William Desmond Taylor was an A-list Hollywood film director of the silent era. On February 1, 1922, the dapper Irish-American was found shot in the back in his bungalow in the Westlake Park area of downtown Los Angeles. He was 49 years old. There was no sign of a struggle.
When the police arrived 30 minutes later, the house was already swarming with movie studio people. At first, police believed Taylor suffered a perforated ulcer and died from interior bleeding. But when the body was moved, it was clear he'd been shot. Another 30 minutes had elapsed, during which time many items had been removed from the house and most of the physical evidence (such as carpet footprints and fignerprints) compromised.
No one was ever charged with the crime. Suspects included Edward Sands, Taylor's former valet and cook who had embezzled money, stole jewelry and an automobile, and disappeared in 1921; Mabel Normand, a fading silent screen star (then just 29) who was a drug user and who had been romantically linked to Taylor; Mary Miles Minter, a fading 19-year-old silent screen star who was also romantically linked to Taylor; and Charlotte Shelby, the 52-year-old mother of Mary Miles Minter, who was a domineering and cruel stage-mother and who tightly controlled her daughter's finances and private life.
Enter biographer Sidney Kirkpatrick. He started out in 1982 as a documentary filmmaker, and made a film about Franklin D. Roosevelt's daughter, Ethel. A Cast of Killers was his first biographical work, published in 1986. An unrevised "anniversary edition" (which I read) was released in 2007. Kirkpatrick started out by trying to write a biography of the celebrated film director King Vidor, who directed the Oscar-winning The Big Parade (1925), The Champ (1931), Stella Dallas (1937), Northwest Passage (1940), Duel in the Sun (1946), The Fountainhead (1949), and War and Peace (1956). He also directed the Kansas scenes in The Wizard of Oz (1939), including the song "Over the Rainbow". He was five times nominated for Best Director.
In his research into Vidor, Kirkpatrick came across research, notes, and documents which Vidor had collected in 1967 in preparation for making a motion picture about Taylor's murder. The documents included interviews with a number of police officers, eyewitnesses, reporters, and movie stars who were directly involved with the case.
Vidor never published his findings. Kirkpatrick, however, decided to focus his book not on Vidor himself but on Vidor's investigation. To make it more riveting, he decided to write the book as if it were a novel, complete with dialogue between characters, internal monologues, and third-person omniscient narration. Kirkpatrick is right up front in advising the reader that all the dialogue is made up, but he argues that it is based on the not-quite-verbatim notes taken by Vidor as he interviewed people. Kirkpatrick also notes up front that some of the behaviors and actions taken by the people in the book (such as Vidor himself, actress Colleen Moore, and others) is based on "what must have happened". For example, Vidor retained a receipt from a florist shop in New York City, in which he purchased a bouquet of violets. He met Colleen Moore, an old flame, later that same day. Kirkpatrick then assumes that the violets were for her. (Moore apparently confirmed receiving them.)
The breezy, novelistic style of the biography can be very off-putting. If you, as I did, pick up this book expecting a dispassionate discussion of the facts and theories surrounding the William Desmond Taylor murder, you'll be dissatisfied by the tone of the work. You have to trust Kirkpatrick a whole lot in order to believe that he's recreated the scene and dialogue accurately. While there is little reason not to trust him, there's also little reason to do so. Right away, Kirkpatrick relates the story of how he found Vidor's notes -- in a locked strongbox, hidden behind a water heater in the basement of Vidor's home office bungalow. It just sounds too surreal, too Hollywood! But as a reader, you want to give Kirkpatrick the benefit of the doubt. It's just a difficult swallow, made all the more so by what comes later in the book.
Kirkpatrick's work is limited by the fact that it is NOT an investigation into the death of William Desmond Taylor. Rather, it is a retelling of King Vidor's investigation into that death, and as such is
very strongly limited
by Vidor's own investigative skills, Vidor's own biases and assumptions, Vidor's refusal to question some conclusions, and the data which Vidor (or Kirkpatrick, even) chose to leave out or not investigate.
Some blatantly obvious questions that any first-season C.S.I. viewer could ask are therefore left unanswered. For example: Three blonde hairs are found on Taylor's jacket at the crime scene. These hairs are assumed to be female, and the police conclude (based on information not revealed in Kirkpatrick's book) they were left by Mary Miles Minter. If this were 2014, one would assume that DNA testing confirmed this link. But this is 1922, and blood testing isn't even common. Just how were the hairs linked to Minter? I dunno, but Vidor (and thus Kirkpatrick) proceed as if the police conclusion is rational, justified, and warranted.
In another section of the book, Vidor investigates the alleged discovery of a frilly pink negligee at Taylor's home. The nightie is monogrammed "MMM" -- ostensibly, "Mary Miles Minter". Some newspaper accounts mention the nightie, but others do not. Vidor comes to question whether the nightie even existed; if it did, was it there before the murder, or planted afterward (but before the police realized a murder had been committed)? Amazingly, Vidor (or Kirkpatrick) never seems to ask just how the studio could have manufactured such a piece of evidence in the minutes they had between learning of Taylor's death from his valet (Henry Peavey) and the arrival of the police.
Kirkpatrick and Vidor both admit there is little evidence to do on in the Taylor case. This creates an endless confusion of claim and counter-claim, suggestion, allegation, and outright, self-serving lies. It's much more akin to an Agatha Christie novel than a biography, or a discussion of a man's private investigation into the death of a colleague.
There are some astounding claims made in A Cast of Killers, some of which focus directly on William Desmond Taylor and directly on the motive for the crime. But, as Vidor (and Kirkpatrick) note, there's nothing but speculation here.
And no, I won't give away these astounding revelations or the whodunnit.
I will say, however, that the book is relatively well-written, and a straightforward account of Vidor's investigation into Taylor's death. Some sections of the book verge on fiction, and smell like fiction (particuarly, to my mind, Vidor's encounter with an aged Mary Miles Minter), but those are the risks one takes when pursuing an "Edmund Morris" style biography.
For those who care, more traditional investigations into the William Desmond Taylor murder are available. They include Robert Giroux's 1990 book A Deed of Death: The Story Behind the Unsolved Murder of William Desmond Taylor and Charles Higham's 2004 work Murder in Hollywood: Solving a Silent Screen Mystery
Both the Kirkpatrick book and Giroux book are reviewed for accuracy in Bruce Long's 1991 work, William Desmond Taylor: A Dossier. Long, a staff member at Arizona State University, was a Taylor researcher who published a newsletter called Taylorology. Long transcribed hundreds of primary- and secondary-source documents (including newspaper accounts, police interviews, and unpublished autobiographies and memoirs), and his work is considered a "must" for anyone really interested in reading every single thing written about William Desmond Taylor in the 1910s and 1920s. The first two years of Long's research is compiled in William Desmond Taylor: A Dossier. Long's book also documents nearly 200 factual and timeline errors in Vidor's/Kirkpatrick's research, as well as about 85 errors in Giroux's book.