by George Baxt
The castle was taken over in an orderly fashion. The federal agents posing as employees knew who were German staff and who were innocents supplied by employment agencies. Werner Lieb had barricaded himself in his bedroom, where he disappointed Risa Barron by committing suicide with a bullet to his right temple. Risa Barron heard the shot, shook her head sadly, and wondered why Agathe, who was usually in a nervous and agitated state, stood so calmly at the window watching the federal agents leading their captives out of the castle into police wagons. Risa had her box of jewelry and a small suitcase. She planned on replenishing her lavish wardrobe at her next port of call. In a rare moment of kindness, she asked Agathe, “Look, do you want to come with me? To South America, to Rio? You can have a whole new life there.”
“No,” said Agathe. “But bitte. Thank you. I want to stay here in America. I think I will like it here.”
Risa smiled. “You cooperated with them, didn’t you?”
“To save my life, yes. I neutralized the electronic machinery. I had to sleep with the engineer to find out how, but he was pleasant. Are you sure you will escape them?”
Risa pressed a panel in a wall that revealed a hidden passage.
“Dear girl, I rented this place. And I chose this bedroom because of this hidden panel. The castle was built by a celebrated and delightfully perverted silent screen director. This is how he sneaked his girlfriends in from the outside under his wife’s unsuspecting nose. Good luck to you, Agathe. Perhaps we will meet again.” She hurried into the hidden passage and into the arms of a federal agent who had discovered the entrance to the passage in the gazebo in the garden.
“You do not drink the champagne, Greta?”
“It’s too early for me. I told you that.” She was sure Villon was on his way. Lottie came out of the kitchenette with two steaming cups of hot chocolate.
Lottie said to Greta, “Don’t you dare drink that champagne. This morning they bum you at the stake. You must have a clear head. You must remember your cues for the fire. It can be very dangerous. I don’t care how much precautions they said they’ve taken. Accidents can happen. Here Mr. Henkel, forget the champagne. I’ll see to it that she drinks it after the scene is shot. Here,” she said jovially, “join Miss Garbo in my special hot chocolate.” She waved a cup under his nose. “Isn’t that tempting?”
“Oh yes. Very tempting.” He took the cup from her. Lottie took the bottle of champagne to the kitchenette. Henkel watched Garbo sip her hot chocolate and close her eyes in ecstasy. He drank some of his. It was truly delicious. He said to Garbo, “The police have arrested Martin Gruber.” She said nothing. He drank more hot chocolate. “You’re not surprised. You knew all about us. You led Albert on. You made him believe you loved him, that you wanted to come to Germany after the war.” He drank again. “You were very clever, Greta. Did you guess I was the Hamburg poisoner?”
“Actually, I suspected Werner Lieb. He went to school in Hamburg. Guiss knew you murdered the Wolheims?”
“Yes.”
“He protected you. Why? He was against the murders.”
He chuckled and he drank more hot chocolate. Lottie was returning from the kitchen with a jug in her hand. “We are brothers. We loved each other.” He grinned and the teeth looked more repulsive than ever. He held his cup out to Lottie. You’re anxious for me to enjoy more hot chocolate. It’s so hot like my feet. I know what you’re doing to me.” He winked at Lottie. “I know about your past, Lottie Lynton. We did a complete check on you. Isn't thallium nitrate wonderful?”
Lottie said matter-of-factly as she refilled his cup. “Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t. When I tried it out on a horse. it worked real fast. She was an old nag and we bad her in the barn behind the house. She pulled my husband’s wagon. He was a junk dealer. He was planning to get rid of the animal anyway. she was old and near blind.”
Garbo covered her mouth with a hand. Henkel was in the throes of agony, but she admired the way he never spilled a drop of the liquid, never took his eyes from Lottie’s face.
“But Henry took forever.” Lottie said, admiring her fingernails “He had the constitution of an ox. He was over two hundred and fifty pounds and was solid muscle It seemed to take forever for him to die. Let me have the cup. It's beginning to spill.” She saw the look of horror on Garbo’s face She was paralyzed by the sight of the dying man.
Henkel clutched his stomach His eyes were on Garbo. Poor bitch. She has no stomach for this. She should have seen what Hannah Baum and Kriegman went through before they gave up the ghost. My feet, my feet, oh dear God in heaven, my feet So this is what it’s like? How could I. What a beast I am. He blurted. “Albert is dead. He drank the champagne She would have had him killed anyway. He would not have survived. She ordered me to kill Hannah and Kriegman She had a list and she was determined to wipe them all out. The Schmidt woman. Gruber and you, Greta Garbo, she despised you … oh mv God … oh rot God … despite her power in the Nazi party … she wanted to be you …” He looked into Lotties’s eyes. “Danke.”
“Bitte.” rejoindered Lottie as she watched him sink onto the floor.
Villon came rushing into the dressing room followed by Arnold, Villon shouting Greta’s name.
Garbo was on her feet “I’m all right I’m fine. Lottie has the bottle of champagne.' She pointed to Henkel's body “He told me everything. There he is, chaps, the stiff. Do you know, he was Albert's brother? And there is a person who was more powerful than Albert.”
“We know.’ said .Arnold. “His wife. His widow.”
The pyre was piled m the center of the sound stage. The outdoor set reminded Peter Lorre of the early impressionistic silent German films. It had the feel of Caligula and Warning Shadows and for a while Lorre was struck with a nostalgia for his homeland. Perhaps after the war… His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Garbo with Villon and .Arnold. There were over two hundred extras present. The actors impersonating the inquisitors were mostly impatient. Boris Karloff chafed at the heat of the lights needed for Technicolor shooting. Bela Lugosi. not needed in this sequence, came to seec how von Stroheim would handle the burning. Von Stroheim was fussing with Alysia Hoffman. who looked stunning as the haughty noblewoman he had her portraying. She watched Garbo arriving She saw Villon and .Arnold. She grabbed one of von Stroheim’s wrists and held it tightly.
“What's the matter with you, Alysia?"
“It’s warm. Is my makeup running?"
“You look terrific. I'm going to shoot your big close-up before I set fire to Joan. Then I'll repeat it with the flames flickering on your face. The critics will praise that, take it from me. What's the matter with you? Why are you trembling? Oh it's you. Greta I didn't send for you. I won't need you for at least another hour.”
“You are wrong, Erich. I am needed now. You know Mr. Villon and Mr. Lake. They have come with very sad news. Erich. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but there will be no Joan the Magnificent.”
Von Stroheim saw Sam Goldwyn and Sophie Gang materializing.
Goldwyn had just learned that his studio had been overrun by an enemy spy ring, and almost suffered a stroke. Sophie Gang had calmed him with a stiff hooker of brandy after be demanded the spies be “determinated.”
“Exterminated." Sophie corrected him.
Greta wanted to throw her arms around von Stroheim and comfort him. He was in a state of shock; his private world had collapsed. Goldwyn astonished her when he came forward and said, “I’m going to take over. I’ve been watching the rushes. I think they’re mostly magnificent. Here and there a little too fussy, a little too fancy shmancy,” he said, putting his arm around von Stroheim, “and we’ll have a lot of disagreements, just like in the old days, okay Erich?” Von Stroheim was so overcome with emotion, he struggled for words. “Sam, Sam, I … I love you Sam …”
“Careful!” cautioned Goldwyn, “there will be gossip. Better Greta should love me. At last we’re working together. Where is she? Where did she go?”
&
nbsp; Garbo was talking to Alysia Hoffman, who was surrounded on each side by Villon and Arnold. Alysia stood regally, hands at her sides, fists clenched, a look of pure arrogance and defiance on her face. “And I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, Albert is dead. His brother poisoned him.”
Alysia’s voice was shrill. “So? So? So now you know everything, nein? I suppose now I am to be taken into custody, ha! What a laugh.” She said with a sneer, “For years I traveled Europe’s capitols setting up the powerful structure of Albert Guiss. Guiss! Ha! He was Reinhold Henkel when I chose him to become the richest man in the world. Goering didn’t like that but I have more power than that obese pig, more power than that odious cripple Goebbels; there are times when even Hitler fears me. And you, Greta Garbo, I molded you and your friend Mercedes like putty. You played into my hands so easily!”
Von Stroheim said to Goldwyn, “We may have to reshoot all of her scenes. How can we release a movie starring a master spy?” Goldwyn was elated. “Are you mad? The publicity will be sensational. Life and Look and all the other magazines will fight for an exclusive. And I’ll give it to all of them.”
“But I need the close-ups I was going to do today! Now I won’t be able to get them.”
Goldwyn patted von Stroheim’s shoulder. “Oh no? Just leave it to Irving.”
“Your name is Sam, Mr. Goldwyn,” Sophie Gang reminded him, eternal suffering etched in her face.
“I know my name, you silly woman.”
Garbo studied Alysia’s face as Goldwyn approached Arnold Lake. The woman’s lips were working, but no sounds emerged. Her eyes were blinking wildly and for no reason whatsoever, she was fussing with her elaborate coiffure. Garbo moved back and took Villon’s hand. It sent a tingle throughout his body. “Herb, Herb, look at her. Look at Alysia Hoffman. I think she’s breaking down. She’s going mad.”
Alysia Hoffman began walking slowly toward von Stroheim. She looked around at her audience. The set had gone quite still. Someone was laughing maniacally. She didn’t realize it was herself. And then she spoke in a voice underlined by hysteria. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. von Stroheim!”
EPILOGUE
The media went wild with the story of the cracking of Alysia Hoffman’s spy ring. There was heavy speculation as to who else in the country might be working for the enemy. Risa Barron, in return for a promise of sympathetic treatment, gave the FBI an extensive list of traitors in their midst. There was quite a fuss over the confiscation of her fabulous jewel collection, Risa storming, “Damn you! I worked like hell for them.” She wasn’t doubted, but they were held in custody until after the war, when a shrewd Jewish lawyer won her her freedom and the return of her property, and she fled to Brazil, where she opened a chain of jewelry stores.
After Joan the Magnificent was completed, Greta Garbo left Hollywood, little realizing she would never make another film. She did do a test for a projected Walter W'anger production years later and there was talk she would accept a cameo role in a possible filming of Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past, but instead she traveled the world like the Flying Dutchman, doomed to keep on the go, until finally she settled into an apartment in New York City.
While Joan was still shooting, Garbo stayed in touch with Villon and Arnold. They were good friends now, and although she had every reason to believe Herb Villon was hopelessly in love with her, she did nothing to encourage him. Strangely enough, while work continued on Joan, there was no longer a fire or a passion in either Garbo's work or von Stroheim’s direction. He would admit to no one how deeply he had become committed to Alysia Hoffman, and he seemed listless and unhappy.
Mercedes de Acosta wrote a sizzling autobiography. Here Lies the Heart, published in I960 by Reynal, in which she shamelessly and sizziingly claimed or implied lesbian relationships with not only Garbo, but also Dietrich, Claudette Colbert and Eva Le Gallienne. to name just a chosen few. There were some eye-popping photos to illustrate her allegations, including several of Garbo nude on an isolated island.
Salka Viertel retired to Switzerland. Her son Peter, who had worked on the screenplay of The African Queen, wrote a book about John Huston and the filming. White Hunter, Black Heart, which in turn was eventually filmed by Clint Eastwood, who directed and impersonated Huston. Peter had the good taste to marry Deborah Kerr.
Peter Lorre and Bela Lugosi died of their drug addictions, in the later stages of their lives reduced to appearing in cheap quickies. They were almost unrecognizable.
Von Stroheim returned to acting, featured mostly as nasty Germans until the war ended. He returned to Europe, where he continued acting, mostly in France, and then in 1950 Billy Wilder brought him back to Hollywood to co-star in Gloria Swanson’s brilliant comeback film. Sunset Boulevard The film did little to revive their careers.
William Haines was arrested after the war on charges of impairing the morals of a minor. He escaped a jail sentence but his life was ruined. Six months after his death, his grief-stricken lover committed suicide.
Agathe, whose last name was Schulman. sold her memoirs of her life as a spy to an eager publisher in New York. It sold well and was the basis of a successful television series. The book was pure fabrication, but it made Agathe wealthy and she married a Mexican playboy who beat her regularly and succeeded in divesting her of most of her savings.
Marion Davies never succeeded in buying the house which was the scene of two murders. Shortly after the war, Hearst was on the verge of bankruptcy and in danger of losing his vast newspaper empire. Marion, gallant and loyal to the very end, handed him a paper bag filled with her jewel collection, the sight of which would have caused Risa Barron to haemorrhage, and Hearst was rescued.
Arnold Lake returned to Washington, D.C., married a dried-out debutante, and tried to run for office as president of the United States. He did not succeed and returned to his law practice and sired three sons, all redneck anti-Semites. He continued to send Christmas cards to Herb Villon.
Hazel Dickson returned from the war a changed woman. Herb Villon expected to marry her, but she was having none of it. A former gossip columnist for a newspaper syndicate, she moved from gossip writing to political analyzing and became a terror in print. Herb never married. He retired to Las Vegas and, until her death, kept in touch with Garbo.
Before Billy Haines’s death and her permanent move to New York, Garbo invited him to the Beverly Hills hotel where she was temporarily in residence, to have lunch with her. When he arrived, she realized he wasn’t the same Billy Haines she used to know.
“You are so sad, Billy. Why don’t you come to New York with me? There is no Hollywood any more. Here, you are a dinosaur.”
“Worse. I’m a leper. I can’t even cry on Crawford’s shoulder. She’s moved to New York. Oh what the hell. I’ve got a house. I’ve got money. I’ll just be that perverted old man on the hill. By the way, whatever became of Joan the Magnificent?”
Garbo stroked her chin. “I’m not quite sure. Goldwyn said it was too terrible to release, so now it sits somewhere in storage, unwanted, unloved, like me.”
“Albert Guiss loved you.”
“Yes, he really did. Very tragic. He could have been a great man but he ran with the wrong crowd.” She laughed. “You know, I’ve never told this to anyone before. Billy,” she leaned forward with a sly look, “I went to bed with him. Ha ha ha.”
Haines raised an eyebrow. “So did I dearie, so did I!”
They enjoyed sharing a laugh after so much gloom. “You should have heard the comments of my beloved Lottie Lynton when she suspected I’d caved in to Albert’s advances. Poor, dear Lottie.”
“Say, whatever became of her?”
“Oh don’t you know? She fell in love with a man who owned a service station in Pasadena. But very soon the marriage went sour and so you know what?”
“No. What?”
“He poisoned her! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!”
- The Greta Garbo Murder Case
