[Celebrity Murder Case 11] - The William Power and Myrna Loy Murder Case

by George Baxt

  “Yes,” said Herb, “she was a blonde.”

  “Why is the color of her hair so important? She’s a brunette now that she’s Claire Young.”

  “Bill, you’re being very dense. Herb, all this was at a time when Baby was starting to emerge so successfully as the Platinum Blonde, wasn’t it?”

  Powell’s eyes widened. “Baby? My Baby? My Jean?”

  “And just about every starlet in Hollywood bleached her hair blonde to try and get a piece of the action. Right?” Herb said nothing. “And although Paul Bern was married to the biggest blonde star of all, he still treasured a secret passion for Audrey Manners and was jealous of any man she was interested in. And he’d been interested in Audrey for a long time. About when did she become Claire Young and open her business?”

  “It was 1927,” Herb told her.

  “Approximately nine years ago,” Myrna added quietly. “You were having your romance with Audrey at the time?”

  “It was over by then. Oh boy, Myrna Loy, you sure do know how to open old wounds.”

  “Oh dear,” said a chagrined Myrna, “that’s not what I had in mind at all.”

  Herb said, “It’s okay, I was over Audrey a long time ago. About the time I was promoted to detective, Audrey recovered and went into business.”

  “Recovered?” said Powell. “She was ill?”

  “A long time ill,” said Herb. “She had a severe nervous breakdown.”

  “Oh the poor girl. It’s all so biblical, like the curses of the pharaoh. How Claire has suffered.” Appropriately, Lazio was sawing away at “Hearts and Flowers.” And Hazel was approaching with a tray laden with several glasses filled with gin martinis.

  “Damn,” said Myrna, “here comes Hazel. It’s time for an intermission.”

  “What’s going on with you three?” asked Hazel suspiciously. “Why Hazel,” said Myrna, thinking quickly, “it concerns Christmas gifts and we can’t tell you.” She took a martini hungrily as did Powell. Hazel took a third and put the tray on an end table. Powell asked, “No martini for Herb?”

  Hazel said, “Detectives can’t drink when they’re on duty.”

  “What an awful profession,” said Myrna as she savored and reveled in her first sip.

  Powell said admonishingly, “Minnie Minnie Minnie. You didn’t mean to call Herb’s profession an awful one?”

  “Yes I did, and from the way he’s watching you dive into your martini, I can see he agrees with me. Herb, did you always want to be a cop?”

  “No. I didn’t want to be a fireman either.”

  Hazel had a questioning look on her face. “I don't understand myself.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Myrna.

  Hazel said, “You barely know him and already you’ve found out police work wasn’t his first choice of profession. I never asked him that ever!”

  “There’s a simple explanation for that,” said Myrna. “I assume you met him when he was already promoted to detective.”

  “That’s right. Just about then.”

  “Well then. Hazel,” said Myrna, “you probably assumed, and rightly so, that a detective was all he ever wanted to be, just like Herb’s probably never questioned if you ever wanted to do anything else besides sell gossip.”

  “I wanted to be a beautician,” said Hazel. “I even went to school. Cost my parents a small fortune. Even today I still get this terrible urge to put my fingers into another woman’s hair.”

  “I hope you don’t mean me,” said Myrna.

  “I don’t mean anybody. I just mean women in general. Shall I get the pitcher for refills?”

  “Oh yes!” said Myrna gratefully.

  “Be right back,” said Hazel and hurried to the bar, while the three watched her go.

  “Let’s get back to the nervous breakdown,” said Myrna conspiratorially.

  Herb told them, “It was the business with the scandal, the producer who was Audrey’s self-styled protector at Metro and his wife demanding that Louis B. Mayer get rid of Audrey as only that bastard could and can. So it was too much for Audrey.”

  “What about the producer who had a case on Audrey and later financed her? Couldn’t he somehow intervene?”

  “Too frightened,” said Herb.

  “Of what?” asked Powell.

  “Of some skeletons rattling around in his own closet. Among those was his involvement with an actress who died of a drug overdose.”

  “Barbara Lamarr?” asked Myrna quickly, Lamarr having been a top Metro star who died of an overdose in 1926.

  “Maybe,” said Herb. “Well, I might as well open my closet door a few inches. You asked if there wasn’t something I wanted to be other than a detective. People, I was born here. I grew up here. I went to school here. I was on a steady diet of Hollywood and movie stars. I wanted to be a movie star.”

  “You sap,” said Powell.

  “My father’s very words.” He paused for a moment and then a sweet smile formed. “I had a screen test at Metro. Audrey tested with me. That’s when we began. It didn’t last long because my test was a flop and Audrey was moving up.”

  Myrna said, “You miss Audrey.”

  “Yes, I miss Audrey,” said Herb, “but I’m not all that nuts about Claire Young.”

  Powell said, “Myrna, you suddenly look dyspeptic. And why, pray tell, is that?”

  “Since I don’t know what dyspeptic is supposed to look like, I can only tell you that I was at Metro when Barbara Lamarr died, and I might add, Mr. Villon, a supposed suicide which it wasn’t, her mentor and protector was Paul Bern.”

  Powell asked, “Baby’s Paul Bern?”

  “I can’t think of any other Paul Berns,” said Myrna smartly. “Herb, it was Paul Bern who financed Audrey Manners into Claire Young, wasn’t it. He was sweet on her, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. It was Paul Bern. But don’t tell Hazel. Paul Bern’s dead. Let him rest in peace. He didn’t know any in his short lifetime.”

  “That’s very dear. Herb,” said Myrna. “At the time of Bern’s murder, a woman committed suicide by jumping off the San Francisco ferry. She was identified as a woman Bern had been supporting for a long time. She purportedly had come to see him the day he was killed.”

  Herb filled in the rest. “We pinned the murder on her with Louis B. Mayer’s blessing. Our only other suspect was Miss Harlow.”

  Bill leapt to his fiancée’s defense. “She was spending the night at her mother’s.”

  “Now Bill,” said Myrna, “You and I know Baby isn’t in any way capable of killing anyone.” She said to Villon, “You were on the case, weren’t you. Herb?”

  “Peripherally. The top muckamucks in the force were running the show. Jim Mallory and I were supporting players, very minor supporting players.”

  Powell said, “Louis B. Mayer and Howard Strickling were running the show, and everybody in this Godforsaken town knows it.” He smiled at Herb Villon. “Let’s not kid ourselves. That was a very corrupt police force back then.” Herb Villon reserved comment.

  “Oh my,” said Myrna. “So it’s possible this woman who jumped off the ferry turned into a convenience for the police. Paul Bern’s killer might still be at large. And if so, Herb, my theory that his murder might have a link to Fern’s bears examining.”

  Herb didn’t answer her. Detective Zachary Forrest was hurrying into the room. “Herb! I just checked in with the precinct. There’s been another murder. Some woman named Amelia Hubbard.”

  SIXTEEN

  Amelia Hubbard!” exclaimed Myrna.

  “What about Amelia?” asked Claire.

  Zachary Forrest looked perplexed. He had no way of knowing Claire had been Amelia’s friend. Villon quickly explained to Forrest, who then said to Claire, “Sorry, Miss Young.”

  Claire was walking slowly toward the two detectives. Jim Mallory abandoned Lucy Rockefeller to hear the rest about Amelia Hubbard. Freda watched Mitchell Carewe as he slowly followed Claire, arms outstretched as though he expected her to faint and
fall back into his arms. “Herb? What’s happened to Amelia?”

  “She’s been found dead.” Claire’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream. “She was murdered.” He asked Forrest, “Let’s have it all.”

  “In front of everybody?” asked Forrest.

  “Why? You got stage fright?”

  “Hell, no. Some kid found her. A messenger. He was bringing her some stuff to type. Her door was slightly ajar. He rang her bell and then called her name. The way he told it, he decided she might have gone out and forgotten to lock her door. So he thought he’d go in and leave the envelope where she’d spot it. This is what he told Barney Hoyt.”

  “Barney’s on the case?” Forrest told Myrna and Powell, “Barney’s good. He’s very good.”

  “I like Barney,” said Myrna.

  “You’ve met Barney Hoyt?” asked Powell, slightly bemused. “Oh no. But I love his name. It’s so he-mannish.”

  Villon said, “He’s very short.”

  “Oh dear,” said Myrna sadly, “another illusion shattered.” Forrest was saying to Villon, “So the kid goes into the apartment and what he sees nauseates him. A woman seated at her typewriter, her body slumped forward, a wound in her neck.”

  “This is a bad day for womanhood,” said Myrna, eyeing Mitchell Carewe with his arms around Claire, who was sobbing into his chest. Powell told her to hush up.

  Forrest continued. “The kid, you know, the messenger, he got the building superintendent. The super took one look at the woman and phoned for the cops.” He coughed and then said, “Barney wants you and Jim there. He knows she connects to Fern Arnold’s murder — “ he lowered his voice — “and to Claire Young.”

  “By all means Jim and I are going there.”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t miss this for the world!” chirped Myrna.

  “We may have to,” said Powell. “We haven’t been asked to join the gentlemen.”

  Myrna faced Villon. “Now really. Herb, you can’t exclude us now. We’ve been so helpful. Well, haven’t we?”

  Villon asked Forrest for Amelia’s address. Then he instructed Forrest to let the precinct know he and Mallory were leaving for the scene of the latest crime, but refrained from adding he had little stomach for it. For the moment, he didn’t share with anyone his feelings that outside of the murderer, Claire Young was probably the last person to see Amelia Hubbard alive. He didn’t have to share it with Myrna, who sotto voce had just expressed the same sentiment to Bill Powell. Powell nodded in agreement and then looked at Claire in Dr. Carewe’s arms. She looked and sounded sincere. In fact, at this moment, she was the very pathetic picture of an emotional wreck. Hazel Dickson was saying to Claire sympathetically, “There there, dear, there there.” No one seemed to have noticed that she had already phoned Louella but spoke to Louella’s equally vicious assistant, Dorothy Manners, and that she was anxious to get to the scene of the crime.

  Villon addressed the assemblage in the room, as Lazio softly played “Auld Lang Sync.” Freda stood with Lucy Rockefeller, who had just told her she could go for Jim Mallory and warned Freda not to scoff. Freda chose not to scoff; she sneered. Her mind was on Amelia Hubbard, Fern Arnold, and Claire Young. But her ears heard Villon telling them not to leave the premises and promising to be back as soon as possible.

  Dr. Carewe remonstrated, “I have appointments.”

  “Cancel them,” said Villon, “you know where the phone is. Come on, Jim, let’s get going.”

  Myrna grabbed Powell’s hand and pulled him after her. Hazel gave Claire a farewell pat on the shoulder and hurried out. Claire raised her head and then pulled away from Carewe. The look on Claire’s face alerted Freda, who crossed to her, put her arm around her, and guided her to the bar where she knew the liquid solace would be dependable.

  Suddenly Claire gasped. She ran after Villon, who was out front instructing his team to be sure no one left the house until he returned and dismissed them. Claire came running out the door crying his name. He went to meet her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She told him about the many pages she had dictated to Amelia. Earlier material already typewritten was on the top shelf of Amelia’s living room closet. And there was her stenographic pad, what she had dictated that morning. Amelia couldn’t possibly have had the time to type up the morning work. Villon reassured her he’d protect the material, if it was still there. Claire’s heart sank. If it was still there. She watched him go to the unmarked car where Jim Mallory was already positioned behind the wheel. He dreaded being Villon’s passenger. Mallory agreed with Hazel that Villon drove like the proverbial little old lady from Pasadena. Powell and Hazel were revving their respective motors, Powell with misgivings that he shared with Myrna.

  “Minnie, as Dash Hammett I’m sure would agree, this plot is beginning to thicken much too dangerously for my taste.”

  Myrna said huffily, “William Powell, you know I will never condone or forgive an act of cowardice.”

  “Mine is not an act of cowardice, mine is an act of common sense. We’re actors, not detectives. And on this rare occasion I heartily concur with that archfiend Mayer: we should be somewhere memorizing our scripts.”

  “I’ve memorized mine and I wish I could forget it. Double Wedding is triple hooey.”

  “Although ephemeral, I find it rather amusing and we shall be wonderful in it.”

  “Why not? We’ve played it before and will play it again. I can assure you, Mr. Powell, under the sign of Metro’s Leo the Lion we will never tackle any roles of dramatic substance and I’m not walking out on Herb Villon.”

  “Supposing he invites you to walk out!”

  “I’ll take one of Claire’s pokers and bash your skull.”

  “Why, Minnie, I had no idea you had a homicidal bone in your body.”

  “Never mind my body, don’t you dare suggest to Herb Villon that he give us our walking papers. Damn it, this is the first time in years I’ve done anything constructive. I really mean that. And I know Herb Villon appreciates some of our ideas.”

  “Our ideas? They’re mostly your ideas.” He had lit a cigarette and rolled down his window to let the smoke escape. “Want a puff?”

  “No, I don’t.” She thought for a moment and then said, “Barbara Lamarr had jet black hair.”

  “So what?”

  “She was no blonde like Baby and Audrey Manners.”

  “But she was absolutely stunning. I had a crush on her.”

  “You didn’t say you knew her!”

  “Just in passing. I used to see her at the occasional party or in a restaurant.” He paused. “I think Paul Bern kept her supplied with the stuff that killed her. She was an absolute wreck when she died. I was told there was little trace of her great beauty. Okay, Minnie, who do you suspect killed Paul Bern?”

  “The same person who killed Fern Arnold and Amelia Hubbard.”

  “Minnie, are you trying to set yourself up the way Claire Young has supposedly set herself up?”

  “Bill, look at Bern’s death sensibly. We know Mayer and Strickling rearranged the whole suicide scene when they found the note that Bern had written to Baby days before the suicide.”

  “No, I did not know that and that’s the truth.”

  “Baby told me herself. She didn’t tell you?”

  “No.” He sounded and looked glum.

  “Well, don’t you go getting mad at her. She told me he wrote the note the morning after a knock-down-drag-out they had. The note was still in her dresser drawer where Strickling found it and convinced Mayer it would be perfect as a suicide note.” She quoted: “‘P.S. You realize last night was just a comedy’ or something like that. You ninny, don’t you realize those two monsters were convinced Baby had shot Bern? Oh Bill, don’t look like that.”

  “How do I look?” he asked glumly.

  “Suave and urbane like Philo Vance.”

  “There isn’t a camera trained on me.”

  “My eyes are trained on you and I’m as good as a
camera. Stop brooding about Baby. There’s no way she could have murdered Paul Bern.”

  “Be realistic. Her only alibi was her mother and stepfather and she was and still is their meal ticket. They’d lie through their false teeth to protect her.”

  “How do you know their teeth are false? You’re being mean, and that’s very unlike you.”

  “She told me when they’re available she uses Mario’s to crack walnuts.”

  Myrna was looking through the windshield at the familiar sights of her childhood and then forced herself back to Jean Harlow. “Baby swore to me she did not kill Paul Bern. Jean Harlow was my first friend when I rejoined Metro. She was the only actress on the lot who didn’t feel threatened even though they had me wear a blonde wig in The Wet Parade. I looked ridiculous. Stop thinking about Baby as a possible murderer and worry about her health. I spoke to my doctor this morning and mentioned her sallow skin and how the sparkle’s gone out of her eyes and he said it could be renal-oriented, meaning her kidneys. Christian Science or no Christian Science you get her to my doctor when she gets back from Catalina. Now stop that. Bill, Baby’s going to be just fine.”

  “She has to be. She’s my world.”

  “Oh Bill. How sweet. Now Bill, you realize Claire Young could very well be the last person to have seen Amelia Hubbard alive.”

  “Or dead.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Why kill a woman to whom she’s been giving dictation? Presumably very intimate, and for some, very damaging dictation.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Minnie, Claire Young is a genuinely frightened lady. She has triggered an event that has led to the murder of two people she cared about. I assume she cared about Amelia Hubbard because her sobs were heart-rending.”

  “I think her sobs were for the possibility of what she dictated having fallen into very dangerous hands.”

  “There’s that too.”

  “It’s possible she spilled the beans about her affairs with Mitchell Carewe and Herb Villon.” Powell agreed. Myrna continued, “We know Herb’s not the murderer. He has very strong alibis.”

  “Now really, Minnie.”

  “Now really yourself. A good detective has to cover all possibilities. No stone unturned. No string untied.”