Books

Truth, horror and style

By Kevin Steel ⋅ November 28, 2006 ⋅  Email this post ⋅  Print this post ⋅ Post a comment

In anticipation of the DVD release of The Black Dahlia on Boxing Day, I would like to register here my reason for not going to the theatre to see that movie. It is because of this book, Black Dahlia Avenger by Steve Hodel, which I bought just prior to the movie’s theatrical release. (Like many, my interest was piqued by A&E’s Cold Case Files Episode 115.) It’s one of the best “true crime” books I have ever read, written by a former and very successful LAPD homicide detective who looks into that famous murder case and comes to the conclusion that the killer is his own father. After realizing the movie didn’t follow the direction of this book, I was less inclined to go to the theatre. I will rent the DVD, though with little anticipation.

Below is one of my favourite excerpts from the book. It demonstrates not only a lighter moment in this tragedy, but a good sense of the author’s well-paced style and way of revealing to the reader details as he learned them in time. The scene takes place in the author’s childhood. His mother has split from his doctor-father and has lapsed into destitute alcoholism, running from rented place to rented place, just a step ahead of mounting bills and irate landlords. One day Hodel’s mother decides to dress up the young boys–Steve, along with his older brother Michael and younger brother Kelvin–as best she can and sends them off in a taxi, along with their dog Koko, to the Beverly Hills Hotel to visit with her old flame and friend of her husband, director John Huston. The boys are to deliver a note begging for money. As the children arrive, Huston asks about the dog and upon learning her name, calls out it out twice. Our narrator tells us;

Excited by hearing her name called out so many times, Koko ran to the center of the suite, squatted on the plush white carpet as if it were high brush on a vacant lot, and took a dump. The three of us stood watching in disbelief, then a loud voice, roaring with laughter from the couch behind us, said, “I’ll get it.” The tall handsome dark-haired man, obviously in even better spirits than John, staggered to a bathroom and came back with a large roll of toilet paper. He dropped to his knees near where Koko had squatted and started to clean up the mess. John Huston said, “Boys, I want you to meet Greg Peck. When he’s not cleaning up dogshit, he acts,” and both roared with laughter. John took the envelope from my shirt, read its contents, walked over to a desk, wrote out a check and a note, placed them both back in the envelope, and returned it to me.