Columbo: The Hoffa Connection Read online

  Josh glanced at Barbara. “You aren’t going to match either one of us, for sure. We’ll give the blood. I think we’d rather have our own doctor take it. Would you mind having an officer pick it up from his office?”

  “Glad to do it that way, Mr. Gwynne. Glad to.”

  The maid arrived carrying a tray. On it were a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka, a bucket of ice, a pitcher of tomato juice, bottles of Worcestershire and Tabasco sauces, glasses, salt, and a small plate of lime quarters.

  “I’ll officiate, if you don’t mind,” said Barbara.

  While she was mixing their drinks, the maid went out and returned with a tray of bread sticks, crackers, wedges of various cheeses, and a plate of raw vegetables.

  Columbo had a hard-boiled egg in his raincoat pocket, and he would have liked to peel it and eat it with his drink; but he thought better of it and didn’t take it out.

  “Aside from giving blood, how can we help you, Lieutenant?” Joshua asked.

  “Well, sir, what I’m worried about most is motive. I can’t figure out so far why anybody wanted to kill Regina—unless, that is, it was some stranger who came onto the estate in the night and murdered her out of some wild notion of—”

  “Not likely,” said Joshua. “That whole neighborhood has a private security patrol on duty twenty-four hours a day, reinforced at night. They were especially alert to Regina’s house. A young woman in her line of work got threats. Besides, there was an electronic security line just behind the fence.”

  “It was probably switched off for the party,” said Barbara.

  “Right,” Josh agreed.

  “Then somebody could’ve—”

  “No,” Josh interrupted Columbo. “They’d have had to know the security system was switched off.”

  “Well… they’d have had to know there was one. Anyway. Were there people at the party that you didn’t know?”

  Barbara handed Columbo a Bloody Mary. “How many people do you think were at the party?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, if you have the impression there were hundreds of people there, it was nothing like that. More like twenty-five or thirty. They were all people she was willing to have see her naked and drunk, which might suggest the majority of mankind but really didn’t. There was no one there I couldn’t identify. Everybody there knew everybody else. A stranger would have been conspicuous.”

  “I think we could probably write down a list of everyone who was there,” said Josh. “You probably already have a list.”

  “I do, but it'd be helpful to have another one,” said Columbo. “And, say, this is a wonderful drink. Very tasty. I thank ya.”

  “Motive, Lieutenant,” said Josh. “I have the same problem you seem to have. She had offended a lot of people. She had hurt a lot of people. But… enough to kill herT' He shook his head.

  “I get varying stories about what kind of person she was,” said Columbo.

  “Regina was a vicious, scheming, destructive whore,” said Barbara.

  “Barbara—” Josh cautioned.

  “She didn’t climb a ladder to success,” Barbara continued. “She climbed over the bodies of everyone who ever helped her. Everybody who ever worked with her bears a scar or two.”

  “But nothing that would cause anyone to want to kill her,” Josh insisted.

  “Has anyone told you what Regina did to Christie Monroe?” Barbara asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Barbara, this is-—”

  “I’m going to tell it, Josh. Lieutenant Columbo will draw whatever conclusions he sees fit.” Barbara drew a deep breath. “Regina has always worked with a small troupe of backup dancers. They always play a role very subordinate to hers. When she’s onstage, the lighting on them is subdued. They are quiet—in motion but quiet. They are interchangeable. If one of them stands out, particularly if it’s a woman, Regina gets rid of her immediately. Nobody is to take even a little attention away from the star.”

  “Those dancers can dance," said Josh. “They have dancing talent, which is something Regina didn’t have.”

  “One day, during a rehearsal,” Barbara continued, “Regina turned on Christie and started yelling at her. ‘You know what’s wrong with you, you whore. You’re too fuckin’ good. So get off my stage.’ She was jealous of her. Christie broke down in tears. She begged to be allowed to stay. She needed the job. Mickey stepped in. He told Regina they couldn’t get another dancer in time for the show, which was that night or the next night. Regina just shrugged. Christie stayed. Regina never said another word about it. But that’s not the half—”

  “Barbara—”

  “The half of what she did to Christie,” Barbara went on. “Les McIntyre, who owns the Lido, expressed an interest in featuring Christie in a number in one of his shows. When Regina heard about that, she called Les and told him he’d be on her all-time shit list if he hired away anybody that worked for her. It would have been a big break for Christie, and she didn’t get it because Regina killed it.”

  “Are you suggesting Miss Monroe killed Regina?” Columbo asked.

  “No. She couldn’t have done it. Anyway, she couldn’t have done it by herself.”

  “As long as you have your claws out, you might as well tell him about Michelle,” Josh suggested.

  “You never saw a Regina concert, did you, Lieutenant?”

  “No, ma’am, I never did.”

  “Then you never saw the six backup dancers. Christie is one. Another one is Michelle Durand, who is African-American: a stunning beauty with long, gorgeous hair. Regina insisted she shave her head—which I suppose was okay, considering what Michelle was paid and that shaving the head is an attractive style for some African-American women. But Michelle is a sensitive person and was humiliated by it. Then Regina made jokes about it—jokes about something that had already reduced Michelle to tears.”

  “What Barbara is saying, Lieutenant, is that some people think the world is better off without Regina. But not us. Her death is going to cost us dearly. And not Christie or Michelle, either. They’re losing a damned good salary.”

  Without asking if he wanted another, Barbara mixed a second drink for Columbo.

  “I’m gonna tell you something in confidence,” Columbo said. “The old man upstairs—he’s gone. Disappeared.”

  “How could he? And why?” Josh asked.

  “We haven’t figured that out yet. What I’d like to know is, who is he?”

  “I can tell you one thing for certain; he wasn’t her grandfather,” said Barbara.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t know it. But I’ll tell you who I think he was. He was Regina’s Howard Hughes. In the figurative sense. I suppose you know there was something very strange in the way she got her start. She had money behind her. I’ve always thought the old man was her moneybags, and when the house was quiet, she went to his rooms and slept with him.”

  “That’s not just speculation,” said Josh. “One night a year or so ago, Barbara and I stayed overnight. I guess you know that certain friends had a standing invitation to spend the night. That’s the way it was Thursday night. Anyway, Regina was having a great time that night. It wasn’t a postconcert party, and she wasn’t tired and didn’t get too drunk; and it was pretty close to three o’clock before she said good night and started up the stairs.”

  “It was more like two o’clock,” said Barbara.

  “Anyway, we were ready to call it a night, too, and we followed right behind her. By the time we got to the top of the stairs, Regina had opened the old man’s door and was going in. He was angry, Lieutenant. He said something pretty ugly to her.”

  “What’d he say?” Columbo asked.

  Josh glanced at Barbara. “He called her a whore. He said he was too old to stay up all night. He said she’d better start coming up earlier. Before she closed the door and we couldn’t hear any more, she said, ‘It’s only when I party, Gran’dad. Anyway, I know how to wake
you up. Wake up is something you can still do.’ ”

  “He was speaking English, I suppose,” said Columbo. “With a heavy accent?”

  “No accent at all,” said Barbara.

  “None at all,” Josh repeated.

  Eight

  1

  Columbo took half the afternoon off. He needed to get away from people for a couple of hours and take some time to think through all that the witnesses had been telling him. That Sunday afternoon was suitable for walking on the beach—not for swimming or surfing, though a few hardy boys and girls in rubber wet suits were on their boards. The cool wind whipped Columbo’s raincoat around him. It swept the smoke off the tip of his cigar. His attention was divided between the surfers and Dog.

  The surfers had inspired a happy fascination in the basset hound, and he had apparently decided he wanted one of his own. Each time one of them came ashore, Dog would run to him, barking and wagging his tail.

  “Say, mister, he won’t bite, huh?” asked a pretty girl who was just uncovering her sun-bleached hair.

  “Well, miss, I never tell anybody a dog won’t bite. He never did yet, and I don’t think he will, but you never

  know for sure. There’s nobody can guarantee a dog won’t bite.”

  ‘‘What’s his name?” she asked.

  “Dog. Just Dog. I rescued him out of the pound, and I spent a lot of time tryin’ to think up a good name for him. I thought I’d watch how he acted and that would suggest a name for him. But I couldn’t call him Sleep or Drool, which is all he did.”

  The girl laughed. “That’s great!” she said. “Mister, you got a sense of humor!”

  “In the meantime, I just called him Dog; and I guess he heard me call him that so much he figured it must be his name. Anyway, it’s all he’ll answer to.”

  The girl extended her hand, and Dog licked it.

  “Can he swim?” she asked.

  “Yes, miss, he sure can. That’s somethin’ never learned to do, but Dog can do it. One of my neighbors has got a pool, and sometimes Dog goes swimming— sometimes welcome, sometimes not. I’m not sure he likes the water so much. My wife thinks he likes to swim, but I think he goes in to drown his fleas.”

  “Oh, he has fleas?”

  “I s’pose all dogs have fleas. Anyway, he likes drowning his fleas better than getting dusted for them.”

  “Would he like to go riding on the board?” she asked. “I bet he would. Try him.”

  The girl encouraged Dog to center himself on the board and sit down, and then she pushed him out into the surf a few yards. Dog yapped and wagged his tail. She stayed beside him and guided the board.

  “Hey, Columbo!”

  “Hiya, Martha.”

  “Mrs. C. told me where to find you. What you trying to do, drown the dog?”

  “Just ’cause I can’t swim doesn’t mean he can’t. He can do some other things I can’t do, like scratch his ear with his foot.”

  Martha grinned and nodded. “Investigating the death of Regina gives us a status we never had before,” she said. “Worldwide cooperation. The Italian police have already responded to our request for information.” She opened her bag and took out two sheets of paper. “In English, yet.”

  Part of it was in English. The faxed letterhead was not, and Columbo read the name of the agency that was replying: servizio informazioni sicurezza democratico. The letter was signed by Galeazzo Castellano, principale, of the Milan office of SISD. It read:

  We join millions throughout the world in mourning the tragic and premature death of Regina Celestiele Savona. It is our honor to offer every possible cooperation to our California colleagues in solving the mystery behind this vicious crime.

  Our records disclose that Regina Celestiele Savona was bom at Marina di Bardineto, in Liguria, on September 14, 1965. Her parents are Lorenzo and Maria Savona, both bom in Marina di Bardineto and still living there. She was one of five children, two sons and three daughters, of which she was the eldest daughter. She obtained a passport on June 30, 1988. Our government was informed that she had applied to become a citizen of the United States and that she did become a citizen in 1993.

  Marina di Bardineto is a small fishing village on the Golfo di Genova. A few families there make part of their living diving for sponges, as do the Savonas. This industry, once important, is now mostly a tourist attraction. Scuba divers and passengers in glass-bottom boats observe the sponge divers.

  You asked about Vittorio Savona. Regina’s paternal grandfather, Vittorio Savona, lives in Marina di Bardineto, where he sells fish in a waterfront market. He is illiterate and has never been more than a few kilometers from the town.

  There is an element of mystery in Regina Celestiele’s departure for America and her immediate success there. The Savonas are not a prosperous family. How, then, did the girl obtain the money to travel to the States? There is no obvious answer on which people in the town agree. If it would be helpful to your inquiry, I will send a man to Marina di Bardineto to make further inquiries.

  “That would be helpful,” Columbo said. “Wire the man and tell him we’d appreciate it if he’d do that.”

  “Will do.”

  “So… If her grandfather’s still alive in Italy, then who was the old man in the house? Obviously there’s some connection between the murder of Regina and the disappearance of the old man. If we’re gonna find out who killed her, we’ve got to find out who he was. Or is.”

  2

  Mickey Newcastle lived in a fiat in Santa Monica. Columbo stopped there on his way home from the beach.

  “Uh, Mr. Newcastle, would you mind a lot if I brought my dog in with me? He’s just been for a run on the beach, but I’ve knocked all the sand off his paws.”

  “Bring him in. And welcome. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  “Well, I thought maybe you could give me some help with the problem of identifying the old man who lived with Regina and has now disappeared.”

  “Have a seat,” said Mickey. “Like a beer?”

  “That’d be okay as well as nice.”

  While Mickey went to the kitchen, Columbo looked around. The man didn’t live in luxury, nor yet in poverty, either. From his living room he had a view of the highway and the beach, then the ocean beyond. The living room was cluttered, and the furniture was well worn. Seeing that the ashtrays were overflowing, Columbo lit a cigar. Dog, lying against Columbo’s leg, was already asleep.

  “Uh, Mr. Newcastle, did Johnny Corleone tell you I asked for a blood sample?”

  “Yes, he did,” Mickey answered from the kitchen. “He and I are going to the medical examiner’s office in the morning. Johnny’s picking me up. You know what he’s going to find in my blood.”

  “I’m not gonna worry about that.”

  Mickey came back into the living room, carrying two bottles of beer and two glasses.

  “The old man…” Columbo said.

  Mickey shook his head. “He was always around. From the first time I met her, he was around.”

  “What do you mean by ‘around’?”

  “I was working a show in Las Vegas, and I got a call from Joe Fletcher. He didn’t have to introduce himself to me; I knew who he was. He told me he’d taken on a client, a girl who’d opened a show in Reno and needed help. What did he mean by ‘help’? He said she didn’t know what she was doing and needed somebody to fix her show. I asked him how she could be doing a show if she didn’t know how to do a show, and he said never mind, just come up here and listen to a proposition. He said it would be worth a lot of money.”

  Mickey paused to drink beer. Then he went on. “To tell you the truth. Lieutenant Columbo, I was past my prime. I’d been big, a superstar, but I was in decline. My style was in decline. So I went up to Reno, and that was how and when I met Regina.”

  “And the old man was with her then?”

  “Oh, yes. He was there. I don’t know exactly how to say this. Let’s put it this way. He was a presence. He was always around
, quiet but always sort of brooding. She had a hotel suite with two bedrooms. When I’d come to the suite, he’d duck into one of the bedrooms and close the door. She said he didn’t speak English and didn’t want to meet people. I saw him, but only for a moment each time.”

  “Did she say he was her grandfather?”

  “That’s what she said. But Lieutenant—slept with him! It was perfectly obvious she did. I mean, she did nothing much to hide the fact. Calling the old man her grandfather was some kind of a joke for her.”

  “And you went to work for her?”

  “Joe Fletcher offered me a first-class deal. I took it. Her show in Reno was bad, bad, bad! It was loud and vulgar. That’s all it was. I designed a different show for her. She wasn’t easy to work with. Regina couldn’t read music, she didn’t know flat from sharp, she had no sense of rhythm… She had no talent at all. But somebody paid me a handsome bit of money to build a show for her. I gave up performing on my own and went to work to make her what she became. In all modesty, Lieutenant, I made Regina. I was Professor Higgins, and she was my Liza Doolittle.”

  “Uh… you say ‘somebody’ paid you? Don’t you know who paid you?”

  “At first my checks came from Joe Fletcher. But I knew perfectly well he wasn’t paying me, not that kind of money. He was passing it through. Later I was paid by Regina, Incorporated.”

  “You say Fletcher was ‘passing it through,’ ” Columbo said reflectively. “Can you explain that?”

  “The show we did in Reno didn’t earn enough money on its contract with the saloon to pay the expenses of producing it. Actually, Fletcher paid me as much as the hotel-casino could possibly have been paying for the show. The money was coming from some other source. It had to be.”

  “And you think maybe the old man was the source.” Mickey shrugged. “Who else?”

  “So who was he? And where did he get the money?”

  “I didn’t ask.” Mickey shook his head. “I didn’t think it would be a good idea to ask.”