Stuart Kaminsky: Murder on a Yellow Brick Road

“Mr. Peters, did you?”

“No,” I said, “but I know who did. So does Cassie. Don’t you, love?”

“I have no idea,” she said, looking as perplexed as innocence should look. I almost faltered. Maybe I was all screwed up, seeing things that weren’t there, backing away from a show of commitment.

“You killed Grundy, Cassie.”

Cassie laughed, and Judy Garland’s mouth dropped open. Cassie poured herself a fresh cup of coffee from the steaming pot in front of her and asked if I wanted some. I said no.

“Cassie, what’s he talking about?” Judy said, looking at both of us and wondering why we were so calm in the face of flying accusations. Judy had never played this one before.

“Let’s tell stories,” I said. “You want to start, Cassie?”

“I think not,” she said, sipping her coffee and throwing back her head. The gesture was perfect. The light caught the black of her hair and sent out moonbeams.

“O.K., I’ll start. You, Grundy, Cash, and Peese were in business together-the porno movie business. Everything was going well until one of your partners wanted to know why his share of the profits was so low. I’ve seen the way Cash lived. If there was gravy in this, he wasn’t getting any. He found out that Peese was living high, and they argued on Friday morning just before Grundy was set to shoot a scene. Cash started to talk about getting out, about telling the cops or M.G.M. You couldn’t have that so you put a knife in him. Right so far?”

Cassie didn’t answer. She just looked at me tolerantly. Judy’s eyes were wide and fixed on her.

“You and Grundy worked out the scheme to frame Wherthman,” I went on. “Peese must have remembered that the two of them had picked on the Swiss bookworm. The foul-up came when Judy called me, and Mayer thought I had connections. When I got too close to figuring out that the calls to Judy and to me were by someone without an accent, and couldn’t be Wherthman, Grundy panicked. I can’t see you breaking under so little pressure, but Grundy would. Then I started to get close to Peese. It was pretty clever of you to come up with his name and give it to me. You knew I’d get it from Wherthman or someone around the studio. You got more information out of me the other night, too. I think you were really surprised the first time I told you that someone had tried to kill me.”

“I was surprised,” she said softly.

“But the second time, when Grundy followed me to Hearst’s Castle, was no surprise. I told you where I was going. You gave him the information. He botched it again. Then I got to Peese a little faster than you expected. Grundy was right behind me. What was Peese holding over you to rate that place downtown-the film?”

Cassie just kept drinking coffee.

“Well, Grundy got the film, and I was in the wrong place at the right time. You started to figure that it was only a matter of time till the cops or I figured out that Grundy was involved. When I got the film from Grundy, you made up your mind. You got me to the studio, called Grundy, watched a few feet of the porno film with me and pulled your shocked act. I think the act came so I’d stop looking at the picture. I have a feeling there’s something on that film that connects you to Grundy, Cash, and Peese.”

“Like what?” she asked innocently.

“Like maybe this house being used as a location?”

She stiffened enough for me to see, but she didn’t break. I didn’t think she would.

“I’ll go on. You had Grundy waiting for me at my car after you lulled me to sleep with your soft couch and body. Grundy was ready to kill me, or I’d kill him. You would have been all right either way. When he knocked me out you didn’t know whether I was dead or alive. You had Grundy carry me to the prop room, and then you repeated your knife act. You got rid of Grundy, and if I didn’t die, chances were good that the cops would blame me. You had the roll of film and there were no witnesses. But, Cassie, the cops were bound to start turning up people you used in your movies. And how long did you really think you could fool Hoff?”

That got her. She put the cup down. I got up as if I were stretching my legs and kept talking.

“Now all this would be good guess work on my part if it weren’t for one thing.”

“And what’s that?” asked Cassie.

“I talked to Hoff and we found the film, exactly where you hid it.”

She thought I might be bluffing, and she said so.

“A big brown book in your office,” I said.

“I see,” she said.

“Can I ask you one question or two, Cassie?”

“Yes,” she said sweetly.

“Why did you want Judy to find the body? Why did you try to poison her? And what the hell did you get into all this for? You don’t need the money.”

Cassie looked at Judy calmly, and I took a few steps toward them as if I just wanted to hear what was being said.

“I hate her,” said Cassie with a thin smile.

Judy started to rise, and Cassie picked up the knife. It was sharp, long, and in the hands of an expert.

“Sit down, Judy,” I said calmly. She sat down and kept her eyes fixed on me. Cassie’s eyes were fixed on the girl in front of her as she spoke.

“She got what I deserved, what I worked for. I had the looks and the talent. I still do, but I didn’t have the luck. I got over it, though. I had a second chance through my sister. My kid sister was even better than I was, and I put everything I had into her career. I bought costumes, publicity. I set up parties, gave her lessons. She was doing fine. In another year she would have made it. We both would have made it, but she lost a part to Judy. It wasn’t much. She,” Cassie said, nodding at Judy, “probably doesn’t even remember it or my sister’s name: Jean James.”

I could see by Judy’s face that the name meant nothing to her.

“She lost another part to you, too,” Cassie went on, her lips getting thinner and her brow tighter. “Then she began the drinking and the pills. I warned her, but in less than a year her looks were almost gone. She tried to live a lifetime in one year. She died two years ago in a car crash. I have no more sisters.”

“I’ve got another explanation,” I said. “Got it from a doctor named Roloff. Your jealousy of Judy has nothing to do with your sister. You’re jealous of her success because you see it as sexual success. So you take men who come near her, and you turn out porno movies that ridicule her. I’ll bet you even appear in the movies.”

“You’re dirt,” she hissed at me as I took a step toward her. She moved quickly to Judy’s side and put the knife at the girl’s throat.

“You don’t need the money,” I said. “You need the excitement; the sex and the sexual substitute. You needed the next substitute, murder. You started putting that long knife into men. Was I next, or was it Hoff? I don’t think you even know, do you, Cassie?”

“I’ll have the satisfaction of killing her,” Cassie said, her eyes glaring at me.

I could see Woodman and Fearaven out of the corner of my eye. Woodman had a gun in his hand, but I knew he couldn’t take a chance. He’d have to be good to be sure he wouldn’t hit Judy. There was nothing much we could do but wait while I tried to keep her off balance.

At least that’s what we thought. While I was trying to dig a new track out of my head, Judy suddenly threw the coffee pot at Cassie James. I hadn’t seen it, but the girl had been reaching her hand out for it while she did her fear act. Cassie screamed and looked ready to plunge the knife. I leaped forward and fell a few feet short on the table. Woodman took a shot and missed. Time was frozen. I waited for the enraged Cassie, coffee dripping from her hair and eyes, to move forward. But it was Judy Garland who moved. She threw her elbow into Cassie’s stomach and pushed the woman away from her. It was an act of rejection I would have liked to make, but wasn’t sure I could have.