The Tinseltown Murderer Page 10

  “What are the two of you doing in here?”

  Josie looked up to see a slightly out-of-breath David standing in the doorway, like he’d been running around to find her. “I wasn’t sure where you’d gone, so I’ve been looking for you. It’s quite a large place you have here, Greta. It looks like the German American League is settling in for the long haul.”

  Greta smiled at him, as she rose from her seat. “We Germans like to make an impression. It was a bit loud in the main hall, so your wife and I came back here for some privacy. We were having quite an interesting conversation.”

  “About what?”

  “Travel plans. It appears neither of us has any at the moment, though that could change.” Greta extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray before turning her smile on David. “Shall we return to the hall? I believe the dancing is about to begin.”

  David stepped back so Greta could leave the room, then he leaned in to give Josie a kiss. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. But Greta is trouble.”

  “She’s a blonde, isn’t she?” asked David.

  “That is incredibly sexist, but I’ll let it pass this time,” said Josie as she kissed him again.

  A moment later, the three of them were in the main hall, where a band was playing a German folk song. The dance floor was about half-full, and several people were clapping from the sides of the room.

  “Greta!” said Karl Zimmer as he crossed to them and kissed Greta’s cheek. “I’ve been looking for you. Would you please introduce me to your friends?”

  “I’d be delighted. Herr Karl Zimmer, this is Mr. and Mrs. David Remington.”

  Karl shook both their hands with a firm grip. “You’re the Wall Street financier, are you not?”

  “Formerly. I’m retired now. What brings you to Los Angeles, Herr Zimmer?”

  “The beautiful weather, of course. My wife, Kamilla, and I came here three years ago for just a holiday, and haven’t left, other than for the occasional trip back to Germany. We miss it, of course, but the winters here are considerably easier than the snow and ice back home. We purchased some property about a year ago and have been fixing it up. We’re actually having a house party next weekend and Kamilla wanted me to be sure you were invited, Greta.”

  Greta smiled, but there was something in her eyes which Josie couldn’t quite identify. She hesitated a moment before answering. “I’ll be sure to drop by.”

  “Nein, nein, nein. You must come and be our guest, and you, as well, Mr. and Mrs. Remington.”

  “Where is your home?” asked David.

  “It’s a large estate near Malibu, quite modern and the perfect retreat for Germans who miss the country life of our homeland.”

  Something about that description raised a red flag for Josie. It sounded very familiar.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” said David. “But we’re staying with friends here in town.”

  “The screenwriters?” asked Karl. “We shall invite them, too.”

  “They don’t go out much, and Dora is quite inseparable from her boyfriend Blake.”

  “We’ll make a party of it with all of them,” said Karl.

  David clearly didn’t want to go. “Thank you, but…”

  “We’d love to,” said Josie. “Thank you.”

  From their looks, Josie didn’t know who was more surprised, David or Greta. Karl, however, was very pleased. “Sehr gut! Now, Greta you must come.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said, almost convincingly.

  Karl was quite pleased. “I look forward to seeing all of you there. Kamilla will give the details to Greta who will pass them on to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must talk to the band leader about this music.”

  As Karl walked off in a direction not anywhere near the band, Greta turned to them. “That was a bit of a surprise, but I look forward to seeing you all next weekend. Perhaps, Josie, you and I can continue our interesting conversation from earlier.”

  “Perhaps,” said Josie, as Greta smiled and walked away.

  Once Greta was out of earshot, David turned to Josie. “Would you mind telling me why you signed us up for a house party with Nazis?”

  “A few years ago, I was researching a movie set in Malibu and came across information about a compound built by Germans which was meant to be a gift for Hitler, sort of his west coast home once he conquered America. This may be it. I mean, I hope it is. Because if it isn’t, that means there are two Nazi compounds in Los Angeles when even one was way more than we needed.”

  David considered it. “All right, I’ll go. You, however, won’t.”

  “Excuse me? You wouldn’t even know about Hitler’s vacation home if it weren’t for me.”

  “Yes, and now that we know just how dangerous this could be, there’s no way I’m risking you getting hurt or worse.”

  “What about you?”

  “I can handle it. And before you accuse me of being sexist…”

  “And I was about to.”

  “I’d like to add that when I walked in on you and Greta, I got the distinct impression you both were seconds away from violence. And while I don’t discount your intelligence and quick-thinking in an emergency, if Greta is who we think she is, she’s a professionally-trained killer.”

  “Yes, but I have something she doesn’t have.”

  “What’s that?” asked David warily.

  “You.” She kissed her husband right before someone smashed the glass doors in the front of the building. “Why do I think our evening’s about to take a turn for the worse?”

  “Probably because it just has,” said David. “Let’s find the others and get out of here.”

  Josie took her husband’s hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  As David and Josie made their way through the frightened crowd of guests, several Hitler Youth members ran toward the disturbance in the front of the building, and the band stopped playing its polka – a small mercy in the midst of chaos.

  David kept Josie close as they pushed their way through the crowd. “We have to find the others.”

  That proved difficult, as sounds of a fight came from the front of the building and panic had now descended on the crowd, which was running back and forth around them. A woman tripped and was about to be trampled, when David helped her up.

  “Josie!”

  Josie looked over to where Dora had just called out. She was with Blake and Lawrence, and they were getting through the crowd as best they could.

  “I have a feeling Caroline and the others just made their presence known,” said Blake.

  “Too bad it wasn’t after we’d already left,” said Dora, as a man walked by bleeding from a cut on his forehead.

  “How do we get out of here?” asked Lawrence. “The front entrance is a battleground.”

  “Follow me,” said Josie, as she led her friends to the back hall. “There must be a rear exit.”

  “I just hope there won’t be more communists waiting for us in the alley,” said Dora. “No offense to communists, of course.”

  “Don’t worry, love,” said Lawrence. “We know you’re still red at heart.”

  As Josie and her friends rushed single file down the dark, narrow corridor, several men in suits ran past them toward the ballroom.

  “They’ve certainly got a lot of security for a social club,” said Lawrence. “I believe all of them were armed.”

  As they reached a corridor, they looked left and right to see which hall would lead to the exit. As Josie was looking, she caught the eye of a bald man in an office, standing at a desk. He counted out money, then put it in a briefcase, before handing it to a man whose back was to the door. But as the man turned, Josie saw it was Ralph Harris, the studio guild head. The bald man locked eyes with Josie for an instant, then he gave a quiet command to another man in the room, who shut the door.

  “There,” said Blake, pointing to a dim light at the end of the corridor
to the right. “I bet the exit is down there.”

  Josie and the others followed Blake down the corridor, which did have an exit at the end.

  “Stand back,” Lawrence said to the others, when they reached the door. “I’ll check to see if it’s safe.” He slipped out the door, then a moment later popped his head back in. “It’s all clear.”

  The five of them slipped outside into the cool night air. They were in a deserted alley, though they could hear sounds of a disturbance on the other side of the building. They were making their way up the alley when someone called out Blake’s name. They turned to find Caroline Armitage glaring at them.

  “What are you doing back here?” she asked. “The action’s out front.”

  “You didn’t tell me this was going to be a riot,” said Blake.

  Caroline shrugged. “Those people only understand force. Did you enjoy yourselves tonight?” The contempt was clear in her voice.

  “We were doing reconnaissance,” said Dora.

  The look Caroline turned on Dora clearly said she didn’t believe it. “Are you coming with me or not?”

  “I will,” said Blake, “but Dora and the others are going home.”

  “I’m not leaving you here,” said Dora.

  “Yes, you are. Things could get bad.”

  Caroline turned a smug look on Dora. “It’s not the place for people who only say they’re committed to the cause.”

  Lawrence raised a brow. “You do know most of your Hollywood members have only been trained for stage combat, correct? They’ll be no match for the Hitler Youth.”

  “Let us worry about that. Take your friends home and leave this to the professionals.”

  Dora was about to object when Blake kissed her. “Go home, all of you. I can’t do my job if I’m worried about you. Please.” He squeezed her hand, then ran toward the front of the building with Caroline.

  “I should go help,” said David, as he started to follow them, before Josie stopped him.

  “You can’t afford to get arrested or have your picture taken. Besides, we have bigger work to do than one fight.”

  After a moment, he nodded. “Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  “Greta!”

  Greta was on her way to the back exit when Hermann Straub, the director of the German American League, called out to her. She suppressed a sigh as she turned to him. “What?”

  “I need you to ensure that two of our guests don’t come to any harm.”

  Greta could see Ralph Harris and Finn O’Donnell behind Straub, with a put-upon Detective Carson standing nearby. Harris was holding a briefcase close. “Very well, I’ll take them out the back with me.”

  “It’s not safe. Some of the rioters are out there.”

  “They have a police detective with them. I cannot imagine they wouldn’t be safe.”

  “We can’t have them ending up in the newspapers.”

  “What you mean is, you don’t want them ending up in the newspapers until it’s convenient for us,” she said quietly.

  Straub glowered at her, and Greta knew she shouldn’t push him too far. Yet, she didn’t want to acquiesce too quickly, either. “Take them upstairs until this blows over,” she said.

  “I don’t take orders from you.”

  How pitiful that he actually believed that. “And I don’t take orders from you.” She sighed. “I’ll do it, but it’s damned inconvenient.”

  “Get it done. And make sure they stay out of sight until the police leave.”

  “Are the police on the way?”

  “I’m certain they will be.”

  Greta personally thought the amateur revolutionaries would be no match for the Hitler Youth and Silver Stars, but she did as she was told.

  “This way, gentlemen,” she said to Harris, O’Donnell and Carson, as she led them upstairs.

  A few minutes later they were at the window of an office looking down on the street below. It was utter chaos as the demonstrators, some using their picket signs as clubs, fought with the Hitler Youth and Silver Shirts, who’d had the foresight to bring brass knuckles and cudgels to the fight.

  “They can’t get in here, can they?” asked Harris.

  “I’m certain the police will be here before things get too violent, isn’t that right, Detective Carson?”

  Carson’s only reply was a grunt.

  “Why don’t you go down there and stop this, Carson?” asked Harris. “It’s your job, isn’t it?”

  “The best way I can keep O’Donnell safe is to stay by his side.”

  “What about me?” asked Ralph.

  Carson’s only reply was a shrug.

  “Is that a Molotov cocktail?” asked O’Donnell, as he pointed to a cluster of protestors lighting bottles.

  Greta took a closer look at the people lighting them. “Is that David Remington’s actor friend Blake?”

  Carson peered out. “I think it is. He’s with Caroline Armitage.”

  “Caroline’s there?” asked Harris, who looked down on the scene with interest.

  “Do you know her?” asked Greta.

  “Of course,” said Harris. “She makes life pretty miserable for the studios.”

  But from the way he was watching her, Greta had a feeling he knew her better than that. A fireball had them looking to where two bottles had exploded onto an awning of the building next door. Sirens signaled the arrival of the police, and the scene below became even more frenetic. But when Greta looked back to see where Caroline Armitage and Blake were, they had both disappeared.

  “I want to go home now,” said O’Donnell. “Carson, get me out of here.”

  “I think we should stay here.”

  “Do as I say, or I’ll get you demoted to traffic cop!”

  For a moment, it looked like Carson wanted to get O’Donnell out of there by throwing him out the window. But, instead, he just nodded and said, “Follow me.”

  “Take Mr. Harris with you, Detective, if you would be so kind,” said Greta.

  Without a word, Carson led the two men out of the room, leaving Greta to stare at the scene below.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Greta was tired and had a lot on her mind as she steered her Cadillac through downtown streets which were still littered with protestors. The police had been as destructive as the demonstrators and were still loading people into paddy wagons, as Greta drove by on her way to her house in the hills.

  She made it a habit to drive the twisting road of Mulholland Drive at night, since it gave her a chance to contemplate the size of Los Angeles. She knew the expanse of the city, had driven from one end to another various times and had even driven to the orange fields of the San Fernando Valley, which were slowly giving way to residential areas. Bob Hope had recently built a home in the valley and the studios were moving out there, as well, lured by cheap land to build their giant soundstages.

  Los Angeles was rich in targets and she’d identified the four most important: the Hughes Aviation plant, the Port of Long Beach, the oil fields of central Los Angeles and the aqueducts which brought water into the arid town. While her higher-ups thought the port and airfields were the most important, Greta knew the city would be crippled within days if the water supply was hit.

  Despite her weariness, she pulled off onto a narrow lookout point on Mulholland Drive. On the south side she could see the lights of the city. There must have been a premiere at the Egyptian Theater because she could see the klieg lights shining up into the night sky. She could see the tall buildings from where she’d just been in downtown Los Angeles and could even glimpse the lights stretching toward Santa Monica in the far west. The city was vast but had none of the sophistication of Berlin. She missed home and wondered when she’d see it again.

  Or if she ever would.

  On that note, she pulled onto the highway again, speeding up for the journey home. She took a corner on the two-lane road just a bit too fast, only to be blinded by the headlights of an oncoming car which had swe
rved into her lane. She yanked the steering wheel to get out of the way, then found herself headed for the edge of the road, which was at the top of a steep embankment. She tried to correct her course but felt the horrifying lurch of her front passenger tire sliding off the pavement onto the dirt shoulder of the road, bringing her only inches away from the edge of the embankment.

  Greta slowed the car to a halt to catch her breath. She’d like to introduce the drunk who’d nearly hit her to the pistol she never travelled without. But before she could do anything about it, a bright light in her rearview mirror flashed into her eyes, blinding her right before her car was rammed from the rear, pushing one of her wheels off the edge of the embankment. This was no drunk. Whoever had hit her earlier had turned around and come at her again.

  And now he was backing up to hit her once more.

  Someone wanted her dead.

  Greta reached for her purse, which contained her gun, even as she tried to get a good look at the driver. Unfortunately, all she could see was car lights. She wasn’t even sure if she could identify the car. It was dark and had a grill like a Chrysler, similar to the cars detectives drove. It wasn’t beyond the pale that one of her enemies had paid a policeman to do his dirty work for him. But right now, identifying who was trying to kill her wasn’t nearly as important as trying to survive the attempt. Once she got away she could turn her mind to retribution, but not yet.

  She tried to drive, but with one tire off the side of the embankment, she was only spinning her wheels. She’d have to make a run for it. But if she got out on the driver’s side, the man who was trying to kill her would run her over before she could get away. Getting out on the passenger side would be tricky since it was a long drop down. She could hear the other car backing up to make another run at her, and she knew her car would go over the embankment with the next hit. She wrapped her purse around her arm to ensure she wasn’t separated from it, then opened the passenger door and dove out into the brush below, scrambling to grab anything which would prevent her from falling all the way down the embankment.

  An instant later, her car was hit with enough force that it was suspended motionless in mid-air for a moment, before hitting the ground ten yards lower than Greta on the hillside. It tumbled over and over before finally hitting a boulder on the ground far below. It must have been a direct hit to the fuel tank, for an instant later the car exploded in flames hot enough for Greta to feel from a hundred yards away.