The Hollywood Murders-The Gretch Bayonne Action Adventure Series-Book 3 Page 15

  “Son of a bitch!” I screamed. “Open this damned gate now!”

  He picked up a notebook and began flipping through pages. After a few seconds, he opened the gate and apologized profusely.

  “This won't happen again, Mr. Bay,” he said. “First day on the job, you know.”

  “Hearst did this, didn't he?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied. “The gate was installed today. There will be twenty-four hour security staffing it. We have a radio here to call you and no one will be allowed in without your consent.”

  “How did you know I was Bay?” I asked.

  “We have a photograph,” he said, holding up a very poor picture of me.

  “Okay,” I said. “Good job. What else is in that notebook?”

  “Other people's names and photographs who are friends of yours,” he answered.

  “Let me see that,” I said.

  I looked through the binder and sure enough, there were photographs of practically everyone I knew in Hollywood. All the Grafers were in there. Even Wolf and Bannon were listed, complete with photos.

  “This is pretty good,” I said, handing the book back to him. “But there's someone missing.”

  “Who might that be, sir?” he asked. “We can always add to it at your request.”

  “William Randolph Hearst,” I replied. “He put everyone in there but himself.”

  “Everyone knows what Hearst looks like,” the security guard replied.

  “Everyone knows Jean Harlow, too,” I answered. “And most of the people in that book. I want you to add William Randolph Hearst, complete with a photo, just like the rest of them.”

  I drove through the gate and made my way to the front door, but the damned thing was locked. So I knocked. The security guard walked up from his booth and handed me a key.

  “I'm sorry, sir,” he said. “I forgot to give this to you. You can't leave your door unlocked. Even with security out front.”

  “I'll just lose the key,” I replied. “Keep it in your little booth and just let me in whenever I come home.”

  “Just put it in your wallet,” he replied. “That way you won't lose it.”

  “I don't carry a wallet,” I answered. “I tried that when I was sixteen. I lost it, too. Haven't had one since.”

  I wandered around the house looking at all the paintings and furniture as I'd done on the night that they first arrived. I felt numb. None of it impressed me now. All I could think about was Patty back at the hospital, on medication and being held prisoner by the doctors and the federal agents. I was afraid they were going to keep her doped up for some time if I left her there.

  She should be here with me, I thought. I have security now. She will be much happier here than in that damned hospital.

  The fact that Bela and Lillian were still missing only added to my anxiety. I had forgotten my lines and couldn't act on the set of the Spencer Tracy movie. I was locked out of my own house by a security guard who didn't even know who I was. And this was just the beginning.

  Wolf had warned me that the newspapers would catch wind that a suspect was about to be charged in the Valentino Killer case. All hell was bound to break loose then. I wasn't prepared for the circus. I didn't have a ticket, cotton candy or a wallet. But I was going to have a front row seat, whether I liked it or not.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Loretta Young called me out of the blue and offered to help me go over my scenes for Man's Castle.

  “Everyone wants you back,” she explained. “But Borzage is thinking about replacing you. No one wants to see that happen, Bay.”

  “He's got film of me in four scenes so far,” I said. “If he were to replace me, he'd have to re-shoot those again. I've only missed a couple of days on the set!”

  “You haven't been on the movie for almost a week now,” Loretta replied.

  “What?” I asked. “What day is it?

  “It's Thursday,” she answered. “Bay, everyone has been worried sick about you. Wolf said he has gone to check on you every day and that you are always asleep.”

  “I have been awake some,” I replied. “I think.”

  “I want to come over so we can rehearse some scenes,” Loretta said. “You need to be at work tomorrow if you want to be in this movie.”

  I went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. I looked like hell warmed over. It was obvious that I hadn't shaved in a long time. Somehow, days had gone by without me even realizing it.

  I took a long, hot shower and got dressed. Suddenly the radio alarm went off. I didn't remember how to operate it, so I just picked it up like it was a telephone receiver.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  The damned thing just kept ringing, so I walked outside and waved to the security guard. Two cars were waiting on the other side of the gate.

  I motioned to let them in, not even knowing who they were. Luckily, it was Loretta Young and Spencer Tracy.

  “You all right now, Boss?” the security guard asked.

  “I'm fine, thank you,” I replied. “How many people have been trying to see me?”

  “A lot,” he replied. “Wolf, Bannon, Dr. Klaus, that schoolgirl Nancy. We have a list.”

  “What about Bela?” I asked.

  The guard shook his head no and walked back to the little booth.

  Loretta, Spencer and I spent the next two hours rehearsing three key scenes that I was supposed to be in with them. It was shaky at first, but by the time they left, I had the scenes down pat.

  Before they left, I asked what had been going on in the world that I'd missed in the last week.

  “The murder suspect,” Loretta replied. “That's been the big news. It's the best news we've had in a long time, though.”

  “Is Bela back yet?” I asked.

  They looked at each other in silence. I knew then that Lugosi was still missing.

  “Are you sure you can make it to the set in time in the morning?” Loretta asked.

  “I will be there,” I replied. “And I will be ready.”

  Not five minutes after they left, the damned radio alarm went off again. I didn't bother trying to answer it. I just walked out the front door and waved to the security man.

  I didn't recognize the car waiting on the other side of the gate, so I walked down the driveway. I got close enough to recognize it was Bannon and Wolf.

  “Let them in,” I said.

  I walked back into the house and went straight for my bedroom to change into my bathing suit.

  “Bay!” Wolf yelled, knocking on my door. “Come out here!”

  I walked past the two of them and headed for the swimming pool.

  “Thank god you're awake!” Wolf said. “We were going to have you taken to the hospital tonight if you were still asleep!”

  “I just needed some rest,” I said. “So I got some.”

  “Some rest?” Wolf shouted. “You were in a god damned coma! Dr. Klaus wanted to take you to the hospital three days ago! We had to talk him out of it!”

  “Thank you,” I said, as I slipped into the pool. “Oh, my god! The water feels great!”

  “Well, it's good to see you back among the living,” Bannon said. “You've missed a few things while you were gone.”

  “Let me guess,” I replied. “You've charged James Allen in the Hollywood murders. Governor Rolph and Chief Brady are running scared, and that judge who hates Rolph is going to hear the case.”

  “Yeah,” Wolf said.

  “A B.O.I agent found a knife in Allen's house that matches the stab wounds on all five victims,” I continued. “All the doctors who performed the autopsies are going to testify that the knife most likely is the murder weapon.”

  “How the hell did you know that?” Wolf asked.

  I dunked my head under the water and came back up quickly, running my hands over my face.

  “I think I dreamed it,” I replied.

  “That's just scary,” Bannon said.

  “Yes, it is,” I replie
d. “And I remember something else.”

  I pulled myself out of the pool and sat on the edge.

  “Three B.O.I agents examined the bicycles found in Allen's house,” I said. “The third one found something that the other two missed.”

  “How could he know this?” Bannon asked Wolf.

  “It's true, isn't it?” I asked.

  “What did he find?” Wolf asked.

  “You know,” I replied.

  “Yes, of course,” he answered. “I want to know if you know.”

  “Blood stains,” I answered. “Very tiny blood stains deep in the groves of one of the tires. And the doctors will testify that matches the blood of the victims.”

  The two men fell silent.

  I slipped back into the pool and swam across to the other side. They didn't say another word. I stayed on the opposite end of the pool from them until they left. Their silence confirmed that I was 100% right. My dreams were correct. While in a state of sleep, I somehow knew exactly what was happening in the Hollywood murder case. It frightened the hell out of me.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  It was time for me to make a movie again. And it was the most productive day I'd ever had on a set. We managed to shoot all four of my scenes for Man's Castle in just six hours. The director was elated. And I was happy that no one even mentioned the Hollywood murders or asked me about the Graf book.

  Since my work was complete on the Spencer Tracy movie, I was ready to move on to the next. It's just too bad I couldn't remember what film that was. It was time for me to call my agent.

  “My god, Bay!” she said. “Welcome back! We were about to have you hauled off to the hospital!”

  “I know,” I replied. “I am fine now. But I don't know where to report in the morning.”

  “Borzage has been threatening to fire you from Man's Castle,” she replied. “You need to finish that first!”

  “I did that today,” I answered.

  “You shot all your scenes in one day?” she asked. “Are you sure, Bay?”

  “I may have slept for a week,” I answered, “but I am fully awake now. Yes, I am sure. And it went swimmingly! Borzage is quite happy.”

  “Well, that's great!” she replied. “I don't have the list in front of me, but I know they just started Sadie McKee that Joan Crawford is in. I'm sure she will want to find you a part in that. But Clarence Brown is a real stickler for schedules. I'll have to check with him.”

  “I could just show up on the set,” I said.

  “Not with this director!” she replied. “You just sit tight and I will call you tomorrow. There are a lot of projects out there for you. I will make it my priority to figure out which is next.”

  The damned radio alarm went off as I was hanging up the phone. I carried it outside and waved to the security guard. It was Wolf and Bannon again. But this time, they had a guest with them.

  “This is Vieta Jo,” Wolf said, introducing us.

  She was a very short woman in her sixties, with her hair up in a bun and thick glasses. She reminded me of a teacher I had back at the Hoboken School For Boys.

  Bannon explained that Vieta Jo was a psychic. She was the one with whom he'd been consulting during the Hollywood murders investigation.

  “We told her what you said last night,” Wolf said. “She wanted to talk to you in person.”

  “About what?” I asked. “No offense, Miss Vieta Jo, but I really don't want to talk about the murders anymore. I am moving on.”

  “I understand completely,” she said. “I was in your shoes many years ago. I didn't want to face it. I didn't understand the gift. Eventually, I couldn't run away from it any longer.”

  “I'm not running away from anything,” I said. “I just chose not to be involved. I am an actor now. Not a writer.”

  “I'm not referring to your writing, Mr. Bay,” she said. “It's your visions I am talking about.”

  “They were just dreams,” I replied. “Everyone has dreams. I happened to get lucky with mine.”

  “Bay,” Wolf said. “You slept for a week and then told us things about the case that you couldn't possibly have known. I'd call that psychic phenomenon. Wouldn't you?”

  “I don't know,” I replied. “It is strange, yes, but I have weird dreams all the time. Dead people visit me in my dreams sometimes.”

  “Like who?” Vieta Jo asked.

  “My mother,” I replied. “That's been going on since I was a child. The janitor at the orphanage where I grew up, Mr. Peebles. They are still in my dreams.”

  “Dreams can be the door to the other side,” she said. “A passage way to communicate with those who have passed on. I've learned over the years to harness that and even communicate with the dead while I am fully awake.”

  “You are talking about a séance,” I said.

  “Yes, of course,” she answered. “I've conducted countless séances over the years. Sometimes with results, sometimes not.”

  “Tell him about Alma Rubens,” Wolf said.

  “I'm sorry,” I said, “but I don't want to talk about this anymore. Dreams and ghosts are just that. They aren't real. Now if you will excuse me, I want to go swimming.”

  They followed me as I walked out to the pool and dove in, head first. I was hoping they would be gone when I broke the surface of the water. I wasn't so lucky.

  “Alma Rubens came to me in a dream,” the psychic said. “She said the person who murdered her was a friend. And it was not a man, but a woman.”

  I'd had enough of the psychic baloney. What good did she do? She didn't prevent any of the murders. Any information she had did not stop them from happening. It was all dreams and ghosts.

  “Allen dressed up like a woman,” I said as I smacked the surface of the water with both hands. “What the hell is your point?”

  “No one knew who the killer was when she told me that,” Bannon said. “That is the point! The fact that he did dress up like women means something! That is evidence, and this woman had that information way before anyone else did!”

  I got out of the pool and sat on the edge, with my legs in the water. The three of them stood behind me, waiting for me to respond.

  “You've had other visitors in your dreams recently, haven't you?” the psychic asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “But if you are so psychic, you tell me who it was.”

  “Bela Lugosi,” she replied.

  Chapter 53

  Patty Albright was being kept under lock and key. She was the star witness in the Hollywood murder trial, and even I couldn't get in to see her. Hell, I didn't even know where she was.

  I kept working and tried to avoid news about the upcoming trial. It was all a bunch of crap anyway. You can't believe anything you read in the news or hear on the radio. I stopped paying attention when the Graf came down, and I think I am a better man for it.

  “I will keep you informed of everything on a daily basis,” Wolf said. “Like today, for example, the jury was chosen. No one wants to wait on this. The trial starts tomorrow.”

  “There's only one thing I want to know,” I said. “I don't care about any of the rest of it.”

  “Okay,” Wolf replied. “What's that?”

  “Just let me know when Patty is supposed to testify,” I answered. “I want to be there for that.”

  “There's so much going on behind the scenes in this case,” Wolf said. “You don't want to know any of that? Not even for your book?”

  “No,” I said. “It's not relevant. Not for my book with Nancy anyway. The only thing that matters is how the trial turns out. And I want to be in court for Patty. I couldn’t care less about the rest.”

  “I see,” Wolf said. “Well, here's a little bit of information you might find interesting anyway. Guess who James Allen's attorney is?”

  “I don't care,” I replied.

  “Our old friend, Gavin McNab,” Wolf said. “That bastard will do anything for a headline.”

  “He's fighting a losing battle,” I s
aid. “God himself couldn't get this guy off the hook. Doesn't he realize that?”

  “I thought you said you didn't care,” Wolf answered.

  “I don't,” I said. “McNab is a nice enough man, but not someone I would chose to chat with for more than a few minutes.”

  “I guess that means you won't be inviting him over for dinner anytime soon,” Wolf said, “for old times sake.”

  “Not in a million years, my friend,” I replied.

  Talking to Wolf about a dinner party got me to thinking. I convinced myself that it might be a good idea. After all, that's what would have happened if Patty still lived with me. It might be a good distraction. But there had to be a good reason to have yet another Hollywood celebrity party. I came up with and idea, so I sat down in my office and typed up the invitation.

  Dear Friends:

  You all know I have a new house. It is filled with very valuable furniture, artwork and a polar bear named Roger. I am having a party on Saturday, August 21st at 8 PM and you are invited to come. There's just one catch. You have to dress in all white and be willing to pose for a group photograph to be taken at the party. Upon development of the photograph, you must sign it. One thousand prints of the signed photo will be made, each measuring 27”x21”. They will then be matted and framed and go on sale to the general public. All proceeds of the sale of the photo and subsequent postcards, etc. will go to a new charitable group that I am starting. The organization will help provide medical care for actors and actresses who can no longer get work in Hollywood. It will be called The Alma Rubens Foundation.

  Thank you. Roger and I hope to see you there.

  Bay

  I pulled the page out of the typewriter and threw it on the desk. I knew I was going to need a lot of help with this thing if it was going to work. So I started making phone calls.

  “We'll need a lawyer,” my agent said. “I can have them set up the charitable organization, but I am sure there will have to be a board to oversee how much money comes in and where it goes.”

  “Just take care of it,” I said.

  “I know some very good photographers,” Jean Harlow told me. “That shouldn't be a problem. I will find one. We should require one who can set up a darkroom in one of your bathrooms so they can develop the photograph that night. They can blow it dry with a machine so it can be signed by everyone the same night as the party.”