My Dark Places - James Ellroy [101]
They drove back to Stan’s. Lavonne Chambers served them again. Jean was half-drunk and lighthearted. The Swarthy Man was horny and pissed off at her. He knew this secluded road by Arroyo High School.
They finished their snack. The Swarthy Man suggested a drive. Jean said okay. The Swarthy Man drove her straight here and demanded some cunt.
Jean said no. A verbal fight ensued. The Swarthy Man hit Jean in the head five or six times. He used his fists or a small metal tool he had in the car.
Jean went unconscious. The Swarthy Man raped her. Lubrication explained the absence of vaginal abrasions. They necked and fondled a while back. Jean got turned on. She was still wet. The Swarthy Man made a smooth penetration. The rape itself was clumsy and frenzied. The coroner found a tampon at the rear of Jean’s vagina. The Swarthy Man’s penis jammed it down there.
Jean remained unconscious. The Swarthy Man got his rocks off and panicked. He was stuck in his car with an unconscious woman. She could ID him and nail him on a rape charge. He decided to kill her.
He had a sash cord in his car. He wrapped it around Jean’s neck and strangled her. The cord broke. He pulled off Jean’s left stocking and strangled her with it. He hauled her body out of the car and dumped it in the ivy. He got out of the area fast.
I shut my eyes and replayed the whole reconstruction. I ran some graphic close-ups.
I started shaking. Stoner turned the air conditioning off.
17
My apartment came furnished. The chairs and couch were dipped in synthetic stain-repellent. The rental agency supplied bedding and cooking utensils. The previous tenant left me some bug spray and Old Spice cologne.
The rental folks installed a telephone. I hooked up an answering machine. The pad was low-class by my current standards. The living room and bedroom were small. The walls were blank white. I rented the place on a month-to-month open-end lease. I could cut out at a moment’s notice.
I moved in. I started missing Helen fast.
The place looked like a good obsession chamber. It was tightly contained and cavelike. I could close the curtains. I could turn off the lights and chase the redhead in darkness. I could buy a CD player and some music. I could listen to Rachmaninoff and Prokofiev and spin off that point where lyrical flights go discordant.
Bill’s house was twenty minutes away. Bill carried a reserve badge and a gun permit. He was working for the DA’s Office on an ad-hoc basis. They were building their case against Bob Beckett Sr. Bill had carte blanche at Sheriff’s Homicide. He had access to all the files and communications equipment. Our investigation was sanctioned by Sheriff’s Homicide. Bill would share information with the Unsolved crew. He had the Jean Ellroy file out on permanent loan. He said we had to study every scrap of paper in it.
I bought a large corkboard and nailed it to my living-room wall. I borrowed some file photos and made a collage.
I tacked up two shots of my mother in August ’57. I tacked up the evil portrait of the Swarthy Man. I wrote a question mark on a Post-it note and placed it above the three pictures. I selected five pervert mug shots and placed them below the spread.
My desk faced the display. I could look up and see my mother moving into her tailspin. I could see the final result. I could blitz my memory of her younger and softer.
Bill called me. He said I should meet him at the Sheriff’s Academy. He wanted to show me some evidence.
I drove out and met him in the parking lot. Bill said he had some fresh news.
Sergeant Jack Lawton died in 1990. Ward Hallinen was still alive and living down in San Diego County. He was 83 now. Bill talked to him. He didn’t recall the Ellroy case at all. Bill explained our situation. Hallinen got excited and told him to bring the file down. Something in it might spark his memory.
We walked to the evidence warehouse. A small office adjoined it. Three clerks