THE ALFRED HITCHCOCK
MURDER CASE
The Dorothy Parker Murder Case
Process of Elimination
The Neon Graveyard
Burning Sappho
The Affair at Royalties
“I!” Said the Demon
Topsy and Evil
A Parade of Cockeyed Creatures
Swing Low, Sweet Harriet
A Queer Kind of Death
THE
ALFRED HITCHCOCK
MURDER CASE
GEORGE BAXT
ST. MARTIN’S PRESS NEW YORK
This novel has not been authorized or endorsed by Alfred Hitchcock, his estate, or any of the individuals or companies that may be licensed to use the name “Alfred Hitchcock.” It is simply an historical novel, a work of fiction that includes Alfred Hitchcock as a character.
With the exception of a few film people of the era and, of course, Alfred Hitchcock and his family (all of whose real names are used), the characters in this novel are fictitious and are not intended to be based on any actual persons. Similarly, the novel’s story and the incidents depicted in the novel (including those involving real people) are fictitious, although some of the places and historical events mentioned in the novel are real.
THE ALFRED HITCHCOCK MURDER CASE.
Copyright © 1986 by George Baxt. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Baxt, George.
The Alfred Hitchcock murder case.
1. Hitchcock, Alfred, 1899- --Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3552. A8478A79 1986813’.5485-25162
ISBN 0-312-01716-2
First Edition
10 987654321
For Fred Terman, Barbara Ferris,
John Quested, Madge Ryan,
and also starring
Sally Ann Howes and Douglas Rae
BOOK ONE
Munich,
June 1925
One
The Furies were gaining on him. He couldn’t run fast enough; he was too fat. His fiancée, Alma Reville, was shouting a warning.
“Back!” he screamed. “Back! you sons of bitches!”
But still they came laughing maniacally, grabbing for him with fingers like steel talons.
“Why don’t you love me?” Hitch shrieked at his father, but the pudgy greengrocer brandishing a bunch of celery like a weapon continued to gain on him. The police constable at his side was huffing and puffing, waving his billy club, threatening Hitch with jail. Hitch had no idea where he was leading them. “I have no ideas!” he yelled.
“What do you mean, you have no ideas?” The voice was familiar. Hitch looked to the right, and there was Michael Balcon, his film producer, pacing him. “What the bloody hell do you mean by no ideas? I stick my neck across the chopping block convincing them you’re the perfect man to direct this film, your first bloody film ever, and you tell me you have no ideas? I arrange to have the film shot here in Munich so the money people won’t be breathing down your neck and you have no ideas? Really, Hitch!”
“Pay us what you owe us!” screamed Hitch’s creditors. Now how the hell did they get into this scene? Hitch wondered as he heard their heels pounding the pavement behind him.
“Go away!” Hitch shouted at them over his shoulder, “You’re not in this scene! I’ll have no improvisations on this film! Get out of this scene! Get out! Get out! Get the bloody hell out!”
“Hitch, Hitch,” said Alma softly. “Wake up, Hitch, you’re screaming the house down.” She shook him gently, and the bed wobbled.
“Herr Hitchcock, waking zie up!” That was Frau Schumann, the landlady of the guest house; unlike those other Schumanns, terribly unmusical and terribly loud. She jingled her key ring over Hitchcock’s face. “Waking zie up, Herr Hitchcock!”
His eyes flew open. “What the bloody hell!”
“You were having a nightmare,” explained Alma, “and Frau Schumann unlocked your door.”
“That sounds obscene.” Hitch struggled into a sitting position and greeted the landlady and his fiancee. “Good morning,” he said solemnly. “I have had a most disturbing nightmare.”
“We heard it,” said Alma. Frau Schumann said something about coffee and rolls and left them, slamming the door behind her. Hitch took Alma’s hand and recited as much of the nightmare as he could remember. After a few minutes of the litany, Alma said, “This is where I came in. You’ve been having this nightmare ever since we arrived in Munich.”
“Well, I can’t help it,” said Hitchcock mournfully. “I’d just as soon shift to a different reel, but it’s out of my hands. I wish my father would get his apron washed, and the rakish tilt of his straw hat is most unbecoming. That horse’s ass of a police constable with him is the same monster who locked me up in a cell for quarter of an hour at my father’s request when I was a child. And as for Mickey Balcon accusing me of having no ideas, why, that’s treason!”
“Hitch, dear.” Alma was standing, tightening the belt of her slightly tatty bathrobe. “Mickey believes in you, he fought for you.”
“Well, he was most disconcerting in my nightmare!” Hitch was out of bed, looking like a week-old muffin in his crumpled pajamas as he struggled into a bathrobe Alma recognized as the one she had given him for his birthday last year. “And as for those creditors with their deadly fingers reaching out for me…” He shuddered and Alma went to him and put her arms around his neck.
“My dear, you shall bring this film in on schedule and on budget. It may not be the most memorable film debut—”
“You have no confidence in me! I knew it! I could tell it on your face from the first day we saw rushes!”
“The first day we saw rushes I knew, I very proudly knew, that my intended was a man of great talent and great promise but sadly lacked a great script.”
“It is a shoddy piece of merchandise, isn’t it?”
“As long as you recognize that. But what I also see in the rushes is a beautiful ability to camouflage mediocrity with some
