My Dark Places - James Ellroy [129]
She was out walking. He drove by her and waved. He asked her if she wanted a ride. She ignored him.
She saw him about two years later. She was at the Coconino with George. LoPresti asked her to dance. She ignored him. She warned Jean Ellroy about him—right before she went out that Saturday night.
The story played ugly and true. The coda played fictitious. It sounded contrived and way too coincidental.
LoPresti was local. LoPresti was Italian. LoPresti was a nightclub predator. I closed my eyes and replayed the Puente Hills scene. I added a vintage car and period clothing. I put the Swarthy Man’s face on John LoPresti.
We had a real suspect.
We drove back to Orange County. We talked John LoPresti nonstop. John was a sex-assault bungler in 1952. Give him six years to refine his act and grow more twisted. Bill agreed. LoPresti was our first hot suspect.
The drive took 13 hours. We got back around midnight. We slept the trip off and drove to El Monte.
We hit the El Monte Museum. We checked the 1958 El Monte phone books. We found eight markets listed in the Yellow Pages.
Jay’s on Tyler. Jay’s on Central. The Bell Market on Peck Road. Crawford’s Giant Country Store on Valley. Earp’s Market and the Foodlane on Durfee. The Tyler Circle on Tyler. Fran’s Meats on Garvey.
No LoPresti Market. No listings for Italian specialty stores.
We checked the White Pages. Most of the personal listings featured parenthetical addenda. They listed occupations and wives’ first names. We turned to the L’s and hit twice.
LoPresti, John (Nancy) (Machinist)—10806 Frankmont.
LoPresti, Thomas (Rose) (Salesman)—3419 Maxson.
Frankmont was near 756 Maple. Maxson was near Stan’s Drive-in and the Desert Inn.
We drove to the Bureau. We ran all four LoPrestis through the DMV and DOJ computers. We got no hits on Thomas and Rose. We hit on John and Nancy.
Nancy had a valid California driver’s license. The printout listed a current address and her old address on Frankmont. Her DOB was 8/16/14. John lived in Duarte. I pointed to some weird numbers by his address. Bill said it was a trailer park listing. John was 69 years old. He had blue eyes. He was 6′1″ and 215 pounds.
I pointed to his height and weight. Bill pointed to his age and eye color. The cocksucker did not match the Swarthy Man’s description.
Duarte was three miles north of El Monte. The trailer park was butt-ugly. The trailers were old and weather-stripped. They were jammed together with no space between them.
We found #16 and rang the buzzer. An old man opened the door. He matched our driver’s license stats. He had blue eyes and thick features. His face exonerated him.
Bill badged him and asked him his name. The man said John LoPresti. Bill said we had some questions about an old murder. John said come on in. He didn’t twitch or cringe or shake or admit or deny his guilt.
We entered his trailer. The interior was six feet wide tops. The walls were decorated with Playboy centerfolds. They were handsomely mounted and laminated with high-gloss shellac.
John sat down in an old recliner. Bill and I sat on the bed. Bill sketched out the Jean Ellroy case. John said he didn’t recall it.
Bill said we were looking up the old El Monte crowd. We wanted to dig the late-’50s scene. We knew he was living on Frankmont.
John said that wasn’t him. That was his late uncle John and aunt Nancy. He lived in La Puente then. El Monte was his stomping grounds. His uncle Tom owned a market in El Monte. El Monte was a swinging location.
I asked him where he hung out. John said the Coconino and the Desert Inn. He went to the Playroom sometimes. It stood behind Stan’s Drive-in. They served shots of whisky for 25 cents.
Bill asked him if he’d ever been arrested. John said he got popped for drunk driving. I came on skeptical.