On January 15, 1947, a woman
walked by a vacant lot and saw what she thought was a mannequin lying in the
weeds. She thought it had fallen off of the back of a truck and broken in half,
but upon farther inspection she realized it was a human body. Soon word spread
throughout Hollywood that a murder victim had been found like none ever seen. The
media swarmed in within minutes, stomping through the vacant lot and
obliterating possible evidence. The area became one large circus tent as police
and journalists tried to wade through the weeds in search of clues. The state of
the body (severed in half at the waist, her faced surgically carved into a
hideous grin) made newspapers leap at the story. Everyone in town talked about
the crime. Her name was Elizabeth Short, but everyone called her by her
nickname: "Black Dahlia". Los Angeles police from several precincts rushed
to solve the crime. They went through a couple of Chief Investigators and spent
hundreds of hours chasing down false leads called in by every crackpot in the
state. To this day the case remains officially open, Short's killer never found.
John Gilmore has written the
definitive account of the crime. It begins with Short's early years in
Massachusetts and follows her to Los Angeles when she is still in her teens. She
was a beautiful, outspoken girl described as having a certain swing in her step,
a swagger in her sway. She wore pounds of makeup to make herself look
older and was arrested for underage drinking. She would schmooze and offer the
glad hand to anyone she felt was anyone. Most people agreed she was nothing more
than a likable freeloader. She would borrow money from everybody; allegedly
granting sexual favors in return. Gilmore throws himself deep into the crime,
digging up obscure facts like squabbles with roommates over makeup and tales of blowjobs
in the back room or a shoe store. His depiction of Short as extroverted yet
insecure offers a notion of a girl who would do anything for fame, but ended up
infamous in a vacant lot.
Reading Severed is like
craning your neck to see a car crash. There are no likable characters and the
book is coldly written. Its appeal is hard to pin down. The crime is
frightening, not so much with regard to personal fear but in the darkness of the
human spirit on display. Short lived in a world beneath the underdog where you
can trust no one because everyone wants something. Gilmore drags you through it
all, continually slapping you upside the head like a devil-spawned literary
Oliver Stone. ...