The Tinseltown Murderer Read online

  “What do you think O’Donnell wants?” Josie asked her husband quietly.

  “The only thing similar to Prohibition would be drugs, but I can’t imagine Joe would be into that. He has his faults, but he’s not an evil man.”

  “I don’t remember reading anything like that about the Kennedys but it’s always possible he covered it up. I have a feeling there’s a lot we don’t know about that family.”

  Josie and her friends had no sooner taken their seats at a table in the back than a record began playing the German national anthem. Much of the room rose as one and began singing. Even at the tables where people remained seated, they seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. Except for the people at Josie’s table.

  “They look so…normal,” said Blake.

  “Most monsters do,” said Lawrence. “That’s why they’re so successful. No one sees them coming.”

  The singing finally came to a merciful end and everyone sat. Waiters in white jackets streamed into the dining room, carrying trays with the first course. Two African American waiters approached Josie’s table and began putting appetizers in front of them.

  Josie smiled at the man who’d just given her a plate. “I am so sorry about the Nazis.”

  “We all are,” said Dora. “We’re not like them.”

  Unfortunately, the waiter had a world-weary look which indicated he’d already had enough of white people at Nazi dinners for a lifetime. But he smiled politely, then returned to the kitchen.

  “The beer is good,” said Blake, who took another sip from his stein. “I imagine the best way to get through the speeches will be with a few more drinks.”

  “I’m not sure anything will get me through the speeches,” said Lawrence. “But Kurt seems to be enjoying himself.”

  They saw Kurt across the room on the dais next to Greta, meeting star-struck fans. He had a reserve to him which was unusual, but a photographer captured him with one fan after another, most wearing swastika pins.

  “Kurt Franklin, publicist’s nightmare,” said Josie.

  “I don’t know about that,” said Blake. “Most Americans have no problems with the Germans in their midst. After all, it’s a big portion of the cultural history of the country. But try to be Russian or communist and your welcome is anything but warm.”

  Dora looked at someone who’d just entered the room. “Ralph Harris has arrived, and here I am without my hatpin.”

  “I’ll be your hatpin,” said Blake.

  “You are so sweet,” said Dora, as she kissed him.

  A man on the dais stood at the microphone and spoke with German-accented English. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Meine Damen und Herren, welcome to the German American League dinner.” He paused for a moment as the crowd broke out into applause. “I am Karl Zimmer, the membership coordinator for the League and I couldn’t be more pleased that you’re all here tonight. As you know, Germany and America have always enjoyed a special relationship...”

  “You mean other than that unpleasant incident, also known as the Great War?” Dora said quietly to the others at her table.

  Apparently oblivious to recent world history, Karl continued. “America would not be the great country she is today without the hard work of her German immigrants, just as the Fatherland can benefit from our continued friendship. There are radicals in this country who push us toward war as they spread the evil doctrines of communism and revolution.” Here he was interrupted by boisterous and somewhat drunken boos from the crowd who looked like they’d moved on from good German beer to harder alcohol, including, ironically, Russian vodka.

  Once the boos died out, Karl went on. “We have distinguished guests with us here tonight. For instance, Kurt Franklin.” He indicated Kurt on the dais, catching the actor unaware, though he more or less always looked a bit surprised. “My wife Kamilla will kill me if I don’t get your autograph for her later.” Kurt waved, though he looked a bit abashed.

  Karl continued. “We have Mr. Finn O’Donnell here tonight, who works very closely with Mr. Joseph Kennedy, who has been a good friend to the Fatherland.” Unlike Kurt, Finn had no problem smiling and waving at the crowd. “We also are honored to have Ralph Harris from the Studio Guild, who is working with us to bring you more German films.”

  “And vice versa!” called out Ralph, as he downed another martini at his seat.

  “And we even have a distinguished detective from the Los Angeles Police Department, Mr. Vernon Carson.” All eyes turned to see a man in his late-forties in a slightly rumpled suit standing at the back of the room. He was surprised to have been singled out and seemingly not too happy about it.

  “That’s the man who followed us after the meeting at Caroline’s!” said Josie.

  “Are you sure?” asked David. “It was dark and foggy.”

  “I’m sure.” Josie stared at the man who was glowering at the speaker.

  Zimmer continued. “As you all know, Police Chief James Davis shares our concerns about communists in Los Angeles, some of whom are congregating outside even as I speak. But the German American League has pledged our support to help him combat that threat by any means necessary.”

  That was met with cheers by the local contingent of the Hitler Youth, young men in their late teens and early twenties, who were sitting at two tables drinking beer.

  “Just what we need,” said Josie. “Young drunk Nazis.”

  Zimmer continued. “We have many activities coming up, from picnics to sewing circles to sport competitions, and we would love to have you join us as either participants or spectators. There are sign-up lists around the center. Please choose any activities which interest you. Now, without further ado, let us return to dinner. Sieg Heil!”

  As Zimmer ended his speech with the German salute, it was echoed enthusiastically by most of the people in the room.

  A chill went up Josie’s spine. “We need to stop these guys,” she said.

  “And we will,” said David.

  “Or I’ll die trying,” said Josie to herself.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “This is the last place I would’ve expected to see you two,” Ralph Harris said to Dora and Blake as they cornered him near the bar directly under the flag of the Third Reich. “I would’ve thought you’d be outside with the rest of the communists.”

  “Maybe we wanted a good meal.” said Dora.

  “I wouldn’t have thought you were the sauerkraut and sausage type,” said Ralph.

  “I’m a starving actor,” said Blake. “I eat what I can get.”

  “You’re hardly starving. I heard Jack Warner is trying to get you under contract.”

  Dora turned to Blake. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “You know how Jack is. He promises the world, but when it comes down to a contract it’s a different story. I thought I’d give him a chance to pursue me for a while, to see if it loosens up the purse strings.”

  Ralph gave a little snort. “So, you’re a communist who likes to be paid well.”

  “We’re about workers’ rights,” said Dora.

  “If you call acting work,” said Ralph.

  “What do you call it?” asked Blake.

  “A talking prop. What are you doing here tonight?”

  “We were about to ask you the same thing. Strange company you keep.”

  “Part of my job is to get American films into the European market. Since Herr Hitler seems intent on expanding Germany, it made sense to be here.”

  “What if he becomes intent on expanding to America?” asked Dora.

  Ralph looked around at the crowd of average Los Angelenos mingling with German nationals. “I’d say he’s already made a pretty good start. From what I’ve heard, they’ve got Germans everywhere, even places you wouldn’t think.”

  “That’s not going to help me sleep at night,” said Dora.

  “I thought that’s what Blake is for,” said Ralph. “If he’s not up to the job, perhaps I can be of assistance.”

  “No thanks,” said
Dora. “He does the job just fine.”

  * * *

  “I’ve seen you around,” said Lawrence as he approached Detective Vernon Carson. The gruff man in the rumpled suit was standing by himself at the edge of the dining room. Carson didn’t say anything in return, so Lawrence continued. “I’ve seen you at places most people frequent only at night. Are you vice?”

  “I’m LAPD. I go where I’m sent.” He continued watching the crowd.

  “Are you expecting trouble tonight, Detective Carson?”

  “We expect trouble every night. It’s Los Angeles.”

  “It’s too bad you can’t arrest the whole lot of them.”

  “The protesters outside?”

  “The Nazis, Silver Shirts, Brown Shirts and Hitler Youth. The whole damned lot of them. Some friends of mine have had run-ins with a few of them out and about.”

  “Your friends should be more careful.”

  “My friends are nothing but careful. You have to be when you’re like us.”

  Carson turned to him. “What do you mean by that?” he asked sharply.

  “My friends and I are homosexuals.”

  Carson looked around them. “You shouldn’t say that out loud.”

  “Why not?”

  “What do you mean, why not? It’s against the law for one thing. They lock your kind up, and not just in jail. You can go to an asylum for that.”

  “Some would say Hollywood is an asylum, but with the patients running things.”

  “I won’t argue with you there.” Carson turned his attention back to the crowd.

  Lawrence studied him. He had the look of a hardened police officer who’d probably been in more than one fight which wasn’t within the strict confines of the law. Lawrence had seen officers like that in every place he’d lived. While he’d never be so callous as to paint all law enforcement officers with the same brush, he knew the few bad ones had an effect far greater than their numbers. “I’d like to feel safe in my own city.”

  “I thought New York was your city.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Just because I’m a detective doesn’t mean I don’t go to the pictures. I even see a play every once in a while. You make the gossip magazines often enough.”

  Lawrence’s brows raised. “You read the gossip rags?”

  “My mother does. She’d like to set you up with her sister.”

  “How old is your aunt?”

  “Sixty.”

  “Ouch. I miss the days when people thought I’d be good for their daughters.”

  “Apparently, you wouldn’t be good for anyone’s sister or daughter,” said Carson, looking at him full-on for the first time. “You should do a better job of staying hidden.”

  “I tried that for a number of years and it almost killed me. Literally. I’m much happier this way, though there are challenges.”

  “Like Nazis patrolling the streets.”

  “And some cops, though I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I don’t want anything from you.” Carson was gruff, almost angry. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d go back to New York. No one can protect you from what’s happening here, and it’ll only get worse. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go do my job.” With that, the detective made a beeline for the bar, leaving Lawrence to think about the warning he’d just been given.

  * * *

  It took Josie a moment to wade through the throngs of people waiting to speak to Greta and Kurt, but the actor finally looked her way. “Josie!” he called out to her, turning away from some very disappointed female admirers. “Thank God you’re here. I don’t think some of these women will take no for an answer.”

  “Try telling them nein.”

  “The number?”

  “No, nein means ‘no’ in German.”

  “Germans talk in numbers?”

  Realizing she didn’t have all night for this, Josie smiled at Kurt. “Tell them you’re dating someone and you’re a one-woman man.”

  “That sounds pretty sad.”

  “Nonetheless, give it a try. I’d like to speak to Greta.”

  “Did I hear my name?” asked Greta, who’d been surrounded by her own admirers. That was the thing about blondes. A woman could be a Nazi and all some men could see was the hair.

  “Yes, I was hoping to speak with you for a moment,” said Josie.

  “Perhaps we should go someplace quieter,” said Greta. “Come with me.”

  Josie followed Greta through the large ballroom, passing cigarette girls in short skirts which wouldn’t have looked out of place at any Hollywood party, except for their swastika lapel pins.

  Greta crossed to a closed door at the far end, then entered, leading them into a darkened hallway. Things weren’t quite as festive in the private portion of the building, which had pictures of summer youth camps in Germany, with Aryan boys in absurdly short shorts hanging out in the name of sports.

  “Do you like sports?” asked Greta. “I’ve noticed that Americans do not place as much emphasis on exercise and good health as Germans. Is that typical where you come from?”

  “I’m not really much of a sports enthusiast myself. And the Hitler youth camps in these pictures don’t make me more of a fan.”

  “Perhaps if you understood the deprivations Germany went through after the Great War, you’d better understand the appeal of a man who unites us all.”

  “I thought you weren’t a Nazi fan, family notwithstanding.”

  “I said I’m not political, but I still love my homeland. I’m certain there are American Presidents you haven’t liked.”

  There were definitely a few American Presidents Josie disliked, but now wasn’t the time to go into that. She also realized they were in the back corridors of the building. If Greta wanted to do away with her, she stood a pretty good chance of succeeding.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Greta as she opened the door to an office and indicated Josie should enter. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Greta laughed and it was, perhaps, the first genuine emotion Josie had ever seen from her. “Why don’t you come in anyway and I’ll try to behave.”

  Josie entered the small office, then Greta followed and shut the door behind them. There was a large mahogany desk, a fireplace and two armchairs on the other side of the room. Josie walked to the windows behind the desk to see if there was an easy escape if needed.

  There wasn’t.

  Greta poured them each a glass of brandy, took a sip out of both glasses as either a sign they weren’t drugged or some odd display of bad manners, then handed Josie her glass.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Greta asked as she took a seat.

  “I’d like to know your interest in Kurt Franklin.”

  “Not this, again. I like Kurt and would never do anything to hurt him.”

  “Kurt needs to concentrate on his craft right now. It wasn’t all that long ago that he had a voice like a rusty gate.”

  “There are times he still does,” said Greta. “Often when the two of us are all alone.”

  “My point is that if Kurt doesn’t make it in Hollywood, I’m not sure there are a lot of other professions he could fall back on. Or any. I adore him, but he’s not very…bright.”

  “Then I think he’ll do quite well in Hollywood.”

  Josie couldn’t very well argue with that point.

  Greta took a sip of her drink. “I have to wonder why you feel so protective of Kurt. Is it a maternal feeling or something else?”

  Maternal? Kurt had barely been eight years younger than Josie when she’d first met him at the house party in 1929, and, in reality, would’ve died years before Josie was even born. “Something else? Such as?”

  “Perhaps the novelty of your marriage has worn off and you’re looking to find pleasure with a handsome movie star.”

  “My husband is handsome enough.”

  “Do you ever fear you won�
�t be able to retain your husband’s affections?” asked Greta as she lit a cigarette. “He used to have his pick of beautiful women from what I’ve heard.”

  “Thank you for your unsolicited marriage advice. Let me be frank.”

  “Does that mean you’ve been holding back? I shudder to think what you’re like when you’re really being honest.”

  “I think you’re a spy for your uncle, regardless of how little you claim to see him. I think you’re trying to bring great harm to America, and you’re bound to take Kurt Franklin down with you. So, I guess I’m not quite as concerned about his career as much as I don’t want my friend charged with treason or sedition or whatever the applicable law is.”

  Greta blew a smoke ring. “But you wouldn’t mind seeing me charged?”

  “I’d be fine with that. And now that your cover is blown you should probably head back home.”

  “I have no ‘cover,’ as you call it, so there is nothing to ‘blow,’ as you so colorfully put it. You have a remarkable imagination. Perhaps you should write movies. If no one will hire you here, I might be able to get you a position at one of our film studios in Berlin.”

  “I think I’d rather stand in a bread line in America.”

  Greta flicked her cigarette over an ashtray. “There have been plenty of bread lines in Germany.”

  “Perhaps it’s time for you to go home and help your countrymen.”

  “But I like it here.”

  “Go, anyway, while you’re still allowed to leave the country. That may not always be the case.”

  Greta raised a brow. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “Take it in whatever way that encourages you to leave.”

  “If I am what you think I am, did it ever occur to you that threatening me would not be wise? You disappeared once, Josie Remington. It could happen again and, perhaps this time, you might never return.”

  How did Greta know Josie had once disappeared? The two women looked at each other for a moment, and Josie was thankful she still had the heavy glass in her hand. It wouldn’t stop a bullet, but at least she could use it to fight off Greta if she attacked. And it’d feel pretty good to do so.