The Tinseltown Murderer

by Maureen Driscoll

  “Who is it?” she asked, standing off to the side of the door.

  “A friend,” came the quiet voice from the other side.

  Stern. During her long walk home the previous night, she’d considered all the possibilities of who had tried to kill her. There were a number of suspects, but the most likely culprit was Stern. No one else was as skilled or would risk the wrath of the German high command by killing her. It was possible he’d come here to finish the job, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of refusing him entry. She’d been trained to kill, and if she had to, she would.

  She opened the door and let him in.

  He eyed her with some surprise as he took off his hat and threw it onto the nearby console. “What happened to your face? You weren’t in the riot, were you?”

  “Of course not. I just had a bit of car trouble on the way home. I was about to make some coffee. Would you like some?”

  “Please. Mind if I smoke?” he asked, as he lit a cigarette. “What kind of car trouble has you looking like you went a few rounds with Max Schmeling?”

  “Nothing so exotic as that, I assure you,” she said, as she crossed under the arch which separated her living room from the kitchen with the black and white checkered floor. She reached for the coffee pot, which was next to the butcher block with her knives. She turned on the tap, then retrieved the coffee from the cupboard.

  “Do you have a gun in there?” asked Stern, as he approached the edge of the kitchen, with the knives an equal distance between them.

  “What kind of an agent would I be if I didn’t have some means of protecting myself? After all, the FBI could come barging in here at any time.”

  “So, you’re just protecting yourself from the federal police?”

  She smiled at him. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Strong.”

  “Just as I do. That may be the worst part of America, the watery coffee they seem to enjoy so much.” She purposely turned her back on him and the knives, as she took out the coffee cups and brought them to the breakfast nook. The smirk on his face when she turned back around told her he knew she was trying to prove she wasn’t afraid.

  And he wasn’t buying it.

  “Tell me about this car trouble of yours,” he said as he accepted a cup from her, then they both sat opposite each other at the nook.

  “Someone tried to run me off the road.” She studied his reaction. He seemed both surprised and confused.

  “Any chance it was an accident? There are a lot of drunks on the road at night.”

  “No, this was quite deliberate. I believe he knew I escaped and was going to finish the job, but then another car came along.”

  “It sounds like it was a good thing for you that it did. Did you see who it was?”

  “It was too dark.”

  “Anything about the car?”

  “It was the type used by undercover detectives.”

  “Could it have been LAPD?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “Or if it was, it wasn’t an official action, or, should I say, an official unofficial action. As far as I know, no one suspects me at the police department, and you know how the chief loves Germans.”

  “He doesn’t love Germans. He just hates communists.”

  “In this case that’s good enough. Besides, if it were official business, I suspect I would’ve been arrested by now.”

  “What about the FBI?”

  “That’s a better possibility, though I don’t know why they’d wish to kill me without interrogating me first to learn what I know.”

  Stern shrugged. “Americans are an odd lot. Their actions don’t always make sense. I’d take extra precautions for a while if I were you.”

  “I plan on it.” She bared her teeth to Stern in an approximation of a smile.

  “You weren’t the only one who was attacked last night. The federal agent is dead, the one who was masquerading as Caroline Armitage.”

  That was surprising. “Was she also run off the road?”

  “She was shot in her home.”

  “Interesting. Who did it?”

  “That’s yet another mystery.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Unless you have any theories you’d like to share.”

  “Since I just heard of it now, I cannot imagine I’d have anything to add. Who do you think did it?”

  He shrugged. “My best guess would be someone in the FBI so they can blame it on the communists. Who knows? But I think it’s convenient for us that the federal authorities will be preoccupied with this business while we conduct ours. Speaking of which, is everything ready?”

  “I’m always prepared. And you?”

  “For all eventualities.” He finished his coffee, then rose, deliberately turning his back on her, as if to tempt her.

  She resisted attacking, though it would almost certainly come to that eventually.

  He walked to the door, looking around as he went. “Would you be able to vacate this place quickly if necessary?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I have a feeling you won’t be staying here for long.” With that he put his hat back on and headed for the door.

  “One last thing,” said Greta. She waited until he turned to face her before continuing. “Why did you come here today?”

  He paused just long enough to confirm her suspicions. He’d come to see if she was still alive. “To tell you about the agent, of course. It’s not the type of thing I could say on the phone. You never know who’s listening.”

  “And you never know whom you can trust.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  David handed Lawrence’s car keys to the valet, then looked up at the building in front of him. The Chateau Marmont was a large white hotel supposedly in the style of a Loire Valley chateau. Having been to France, David thought it was what a Hollywood set designer thought a French Chateau would look like. It was a sprawling hotel on Sunset Boulevard, with four floors of hotel rooms and suites. Josie said it still existed in her day and was sandwiched in on both sides with bars and trendy restaurants on something called The Sunset Strip. It was considered vintage and cool in the Twenty-First Century. In 1936, it was just two decades old and pretentious.

  The call from Finn O’Donnell had been a surprise. He’d suggested a late afternoon drink at the Marmont and when David had tried to get out of it, O’Donnell had said it was urgent. He’d also said he’d like to keep it private between the two of them. Josie had wanted to come, but David wanted to keep her out of danger and far from Finn O’Donnell.

  A uniformed doorman bowed David into the hotel, then a white-gloved bellhop approached. “Welcome to the Chateau Marmont, sir. How may I help you?”

  “I’m meeting a friend at the bar.”

  “Of course, sir, right this way.”

  David looked around the well-appointed lobby with its marble floors and white stucco walls as the bellhop escorted him to the bar. David crossed an arched doorway, then found himself in the lounge with mahogany-paneled walls. He looked around a bit, then saw O’Donnell in a booth next to the blonde he’d been with at the League dinner. He was whispering something in her ear, when she looked up to see David approaching. She murmured something to O’Donnell, and he moved slightly away from her.

  A waiter approached and pulled the table out so David could be seated.

  Finn looked at David, while his hand was still in his date’s lap. “I’m glad you could make it, Remington. You remember Renate from the League, don’t you?”

  It would be hard to forget a woman he’d met barely a day earlier and who could be Greta’s twin. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Renate.” Since it wasn’t a pleasure to see the man who’d summoned him there, all he did was nod and say, “O’Donnell.”

  Finn turned to Renate. “Be a good fraulein and leave us alone for a bit. Why don’t you go up to the room?” He nuzzled her neck, then Renate placed a vial in his hand before slipping out of the booth and leaving.

 
“What are you drinking?” asked Finn, as he motioned to the waiter. “Another dry martini and…” He looked at David.

  “Soda with lime.”

  “You have to have something stronger than that.”

  “I’m driving Lawrence’s car and don’t want to risk drinking too much. He loves that car more than most people.”

  “Certainly, more than any woman.”

  “Lawrence is my friend,” said David coolly. “His personal life is no one’s business. I, for one, only want to see him happy.”

  “Very well, if you insist on being sanctimonious. A dry martini and a soda with lime,” he said to the waiter before dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

  “What do you want, O’Donnell?”

  “I need your help with a business opportunity.”

  “I’m not really in business anymore.”

  “Yes, about that, I’d still like to know how you manage to keep such a low profile but live so well. What is it you do again?”

  “I’m not here to discuss my affairs.”

  “Then it sounds like it might not be strictly legal, which means you’ll definitely want to hear what I have to say. My friends at the League have a product which would do well in America, though they don’t yet have a distribution network.”

  “Perhaps they should contact the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “It’s not that type of business,” said Finn, as he took his martini from the waiter and swallowed half. “It’s similar to bootlegging. You had no qualms with that.”

  “Neither did Joe, if the rumors are true.”

  O’Donnell’s only response was a shrug and another gulp of his drink.

  “What’s the product?”

  O’Donnell looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard then said, “Cocaine.”

  “Joe is definitely diversifying.”

  “Joe doesn’t have anything to do with this – officially. Besides, this is just like Prohibition. Cocaine was legal up until a few years ago. What makes you think it won’t be legal again? I mean, it wasn’t that long ago that we couldn’t drink in public. Now look at us.” O’Donnell polished off his drink, then motioned to the waiter for another.

  “I’m not your man. And if Joe is smart, he’ll stay far away from this, especially if he has his eye on the White House for Joe, Jr. Now, if you’ll excuse me….” David was about to leave, when Finn turned to him.

  “You disappeared shortly after the Crash and hadn’t been seen until you showed up in Los Angeles about a week ago. You got your money out of the market at the exact right time and it’s being held in a closely guarded trust. You haven’t been seen at any of your residences, not even the one in Oregon where the murders took place. You haven’t filed an income tax return in seven years – which could get you in a lot of trouble – and there’s no official mention of you anywhere. There’s no marriage license and, I should add, there’s no birth certificate for your wife, either. There’s not even a faked death certificate, in case you’d decided to take your pile of dough and spend your life on a tropical island somewhere either with or without your wife who says such odd things. It’s almost like you disappeared from under our very noses.”

  David sat back and studied the man across from him, as the waiter brought O’Donnell his drink. It wasn’t the first time someone had threatened him, far from it. He’d grown up in a rough neighborhood of Chicago and fought men who’d wanted to kill him. Wall Street had been almost as ruthless, and he’d hunted down a murderer at his own house party. But what was so disconcerting about this was that Finn O’Donnell – or, more likely, Joseph Kennedy – had gone to a lot of trouble investigating him. He had to wonder if they’d been prompted to do that by the Germans. “Perhaps now you’ll finally tell me what you really want.”

  Finn smirked. “I want you to introduce me to Mikey Corrigan. I know he’s your childhood friend, and I suspect he gave you your seed money for Wall Street. My bet is someone died for you to get it, but right now none of that’s important, though, of course, it could be since there’s no statute of limitations on murder. But none of that has to come out if you cooperate. And it promises to be a very lucrative enterprise. With the feds hunting bank robbers and communists, and local police so easy to bribe, we should be able to sweep in and claim wide swaths of territory before anyone else realizes what’s going on. I just need someone who can get his hands dirty.”

  “Mikey retired to Florida long ago and went straight.”

  “I know he’s in Florida, but gangsters rarely retire.”

  “That one did.”

  “Then get him to come out of retirement.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Let’s just say a lot of questions will be raised about you, your wife, and your federal agent friend who might’ve had a hand in killing his wife’s first husband.”

  “Grant had nothing to do with Farnsworth’s death.” Lydia’s first husband had blackmailed a murderer then been killed by the man.

  “So says the man who’s best friends with a Chicago gang lord.” O’Donnell pulled out his wallet and motioned for the waiter to bring the check. “Listen, we’re not asking you to do this for free. You’ll be part of the deal and get your cut. You can even keep a low profile so no one has to know.”

  “Other than you and Kennedy.”

  O’Donnell shoved a couple bills into the waiter’s hands, then dismissed him. “Well, of course, we’d have to know. Look, it’ll be just like the old days, with the money and the excitement.” He pulled out the vial which Renate had given him and handed it to David. “Sample the goods. I promise you’ll like it. It’d be another benefit of doing business.” He checked his watch. “I gotta run, but have an answer for me this weekend.”

  “This weekend?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to the compound. I hear it’s going to be quite a party, all the decadence of 1920s Berlin, but with Los Angeles weather. You can’t beat that.” He started to leave, then turned back. “Remember, I’ll need your answer this weekend.”

  “Not that I have much choice.”

  “True, but it sounds nicer when I pretend you do. If you’ll excuse me, Renate awaits.”

  As O’Donnell departed, David studied the vial, thinking about how much he was going to enjoy punching Finn O’Donnell when he got him alone that weekend. He might even punch Kennedy the next time he saw him.

  A woman wearing sunglasses slid into his booth.

  It was his wife.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “I told you to stay home because this could’ve been dangerous.”

  “Which is exactly why I had to follow you, in case it was dangerous. Did you know you can drive from Los Feliz to the Sunset strip in twenty minutes? It can take an hour in my time, sometimes more. I feel like driving it back and forth all day just to say I did it. So, what was the meeting all about?”

  “He gave me this.” He showed her the vial.

  “Is that cocaine?”

  “Yes. You know what it is?”

  “Well, I’ve never seen it personally, but let’s just say it’s not the first time cocaine was found at the Chateau Marmont. Why’d he give it to you?”

  David told her everything Finn had just said. “I have to give him an answer at the house party.”

  “How do they know so much about you? That’s a lot of information to get, considering you reappeared less than a week ago.”

  “Joe likes to keep tabs on the competition, and he and I used to run in the same world.”

  “Yeah, but once you disappeared, wouldn’t he have stopped keeping track of you?”

  “That man is hard to figure out. Do you have a theory?”

  “O’Donnell was a bit too well-informed. Do you think someone knows where you’ve really been? I mean, Kurt did tell Greta.”

  “But who would believe Kurt? She probably just thought he was confused.”

  Josie nodded. “That’s always a possibility with Kurt. But
we changed history. We have to at least consider the possibility that someone knows who we are and where we came from, and they’re prepared to stop us from changing things back.”

  “One thing’s for certain. This is going to be an interesting house party.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  There was a pleasant breeze on the patio as the houseguests gathered on Lawrence’s patio for after-dinner drinks on the eve of the house party. Lawrence came out of the house carrying a platter with a pitcher of sangria and several glasses.

  “Still no word from Eduardo?” asked Dora.

  “Not a single one,” said Lawrence as he put the platter on the table.

  “Why do you employ someone who’s that unreliable?” asked Grant as he looked dubiously at the sangria. “I’m more of a bourbon man, myself.”

  “It’s important to try new things,” said Lawrence. “Besides, Eduardo forgot to buy bourbon.”

  “Fire him,” said Dora. “If he ever comes back.”

  “How long has he worked for you?” asked David, as he took a sip of his sangria.

  “About a year.”

  “But if you add up all the times he’s disappeared,” said Dora, as she took her glass, “it’s more like a few weeks.”

  “Do you think there’s a connection between him disappearing and Caroline’s death?” asked David.

  Lawrence frowned as he topped off everyone’s glasses. “I can’t imagine there would be. Eduardo isn’t the political type.”

  “Do you know that for certain?” asked Josie.

  “Pretty certain, though I guess you can never really know a person.”

  Dora stirred her drink. “I’m worried about Blake going to the house party with us. If Caroline was killed because someone thought she was a communist, Blake could be a target.”

  “So could you, love,” said Lawrence.

  “Not as much as Blake. He’s more prominent in the group, and he’s an actor. His death would make headlines and send a message.” She turned to Grant. “Do you know where Ralph Harris was when Caroline was killed? Maybe this is an old-fashioned case of a lovers’ quarrel gone too far.”