Stuart Kaminsky: Murder on a Yellow Brick Road

“It doesn’t imply anything,” I said. “It proves it. Maybe not good enough for a judge and jury, but good enough for anyone who can add with two hands. Cassie James killed Grundy and Cash. There’s no other answer. Now, what can you contribute to the cause?”

Back in his office, he poured another drink and told his tale. Cassie had gotten close to him, very close to him. Close enough over the period of a year to get him to help her smuggle out pieces of film and to get him to let her use certain sets for a film she was doing. As a publicity executive, he could explain that it was all part of a publicity campaign. Besides, she never wanted to use anything that was in demand.

Hoff didn’t know exactly why she was doing it. He was told that it was part of a scheme to get cheap screen test reels for young actors. The actors would be able to take finished reels around with them when they applied for jobs.

“It sounded innocent enough,” he said. Hoff was on his third drink when he said it, and the words were starting to run together.

“It was a lousy story,” I said. “She didn’t even bother to make up a decent lie.”

“I know,” said Hoff, “but I believed her. I wanted to believe her, and she didn’t make a big thing out of it. It was all kind of casual.”

“You must have thought something was up when Cash was found dead.”

He admitted that he had and had wanted to talk to Cassie about it. That was why he had been so nervous on Friday morning when he met me. While I was talking to Judy Garland, Cassie was outside the door convincing him that she had nothing to do with the death of the midget.

“She made me feel like a fool for even asking,” he said. “Why would her screen test idea lead to murder? It was just two midgets who were to be in a screen test with a young actor. The midgets had fought, and one of them had killed the other one. She said if I told about the screen test business we’d both lose our jobs and for nothing. The film had nothing to do with the murder. She can be very convincing, Peters.”

I knew how convincing Cassie James could be. She had convinced me into corners for three days. I fed her everything I knew, and she had Grundy try to take me out. She even had him get Peese when I got too close. Hoff was an amateur idiot compared to me.

“Where is she now?” I asked. Hoff didn’t know, but he said he’d try to find out. I thought he was too drunk to handle the phone, but he became a changed man with the phone in his hand. It was his tool and, drunk or sober, he knew how to handle it. He started calling places on the lot where she might still be, but he came up blank. Finally, someone on the set of Ziegfield Girl remembered that Judy Garland had said she was going to dinner with Cassie James.

“O.K., Warren. Here’s what I want you to do,” I said, popping a pain pill. I hoped they weren’t addictive. “You call Cassie’s house. If she’s there, try to find out if Judy’s with her. Got that?”

“What else?” he said soberly.

“That’s all. Cassie put the poison in that water pitcher to harrass Judy. Cassie had Grundy or Peese call Judy Garland on Friday and tell her to go to the Munchkin City set. Cassie James does not like Judy Garland. You got that straight?”

He got it straight. He didn’t have to look up the number in the green notebook or his own. I only got his side of the conversation, but he was worth listening to.

“Cassie,” he said happily, “how are you… Yes… No, I’m just clearing up a few things here… Yes… the police are sure that Grundy killed both midgets and Peters killed Grundy… I am, too… Cassie, I was wondering if I might come over tonight. It’s been a while… oh, sure. I understand. No, not at all. Give her my best.” He hung up and turned to me. “She’s there.”

I got Andy Markopulis on the phone. He was at home. The guys who were watching Judy Garland had no radio in their car. Even if they were outside of Cassie’s place in Santa Monica, they’d never think she was in any danger inside. They’d work at keeping people out.

“Warren,” I said. “Go home. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

The drive to Santa Monica took about fifteen minutes. I ran lights and kicked well past the speed limit. When I got to Cassie’s house, the lights were on. I cut my lights and let the car glide in neutral down the hill. The sound of the surf covered the clinks of the Ford. I wanted a surprise knock or a chance to sneak in and get Judy Garland out. If Cassie saw me coming, she might use her knife act again.

Everything was going well. I parked against the shadow of a hill and got out. Moving as slowly as I could, I went down to the beach and into the sand to approach the house from the ocean. I was about ten feet from the porch leading to the beach when they jumped me. They were both good at that. One hit me high. The other low.

The surf covered the sounds of our grunts and groans as we rolled over, getting sand in our ears and eyes. My main fear was that my stitches would open. I wanted to end the fight before that happened.

I got to my feet by backing away on my behind and starting to run. Then I turned on them. Their faces were clear in the moonlight. One of the two wore a smile and was rangy. The other one was solid. The rangy one got to me first. I put both of my hands together in a double fist and drove them into his stomach. He went down with an “ooph” sound. The second guy hit me running, and we tumbled over again. I threw my elbow into his neck and he groaned.

I stood over them, gasping for air.

“You two Woodman and Fearaven?”

The rangy one got to his knees and said he was Fearaven. The only fight I’d won in weeks had been with two guys on my side. I helped them both up, telling who I was, giving Andy’s name and showing my wallet. It convinced them, but they were all for rushing the house and taking Cassie by surprise. I admitted that it might work, but convinced them there was a better way.

The better way involved my walking up to the front door and spinning a tale while they found a way in through the back. If Cassie wasn’t armed, there was no problem. If she was, we needed the surprise.

We brushed each other off and moved. I went up the beach to the front of the house. I couldn’t see Woodman and Fearaven, but through the window I could see Cassie and Judy Garland seated at the table near the window. They were having coffee, but the dishes weren’t cleared yet and there was a steak knife in front of Cassie.

Cassie’s color for the day was brown. Judy Garland was wearing a skirt and fluffy blouse. Her hair was in pigtails, probably to contrast with that grownup role she was living in her movie and probably trying to live in her life.

I knocked three quick raps and stood back to see the reaction. It wasn’t what I wanted. Cassie didn’t get up. She just shouted, “Come in!”

The door was open, and I stepped in.

Cassie smiled at me with a look of true love. Judy Garland looked slightly surprised.

“Sorry to drop in without calling,” I said, “but I need help.” I plopped in a chair.

“Can I get you anything?” said Cassie, with a voice filled with concern.

“I could use a drink,” I said.

Something in the way I said it must have tipped her off or made her suspicious. Her voice had changed, dropped a tone or two when she said, “It’s by the wall. Help yourself.”

Judy Garland had fallen for the act and started to get up, but Cassie firmly motioned her to sit down. The motion was maternal and friendly, but to deny it was to disobey.

“What are you doing here, Toby?” Cassie demanded. “The police are looking for you for the murder of that man Grundy.”

Judy Garland rose a little in concern.