It felt like a punch to the heart. “No, it doesn’t. Do you remember the guy’s name?”
“Tommy something. He’s got a room over the VFW Hall down the block, and if he’s a killer I’ll flap my arms and fly to Nantucket.”
I stuck out my hand. “Thanks for the candy bar, Mr. Carmody.”
We shook. Carmody said, “You get the guy who killed Lizzie, I’ll buy you the factory that makes the goddamn things.”
As I said the words, I knew it was one of the finest moments of my life:
“I will.”
The VFW Hall was across the street and down from the Majestic, yet another red-brick structure streaked with soot. I walked there thinking of blind Tommy as a big washout, someone I had to talk to soften up Betty, make her live more easily in me.
Side steps took me upstairs, past a mailbox labeled T. GILFOYLE. Ringing the bell, I heard music; looking in the one window I saw pitch darkness. Then a soft male voice came from the other side of the door. “Yes? Who is it?”
“Los Angeles Police, Mr. Gilfoyle. It’s about Elizabeth Short.”
Light hit the window, the music died. The door opened, and a tall pudgy man wearing dark glasses pointed me inside. He was immaculate in striped sportshirt and slacks, but the room was a pigsty, dust and grime everywhere, an army of bugs scattering from the unaccustomed blast of brightness.
Tommy Gilfoyle said, “My Braille teacher read me the LA papers. Why did they say such nasty things about Beth?”
I tried diplomacy. “Because they didn’t know her like you did.”
Tommy smiled and plopped into a ratty chair. “Is the apartment really disreputable?”
The couch was littered with phonograph records; I scooped a handful aside and sat down. “It could use a lick and a promise.”
“I get slothful sometimes. Is Beth’s investigation active again? Priority stuff?”
“No, I’m here on my own. Where did you pick up the cop lingo?”
“I have a policeman friend.”
I brushed a fat bug off my sleeve. “Tommy, tell me about you and Beth. Give me something that didn’t make the papers. Something good.”
“Is this personal with you? Like a vendetta?”
“It’s more than that.”
“My friend said policemen who take their work personally get in trouble.”
I stomped a cockroach exploring my shoe. “I just want to get the bastard.”
“You don’t have to yell. I’m blind, not deaf, and I wasn’t blind to Beth’s little faults, either.”
“How so?”
Tommy fingered the cane by his chair. “Well, I won’t dwell on it, but Beth was promiscuous, just like the newspapers implied. I knew the reason, but I kept still because I didn’t want to disgrace her memory, and I knew that it wouldn’t help the police find her killer.”
The man was wheedling now, caught between wanting to kick loose and keep secrets. I said, “You let me judge that. I’m an experienced detective.”
“At your age? I can tell by your voice that you’re young. My friend said that to make detective you have to serve at least ten years on the force.”
“Goddamn it, don’t dick me around. I came here on my own and I didn’t come to-”
I stopped when I saw that the man was frightened, one hand going for the telephone. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, and I’m a long way from home.”
Tommy surprised me by smiling. “I’m sorry, too. I was just being coy to prolong the company, and that’s rude. So I’ll tell you about Beth, her little foibles and all.
“You probably know she was star-struck, and that’s true. You probably guessed that she didn’t have much talent, and that’s true, too. Beth read plays to me–acting all the parts, and she was a terrible ham–just awful. I understand the spoken word, so believe me, I know.
“What Beth was good at was writing. I used to sit in on movies at the Majestic, and Beth used to describe things so I’d have something to go with the dialogue. She was brilliant, and I encouraged her to write for the movies, but she just wanted to be an actress like every other silly girl who wanted to get out of Medford.”