Frustrated by the lack of forward progressive in the case, Detective Tiner spoke to the entertainment press during the final week of March 1977. The goal was to jostle cooperation from the same Hollywood community that was so reticent to participate during the first full month of the investigation. “I’m sure there are a lot of people out there in Los Angeles who knew her and knew more about her, but who have not contacted me,” he stated.
Here are samples of the ensuing coverage in the British tabloids in the immediate hours and days following Tiner’s conference.
The Preface to My Upcoming Book on Christa
I never set out to be an amateur sleuth. But that all changed when I came across Christa Helm’s story in early 2014.
I was preparing to produce and host a podcast series on infamous Hollywood crimes; an offshoot of a podcast I had founded in 2007 called Movie Geeks United.
It began, as so much research does nowadays, on YouTube. As I was searching for a Tinseltown crime that fell outside the purview of the usual Black Dahlia and Manson lore, I happened upon a blurry dupe of a 48 Hours episode from 2008. Titled The Last Take, the episode introduced me to Christa, her life of star-studded decadence, and the tragic end which befell her on February 12th of 1977.
On the surface, her story could be dismissed as a far too common retread of the “starlet sexpot who seeks stardom and pays the ultimate price for it”. But there were meaningful resonances that kept me fixated.
It started with the deeply affecting testimony of the daughter she left behind, a little girl who lost the world she was promised before the age of ten. Then there were the colorful characters who populated Christa’s life, a flamboyant parade of personalities who could have easily walked off a studio backlot (and actually had on occasion). Equally enticing was the flood of potential motives behind her murder – each seemingly as viable as the next – running the gamut from a scorned lesbian lover to a paranoid Hollywood big shot to the dregs of a thriving 70’s L.A. drug culture. Then there was Christa herself, a woman of great beauty, a profound drive, and an endearing yet ultimately tragic core of naivete.
Christa’s story also reflected a wider landscape that I had always found captivating. She entered the big city foray during a time of great turbulence and possibility. The upheavals of the day – including the continued bloodshed in Vietnam, the Stonewall Riots, the struggle to achieve female empowerment, and the ever-widening generational divide – informed each step in the march toward cultural rebellion. These seismic shifts were most apparent on the streets of New York City, the reservoir through which many of the country’s social ills and revolutions flowed.
In the words of Christa’s daughter Nicole, the era represented “the incoming age of drugs, peace and rock and roll, and the newfound sexual freedom that no generation of women before had the pleasure, and pain, of experiencing. My mother was one of these women, finally finding her power in her sexuality, as opposed to the shame her adolescent experiences had taught her.”
Christa Helm was an invention who was birthed in the thriving energy of the Big Apple. A port of sorts for outcasts from small towns across the United States, New York was a place where you could flirt with a fantasy image of yourself and be met with a higher level of acceptance and freedom that you’d ever known before. Christa found her place among the major cultural forces of the time – from sports heroes to iconoclasts of the modeling world to the behind-the-scenes trendsetters of the Broadway stage.
The New York and Los Angeles of the 1970s are major characters in Christa’s life and the story that follows here. Their nightscapes shimmered and threatened; you could party with the glam elite one minute, and find yourself wallowing in the vicinity of dopers, dealers and alley rats the next. Christa knew both worlds, and either could have played a significant role in her untimely downfall.
In the decade since I first produced my podcast on Christa, the true crime genre has rocketed into the stratosphere. In the interim, a general overview of Christa’s story has found its place among the hoopla, playing out in television exposés, short e-books, and many other podcasts. Though I am admittedly a frequent consumer of true crime media, I often find it a distasteful genre. Far too frequently, it’s a form of grisly pornography that relishes degradation over humanity. The trauma of real flesh and blood human beings is anesthetized into a form of senseless entertainment for the masses.
Christa’s story is almost tailor-made for this kind of vacant approach. The temptation to “slut shame” proves too irresistible in countless recounts that have been offered over the years.
“She played with fire and had it coming,” is one version of a common shaming response. It must be said that Christa lived on the edge, for sure, but she never murdered anyone. Being left to bleed out on a Hollywood street with over 20 stab wounds to her chest and back is far too harsh a price to pay for her comparatively meager indiscretions. Besides, most of us die as a result of the choices we make, but that doesn’t negate our worthiness for empathy. We’re all part of the human experiment; struggling to advance and cope with the limited tools we’ve inherited along the way.
In my estimation, Christa was bred from a faulty teacher. To a profound extent, Christa’s choices reflected her desire to overcome the emotional disabilities her mother instilled in her, and an overwhelming need to achieve her accepting embrace.
But resisting the urge to psychologize (something I’m not qualified to do), I think it’s important to acknowledge that the motivating factors behind a person’s principal drives can rarely be distilled into one neat package. I once asked a biographer of famous Hollywood star Burt Lancaster if she ever felt she truly understood her subject. She spent many years conducting hundreds of interviews and browsing through research materials spread far and wide. She knew the building blocks and timelines of his life and career chapter and verse. But, as she admitted, what she was left with were her own perceptions of Lancaster which were derived from the resources at her disposal. There will always be aspects to any human being that remain stubbornly enigmatic. Can we ever truly know a person’s inner being and the private thoughts that inform it? Many people don’t even fully understand their own complexities.
In the quest to uncover some modicum of a deeper truth, a biographer’s greatest allies are informed interview sources. In that respect, I’ve been incredibly fortunate in the development of this book. They’ve ensured that the profile that follows is as instructive and accurate as their individual memories and perspectives allow.
These sources include, first and foremost, Christa’s daughter Nicole, who kept the channels of communication open with me through what must have felt like an ordeal. She met me in New York City, revisited painful memories, and never wavered in her kind support of this project. I hope I did justice to her mom’s story because it’s her story too.
Then there are the sleuths who came before me. In the mid-2000s, Steven Thompson and John O’Dowd authored a lengthy piece on Christa that appeared online. For many years, that article constituted the only substantial material you could find on Christa’s story.
Steven and his wife Rene have shown me a generosity and encouragement I could never have expected. They’ve been unwavering cheerleaders throughout this process, and I’ve aspired to live up to their belief in the project. I’m especially grateful to Steven for sharing his prior research with me, and consistently communicating via Facebook and telephone to review my findings and help me speculate on what it all meant. Meanwhile, John did an interview with me for my podcast and, crucially, put me in touch with Christa’s last roommate Stephanie, whose insights into the final months of her life have proven essential.
Now retired, both cold case investigators – Sargent Thomas Harris and Detective Larry Brandenburg – were also very helpful. Brandenburg, in particular, went out of his way to procure answers he could not immediately access by memory, but as you’ll read in the coming pages, those efforts proved futile.
Dozens of figures in Christa’s life were gracious and forthcoming in sharing their remembrances with me, especially her close friends and companions Darlene Thoresen, Kevin McKeon, Joseph Middleton, Richard Banister, and Denise Steinle. Others who were completely unaffiliated with the story showed tremendous interest and went the extra mile to assist me, including librarians, county clerk employees and members of the Los Angeles Police Department and Savannah Police Department Records Division.
Then there were those subjects who refused participation.
The Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department – the law enforcement agency that has overseen this case from day one –has shown no interest in advancing their long dormant efforts to find resolution.
In spite of repeated attempts to reach them through social media, email, phone calls, texts and written requests delivered through snail mail, key figures in Christa’s life wouldn’t budge in their refusal of my overtures. In some cases, their denials (or outright avoidance in offering any response whatsoever) were infuriatingly obstinate. They could have provided crucial details regarding Christa and her final days. Sadly, they failed to follow through on the weight of that responsibility. Perhaps tellingly, most of the subjects who preferred to keep mum inhabited the L.A. portion of her life.
But some, I’m sure, had their valid reasons for declining my requests. After all, the 70s were a time of great debauchery. Today, those same rabble-rousers are parents and grandparents, and perhaps not eager to relive a period of time from which they harbor deep regrets. It’s not easy to promote the depravity in your life, particularly in the service of a book that will be available to the public and to a writer for whom you have little earned trust.
Still others might have been unable to transcend the sting that Christa’s death inflicted upon them all those years ago. Some likely questioned what right I had to delve into someone else’s tragedy. This posed a quandary for me as well.
The writing of this book consisted of long stretches of nothingness where no one would talk to me, and no new revelations were being uncovered. These stretches were punctuated by fleeting bursts of exhilarating discovery. But whether I was experiencing frustration or elation, I never lost sight of those who entrusted me with their travails and sorrows, and I remained steadfast in my determination to do right by them. Their recollections – and the narrative of Christa’s life and murder – became sacred to me. In the end, any sense of imposter syndrome faded away, and I felt secure in the belief that you either go all the way in, or you don’t go in at all.
Tracking Christa’s journey became my journey. Thank you for your interest in taking that journey with me.
Interview with The Hollywood Godfather Podcast
I appeared on The Hollywood Godfather podcast on 3/6/24 to discuss my ongoing investigation into he unsolved murder of Christa Helm.
An elaboration on a few pieces of info I share in the conversation:
- My criticism of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department stems from their refusal to allow access to Christa’s cold case files, especially to her daughter, after all this time when they have been left untouched. It was not intended as a critique of the cold case investigators from Christa’s case who are both now retired. They have been wonderfully generous to me in sharing the information they can recall, and they worked diligently to find answers in the case during the period of their investigation.
- Christa’s life encompassed so much more than the famous figures she was associated with. I urge you to read the brief recap of her story which is included on this site.
- I didn't set out to identify a killer in the interview, but merely to recognize persons of interest who had involvement in Christa’s story. I don’t necessarily believe that anyone I mention in the interview was Christa’s murderer. For those persons of interest who have since deceased, the hope is that they might have shared their knowledge with someone in their lives over the 47 years, who in turn might be willing to share this knowledge with me.
Christa's Final Resting Place
Christa"s final resting place at Forest Home Cemetary in Milwaukee. She has the second oldest niche in this section, which may explain why she is at the very top. All of her incarnations are present on the engraving - her birth name, married name and the initials of her stage name.
Help Us Find Patti Collins
DOES ANYONE RECOGNIZE THE BRUNETTE? Photos of one of the main persons of interest in Christa's case. Patti (or Patty) Collins. Knew Christa between 75-77 in the Los Angeles area. Possibly in her mid to late twenties when she knew Christa. Might have had experience or ambitions in music, and her parents might have lived in Sacramento during this time. #patticollins #patriciacollins #pattycollins #christahelm
More Information on David Stein
David Marcus (aka David Stein) was reportedly close to Christa in the last years of her life. He had achieved a degree of infamy before they ever met, having been deemed "the second greatest pimp in NYC" by New York magazine, and arrested for imprisoning and assaulting a Playboy playmate in his L.A. home in 1972. Christa and Marcus also shared mutual friends in her last roommate Stephanie and Bernie Cornfeld, an international financier who lived in a luxurious L.A. mansion called Grayhall. Marcus spent a lot of time in the mansion as he excelled in procuring women for Cornfeld.
Death frequently followed in Marcus' wake.
When I was working to track down his whereabouts, I spoke to many people who knew him, including Rebecca Kaye, Cornfeld's secretary in the 70s. “[Marcus] was a Svengali, and everyone who got close to him got burned,” she told me. “He was evil.” Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss shared with me that he would destroy young women with drugs and desperation. Another interview subject told me his sister was driven to suicide by Marcus.
Marcus was definitely on the radar of the cold casers during their investigation into Christa's murder, but they never managed to track him down (even though he was near their neck of the woods in Palm Springs the whole time). Marcus' brother told me that he had passed away in 2021, though I've been unable to verify this.
Clips from Christa's Unreleased Film LET'S GO FOR BROKE
A 2K scan of two sequences from Christa's film LET'S GO FOR BROKE. Not seen publicly since the film’s brief two-week Cincinnati release during the Christmas/New Year season of 1974-75.
Need Help Locating These People
This is a fold-out poster of talents that were part of Lennie Barin's modeling agency in early 70s NYC. Christa is among them. Some of these models are from the Andy Warhol crowd. I'm trying to find out if any of these people are still alive. If anyone out there knows one or more of these - and more importantly, knows their current whereabouts - please let me know. (You'll probably have to zoom in on the pic to see everyone clearly).
The Diary Ratings System
An article from an August 1975 issue of The Village Voice by journalist Arthur Bell. The brief mention is most notable for revealing the ratings system Christa kept in her diary.
RIP Tony Sirico
RIP Tony Sirico (July 29, 1942 - July 8, 2022). Answers to several nagging questions involving Christa's case have likely passed with him.
As quoted by TMZ: He had one rule about his acting roles ... he never played "rats."
The Geography of the Crime Scene
Christa parked her car in front of 9020 Lloyd Place in West Hollywood roughly where the white car is located on the far left of this photo.
Christa walked around to the back of the property where there was an adjoining house at 9022 Lloyd Place.
She knocked on the door at 9022 Lloyd Place, and supposedly resident Sandy Smith did not awaken to answer.
She was attacked a few steps away from the front door at 9022 Lloyd Place (precisely where the red car is parked), There was no sign of a chase; her attacker was facing her when she turned and walked away from the door.