The Hollywood Murders-The Gretch Bayonne Action Adventure Series-Book 3 Page 10

  Eva walked into the kitchen, interrupting my writing. She had changed clothes and taken off the wig she'd donned before.

  “What are you writing anyway?” she asked as she sat down at the kitchen table with me.

  “A story about a serial killer,” I replied.

  “Of course,” she said. “I should have guessed that.”

  “Not ours,” I replied. “This is fiction. It just relieves the tension. Something to take my mind off reality.”

  “If you want to take your mind off of reality,” she replied, “why don't you write a story about something good?”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “I don't know,” she answered. “Anything but murder.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “What's your story? Why would a good looking dame like you want to get mixed up in spying and chasing down serial killers?”

  Eva just smiled as she picked through the napkins I'd written on. She didn't reply to my questions at all. I guess that's what makes her a spy. Spies don't talk. They just gather information.

  We were both jolted up out of our seats when the phone rang again. This time, Eva beat me to the receiver.

  Kots had an address for us, 3221 Fountain Lane, Cypress, CA. Just fourteen miles southwest of Hollywood.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I hate waiting. Unless I'm on a movie set. Then it just goes with the territory. I could either wait, or go knock on the door at 3221 Fountain Lane. Eva managed to talk me out of doing that.

  “The Rose is going to keep the house under surveillance until the suspect leaves,” Eva assured me. “And when he does, they will follow him.”

  There was nothing left for me to do, so I had Eva give me a ride to Lugosi's house.

  Everyone was asleep, so I called Wolf at his hotel and explained to him what had happened.

  “I was afraid of that,” Wolf said. “That's why I wanted to use Patty instead of Eva.”

  “We're not getting into that again,” I replied. “The guy came to the door. He fled, and now we know where he lives. That's the bottom line.”

  “I guess Kots is running a check on the address,” Wolf said. “He probably already knows this man's name and where he works.”

  “He said he would call me when he finds out,” I replied.

  “That's good,” Wolf replied. “But there's only one problem.”

  “What's that?” I asked.

  “The colonel can't call you if you're on the phone with me,” Wolf answered.

  “I'll call you back the minute I hear anything,” I replied.

  As soon as I placed the receiver back on the hook, the telephone rang, scaring me half to death.

  “Bay here!” I said.

  “We've got some information,” Kots said. “Are you sitting down?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Shoot.”

  “The suspect’s name is James Allen,” Kots said. He is thirty-four years old and has lived in that house for almost his entire life. Never married. No prior arrests.”

  “Where does he work?” I asked.

  “That's the good part,” the colonel replied. “Bay, Allen is a cop.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Are you serious?”

  “Fifteen years with the LAPD,” Kots said. “And we found out something else very interesting about him.”

  “Tell me!” I said.

  “Allen is not only a cop,” Kots said, “but he comes from a family with a long history in law enforcement. His father and grandfather were cops. Two of his uncles are cops. He even has a niece who is a cop.”

  “Damn!” I said. “They are not going to like this!”

  “I saved the best for last,” Kots said.

  “There's more?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Kots shot back. “He has a third uncle.”

  “Oh lord,” I said. “Who is that?”

  “Governor James Rolph Jr,” Kots said. “James Allen's uncle is the Governor of California.”

  “Son of a bitch!” I said. “This is not good!”

  “You're going to meet a great deal of resistance,” the colonel said.

  “I need to get into his house when he's not at home,” I replied. “And I still want you to watch his every move at night.”

  “He works the day shift,” Kots said. “I'll send Eva to get you in the morning. She can get you inside his place, no problem.”

  I called Wolf back and filled him in on the news about Allen. He wasn't very optimistic about us proving that the cop was the Valentino Killer. We had two strikes working against us from the get go. Number one, the only reason to believe that Allen might be the murderer was that he showed up at Patty's house with a bag and ran away. Number two, well, that was obvious. He was a cop and the nephew of the governor.

  “He fits the profile,” I argued. “And as far as I'm concerned, that is reason enough to stay on him.”

  “You might be the commander in chief of The Rose,” Wolf said, “but Bay, you aren't a detective. If you find anything at his house, you are going to have to turn it over to Bannon.”

  “The President knows about this, right?” I asked.

  “You mean of the United States?” Wolf asked. “Yeah. He's aware of the problem. He has even mentioned it on the radio.”

  “I've got an idea,” I said.

  “Don't tell me you are going to pretend to be a federal agent,” Wolf shot back.

  “No,” I replied. “That is more like something you would do.”

  “What then?” he asked. “We aren't going to get much cooperation down at police headquarters on this.”

  “So we take it to the President,” I replied. “We take it out of the hands of the State of California and directly to the Feds.”

  “How the hell do you plan on doing that?” Wolf asked. “Are you just going to phone President Roosevelt and say, Gee, Mr. President, I think I might have the killer, but he is Governor Rolph's nephew, and by the way, the entire LAPD is corrupt and will cover this whole thing up. We don't really have any evidence, but can you help me out on this?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  There was a long pause before he replied.

  “That is not how things work,” Wolf said.

  “I'm not interested in how things worked before,” I said. “That has been part of the problem. I am interested in how they are going to work now. We're still in a deep depression, and Roosevelt isn't concerned so much about how we got there, but how he is going to get us out of it.”

  “We aren't likely to pry this out of the hands of the LAPD,” Wolf said. “It's their problem, not the Federal Government's.”

  “You're forgetting something.” I said.

  “What now?” Wolf asked.

  “Hearst,” I replied. “He believes the murders are an attack on him personally. And he helped put Roosevelt in office. I won't have to contact the President. Hearst will do it for me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The old man was all for getting the Feds involved in the investigation. I didn't have to sell the idea to him at all. And when I told him that our new suspect was the nephew of the Governor of California, he was on the phone to the White House in a heartbeat.

  I would be flying with Hearst in one of his planes to Washington D.C. to meet with President Roosevelt and the director of the Bureau of Investigation, James Hoover.

  “I don't think I should go,” I said. “I mean, you know the President, not me. I wouldn't feel comfortable in a meeting like that, and I have things to do here anyway.”

  “Roosevelt insists on hearing it from you,” Hearst replied. “And you have all the details. Besides, how many opportunities do you get to meet the President of the United States? You have no choice but to go.”

  “Wolf and I slammed the Bureau of Investigation pretty hard in our book about the Graf,” I answered. “I wouldn't think I would be welcome in Washington. And the idea of going there makes me a bit nervous anyway.”

  “The President read your book,” Hearst an
swered, “and a lot of heads rolled in the justice department because of it. There was a complete shake up in the bureau over it. Roosevelt sees this case as a chance to redeem the credibility that the bureau lost from the Graf investigation. He wants to meet you. You don't have any choice, Bay.”

  I went home to Lugosi's house and phoned Wolf to tell him the big news.

  “My god!” he said. “That's incredible! You are really going to meet with the President? I am dumbfounded!”

  “I don't really want to go,” I replied. “It makes me nervous just thinking about it.”

  “Bay,” Wolf said. “This is historic. Not just you meeting with the President, but the fact that he is this interested means the case will be a priority of the B.O.I. It means it will be taken to another level, outside of the state of California and over the heads of all of those idiots down at LAPD. You have to go, and you have to be well prepared before meeting with Roosevelt.”

  “Prepared for what?” I asked.

  “To give the President a brief of the situation,” Wolf answered. “It has to be concise and to the point. He is a busy man.”

  “I can’t do that,” I said. “I will mess it up.”

  “What are you doing right now?” Wolf asked.

  “We're getting ready to have dinner,” I replied.

  “You need some coaching,” he said. “I will be right over!”

  Bela and Lillian were in a jovial mood as we sat down to eat. Patty seemed happy and was optimistic that her film career was on an upswing, even if she was only getting bit parts. I nodded and smiled, but was distracted by my inevitable trip to meet the President. I wasn't sure how to even bring it up. Then Wolf showed up.

  “Did Bay tell you all the good news?” he asked as he joined us at the table.

  “You have good news too?” Bela asked me.

  “Well, I guess you could say that,” I answered.

  “We have good news as well!”Lugosi replied. “But please, you go first!”

  “Oh, no,” I answered. “You go ahead, sir.”

  “Lillian and I are going to be married tomorrow,” Bela announced. “And you, Bay, are going to be the best man!”

  “Oh! Congratulations!” Patty said, hugging Lillian.

  “Tomorrow?” Wolf asked.

  “Yes,” Bela said. “Tomorrow at the old courthouse at two o'clock!”

  “Bay,” Wolf said. “You have to tell him your news.”

  “My news isn't important anymore,” I answered. “I will be standing up for my best friend at his wedding tomorrow. What could be more important than that?”

  I knew Wolf was going to lay into me the minute he got me alone. After dessert, Bela, Lillian and Patty went outside to the pool and Wolf got his chance.

  “Are you crazy!” Wolf shouted. “You have to be on a plane tomorrow morning!”

  “Bela asked me if I would be his best man when he got married,” I said. “I told him I would. He asked me that a week ago. Hearst just asked me to go to Washington with him today. So Bela's request trumps the old man's.”

  “That doesn't make any sense and you know it,” Wolf said. “This case is far more important than Lugosi getting hitched. You have to be honest with him and bow out. The President of the United States wants to see you! And William Randolph Hearst has made the arrangements! Bay, you have to go!”

  “I'll send you in my place,” I answered. “You would do a better job of explaining it to the President anyway. Like you said, concise and to the point. He is a busy man.”

  “But he didn't ask for me,” Wolf said. “How am I going to explain why I am there instead of you?”

  “Tell him the truth,” I shot back. “Tell him I made a promise to a friend. And I don't break promises.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A crowd of reporters and fans lined the street in front of the courthouse where Lugosi was getting married. It took sixteen policemen to hold them off long enough for us to get in the front door. I hadn't seen anything like it since I boarded the Graf.

  “How did they know we were coming?” I asked Bela.

  “My agent leaked it,” he replied.

  “What the hell for?” I asked.

  “Publicity!” he answered. “It's great publicity!”

  Once inside we were quickly ushered into a chamber room. We went from mad screaming and yelling to dead silence in a matter of minutes.

  There were only six people in the room. Before I knew it, the vows were read and it was all over. We signed some papers and went back outside, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause as we descended the courthouse stairs.

  When we reached the bottom, a radio man asked Bela if he could have a few words with him. Bela, smiling broadly, agreed. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

  “What are your honeymoon plans?” the man asked. “We're going to take a cruise,” Bela replied. “Get away from work and Hollywood for a while.”

  “A cruise to where?” the man asked.

  “Nowhere in particular,” Bela answered. “Just around the Pacific. We would like to thank all of my fans for their kind words and support, but if you will excuse me, we have to go now. We have a boat to catch.”

  Patty and I followed closely behind the newlyweds as the crowd moved in around us. Then radio man threw me a curve ball.

  “Mr. Bay,” he asked. “Have you heard from the Valentino Killer lately?”

  I shot radio man a look that would knock a moose off a cliff. I couldn't believe he would bring that up at an occasion like this. I ignored the question as we ducked into the car.

  “Did you hear what that son of a bitch asked me?” I said.

  “Never mind that,” Bela replied. “It's his job. You handled it the right way by saying nothing.”

  I wanted to rant but dropped the subject as we sped off towards Bela's house. We pulled into the circular driveway just long enough for Patty and me to get out of the car.

  “We will see you in one week!” Bela said, all smiles. “Take good care of the house while I am gone and don't steal the china!”

  “You don't have any china,” I laughed.

  “Now you know what to get us for a wedding present, then,” he replied.

  Patty and I changed into our bathing suits and lounged by the pool for the rest of the day. I hadn't felt so relaxed in weeks. I wasn't thinking about the Hollywood murders or even working on movies. Bela, smiling with his young, new wife, was etched in my mind.

  “You realize you missed a private meeting with the President of the United States to do something that took less than two hours,” Patty said.

  “Yeah, a lot of people get to meet the President,” I said. “But only one gets to be Bela Lugosi's best man. I think I made the right call.”

  “You're an interesting man, Bay,” Patty said. “Everyone in Hollywood is only looking out for number one. You're a duck out of water here. What brought you here in the first place?”

  “The mission,” I answered.

  “The mission to be in motion pictures?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “Of course not. That happened by accident. You know that. It's all in the Graf book.”

  “I never read it,” she replied.

  I sat up from my lounge chair and took my sunglasses off. “You haven't read my book?” I said laughing. “Are you kidding?”

  “No offense,” she said. “But I just didn't want to read the details about the Graf disaster. It was an awful thing that happened. I don't read much anyway.”

  I didn't quite know what to make of Patty. I wasn't ready to admit to myself that I'd fallen in love with her. I could put that off like a child resists taking a bath until his mother makes him. She either liked me for what she saw me as, or was going along for the ride. After all, I'd been getting her work.

  “But you knew about the book,” I said. “You knew I was a famous writer. Is that what attracted you to me first?”

  “No,” she said. “I was alone at that party at Jean Harlow's hous
e. I saw you across the room. And then you looked at me. I had no idea who you were, but I could tell you weren't Hollywood. Something told me you were East Coast. But not Manhattan. I am from Brooklyn. I pegged you for Queens or the Lower East Side. I had my ideas about you before we even spoke.”

  “And then I approached you,” I said, continuing her story.

  “Yes,” she replied. “You bypassed every star in the room and walked straight over to where I was sitting. That's what first attracted me to you, Bay. The fact that you were attracted to me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  While Wolf was off seeing the President, I was called by Paramount studios to be in Groucho Marx's movie, Duck Soup. I had no idea what role I would play until I arrived on the set and met with Groucho.

  “You're going to be a judge,” Groucho told me. “How's that for a stretch?”

  “Do I get to throw the book at you?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “As long as it's your own book and not mine.”

  “I'm still using yours underneath one of my bedposts,” I shot back.

  “Well, then we'll have to use yours,” he replied. “As long as you have a book to throw.”

  Shooting with Groucho was great fun. It didn't last long enough for me. The biggest challenge was keeping a straight face while the Marx Brothers bounced off the walls. I loved to watch them work.

  As I was leaving the Paramount lot, Marx suddenly turned serious. “Have you heard anything new about the murders lately?” he asked.

  “Not really,” I replied.

  I couldn't tell him anything about the new suspect or that the B.O.I was getting involved. And quite frankly, I didn't want to know anymore myself.

  “I was at John Barrymore's party last night,” Groucho said, “and there's a new rumor circulating about the killers.”

  “Killers?” I asked. “As in more than one?”

  “That's what they're saying,” Marx answered. “A secret group of occultists. People who practice black magic and worship the devil.”