danger here.”

  Again the buzz, but this time one of increasing interest and curiosity. Dorothy di Frasso exchanged looks with Ivar Tensha and Monte Trevor. The Ivanovs had joined them and Gregory squeezed Natalia’s hand. Dong See stole a look at Raymond Souvir, who was hypnotized by the look of anxiety on Marlene Dietrich’s face. Out of curiosity, Herb Villon’s eyes were two spotlights sweeping the room studying the reactions of various guests. Hazel knew she was on to a potentially great story and was glad Louella Parsons, the queen of Hollywood gossip for the Hearst newspaper syndicate, was ill with the flu and couldn’t attend. More likely she and her physician husband had polished off one too many bottles of bootleg rye and were too sick to make it. Lolly Parsons paid handsomely for hot items.

  “This evening, on our way here together,” Anna May continued while wondering if a lecture tour with Mai Mai might prove handsomely profitable, “Madam Chu again was struck by the premonition of danger cloaking this house tonight. Since our arrival, she has been moving among you, studying your faces, and from some of you she has been getting what she refers to as interesting vibrations. She will also share with you some of what she has learned the past few days from her charts. And speaking from experience, when I despaired of being hired by Doug Fairbanks for The Thief of Bagdad when I was just an inexperienced youngster, she told me I’d get the part, and bless her heart, I did. Madam Chu has spent many years abroad in Paris, in Berlin, in Moscow, you name it, she’s been there; in other words, she knows international acclaim and respect. My dear friend, Madam Mai Mai Chu.”

  Anna May accepted Dong See’s arm as he assisted her from the platform. They had been introduced earlier and took an instant liking to each other. Madam Chu smiled at her audience and spoke reassuringly. “Do not be frightened by what I say. What I say to you is a guide, a warning, the opportunity to avert what is inevitable. There are those who scoff at astrology, yet there are those who live by it and thrive by it and learn from it. My psychic powers are true powers. I can no sooner deny them as I cannot deny the inevitability of death. And none of us can deny the inevitability of death.”

  She knew she had them; some were fascinated, some restrained an urge to scoff vocally, some believed, and some wanted to believe, anything to ease the misery of living.

  Mai Mai said, “My charts tell me there are several disasters impending. Perhaps this New Year, perhaps the following year, an ocean liner will catch fire and sink off the Atlantic Coast. Many lives will be lost. A pleasure cruise that will turn into a horrifying nightmare. And also in the same vicinity, which is in the area of the state of New Jersey and the Atlantic Ocean, an airship will explode and burn and again many lives will be lost. This airship will be of foreign origin and the suspicion will be that the cause of the explosion will be the sabotage of a terrorist organization.”

  What she was saying was incredible to many, amusing to others, and to some, absolute hogwash. Groucho Marx had arrived with his wife when Mai Mai began speaking and asked Marlene, “Where’s the other three jugglers?” Marlene gently put a finger on his lips and he just as gently kissed it as his wife pulled him away.

  Now Mai Mai really disturbed the guests. “My charts tell me there will be a terrible second world war. There is a dangerous cancer growing in Europe in the form of a little man with horrifying ambitions to rule the world.” Marlene clasped her hands tightly together. She knew this man. She had heard him speak at a street rally. He had seen her perform on stage opposite Hans Albers in the musical Two Bow-Ties. He had sent her flowers and invited her to dine with him but she rejected him; he frightened her. And his vast army of followers was increasing at an alarming rate. She had heard and seen this for herself on her trip abroad the previous April.

  Mai Mai was saying, “I tell you this because it is possible to avert these disasters, this European holocaust. I am giving you knowledge, and knowledge is power when used correctly.” She coughed a very tiny and modest cough and cleared her throat. “A national tragedy is imminent. My charts are very powerful where this is concerned. The child of an American hero is under the threat of kidnapping. The child will be murdered.”

  Director William Wellman shouted, “Do you mean Lindbergh?”

  “The charts do not give names.”

  “Well, hell,” said Wellman to actor Richard Barthelmess, “I know Lindy. Maybe I ought to tip him off.”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” said Barthelmess. “She’s just a pretty good lounge act.”

  Anna May could see Mai Mai was thirsty and chose to send her a glass of champagne. Mai Mai was standing. “What I tell you now I did not read in my charts. It is what I sensed and felt as I walked among you this evening.” Her eyes pierced ahead. “There is here tonight an actress who is marked for murder. Her killer will escape detection.”

  “That could be any one of us,” Thelma Todd whispered to Nancy Carroll, who merely shrugged.

  Mai Mai said, “There are several suicides in this room, and I say to these people, do not despair, there is always hope and friends to sustain you and—” She stopped dramatically. “Danger!” she howled, “Danger
! It is right here with us, terrible danger!”

  Marlene shivered, and Herb Villon put a protective arm around Hazel Dickson’s shoulders. Mai Mai’s eyes moved from one person to another but Marlene could not tell whom she was particularly looking at. When she returned her glance to Mai Mai, the petite woman was drinking from a glass of champagne.

  Then from the rear of the ballroom, someone shouted “Happy New Year!” Mai Mai stared ahead into space as the glass slipped from her fingers. She heard the orchestra blasting ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and in a misty haze saw multicolored balloons wafting down from the ceiling and then she heard Marlene shrieking “Catch her! Catch her!”

  Mai Mai fell from the platform into Herb Villon’s strong arms. He gently lowered her to the floor as Marlene and Anna May ran to Mai Mai. Mai Mai stared up at them, but she saw nothing. Marlene said, “God in heaven, she is dead.” She did not realize she was speaking her native German.

  Herb Villon said to Hazel, “Get the pieces of her champagne glass. Wrap them in a handkerchief. Don’t let anybody step on them. And if somebody does, tell me who it is.” But Hazel was quick. She had the pieces of glass carefully placed in her handkerchief and then safely placed the folded handkerchief into her evening bag.

  Herb said to Dietrich, “Now Marlene. Now I call for an ambulance, the coroner, and backup.”

  The tableau that Herb and Marlene and Hazel and Anna May and the unfortunate Mai Mai formed went unnoticed by most of the revelers. The New Year had begun! Nineteen thirty-two was here! Everyone blew horns and wore funny hats and drank more bootleg booze and champagne, and the morning would provide one gigantic hangover.

  Only the group surrounding the corpse stayed sober. Villon was led to a phone and he called headquarters. Anna May Wong and Marlene Dietrich stood with their arms around each other. They heard the Countess Dorothy di Frasso saying to her friends, “Why the poor dear! I guess the excitement was much too much for her! She’s fainted!”

  FOUR

  THE NEW YEAR had aged thirty minutes before Herb Villon’s backup arrived. His assistant, Jim Mallory, arrived in an unmarked car followed by two squad cars of detectives, sirens blaring, scaring the hell out of rabbits and coyotes and several of Dietrich’s guests who had reason to fear the police. The coroner had preceded them, and Mai Mai’s body was placed on a couch in the library across from the ballroom. Two butlers carried the corpse, Anna May accompanying them. “What happened?” asked Miriam Hopkins. “Is she sick?”

  “She’s dead,” said Anna May.

  “How awful!” said Miriam Hopkins. “It must have been her heart. The excitement. Oh, the poor little thing.”

  Villon and Mallory were conferring after Herb had dispatched the other detectives to keep an eye on the exits and make sure no one left. “It’s going to be hopeless questioning all these people.” Dietrich had joined them. “The best we can do is get their phone numbers.”

  “My secretary can provide those,” volunteered Dietrich. “I think it is pointless to detain anyone who wants to leave.” She looked around the room. “Though it doesn’t look as though anyone has any intention of leaving. Quite a successful party.” They didn’t miss the irony in her voice. “I never saw anyone give Madam Chu the glass of champagne.”

  “I thought it was Anna May,” said Hazel Dickson.

  “No,” said Villon. “I saw her talk to a butler. She was probably telling him to get some champagne for Madam Chu. She was standing near Countess di Frasso and her entourage. They must have heard Miss Wong ask for the champagne.”

  “Strange,” said Marlene, “it was like an optical illusion.” Jim Mallory couldn’t believe he was standing next to this great celebrity. He was mesmerized by her beauty, overpowered by her perfume, and hypnotized by her commanding tone of voice. Villon was puzzled by Marlene’s statement, and Marlene was quick to explain. “I was fascinated, of course, by Madam Chu’s predictions. But at the same time, I noticed she was always directing her eyes back to one group of my guests. I couldn’t be sure which and I tried to follow her gaze. When I turned my eyes away from Madam Chu she was empty-handed; a few seconds later, she was holding the glass of champagne.”

  “Which group of guests do you think particularly interested Madam Chu?”

  “Frankly, Herb, I think it was the Countess di Frasso and her entourage. Ivar Tensha, the British film producer…”

  “Monte Trevor,” contributed Hazel.

  “Yes. Him. Raymond Souvir, the young French actor. That’s him talking to Nancy Carroll.” Anna May had returned from the library. “The Ivanovs were standing near them and, oh yes, the violinist, Dong See. Anna May, are you all right?”

  “I could be better. I phoned my father and told him what happened. He’s contacting her family. They’re in San Francisco. The coroner is examining the bod …”—she hesitated for a second—“is examining Mai Mai. I heard him say he suspected nux vomica. Herb, do you know what it is?”

  Jim Mallory spoke up. “Nux vomica is the seed from which strychnine is extracted.”

  “Strychnine.” Marlene’s voice was ghostly. “How terrible.”

  Villon asked Hazel for the handkerchief with the champagne glass shards. He instructed Jim to get it to the police lab and have it tested immediately. Jim collared another detective and transferred the errand to him. He didn’t want to miss a moment of Marlene Dietrich. He would treasure the memory and dine out on the story for the rest of his life.

  “Di Frasso’s friends, Herb. I have a feeling Mai Mai Chu might have met some of them before. Probably abroad when she lived there.” Marlene had his undivided attention. “Perhaps they are the danger that terrified her. And she was truly terrified those last moments before she collapsed. 1 saw her face. I’ll never forget the look. I’ve seen nothing like it before in my life. It was so awful.”

  “I saw it too,” said Anna May. “And I think what it signified was the terror of her realization that the danger was to herself and to no one else. I think she recognized then that it was she, Mai Mai, who was marked for murder. And by then it was too late to protect herself; she had sipped some champagne.”

  Jim Mallory said, “All it takes is a sip of strychnine and whammo.”

  “Jim, spare us.” Mallory blushed. Villon said to Marlene, “Is there somewhere I can question these people?”

  “Yes, there’s a study next to the library. Would it bother you if Anna May and I sat in on your inquiries?”

  “Not at all. Listening to them might jog a memory. There was a hell of a lot going on in this ballroom tonight and I’ll be damned if I can remember a fraction of what I saw or heard.”

  “I can,” said Hazel, who had already phoned Louella Parsons’s assistant, Dorothy Manners, to give her the scoop on Mai Mai Chu’s murder. Hazel was promised a fat fee, to which Hazel said to herself, “A very happy New Year, Hazel darling.”

  Herb shot Hazel a look and then addressed Anna May. “Miss Wong, this is my assistant, Jim Mallory. Would you accompany him and point out the Countess, the Ivanovs, Tensha, Mr. Trevor, Raymond Souvir, and Dong See?”

  “Of course,” said Anna May.

  “And Jim,” Villon’s voice was cautionary, “just say they’re wanted for some routine questions; don’t frighten the hell out of them or they’ll clam up.”

  Marlene smiled at Anna May and then at Villon. “Don’t worry, Mr. Detective, we’ll help loosen their tongues. Between us, Anna May and I speak a lot of languages. We especially talk turkey.” She led the way to the study. The orchestra was torturing “The Sheik of Araby” while a nasal tenor bleated the lyrics into a megaphone, a bad imitation of the popular crooner Rudy Vallee. Blissfully, no one paid any attention to him. Several guests watched with curiosity and suspicion as Marlene led the way to the study. The butlers who had carried the body into the library had spread the word that it was suspected Mai Mai Chu had been poisoned. “Champagne!”

  “But how?”

  “Was there poison in the bottle?”

 
“My God! Supposing there*s a madman loose at the party!”

  “I don’t think so. Chaplin’s at home with Paulette Goddard.”

  William Wellman, the director, said to Gary Cooper, “I phoned Lindbergh ostensibly to wish him and his wife a happy New Year. I sort of matter-of-factly let drop Madam Chu’s premonition about the possible kidnapping of a national hero’s baby, and you know what that modest bastard said?”

  “Nope.”

  “There are a lot of other national heroes around. Can you believe that?”

  “Yup.” Monosyllables were about as articulate as Gary Cooper ever got.

  Seated on chairs arranged in the hallway outside the study, Monte Trevor asked Ivar Tensha, “Why do you suppose our group was singled out for questioning?”

  “Possibly the police have recognized us as the privileged class. Why does it worry you? Have you never been questioned by the police before?”

  Trevor’s face reddened. “Not seriously.”

  Natalia Ivanov clutched the crucifix she always carried in her purse, mouthing pleas for help to Saint Olga while under his breath her husband reminded her they were supposed to be antireligious.

  “Not positively,” said Natalia.

  Dong See puffed on a scented cigarette while Raymond Souvir wondered if the body had yet been removed from the premises. Souvir had an abnormal fear of dying, having survived a train crash in Switzerland. His face paled as he saw the library door opening, and a few moments later two police attendants wheeled the body out and into the house elevator, where they were a tight squeeze.