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Mexican standoff。
The girl massaged her throat； something like ice came into her eyes。 She got off the bed and put on her clothes facing me； the ice getting colder and deeper。 It was a look I knew I couldn't match； so I got out my ID buzzer and held up LAPD badge 1611 for her to see。 She smiled； I tried to imitate her； she walked up to me and spat on the piece of tin。 The door slammed； the pictures on the wall fluttered； my voice came back in racking fits； 〃I'll get him for you； he won't hurt you anymore； I'll make it up to you； oh Betty Jesus fuck I will。〃
CHAPTER THIRTY…ONE
The airplane flew east； slicing through cloud banks and bright blue sky。 My pockets were stuffed with cash from my all but liquidated bank account； Lieutenant Getchell had bought my line about a grievously ill high school pal in Boston and had granted me a week's accumulated sick leave。 A stack of notes from the Boston PD's background check was on my lap…laboriously copied from the El Nido file。 I already had an interrogation itinerary printed out； aided by the metropolitan Boston street atlas I'd purchased at the LA airport。 When the plane landed； it would be Medford/Cambridge/Stoneham and Elizabeth Short's past… the part that didn't get smeared across page one。
I'd hit the master file yesterday afternoon； as soon as I quit shaking and was able to put how close I'd gotten to havoc out my brain…at least the front part of it。 One quick skimming told me that the LA end of the investigation was dead； a second and third told me it was deader； a fourth convinced me that if I stayed in town I'd go batshit over Madeleine and Kay。 I had to run； and if my vow to Elizabeth Short was to mean anything； it had to be in her direction。 And if it was a wild…goose chase； then at least it was a trip to clean territory…where my badge and live women wouldn't get me into trouble。
The revulsion on the hooker's face wouldn't leave me； I could still smell her cheap perfume and imagined her spitting indictments； the same words Kay had used earlier that day； only worse…because she knew what I was： a whore with a badge。 Thinking about her was like scraping the bottom of my life on my knees…the only fort in it the fact that I couldn't go any lower…that I'd chew the muzzle of my 。38 first。
The plane landed at 7：35； I was the first in line to disembark； notebook and satchel in hand。 There was a car rental place in the terminal； I rented a Chevy coupe and headed into the Boston metropolis； anxious to take advantage of the hour or so of daylight left。
My itinerary included the addresses of Elizabeth's mother； two of her sisters； her high school； a Harvard Square hash house where she slung plates in '42 and the movie theater where she worked as a candy girl in '39 and '40。 I decided on a loop through Boston to Cambridge； then Medford…Betty's real stomping ground。
Boston； quaint and old； hit me like a blur。 I followed street signs to the Charles River Bridge and crossed over into Cambridge： ritzy Georgian pads and streets packed with college kids。 More signs led me to Harvard Square； there was stop one… Otto's Hofbrau； a gingerbread structure spilling the aroma of cabbage and beer。
I parked in a meter space and walked in。 The Hansel and Gretel motif extended to the whole place…carved wood booths； beer steins lining the walls； waitresses in dirndl skirts。 I looked around for the boss； my eyes settling on a smock…clad older man standing by the cash register。
I walked over； and something kept me from badging him。 〃Excuse me。 I'm a reporter； and I'm writing a story on Elizabeth Short。 I understand that she worked here back in '42； and I thought you could tell me a little about her then。〃
The man said； 〃Elizabeth who？ She some sort of movie star？〃
〃She was killed in Los Angeles a few years ago。 It's a famous case。 Do you…〃
〃I bought this place in '46； and the only employee I got left from the war is Roz。 Rozzie； e here！ Man wants to talk to you！
The battle…axe waitress of them all materialized…a baby elephant in a thigh…length skirt。 The boss said； 〃This guy's a reporter。 Wants to talk to you about Elizabeth Short。 You remember her？〃
Rozzie popped her gum at me。 〃I told the Globe and the Sentinel and the cops the first time around； and I ain't changing my story。 Betsy Short was a dish dropper and a dreamer； and if she didn't bring in so much Harvard business； she wouldn't a lasted a day。 I heard she put out for the war effort； but I didn't know none of her boyfriends。 End of story。 And you ain't no reporter； you're a cop。〃
I said； 〃Thank you for that perceptive ment；〃 and left。 My atlas placed Medford twelve miles away； a straight run out Massachusetts Avenue。 I got there just as night was falling； smelling it first； then seeing it。
Medford was a factory town； smoke…belching foundry stacks forming its perimeter。 I rolled up my window to hold off the sulfur stink； the industrial area dwindled into blocks of narrow red…brick houses crammed together with less than a foot between them。 Every block had at least two gin mills； and when I saw Swasey Boulevard…the street the movie theater was on…I opened my wind wing to see if the foundry stench was dissipating。 It wasn't…and the windshield was already bearing a film of greasy soot。
I found the Majestic a few blocks down； a typical Medford red…brick building； the marquee heralding Criss Cross with Burt Lancaster and Duel in the Sun…〃All Star Cast。〃 The ticket booth was empty； so I walked straight into the theater and up to the snack stand。 The man behind it said； 〃Anything wrong； officer？〃 I groaned that the locals had my number…three thousand miles from home。
〃No； nothing's wrong。 Are you the manager？〃
〃The owner。 Ted Carmody。 You BPD？〃
I reluctantly displayed my shield。 〃Los Angeles Police Department。 It's about Beth Short。〃
Ted Carmody crossed himself。 〃Poor Lizzie。 You got some hot leads？ That why you're here？〃
I put a nickel on the counter； grabbed a Snickers bar and unwrapped it。 〃Let's just say I owe Betty one； and I've got a few questions。〃
〃Ask on。〃
〃First off； I've seen the Boston Police background check file； and your name wasn't listed on the interview sheet。 Didn't they talk to you？〃
Carmody handed me back my nickel。 〃On the house； and I didn't talk to the Boston cops because they talked Lizzie up like she was some sort of tramp。 I don't cooperate with badmouthers。〃
〃That's admirable； Mr。 Carmody。 But what would you have told them？〃
〃Nothing dirty； that's for damn sure。 Lizzie was all aces to me。 If the cops had been properly respectful of the dead； I'd have told 'em that。〃
The man was exhausting me。 〃I'm a respectful guy。 Pretend that it's two years ago and tell me。〃
Carmody couldn't quite peg my style； so I chomped the candy bar to ease him into some slack。 〃I'd have told 'em Lizzie was a bad worker；〃 he said finally。 〃And I'd have told 'em I didn't care。 She brought the boys in like a magnet； and if she kept sneaking in to watch the picture； so what？ For fifty cents an hour I didn't expect her to slave for me。〃
I said； 〃What about her boyfriends？〃
Carmody slamme