The Clark Gable and Carole Lombard Murder Case

by George Baxt

  “Oh yes. I will bring my money to my people and to my future husband.”

  “Husband? You got a boyfriend up there?” Carole envisioned some poor slob stamping his feet and flagellating himself in a ferocious snowstorm to keep warm while waiting for his sweetie to get back with some cash and her strong teeth to gnaw away at his boots.

  “I have lots of suitors!” said Mala joyously, making Nell feel like a perennial wallflower. “I will pick and choose when I get back.”

  “And once you’ve chosen and get married, or whatever’s the custom, you plan to set up housekeeping in an igloo?”

  Mala said haughtily. “Igloos are for peasants. We shall have a log cabin.”

  “How adorable,” said Carole, “just like Abraham Lincoln.”

  “More coffee?” asked Nell. The Gables refused.

  Carole asked, “Your aunt will be very upset when she hears of Takameshuga’s death. In fact she’s probably heard of it by now.”

  Mala said through a small smile, “We are not a very emotional people. We are taught as children to accept death as inevitable and beautiful. My people do not know of heaven and hell. When one shuts one’s eyes forever, it is assumed there was a departure to a higher level.”

  “Oh of course,” said Carole, “like going from Monogram movie cheapies to the lush surroundings at MGM. How cute. Is your aunt married?”

  “Which one? I have a dozen.”

  Carole was awestruck. “I can see your grandmother never heard of birth control.”

  “Oh yes. The missionaries always lectured on birth control. My grandmother took them very seriously. Otherwise I would have two dozen aunts.”

  “Did you hear that, Pappy? Imagine having to cope with that every Christmas.” Clark knew she was after something and wished she’d hurry up and get to it. He wanted to go home to the ranch and have a nightcap and then get to bed. Carole was saying to Mala, “Your aunt in Japan. Is she married?”

  Mala looked into her coffee cup as though expecting to find the answer there. She said, “She is not married now.”

  “Oh. But she was married. That’s why she stayed in Japan.”

  “What I meant was that she is not married.”

  “Mala?”

  “Yes, Carole?”

  “If you’re a big success in America, making lots of pictures and lots of money, will you change your mind about going back up there?”

  “Up there is the Arctic Circle. Down there is the Antarctic.”

  “Hee hee hee. I always get those things screwed up, don’t I, Pappy?”

  “Why baby, you’re one of the greatest screwer-uppers in the business. And I’m tired.” He said to Mala and Nell, “I hope you didn’t mind our dropping in on you unannounced. But Carole was worried you’d be upset by all the bad news.”

  Mala said to Carole, “You’re always so thoughtful. You’re so good to us. How can we ever repay you?”

  “Just have some success so I’ll know I didn’t work in vain. Now don’t stay up all night chewing the rag.” She stood up and followed Gable to the front door.

  “Wait!” cried Mala. The Gables froze in their tracks. Mala rushed into the kitchen. Nell Corday had left her seat and stood against the wall near the front door. Mala was back with a paper bag, which she held out to Carole. “Blubber cookies for you to take home!”

  “Oh marvy,” said Carole as she took the bag. “We’ll think of you with every bite we take.”

  Clark held the door open. It was a beautiful star-filled night, back in the days when stars weren’t camouflaged behind the deadly Los Angeles smog. The Gables said their good nights and Nell closed the front door and leaned against it.

  “Now what the hell was that all about?” she asked Mala.

  Mala said nothing and sank into an easy chair. “They were just being thoughtful. Carole is always thoughtful.”

  “Yeah,” said Nell, “it’s like a hobby,” and she set about clearing the coffee cups and saucers. “Gable didn’t eat his blubber cookie.” Then under her breath, out of Mala’s earshot, “The coward.”

  Behind the steering wheel of the Cadillac, Gable listened contentedly to the purring motor, then asked Carole, “What was that all about?”

  “What was what all about?”

  “The third degree.”

  “Oh? Did it sound like I was giving Mala the third degree?”

  “You weren’t giving her a blood transfusion. Though for a while there she got so pale I thought a transfusion might be called for. Why are you so interested in her aunt?”

  “Because I remember Mala telling us her aunt went to college in Tokyo. It occurred to me auntie fixed it for Takameshuga to meet up with Mala.”

  “And?”

  “And so they spent a lot of time together.”

  “You trying to tell me they were a romance?”

  “Not at all, Pappy. If old Tacky had a romance it was probably with Lydia.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Probably.” Carole bore down on the word. “Orientals have a taste for Caucasian women. When Sessue Hayakawa was at Paramount making Daughter of the Dragon, he used to drive us nuts making passes.”

  “That’s Sessue Hayakawa. That’s not every Oriental.”

  “Making out with a Caucasian woman gives them status. Haven’t you heard of white slavery?”

  “Oh for crying out loud!”

  “Don’t you oh-for-crying-out-loud me. White slavery is still a thriving trade in the Orient. Booking agents ship American girl singers and dancers to the Far East all the time. The bait is great salaries in American dollars. Once the girls get settled in, there’s no night club engagements, no American dollars, just good old prostitution. And there’s no way out for the poor kids so they settle in and try to make the most of it. Some commit suicide.” Gable snorted. “Well, that’s what Anna May Wong told me and Anna May always has the facts. So there.”

  Anna May Wong was the only Chinese actress to make it to the top in American films, yet occasionally she had to make do with work in England and France. She had terrific international connections as a result and frequently made use of them. When under contract to Paramount, she and Carole became good friends and lunched frequently in Carole’s dressing room.

  Clark sighed and said, “It seems your Lydia really got around.”

  “It seems she did,” said Carole. “I get the impression Lydia wasn’t too particular about where she placed her lips.”

  Clark chuckled. “You certainly have a way with words lately, baby.”

  “What do you mean ‘lately’? I always say what’s on my mind and you know it. Remember that line of Paulette Goddard’s in The Women?” She mimicked Goddard perfectly. “‘Where I spit, no grass grows ever.’”

  “Now what’s really on your mind about Mala’s aunt?”

  “Ohhhh,” said Carole, drawing out the word like she occasionally did with chewing gum. “I have a suspicion auntie is a very recent widow.”

  Came the dawn and Clark asked, “Takameshuga?”

  “It’s a possibility.” She was very pleased with herself.

  Nine

  “I should have guessed that’s what you were after, the way you kept harping on the aunt. Well, you did a damned good job.”

  Carole pinched his cheek. “Thank you, Pappy. And,” she added with pride, “I had absolutely no preparation. You tell that to Carl Arden.”

  “So it’s right to assume all ten of the Japanese were secret agents.” He almost said “enemy agents.” He thought that from the way things were shaping up “enemy agent” would very soon be the appropriate terminology.

  “No matter how you slice it, agents of any kind are a crummy lot.”

  “I thought you were very fond of Myron.” Myron Selznick, David O.’s brother, was a very powerful figure in the film world.

  “Yes I’m very fond of him. He’s rarely sober. His drinking is getting worse. He’s up there in an exclusive class with John Barrymore and Bill Fields.” And she sadl
y recognized it was a class from which none of them would graduate.

  “You going to share what you suspect about Mala’s aunt with Carl Arden?”

  “Of course. It’s my patriotic duty. I hope he knows something about hunting. I’d hate to see you ending up with a bullet up your backside.”

  Gable laughed. Then he said, “There’s something strange about Carl Arden.”

  “There usually is about government issue. Herb Villon seemed to like him.” She groaned. “Do we have to take Hazel with us?”

  “No point in shutting the barn door. The cow’s already left.”

  “The older she gets, the pushier she gets.”

  “She’s a frustrated spinster. She wants a ring on her wedding finger and a ring through Herb Villon’s nose.”

  “If Herb Villon hasn’t married her by now, he never will. I hope he and Jim Mallory know from which end of the rifle the bullet comes out. How come you didn’t ask Otto Winkler?” Winkler was Carole’s press agent.

  “I did. He begged off. Too busy preparing for the festivities in Atlanta.” After a moment he said heatedly, “Jesus, I wish we didn’t have to go. Can’t you think of some excuse to get us out of it?”

  “I will not! I want to go to Atlanta. I want to see you feted and honored. And don’t you dare let the ladies upstage you.” The ladies were his co-stars, Vivien Leigh and Olivia de Havilland. “Pappy, we’re not talking about Mike Lynton.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “You go back a long ways with him.”

  “I go back a long ways with a lot of people. Do you hear me discussing them?”

  “I wonder where Oscar Levitt all of a sudden raised the money for his budget. A few weeks ago he was having trouble. He put the touch on me. I’ll think about it, I told him.”

  “And have you thought about it?”

  “I’m still thinking.”

  “You’ll have to give him something. He’s given the lead to Nana Lewis, she’s your girl.”

  “So’s Lydia.” She couldn’t use the past tense referring to Lydia. She still had hopes the young actress would turn up alive.

  “Now don’t start crying again.”

  “I won’t. I’m fresh out of tears. But Mike Lynton is nagging at me.”

  “Tell him to go away.”

  “I don’t want him to go away. He was always good company.”

  “I thought you said your romance with him wasn’t serious.”

  “That’s right, it wasn’t serious. But he was good company. He liked all the things you don’t like. Opera, ballet, concerts, and good books.”

  “When I was a kid I read Tom Sawyer and Treasure Island.”

  “Big deal. What do you suppose could lure Mike Lynton to somebody else’s boat?”

  Clark said whimsically, “Cherchez la femme.”

  “Some broad, eh? In this town, there’s a wide variety to choose from. Pappy, I wonder if Mike Lynton might have been onto something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like maybe he was getting wise to Takameshuga.”

  “Tacky’s out of town. Way out of town. Try another theory.”

  “Not yet. I kind of like this one. Tacky might have left behind instructions to do something for him.”

  “Left instructions to do what and to whom?”

  “Left instructions to get rid of Mike Lynton.”

  Clark was getting exasperated. “For what damn reason?”

  “How the hell do I know? I’m not Philo Vance. Gee, Bill was great in his Philo Vance pictures.” She thought for a moment and said, “Phyllis Vance. I could play a detective named Phyllis Vance! There haven’t been enough women detectives on the screen!”

  “Edna May was terrific as Hildegarde Withers.”

  “Name another one,” said Carole defiantly. “Yah yah yah. You can’t!”

  “Phyllis Vance.” Clark repeated the name a few more times. It was growing on him. “You know, it’s not such a crazy idea. Maybe we can commission a script. Work up an independent deal. I really like the idea!”

  He liked the idea and now Carole was sorry she broached it. He’d worry the idea for weeks, driving her nuts. Clark had no talent for following through. If there was any work to be done, it would be Carole who would have to do it. Why hadn’t he worked that hard on Selznick to give her Scarlett O’Hara? She changed the subject. She went back to Mike Lynton. “Maybe Mike knew something that it was dangerous for him to know.”

  “Like what?”

  “How the hell do I know? I’m just talking off the top of my head.”

  “It’s real pretty.”

  “What is?”

  “The top of your head.”

  * * *

  After dropping Carl Arden at his hotel, Herb, Jim, and Hazel went to Mike Lynton’s casino. Herb checked the precinct and they told him the men he had assigned to question the staff were still on the job. Herb was told they hadn’t learned anything of much use, which stirred him to action. And when they got to the casino, it was as Herb feared. There were reporters and cameramen swarming all over the grounds. When they recognized Herb, he was under siege. He had nothing to tell them because he knew about as much as they did. All they got at the beach were shots of the dead man and of the numerous celebrities. The photographers who took close shots of Miriam were warned to airbrush them or else.

  Herb led the way into the casino. His men were interrogating the employees in Mike’s office and Herb led the way there. He learned very little from his fellow officers, who had learned very little from the staff except for one detective who had the hatcheck girl’s home phone number. He was Jim Mallory’s role model. Another detective informed Herb that Carole Lombard was trying to reach him. The message was relayed to the casino from the precinct. She must have called shortly after he checked in, Herb told Mallory. Hazel volunteered to phone Carole for him and Herb advised her he knew how to dial and she was to remember to stay out of police affairs.

  There was another office next to Lynton’s. Herb entered it, was satisfied it was unoccupied, sat at the desk, and phoned Carole. She told him about what she thought she had learned from Mala Anouk. Clark wondered if out there in Tokyo Mala’s aunt’s ears were burning, but not knowing the difference in time he couldn’t be sure if she was awake or asleep. Herb commended Carole on a job well done. He assured her he knew one end of a rifle from the other and this eased Carole’s mind somewhat.

  Herb placed the phone back in its cradle. The few bits and pieces he had learned that day he could now weld to Carole’s information. He couldn’t shake his belief that Lynton and Lydia Austin were privy to dangerous information. Mala’s aunt and the possibility that she was Takameshuga’s widow added fuel to the fire in his mind. Carole’s suspicion that Lydia and the Japanese had had a brief liaison also made sense. He wished he had met Lydia. There was a lot to do. He saw little point in continuing the questioning of Lynton’s staff. There was no reason for them to know anything and Lynton didn’t have a private secretary. Few racketeers did unless the private secretary in question doubled as mistress. There was a lot of that going around in certain circles, but not in Villon’s immediate vicinity.

  He didn’t relish having to tell Groucho Marx that all roads led to the unhappy fact that Lydia Austin was probably dead. It might have astonished Herb to find out Groucho had come to this sad conclusion on his own. While Herb sat in the office talking on the phone to Carole, Groucho Marx sat on a bench in a synagogue on Fairfax Avenue. He wore a yarmulke and in his mouth was an unlit cigar. There were a few other silent worshipers in the temple, and if any of them recognized Groucho, they didn’t invade his private thoughts. He might be saying a prayer for either or both of his parents and so most certainly his privacy was to be respected. Groucho was now the Julius of his late teens when his gargoyle of a mother, Minnie, convinced him and three of his four brothers to form a vaudeville act. She could provide the foot inside vaudeville’s door they needed. Her brother was Al Shean of the celebrate
d vaudeville team Gallagher and Shean, and they certainly had powerful connections. Groucho wished Minnie was alive and sitting next to him, though she had little use in her lifetime for shuls unless they were planning a gala and might hire her boys to entertain. Minnie would help with the prayer he was trying to formulate in his mind. It was little known that Groucho was a talented writer. He had recently completed a play, and the play had come easily to him. But he couldn’t think of any words for the prayer. Minnie was terrific with prayers and curses, and even better with threats. Tough vaudeville bookers turned to aspic when she vented her wrath. What would she have come up with for Lydia, he wondered. And then what might have been her prayer began to circle his head like the revolving electric sign circling the Times tower in New York’s Times Square. “She was a pretty girl with talent. She might have become a movie star or settled down to be a good wife and a good mother. The children would have favored her with their beautiful looks. They would have inherited the Marx brains. All in all, not too bad for Julius marrying the shiksa.”

  There’d be no marrying anyone in the near future. Groucho used his jacket sleeve to wipe his eyes. He was crying for Lydia. It made him feel good. It was nice to cry for someone. It didn’t happen too often in his life.

  * * *

  Clark Gable was probably the only Hollywood celebrity who went hunting in a Cadillac. In the car with him he had Carl Arden at his side and Oscar Levitt in the back seat. Jim was driving the van which held Carole, Herb, and Hazel. There were also three hunting dogs that Carole introduced as Patty, Maxene, and LaVerne, named for her favorite singing trio, the Andrews Sisters. This despite the fact that LaVerne (the dog) was a male and constantly sniffing around the other two. Carole explained to the others that it didn’t matter if dogs were incestuous. They were keeping it in the family. In the van the Lynton case was discussed at great length. Herb had finally shared with Hazel Carole’s suspicions about Mala’s aunt being Takameshuga’s widow. Hazel thought it made sense but was cautioned not to feed the information to any columnist. Herb wanted everything kept under wraps.

  Jim Mallory admired the vehicle he was driving, which was more like a caravan on wheels than an ordinary trailer. It had once been Clark’s dressing room suite at Metro but with the part of Rhett Butler came an even more opulent caravan and Carole insisted Clark commandeer and refit the one in which she was now riding. They were headed south to a heavily wooded area near the Salton Sea, California’s inland body of water.