by James Ellroy
He's a lowlife. He's a tyrant. He's a cold son of a bitch. Bud Bedford says it flat out: He killed Betty Jean.
Wednesday, 2/7/73:
Bill Scales is summoned to the Sheriff's Crime Lab. Sergeant Ben Lubon administers a polygraph test. Koury, Meyers, and an El Monte PD man observe.
Lubon calls the result conclusive. The subject has no guilty knowledge of his wife's disappearance and possible death.
The Scales job stalled out. No body and no workable crime scene. Koury and Meyers caught fresh murders. The new jobs demanded full-time work. The rain came and went. The pits were full of stagnant water.
3:30 P.M. Sunday, 2/25/73:
A perimeter road near a big pit mined by Conrock-Durbin. A five-gallon can on the side of the road.
A security guard stops his car and picks up the can. His dog jumps out of the car and runs into the pit. The guard whistles. The dog barks and ignores the command. The guard walks to the edge of the pit and looks down.
She was nude. She was faceup at the bottom of the pit. The staplebat was fifty-seven inches from her left hand.
She was badly decomposed. Immersion had intensified the decomp. Maggots had eaten her eyes and most of her membranous tissue.
Her skull was caved in. Her hair fell out as she decomped. Maggots swarmed inside the cranial vault.
Matted hair on the business end of the staple-bat.
A dozen cops hit the crime scene. They grid-searched the pit. A chopper flew over. A photo deputy shot some wide-angles.
The grid search tapped out. Zero: dirt, rocks, mud, and gravel. A deputy coroner requisitioned the body,
He performed a postmortem. His stated cause of death: bluntforce trauma and resultant skull fractures. His semen smear turned up inconclusive. The vaginal membranes were waterlogged and badly decomposed.
Everyone knew who she was. They tagged her Jane Doe #10 anyway. They needed a formal ID.
They ID'd her off dental charts:
BettyJean Bedford Scales. Born 3/6/49. Probable date of death: 1/29/73.
Koury and Meyers worked the case part-time. They checked recent sex assaults with suspects at large. Their geographic focus: El Monte/Baldwin Park/Irwindale. 12/16/72:
2:00 A.M. The Baldwin Park Post Office. 220 PC--Assault with Intent to Commit Rape.
A white youth accosts a 44-year-old white female. He shoves her into her car at knifepoint. He rips off her bra, pulls down her pants, and fondles her buttocks. The victim screams. The suspect flees on foot.
12/17/72:
3:45 A.M. The all-night laundromat at 4428 Peck, El Monte. 220 PC--Assault with Intent to Commit Rape.
A male Latin accosts a 56-year-old white female. She works at the laundry and another laundry four blocks away.
The suspect tries to push her into a storeroom. He states, "I want pussy! I want pussy! I don't want to rob you!" The victim pulls a safety pin off her coat. She stabs the suspect. The suspect screams and runs out the door. The victim calls the El Monte PD. A patrol team responds. She tells them: "I saw the same man at two o'clock this morning. He cruised by my other laundry and looked in the window."
1/4/73:
1:00 A.M. The all-night laundromat at 4851 Peck, El Monte. 207 PC--Kidnapping, 261 PC--Rape, 245 PC--Assault with a Deadly Weapon, 10851 CVC--Grand Theft/Auto.
A male Latin accosts a 26-year-old white female. He saps the victim. He forces her into her car and takes the wheel. He drives out the 605 Freeway, the 210 Freeway, and Highway 71. He stops on a side street and orders the victim out. He marches her into a brush field. He rapes her and forces her to orally copulate him. He marches her to her car and drives her back to El Monte. He forces her out of the car at Cherrylee and Buffington. He tells her he'll leave the car at Cherrylee and Peck.
The suspect leaves the car at that location. He wipes down the steering wheel and dashboard.
2/2/73:
1:45 A.M. Lower Azusa and Peck, El Monte. 314.1 PC--Indecent Exposure.
A male Latin accosts a 36-year-old white female. The victim is standing by a bus bench. The suspect displays his penis. He states, "I can't sleep tonight because I can't get anyone to fuck."
The victim yells. The suspect walks away. A passing patrol car stops him. The suspect is carrying three pornographic books. The titles are Husband and Friend, A Widow 's Hun ger, and Cocker Conqueror.
The suspect was arrested. He was grilled on the laundromat jobs. He was exonerated.
The laundromat freak was still out there. His assaults preceded the Scales snatch by forty-two and twenty-five days. Vons Market was one hundred yards from 4428 Peck.
Durfee Drugs was two miles south. The killer grabbed the Scales woman at 8:30 P.M. The laundromat freak worked the late shift. He didn't quite vibe for the Scales job.
The post-office assault preceded the Scales snatch by fortythree days.
Koury and Meyers worked fresh murders. They stopped checking sex-assault sheets.
3/8/73:
7:15 P.M. Baldwin Park Post Office. 2o7/286/288A PC--Kidnapping, Sodomy, Oral Copulation.
A white youth accosts a 1 7-year-old white female. He flashes a knife and forces her to drive to a nearby park.
The area is secluded. The victim parks in the lot. The suspect forces her into the backseat and orders her to disrobe. She complies. The suspect gets in the backseat. He pulls down his pants and fondles the victim's genitalia.
He gets an erection. He partially penetrates the victim's anus. He forces her to orally copulate him. He masturbates and ejaculates on the victim's chest. He tells her to get dressed. She complies. He marches her into the park and orders her to take off her clothes. She complies. The suspect grabs her clothes and flees on foot.
3/13/73:
9:35 P.M. Food King Market. 14103 Ramona, Baldwin Park. 242 PC--Battery.
A white youth accosts a 2 5-year-old white female. He opens the passenger door of her car. He grabs the victim and tears her jacket. The victim pulls free. She runs from the car. The suspect flees on foot.
3/14/73:
7:15 P.M. Lucky Market. 13940 Ramona, Baldwin Park. 207/220 PC--Kidnapping/Attempt Rape.
A white youth accosts a 29-year-old white female. He opens the driver's-side door of her car. He flashes a knife and says, "Slide over." The victim complies. The suspect takes the wheel and drives out of the parking lot. The victim asks him to state his intentions. The suspect says, "I'm going to make love to you."
The suspect drives southeast. He stops at a red light. The victim tries to jump out. The suspect accelerates. The victim grabs the car keys. The suspect says, "Put them back or I'll kill you." The victim does not comply.
The car decelerates. The victim jumps out. The suspect jumps out. A struggle ensues. The victim grabs the suspect's knife and stabs him in the arm. The suspect flees on foot. The victim retrieves her car and drives to the Baldwin Park PD.
She reports the incident. Officer Henry Dock takes notes. She describes her assailant and the knife wound she inflicted. She's cut and scratched. Officer Dock drives her to Hartland Hospital. A doctor treats her cuts and scratches.
Sergeant J. Morehead calls Officer Dock at Hartland. He says a knife-wound patient is there now. He matches the victim's description of her assailant.
The victim observes the knife-wound patient surreptitiously. She ID's him 100%.
He's 17. He's blond and skinny and acne afflicted. He goes to high school and lives with his parents.
Officer Dock arrests the kid. A doctor treats his wound. Officer Dock transports the kid to the Baldwin Park Station. A detective interviews him. The kid is released to his parents. A 207/2 20 charge pends.
The Baldwin Park PD contacts Sheriff's Homicide. They lay out the kid and his MO. They make him as a suspect in one rape and three attempt-rape priors. Koury and Meyers are working fresh cases. They don't key on the kid for the Scales job.
4/23/73:
1:30 P.M. Durfee Drugs, El Monte. 220 PC--Assault with Intent to Commit Rape.
A white youth accosts an 18-year-old white female. The victim is sitting in her car. The driver's-side door is open.
The suspect appears at the door. He grabs the wheel and tells the victim to move over. The victim says no. The suspect restates his demand. The victim screams. The suspect puts one hand on her mouth and sticks one hand down the front of her bra. The victim digs in and pushes her weight against him. The suspect flees on foot.
4/25/73:
The kid is arrested and charged with the 4/23 assault. He turned 18 on 4/12. He's a culpable adult now.
Four prior victims ID him. He's held at the Temple City Sheriff's Station. A station detective contacts Koury and Meyers. They interview the kid about the Scales job.
The kid says he doesn't recall the rape and attempt rapes. He says he suffers blackouts. He snapped out of blackouts twice and found himself messing with women. He has problems with women. He's been seeing a shrink since his first bust on 3/14. He could have done things in blackouts.
The kid consents to a polygraph test. Sergeant Ben Lubon administers it.
The kid denies killing BettyJean Scales. He denies the rape and attempt rapes that the victims made him for. He says he was never at Durfee Drugs. Sergeant Lubon calls the test "inconclusive."
6/12/73:
Koury and Meyers reinterview the kid. He denies killing Betty Jean Scales. He says he was never at Durfee Drugs. Koury and Meyers press on the Scales job. The kid invokes his right to silence.
The kid remained in custody. He was convicted for his 3/14 attempt rape. His sentence: an open-ended stretch of Youth Authority time.
The Scales file was marked UNSOLVED. It was the second unsolved homicide in El Monte history. It followed another body dump by fifteen-plus years.
The victim was named Geneva Hilliker Ellroy. She was my mother.
2
It was 6/22/58. The killer dumped my mother on a road next to Arroyo High School. He may have killed her there. He may have killed her at another location. It went down early Sunday morning. The road was a local tryst spot. It met established standards for short-term concealment. Street access was good. Shrubs cut down the street view.
The killer raped her or had consensual sex with her. He strangled her with a cotton cord and her right nylon stocking. He dumped her in an ivy patch. She was fully clothed and disheveled.
SHERIFF'S HOMICIDE FILE #Z-483-362 (EL MONTE PD ASSISTING)
The cops traced her Saturday night.
She left the house at 8:oo P.M. She was alone. She drove to the Five Points strip in El Monte. She checked out Mama Mia's Pizza--"like she was looking for someone." She was seen at the Manger Bar. She was alone.
10:30 P.M. Saturday, 6/2 1/58:
My mother and a swarthy white man dine at Stan's Drive-In. They sit in his car--a '55 or '56 Olds.
11:15 P.M., 6/21/58:
My mother and the Swarthy Man hit the Desert Inn--a nightclub that caters to Okies and middle-aged drunks. A blonde woman walks in with them. The three drink, dance, and talk. They leave at midnight.
2:30A.M. Sunday, 6/22/58:
My mother and the Swarthy Man hit Stan's Drive-In again. They're alone. They sit in his car. The Swarthy Man has coffee. My mother has a late snack.
10:10A.M., 6/22/58:
Pedestrians spot my mother's body.
It's tight and local.
The house is 1.5 miles from Five Points. The pizza joint and bar are just south. Stan's Drive-In sits at the hub. The Desert Inn is seven blocks west. The dump site is 2.8 miles northwest.
My parents were divorced. I spent that weekend with my father. I didn't see my mother walk out. I didn't panic at her absence or fear that she'd never return. I was 10 years old. I didn't know the term "body dump." I did not endure a rain-prolonged deathwatch or view my mother's decomposed remains.
I was a cold little kid. I hated and lusted for my mother and went at her through postmortem surrogates. I buried her in haste and burned flames for other murdered women. My mother's death corrupted and emboldened my imagination. It liberated and constrained me concurrently. It mandated my mental curriculum. I majored in crime and minored in vivisected women. I grew up and wrote novels about the male world that sanctioned their deaths.
I ran from my mother. I put years and miles between us. I ran back to her in 1994. I was 46 years old. Fate intervened. It sparked a confrontation.
A friend called me. He said he was writing a piece on unsolved murders in the San Gabriel Valley. It would spotlight the Sheriff's Unsolved Unit. My friend would see my mother's file and know things that I didn't know.
The call announced an opportunity. I could see my mother's file.
My friend set me up on a hot blind date. I didn't know that I would take an epic fall for my mother.
I saw the file. I read the reports and saw my mother dead at Arroyo High School. It was shocking and revelatory. I knew that her death shaped my curiosity and gift for storytelling. It was long-standing knowledge. It was coldly reasoned and mockobjectified. I sensed the full weight of it now. I sensed that it carried a debt of recognition and homage. I sensed that I came out of her in a way that superseded all ties of shared blood. I sensed that I was her.
A Homicide detective showed me the file. His name was Bill Stoner. He was 53 years old and set to retire. He had thirty-two years on the Sheriff's. He broke the Cotton Club Case and the Mini-Manson Case and worked on the Night Stalker Task Force. He worked Homicide for fifteen years.
Stoner impressed me. I appraised him as he appraised me. I glimpsed a powerful and orderly intellect. I sensed that he balanced a vital compassion against strict levies of judgment. I sensed that he could teach me things.
Stoner retired from active duty. He remained on the Sheriff's reserve force and retained his full cop status.
I decided to reinvestigate my mother's homicide. I asked Stoner to help me. He agreed.
The investigation spanned fifteen months. I stayed in L.A. and worked with Stoner full-time.
We studied every paper scrap in the file. We contacted the surviving witnesses. We hypothetically reconstructed my mother's final movements io,ooo times. We installed a toll-free tip line and logged hundreds of worthless tips. We stalked the Swarthy Man extrapolatively.
Was he a salesman passing through El Monte? Did he book racetrack bets at the Desert Inn? Did the Blonde work with my mother or frequent the same cocktail bars?
We extrapolated. We targeted local lifers and retoured the late '50s. We combed the San Gabriel Valley. We hit El Monte, Baldwin Park, Irwindale, Duarte, Azusa, Temple City, Covina, West Covina, and Rosemead. We stalked my mother back to Chicago and rural Wisconsin. We found people who knew her sixty years ago.
We did not find the Blonde or the Swarthy Man. We heard the oral history of bumfuck L.A. County. People told us intimate things. I mimicked Stoner's inquisitor's stance and learned when to talk and when to listen. I was a voyeur/observer with a vindictive streak in deep camouflage. Cops liked me because I knew I wasn't one of them and didn't want to be. They liked me because I loved and hated along their lines of rectitude.
Bill Stoner became my closest friend. Our commitment ran bilateral and exceeded the investigation. Our worldviews meshed and expanded to encompass two distinct visions. We discussed crime for hours running. Bill told cop stories. I described my petty-crime exploits and county-jail stints twenty years back. We laughed. We satirized macho absurdity and admitted our complicity in perpetuating it. Bill gave me things. He empiricized L.A. crime. He embellished it with great verve and let me place my mother in context.
We talked about her. We did not defer to her status as a murder victim or my mother. We bluntly discussed her alcoholism and bent for cheap men. We followed the evidentiary track of her life and charted the detours. We shared a genderwide and wholly idealized crush on women. We were indictable coconspirators in the court of murder-victim preference. Bill reveled in the luxury of a sustained investigation with a probable dead suspect
and negative outcome. It let him live with the victim and explore her life and honor her at leisure.
The investigation faded out. The Swarthy Man became less relevant. We targeted a killer and amassed facts on his victim. I wanted to write a book and give my mother to the world. I wanted to take what I learned about her and portray my arc of recognition and love.
I wrote My Dark Places in seven months. I went at it with deliberate intention. I spilled the most sordid facts of my mother's life and did not cite mitigation. I did not want people to think that I loved her in spite of her unconsciousness and erratic and negligent acts. I wanted people to know that I loved her because of them--and that my debt of gratitude derived from the fact that she was precisely who she was--and that the specific components of her ambiguously defined psyche and her sexual hold on me all contributed to shape and save my life.
My Dark Places was a best-seller and a critical success. I booktoured in America and Europe. Bill Stoner joined me in France and L.A. We took camera crews to El Monte. We showed them Arroyo High and the spots where the Desert Inn and Stan's Drive-In stood. I summarized my mother's story 6,ooo times. I reduced it to comprehensible sound bites. I gave her to the world in a spirit of passion and joy.
The book sparked a string of worthless tips. Bill checked them out. I went home to Kansas City and researched my next novel.
My mother stayed with me. She stormed my heart at unpredictable times. I welcomed her insistent presence.
I couldn't give My Dark Places up. I didn't want to give it up. I toured for the paperback edition. I gave more readings and more interviews and took my mother public again. I told her story with undiminished passion. The repetition did not wear me down. I went home wanting more. I went home wanting something new and altogether familiar.
I missed Bill.
I missed the law-enforcement world and my observer role.
I missed El Monte.
