The Clark Gable and Carole Lombard Murder Case

by George Baxt

  There was a body floating out there. Nana feared it might be Lydia Austin. It was floating face downward and it was hard to recognize the gender.

  Herb reached the body and turned it over on its back.

  “Oh my God!” sputtered Carole. “Oh my God!”

  Hazel Dickson had joined them and remembered she had left her pad and pen on the beach, so she hurried back. What a scoop!

  There was a gaping knife wound in Mike Lynton’s chest.

  Seven

  Hazel was doing her best Chicken Little impersonation, not proclaiming the sky was falling, but announcing to Louella Parsons that Mike Lynton’s body had been found floating in the Pacific off Miriam Hopkins’ private beach. She gave Clark Gable and Herb Villon equal billing while on the other end of the wire Louella cooed like the pouter pigeon she resembled. She kept repeating what Hazel told her, while on an extension in Louella’s mansion her assistant, Dorothy Manners, listened and took everything down in shorthand.

  “Go on, Hazel, Dorothy is taking it all down. Clark and the detective pulled the body to the shore.”

  That wasn’t quite accurate, but Louella Parsons was never noted for accuracy. She strewed facts through her column like a farmer gone berserk placing seed in the ground. Hazel yelled into the phone, “Not just a detective! Herb Villon! My Herb Villon! Dorothy, have you got that?” Dorothy assured her she had. Hazel continued with more facts because the more she delivered the fancier her price and Hazel was determined to own a chinchilla wrap, which she knew Herb Villon would never buy for her.

  Hazel rattled off the names of Miriam’s guests and threw in the names of several stars who hadn’t attended the party but to whom she owed a payback, and an appearance in Lolly Parsons’ column was indeed quite a payback.

  Then she added, “Carole Lombard gave Lynton artificial respiration when the body was hauled out of the water but whether artificial or genuine the respiration didn’t help. Carole gave it her all and we’re all proud of her. Groucho Marx made some snide remark that he didn’t know Lynton had been invited to the party and Lola Kramm, the psychic, insists she warned Lynton days ago to stay away from water as it boded ill. Now let me see.” She scratched her head. “Oh yes. There was a gaping chest wound in the body, which I noticed before I did a fast swim to the shore to phone you exclusively, Louella.”

  On the beach, Miriam’s butler had brought a blanket with which to cover the corpse until the police and the coroner arrived. Kay Francis was feeding Miriam Hopkins brandy and pleading with her to be brave. “Brave! Brave!” exploded Miriam. “The body of a man I detest washes up on my beach and wrecks my party and you want me to be brave! Really, Kay!”

  Kay and Carole exchanged a look, knowing Miriam would dine out on this for weeks to come.

  In addition to the blanket to cover the body, Miriam’s household thoughtfully provided towels and soon those who had been in the water when the body invaded their high jinks were dried and dressed again. Herb advised the guests that no one was to leave until his backup arrived and took their names and addresses. Oscar Levitt was throwing up into the Pacific, resembling a whale depositing ambergris. Nana Lewis was at his side with a wet towel, which she applied to his face, and Carole was pretty positive she’d be replacing Lydia Austin in Oscar’s movie. Carole shared her supposition with Clark who said, “Poor bastard. Lynton was supposed to go hunting with us this weekend.”

  “Pappy,” said Carole sweetly, “you’re all heart.”

  Edna Mae Oliver looked at the blanket covering Mike Lynton’s body and said, “Miriam will have a conniption. That blanket’s cashmere. Terribly expensive.”

  Jim said to Villon, “Should I phone the casino and tell them about this?”

  Herb said. “What’s the rush? They won’t close for the night. The show must go on.” He could see Oscar Levitt squatting on the beach, gasping for breath, being fanned by Nana Lewis.

  Carole said, “Poor Oscar. He’s having a hard time breathing. He’s asthmatic. On the other hand, with Mike Lynton dead, he should be breathing easier.” She said to Clark, “I don’t see why Herb is detaining everybody. Mike didn’t float in from the party, he floated in from someplace out there.” She gestured vaguely out to sea.

  She heard Groucho ask no one in particular, “And what was he doing somewhere out there? Digging for clams?”

  Carole said to Herb Villon, “I’ve got some ideas as to who might have killed Mike.”

  Herb decided to take her seriously as there was little else to do until his group arrived. It had been trouble enough getting Hazel off the phone so Mallory could phone for backup. She had threatened to divest Jim of an essential part of his anatomy but he was brave and took his chance. Hazel was soon in command of the phone again but didn’t call Louella back. If she had to, she’d explain that the police had commandeered the phone. Hazel phoned the second most notorious and unpopular Hollywood gorgon, Hedda Hopper, who lapped up Hazel’s story like a camel that had wandered in after weeks without water in the Sahara desert.

  Herb had walked Carole away out of earshot of those milling about the body. Clark was curious but knew better than to interfere. Carole told Herb, “Lydia Austin told me a few choice things about Mike and I hope they’ll be of some assistance.”

  Herb had always found Carole’s honesty irresistible in a town where, along with loyalty, honesty was little practiced because most of the movie colony found loyalty and honesty too expensive. Herb did Carole the honor of jotting down what she said in his notebook. “Mike was mixed up with the Chicago mob. Before he came to the coast, he wanted to open a casino near Chicago, but he wouldn’t play ball with Al Capone.”

  “Capone’s behind bars.”

  “Don’t be so naive. Even from behind bars, Capone rules with a fist of steel.” She sighed. “Capone’s behind bars. Mike’s dead.”

  “What you’re saying is Capone had a contract out on him.”

  “You know as well as I do Capone gave out contracts with the alacrity of a Louis B. Mayer. In case you don’t know, alacrity means speed—”

  “Oh shut up.” Villon had a college degree and he knew Carole knew it. Hazel Dickson had shared the knowledge with anybody in Hollywood who would take a minute to listen.

  Carole ignored Villon’s admonition and continued. “Mike tried to get into Las Vegas but Bugsy Siegel and his deadly mishpocha kept him out.”

  College or no college, Herb was now in a bind. “Spell mishpocha.”

  “I’m an actress not a genius. Substitute ‘family.’”

  “Then of course I don’t have to remind you of Mike’s numerous cruelties to a lot of people who owed him money. Broken kneecaps, broken arms, cracked skulls. As you must be well aware, he treated skulls like walnuts. And there are a lot of ladies in the territory who would be happier knowing Mike Lynton is dead.”

  “Poison is a ladies’ weapon,” reminded Herb.

  “Tell Agatha Christie to go soak her head. You ever see a Hollywood lady tearing into a T-bone steak?”

  “You’ve got a point there.” He had gestured to Jim Mallory, who joined them somewhat reluctantly. Nana Lewis was now attached to Oscar Levitt’s hip, or so it seemed, and Jim was anxious to restake his territory. Herb asked Jim, “Did you check the tides?”

  “I spoke to the precinct on my car intercom. The tides were going in an westerly direction at about the time Mike Lynton dropped in.”

  “That’s cute,” said Carole.

  Jim resumed talking. “That means he was dumped in the drink from anywhere in the vicinity of Marina del Rey. It would take the body a couple of hours to float here.”

  “Just because the casino is in Marina doesn’t necessarily mean he was killed there.”

  “No, but it’s a start,” said Jim reasonably.

  “I’m with Jim,” said Carole, “and don’t tell me to shut up or I’ll sic Pappy on you. And where the hell is he?” She looked in the direction of the body and the guests milling about. “There he is. He’s fur
ious Mike was murdered. They had a date to go hunting this weekend.”

  “Gee, that’s tough.” The irony in Villon’s voice didn’t escape Carole. She had liked him when she met him six years earlier, investigating the Russ Columbo shooting. She found him terribly gentle and understanding for a Los Angeles detective. He refrained from any snide remarks as to the relationship between Russ and Lansing Brown. When she told him she wasn’t present when the shooting occurred, Villon made a comment that made Carole realize she was lucky she wasn’t there or there might have been two victims instead of one.

  Carole said, “For Pappy, it’s tough. It isn’t easy finding a hunting companion in this town unless it’s a publicity shoot set up by the studio.”

  Villon asked Carole, “Anything else you want to tell me?”

  “Your hair needs combing.”

  Villon smiled and then they heard sirens. “The gentlemen of the ensemble are arriving. Let’s go.” They trudged back to the center of activity.

  * * *

  Groucho Marx asked Edna Mae Oliver, “Tell me, gorgeous. Do coroners give coronaries?”

  “Perhaps they don’t,” said Edna Mae with her trademark sniff, “but I do.”

  From a short distance they and others who were waiting to be dealt with by police officers watched the coroner, kneeling at the corpse’s side and reciting to an assistant who took notes. The coroner’s name was Edmund Weber and rather than examining Mike Lynton’s body, he wished he was examining Kay Francis’s body. He worshiped her and this was the first time he’d seen her in the flesh. At the first opportunity he planned to recite the titles of all her films that had given him pleasure. A bachelor, he was free to indulge in as many fantasies involving her as he cared to, with no wife or girlfriend to be guilty about. Kay and Miriam stood a bit beyond him and the corpse, Kay simply curious and Miriam quite indignant her party had been brought to such a gruesome finale. They were oblivious to the reporters and photographers swarming all over the place, and they didn’t hear the coroner say under his breath, “Kay Francis, I dedicate this corpse to you,” a toreador in the arena gifting a señorita with a bull’s precious ear. At one point he caught the actress’s eye and he smiled. She smiled back and supposed he’d be asking for her autograph when he finished. He was wondering if he dared ask her to dinner. He thought of himself as a pleasant chap with average good looks. When he shaved in the morning, he admired and respected the distinguished-looking gentleman he saw in the mirror and kept wondering how come he was still single, a sentiment shared by his mother, who was in her early seventies and wanted a grandchild before her departure to that other world she hoped awaited her.

  “He certainly seems to know what he’s doing,” said Kay to Miriam of the coroner.

  “Well, I should hope so!” said Miriam, wondering if she’d be doing Kay a favor by asking the coroner to join them for dinner. She was sure the cook had enough for the three of them.

  W. C. Fields stared down at the coroner, who recognized him and was flattered to see the great man in his audience. Fields indicated the others watching the coroner’s preliminary examination, the more thorough one to take place in the morgue. “A bloodthirsty lot. Every man and woman a vampire. Can you tell me how many times he was stabbed or is that privileged information? I have a bet on with my paramour”—he indicated Carlotta who stood with her back to him, a handkerchief at her mouth—“my paramour who I found at Paramount. We’ve a bet on as to how many stab wounds you’ve found or will find.”

  Herb Villon intervened. “Hello, Ed. How’s your mother?” The coroner didn’t say he wished it was his mother’s body he was examining, thereby dispelling the myth he was a devoted son. He had almost murdered her when she discovered his cache of pornographic magazines at the bottom of his dresser drawer and consigned them to a fiery demise. In case the coroner didn’t know or hadn’t been told, Villon identified Mike Lynton.

  “Well, what do you know,” said the coroner with a pleased look. “I never dreamed I’d ever meet him. Imagine dealing with a Hollywood legend on the beach at Malibu.” He got to his feet. “Two stab wounds. Probably a butcher or a bread knife. One severed his aorta, which is the body’s major blood vessel. That killed him instantly.”

  “No few minutes to writhe in agony?” asked Herb.

  “Didn’t you like him?”

  “I liked him well enough. When you’ve done it thorough, phone me and send me a memo. Ed, you’re not listening. Who’re you ogling?”

  “Kay Francis. Behind you. Don’t look now!” he said hastily. “She’ll know we’re talking about her.”

  “She expects to be talked about. She’s a movie star.”

  “But she’s unique. She’s not like all the others. She’s a lady.” Herb said to himself, Oh Edmund, if you knew what I knew. “I mean I’ve autopsied Jean Harlow, Thelma Todd, and the other floozy types.”

  “You’ve got the girls all wrong. Jean came from an upper-class Kansas family and Thelma was a respected schoolteacher.”

  “Do you know Miss Francis?”

  “We’ve been introduced.”

  “I’m dying to meet her.” He looked from the right to the left and then from the left to the right and Villon had to strain to hear what the coroner was saying. “She’s my secret passion.”

  “No kidding.” Villon was savoring the moment and the sharing of the confidence.

  “Ever since Girls About Town with Lilyan Tashman. I also adored Tashman but she’s dead so why waste my time. And that delicious comedy, The Jewel Robbery and Trouble in Paradise, which she did with our hostess, Miriam Hopkins. And so many others.”

  “Tell your boys to remove the body and then I’ll introduce you.”

  “My God!” His mouth salivated with anticipation. “My cup runneth over.” He gave an instruction to his assistants and then followed Villon to his goddess.

  Herb said, “Kay, I’d like you to meet our coroner, or at least one of them, Edmund Weber.”

  Kay extended a hand. “I’m charmed. I really am. You’re my first cowoner. Miriam, meet Edmund Weber.”

  Miriam said hastily, “Would you care to join us for dinner?”

  “Miwiam,” said Kay Francis, “you’re so impetuous!”

  Kay had other plans for the evening but saw no reason to reveal them. She was having dinner with an old flame, Herbert Marshall, who had been Kay and Miriam’s leading man in Trouble in Paradise. He had a wooden leg, which Kay found very convenient when she felt the urge to knock on wood. “I can’t join you for dinner,” said Kay graciously, “I’ll take a waincheck.”

  “And of course so will you, Mr. Weber,” said Miriam with a lovely smile. She’d be damned if she’d be saddled with a man she didn’t know and didn’t care to know.

  Edmund Weber’s ecstasy at the prospect of dinner with the two stars dissolved into chagrin and disappointment. He said he too was busy. Dinner with his mother. A roast chicken and of course he was elected to dissect it. He excused himself and hurried to the precinct’s meat wagon, which would transport him back to the morgue. He scrubbed Kay Francis as a secret passion and went back to an earlier romantic fantasy, Eleanor Powell. The dancer twirled about in his vivid and active imagination and soon he was clicking his tongue, simulating the sound of her busy tap shoes.

  The beach was swarming with photographers and reporters having a field day. For them, Miriam’s guests were a banquet and they couldn’t be happier feasting. David O. Selznick, never one to let an opportunity for publicity to slip by, took command of the press. He reminded them that Clark and Carole would be departing for Atlanta for the world premiere of Gone With the Wind along with himself, his wife, and Clark’s co-stars in the movie. No, Leslie Howard wouldn’t be with them; the British patriot was back in England helping with the war effort. He deftly sidestepped questions about why the Negro actresses Hattie McDaniel and Butterfly McQueen had been exempted from the junket.

  “They’re not going to be with us,” said Carole pointedly, “because
the mayor of Atlanta couldn’t come up with decent accommodations for them.” Selznick started to turn purple and his wife rummaged in her handbag for his glycerin capsules. Selznick’s heart was in the right place but it occasionally malfunctioned. Gable chuckled at Carole’s bluntness. He would miss the two actresses. They had been great fun on the set, filming a movie he loathed participating in.

  Mike Lynton’s body was strapped to a stretcher and before the attendants could lift it into the ambulance, a photographer pulled the sheet back revealing his head and no longer handsome face. Somehow, Nana Lewis had edged her way toward the stretcher and stood staring down at the corpse, a sad expression on her face, and she even squeezed out a tear for added effect. Oscar Levitt had made a miraculous recovery and informed any press and photographers within earshot that Nana Lewis was to star in his new production, Darkness in Hollywood. Carole, now annoyed and angry, mouthed a vicious epithet but Oscar was deaf to everything except the popping of flashbulbs. Roy and Sammy were insinuated into the photograph by a woman photographer who had enjoyed a three-way with the boys the previous Saturday night and her ears were still ringing. Jim Mallory saw Nana Lewis with different eyes: just another actress on the make. Clark Gable looked upon the spectacle with disgust. He pulled up the sheet to mask Lynton’s face and Oscar Levitt was about to pull the sheet back down when a look from Clark warned him to back off. He was not about to curry Clark’s disfavor. He was a member of Clark’s upcoming hunting party and was also hoping the star would have some influence in getting MGM to distribute his film.

  Lola Kramm weaved her way to Herb Villon’s side and gestured for him to bend down so she could whisper in his ear. “The murderer is among us.” She reeked with alcoholic fumes but Herb bravely didn’t move his head away. Pissed as she was she might be onto something.