[Celebrity Murder Case 03] - The Tallulah Bankhead Murder Case

by George Baxt

  There was even a grand piano, may God have mercy, and thrown across it a somewhat beautiful Spanish shawl. On the piano were a number of autographed photographs of friends and celebrities. Among these were George Gershwin, Igor Stravinsky, Max Ernst, Salvador Dali, Jacob Epstein, and Zelma O’Neil. The furniture was large and overstuffed and in need of a cleaning. What did impress Tallulah was the magnificent skylight two stories overhead, under which in center spot was Nanette’s work in progress, the bust of Abner Walsh. This was really good, and Tallulah said so. Nanette thanked her with appropriate modesty as she gave her the martini. Tallulah sipped it and complimented Nanette again, whereupon Nanette thanked her once more with a tone of ersatz affection that caused Tallulah to remind herself only two letters separated affection from affectation.

  “Now, Tallulah,” said Nanette as she sank onto an ottoman and crossed her legs, revealing the trim ankles of which she was justly proud, “shall we stop beating around the bush?”

  “Of course, dahling.” She positioned herself on the sofa, martini in the left hand, blazing Craven A in the right. “It’s so pointless not to come to the point.”

  “You’re here for information involving the murders.”

  “Dahling, you are clever, so precious and prescient.”

  “I had nothing to do with them.”

  “I didn’t think you did, except indirectly.” She indicated Nanette’s bruised face with a gentle wave of a hand. “I assume those are the legacies left you by Mr. Zang. Dahling, you’d do better to use Max Factor eight. It does wonders for bruises and miracles for black eyes. I got that tip from Mayo Methot.” She provided in an aside, “Bogart’s penultimate wife.”

  Nanette, who hadn’t poured herself a drink, changed her mind. She went to the bar and mixed a rye and ginger ale, the type of concoction that was known to send Tallulah into a fit of the vapors, she found it that noxious. “The police can tell you more about that rat fink Zang than I can.”

  “Don’t be so modest, dahling. It’s Leo Walsh I’m interested in.”

  “Wouldn’t he love to hear that? He never generated much interest from anyone other than his parents.”

  “Then you know where he is?”

  “I know he’s in New York.”

  Tallulah leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

  “Do you want a blood oath?”

  “No, dahling, there’s been enough bloodshed lately. Where can I find Leo?”

  “I haven’t the vaguest. My attachment to the name Walsh began with Abner and ended there. I never met his first wife and the boy because I didn’t want to and I never wanted to and no, I was never curious about them. When Abner left them for me, they were out in Arizona and that was twenty years ago. I suppose you know what Arizona was all about”

  “More or less.”

  “That, I must say, was a horror story.”

  Good God, thought Tallulah, a glimmer of heart.

  Nanette interpreted Tallulah’s look correctly. “I’m not a coldblooded person, Tallulah. I’m not the wicked other woman who stole Abner from Martha while she was off somewhere nursing their badly injured son. I’m sure you don’t picture me as the siren of the Rhine sitting on a rock combing my blonde tresses while luring sailors to their doom in song.”

  “Hardly, dahling, that’s a role more suited to Carol Channing.”

  “Abner did the chasing. He came after me. I was young. I was just getting started, I’d sold my first piece for fifty dollars and thought I was a millionaire. I met Abner at a vernissage—”

  “Verna who, dahling? I mean I remember vaguely some film actress named Verna Hillie …”

  “Vernissage is a preview of an art exhibit. Why, I’m surprised, Tallulah, you’re such a woman of the world.”

  “Only this world, dahling. Now let’s not interrupt ourselves.”

  “Abner was headed for the top. He had records and a radio program and offers from Hollywood and I was giddy from his attention. I didn’t know a thing about Martha and Leo until I was so thoroughly hooked by Abner, so completely in love with him, that when he finally told me, I didn’t give a damn. I wanted Abner and I got him.”

  “Bravo, dahling. Men are such fools and we girls adore fooling them, I keep telling myself. Abner divorced Martha right away?”

  “Not fast enough to suit me. He went to Arizona to break it to Martha, and of course when he saw the boy, body encased in plaster, face covered with bandages”—she walked slowly to the piano, posing dramatically against it, reminding Tallulah of Helen Gahagan in Tonight or Never—”he almost canceled the divorce.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’d hate to think he was a total shit.”

  “You’re another one who thinks Abner deserving of sainthood. Let me tell you, Tallulah, Abner wore his halo at a rakish angle.”

  “I know, dahling, I know. But he did leave them, that’s history.”

  “Martha didn’t make it easy for him. She buried him in guilt and whatever else she could use as a weapon.”

  “Especially Leo.”

  “Leo hated my guts. Hates my guts.”

  “Are you sure? He’s older now, possibly wiser …” Possibly a homicidal maniac, so watch out, Nanette.

  “You knew Martha, didn’t you?”

  “She had her suicide note hand-delivered to me.”

  “Did you like her?”

  “When she wasn’t dwelling on the past. Other people’s yesterdays bore me, I didn’t see much of her after the divorce. She seemed to have disappeared into poverty.”

  “Poverty, my ass!” Tallulah thought she might have prudently alluded to a less spectacular part of her anatomy. “Abner sent her a check every month on the dot, a very generous sum. It was when she got back from the West Coast that she did her Little Match Girl bit, moving into that basement apartment to the accompaniment of ‘Heart and Flowers’.”

  “Leo moved back with her?” Something was nagging at Tallulah, something to do with that piece of hidden information she couldn’t dislodge from her bank of memory.

  “No, Leo went to Los Angeles. That was about ten years ago. He was twenty, I think Abner said, I’m so vague about dates.” Happily, she wasn’t vague about the Walshes. They’d stayed in Arizona for a very long time, while Leo was an outpatient. He had to have years of therapy to restore the use of his body, numerous plastic operations.”

  “Meaning it was hell on earth for him.” Poor little bastard, thought Tallulah, that kind of experience could unhinge anyone.

  Nanette sighed and then mixed fresh drinks. She was glad Tallulah was there. She dreaded being alone in the house. She feared Mitchell Zang, even though the police had warned him away from her, and she dreaded the murderer, and worse, she dreaded her own company. “Strangely enough, Leo didn’t bear his father any animosity. They corresponded regularly. Leo wrote poetry and short stories. They were young poems, young stories, but they were filled with love and hope. He’d always send a note with them, When this you see, remember me.’”

  “I can see he was not about to be forgotten.” He’s certainly memorable today. “Abner must have told you what Leo was up to in Los Angeles.”

  “Oh yes, he went there to try his hand at acting.”

  “Really!”

  “Abner sent him to Barry Wren and what’s his name the director …”

  “Oliver Sholom?”

  “Oliver Sholom. He got him introductions to some others. Lester Miroff… let me think . . Eddie Dmytryk . . Albert Dekker … Gustav Von Seyffertitz …”

  “Is that a name or a condition?”

  “Leo didn’t do too well there as an actor. I don’t think he used many of those contacts. Abner said he was shy, he behaved as though the plastic surgery hadn’t completely rehabilitated his looks at all. Abner had this picture of him …”

  Tallulah was on her feet. “Where is it? Where’s this picture?”

  Nanette was afraid Tallulah would spring at her. “I … I … I …” she stammered, “I packed it al
ong with Abner’s other things I put in storage.”

  “You must get me that picture!”

  “But it’s in storage!”

  Well, you can get to it, can’t you? You can call the storage people and tell them you need to find it. I’m sure they’ll be most cooperative! Nanette, it is essential we get that photograph for the police.” She colored her voice dramatically to underline the urgency for Nanette. “Dahling, Leo Walsh could be the murderer.” Nanette’s hand flew to her throat, reminding Tallulah of Elissa Landi in The Yellow Ticket. “You say he’s here, here in New York, and we must find him. Right now he could be the invisible man moving among us and murdering the people who betrayed his father. Leo’s lost Abner, he’s lost Martha, the two people he loved the most in this worst of all possible worlds.”

  “But how can you be sure he’s the killer? Do you have proof?”

  Tallulah’s voice dropped several octaves. “Dahling, don’t be a wet blanket Consider this, Nanette. If Leo is the murderer and you’ve seen that photograph and can identify him, then, dahling, you could be the next one up at bat.” Tallulah drew a finger across her throat.

  “Oh, Christ,” gasped Nanette.

  “Now you go to that phone and call that storage company.”

  “It’s too late. They’re bound to be closed.”

  “Damn it, you’re right. The first thing in the morning! Scout’s honor and honor bright. This is essential, Nanette. For want of a better cliché it’s a matter of life or death.”

  “You’re not going, are you?” Tallulah was gathering her handbag and scarf.

  “I must, dahling. I’ve a dinner date with Jacob Singer, the detective on the case, a really dear friend but hardly a mad impetuous youth. I’m sure he’ll be eager to learn what you’ve told me and my triumph of triumphs, the photo of Leo Walsh. I’ll prove to Mr. smart-ass Singer what a terrific sleuth I am. Why, dahling, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m frightened.”

  “Oh, dahling, do forgive me. Perhaps I was bit too vehement. I get that way toward the end of a run. I didn’t mean that about Leo. I’m sure he’s forgotten he sent it to Abner, it was so long ago or else he’d have laid siege to this dahling little house by now.” She paused. “I didn’t mean that. Come on, Nanette, you’re made of sterner stuff. Look at those hands of yours! They’re so big and strong, all these years of wielding gavels and chisels and mallets and … and … they are so strong, aren’t they, dahling.”

  Nanette held her hands out and looked at them admiringly, fear of being murdered briefly pigeonholed while she basked in the glow of Tallulah’s compliment. “Abner said they looked as though I could strangle a horse.”

  “And did you?”

  Nanette laughed “What do you think of this bust I’m doing of Abner?” Tallulah was positive she’d paid the expected compliment earlier, but like a good sport and a better actress, she gushed the words she knew Nanette wanted to hear. “Thank you, Tallulah. It’s a bit difficult working from memory, but then who knew him better than I did?”

  “Martha.” Tallulah smiled. “After all, dahling, she was there first.”

  “You’re making me regret not knowing her.”

  “I’m glad you said that. Now, dahling, I really must fly. I have to get back and change. Remember, first thing in the morning and then phone me at the Elysee.” Impulsively, she pecked Nanette’s cheek and left. Outside, she heard the door being bolted, and then hurried in search of a taxi.

  In Tallulah’s apartment while she changed for her date with Singer, Patsy screeched, “I’m so flat broke I may soon have to take to the streets!”

  “Dahling, if you take to the streets, all you’ll succeed in accomplishing is ruining a good pair of shoes.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence!”

  “Tell me, dahling, have you ever slept with a man?”

  “I slept with my father.”

  “Patsy!”

  “I was six months old, don’t give yourself a hemorrhage. Hey, Estelle, what are you doing out there, trying to remember your affair with Teddy Roosevelt?”

  In the living room, Estelle was at a mirror putting little bows in her wig. “I never met Teddy Roosevelt,” Estelle shouted back in her crow’s caw, “but I once waltzed with Sir Henry Irving.”

  “Who led?” Patsy had entered, going to the bar, a bird dog on a mission of retrieval.

  “Why do you make so much of my age, Patsy? I don’t deny I’m in my seventies. I mean it was perfectly ludicrous when I played Lynn Fontanne’s mother in The Pirate, she being approximately five years younger than I.”

  “Yeah, but she had better face-lifts.”

  “She never had face lifts. She had face peels She’d lie for hours under a sunlamp until her face was completely baked, and then the doctor would peel off the layer until what was revealed was unlined skin as smooth and beautiful as a baby’s behind.”

  Tallulah entered. “Talking about Dietrich?” She looked at the clock on the desk. “Jacob’s late and I’ve got so much to tell him.” She had her handbag open. “You ladies will of course make yourselves scarce on his arrival.” She handed some banknotes to Patsy.

  “Oh no,” demurred Patsy, “I couldn’t.”

  “Force yourself”

  Estelle left the mirror and walked daintily to the bar, where she poured her favorite tipple, a dry sherry. “Tallulah dear. I’m going to a birthday party tomorrow for a very wealthy gentleman. What do you give the man who has everything?”

  “The woman who has everything.”

  “Impossible. They’re married.”

  “Tallulah,” said Patsy, “you know what I need?”

  “Protective custody.”

  “I need a really good agent. What about this Baxt kid?”

  That’s an idea. Phone him in the morning. He adores faded movie names.”

  “Whaddya mean faded!”

  “I’m sorry, dahling, I meant feted” She locked eyes with Estelle and then exhaled with relief. “Who’s going to mix me a vodka martini?”

  “Why, one of your favorite old-timers, of course, Tallu, good old Patsy Kelly, the kid who God forgot, a back number in mint condition who could use a mint.”

  “I find your sarcasm unbecoming, Patsy. I’ve suffered slips of the tongue since I was a slip of a girl. Call Baxt, he has worked wonders for some of those who have been unkindly forgotten or mislaid. He’s been getting work for Wynne Gibson and Luella Gear and dear Dorothy Peterson, and he even dredged up poor old Janet Beecher for a Lux Theater. Of course the poor dahling was under sedation and oxygen for the following two weeks, but he does persist.”

  “How do you know all this, for crying out loud!”

  “Lewis Drefuss told me today at the studio. Lewis is terribly fond of him. Oh, why doesn’t Singer get here!”

  “Dorothy Peterson, eh?” mused Patsy. “You could count her successes on one finger.”

  The phone rang, and Jacob Singer was announced. Tallulah checked the tray of hors d’oeuvres that had been delivered earlier and fixed Patsy with an accusing eye. “How many of these have you eaten, Miss Kelly?”

  “Only three. Well, you guys can’t eat ‘em all!”

  “That’s beside the point! You’ve spoiled the symmetry! You know the chef fusses to give me symmetry!”

  Estelle was getting into her coat. “Tallulah, must you always create a crisis over small matters? Don’t you ever give a thought to the war in Korea?”

  “I never played Korea!”

  Estelle said, “Come, Patsy, I’ll buy you a lovely dinner.”

  “Oh yeah? Then can we go dancing at Roseland?”

  In the hall they met Singer, who politely hoped they weren’t leaving on his account, and Estelle said, “No, on Tallulah’s.”

  Tallulah greeted him with a kiss, put his hat on a table, poured him a scotch and water, then mixed herself another martini while babbling about nothing in particular, which was one of her greatest gifts. Singer watched her, wondering how ol
d she was—which had to be somewhere in her fifties (she was exactly fifty)—though he thought she looked younger.

  Tallulah said as she crossed to him with his drink, “Why, Jacob Singer, what a lascivious expression on your face!”

  “I was thinking you’re one hell of a woman.”

  “Even that will improve when you hear what I’ve got to tell you, dahling.”

  She made a banquet of her meeting with Nanette Walsh. She described the interior of the cottage precisely and with her usual good humor. She then recited the Martha and Leo story, saving the existence of Leo’s photograph until a beautifully timed, climactic moment. Singer’s mind never had a ghost of a chance of wandering. Tallulah’s narrative held it in a viselike grip, and Tallulah recognized the faint smile on his face as a reflection not of cynicism but of admiration with a soupçon of respect. Then after a dramatic pause which gave her time to mix another round of drinks, Tallulah described the incident of Nanette’s powerful hands. Jacob made a mental note to have Nanette Walsh brought in for additional questioning, and heard Tallulah say maybe Nanette could use a bodyguard.

  “How about that lovely young black officer you introduced me to when I visited you at the precinct? The one who called me Tallulah cat.”

  That was Pharaoh Love, but I can’t spare him. He’s too busy doing entrapment. He’s a genius at it.”