28

The party ended. I went home. Our segment was scheduled for 3/22/96.

Bill and I top-loaded our interviews. We stressed Airtek. We stressed my mother’s maiden name and “Jean” as short for “Geneva.” We were pros now. We talked in sound bites. We had a shot at a huge audience. We wanted to stimulate and provoke them with perfectly precise and simply stated details.

She was out there. I felt her. I spent a month in calm anticipation. I bypassed the Blonde and the Swarthy Man. She was out there. People would call and say they knew her.

Bill was back in Orange County. He was working with Joe Walker. They were gearing up for names. The show would give us an unprecedented shitload of names. Local names. Names nationwide. Informants’ names and potential Blonde and Swarthy Man names. Names to verify and run for criminal records. Names to contact and discard and scrutinize and compare to other names and dismiss from the standpoint of pure lunacy.

Names.

Her ex-lovers. Her ex-colleagues. Her ex-confidantes. The people who glimpsed her flight pattern.

Names.

Bill was ready for them. He gave Joe Walker a backup mandate.

Check official records. Follow paper trails and raid data banks. Take us from Tunnel City to El Monte.

Joe said he’d check marriage and divorce records. Bill said he’d check directory listings. He said we should go to Wisconsin. I said, Not yet. He wanted to jump my claim. I wanted to plunder our new names and reinforce it.

I watched the show at home. Bill watched it at the studio phone center. Louie Danoff joined him. They hung out with some cops from other segments.

The setup was space age. A dozen operators worked the phones and typed their tips on computer screens simultaneously. The cops could read the screens and listen to hot calls on headsets. Tipsters called fast. They saw the show. They recognized suspects. They recognized lost loved ones or old acquaintances. They called because a segment tugged their heartstrings. They called because a segment fucked with their heads.

I watched the show with Helen. The Jean Ellroy segment was boffo. It was the best show since Robbie Beckett Live. Robert Stack narrated. I saw him and laughed out loud. I caddied for him a few times at Bel-Air Country Club. The dramatic scenes were vivid. The director hit a nice balance. He understood viewer demographics. The murder was spooky and no more. It would not offend old people or shock potential tipsters unduly. I was good. Bill was good. Robert Stack stressed the Airtek connection. The proper information went out. The proper pictures of my mother and the Swarthy Man went out. The story was simply and properly told.

The phones rang.

A man from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, called. He said the Swarthy Man looked like a guy named Bob Sones. Bob murdered his wife, Sherry, and committed suicide. It was late ’58. The crime occurred in North Hollywood. A man from Centralia, Washington, called. He said his father was the Swarthy Man. His father was 6′6″ and weighed 240 pounds. His father carried a gun and lots of ammunition. A man from Savage, Minnesota, called. He said the Swarthy Man looked like his father. His father lived in El Monte back then. His father was abusive. His father served prison time. His father was a gambler and a skirt chaser. A man from Dallas, Texas, called. He said the Swarthy Man looked familiar. He looked like his neighbor a long time ago. The guy had a blond wife. He drove a blue-and-white Buick. A man from Rochester, New York, called. He said his grandfather was the Swarthy Man. Gramps lived in a nursing home. The man supplied the address and phone number. A woman from Sacramento, California, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked like a local doctor. The doctor lived with his mother. The doctor hated women. The doctor was a vegetarian. A woman from Lakeport, California, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked like her ex-husband. Her ex chased women. She didn’t know where he was now. A woman from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, called. She said her sister was murdered. She said she read a lot of crime novels. A woman from Covina, California, called. She said her sister was raped and strangled in El Monte. It happened in 1992. A man from Huntingdon Beach, California, called. He said he wanted to talk to Bill Stoner. Bill came on the line. The man hung up. A woman from Paso Robles, California, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked familiar. She met a man like that in 1957. He wanted sex. She said no. He said he wanted to kill her. He lived in Alhambra then. A man from Los Angeles, California, called. He said his grandmother knew Jean Ellroy. They were friends. His grandmother lived in Orange County.

The operator waved Bill over. Bill checked her computer screen. The operator told the man to hold please. The man hung up.

The Black Dahlia lady called. She said her father killed Jean Ellroy and the Black Dahlia. A woman from Los Angeles, California, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked like her father. Her father died in August ’58. A woman from Los Angeles, California, called. She said the Blonde looked familiar. She knew a couple in the late ’50s. The husband was Italian. The wife was blond. He worked at a missile range. She worked at a dance studio. His name was Wally. Her name was Nita. A woman from Phoenix, Arizona, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked like her dead uncle. He lived in L.A. in 1958. A woman from Pinetop, Arizona, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked like a swarthy boy that she knew. The Swarthy Boy was 16 in 1958. A woman from Saginaw, Michigan, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked like her ex-husband. Her ex vanished. She didn’t know where he was. A woman from Tucson, Arizona, called. She said she was a psychologist. She said James Ellroy was very angry. He relived his mother’s death to punish himself. He wasn’t there for her. He felt guilty. He needed treatment. A woman from Cartwright, Oklahoma, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked like her mother’s ex-husband. He raped her and tried to kill her mother. He was a devil. He was a truck driver. He drove Buicks. He picked up women and taunted her mother. She didn’t know if he was still alive. A woman from Benwood, West Virginia, called. She said a man stalked her and her brother in Los Angeles. She was six years old. The man had dark hair and good teeth. He drove a truck. He took off her clothes, fondled her and kissed her. She saw him on a TV game show several years later. It might have been the Groucho Marx show. A woman from Westminster, Maryland, called. She said the Swarthy Man looked like a man named Larry. Larry was 40 now. The Swarthy Man might be his father. A man from New Boston, Texas, called. He said his wife’s uncle moved to Texas in 1958. He looked like the Swarthy Man. He was a child molester. He died ten years ago. He was buried in Comway, Arkansas.

We tanked. We logged in jive and innuendo. The show was a family show. We logged in some family trauma. No Airtek people called. No ex-cops called. No ex-lovers, ex-colleagues or ex-confidantes called. The Wagners didn’t call. The one hot caller hung up. I felt like a pussy-whipped chump. I was stood up, cuckolded and jilted. I’m waiting by the phone. I’m waiting for a special woman or any woman to call.

The producer said we’d get more calls. Bill had all the tip sheets and callback numbers. He checked out the Bob and Sherry Sones tip. He couldn’t find a case listing. He called the woman in Paso Robles. They discussed the Swarthy Dude from Alhambra. The Swarthy Dude was too young. He couldn’t be the Swarthy Man. The tip was a dud. All our tips were duds.

More tips came in. Bill and I got tip sheets via FedEx.

A man from Alexandria, Virginia, called. He said the Swarthy Man looked like his brother. His brother was 6V and rangy. He did time at Chino State Prison. A man from Espanola, New Mexico, called. He said he lived in El Monte in 1961. The Swarthy Man looked very familiar. A woman from Jackson, Mississippi, called. She said her father killed a person in 1958. He did time at Alcatraz. He had tattoos on his right forearm and no right index finger. He tried to kill her mother. He drove a blue Chevy. The Black Dahlia lady called. She said her father killed my mother and the Black Dahlia. A woman from Virginia Beach, Virginia, called. She said she knew the Swarthy Man. He worked at the Lynn Haven Mall in Lynn Haven, Virginia.

A woman from La Puente called. Her name was Barbara Grover. She said she was Ellis Outlaw’s ex-sister-in-law. Ellis was married to Alberta Low Outlaw. Ellis and Alberta were dead. Barbara Grover was married to Alberta’s brother Reuben. He looked like the Swarthy Man. He was a drunk and a pervert. He hung out at the Desert Inn. He was murdered in L.A. in 1974.

Bill called Barbara Grover. She said Reuben hung out at Stan’s Drive-in. He had mastoid surgery once. He developed a thin jawline like that swarthy guy.

Bill met Barbara Grover in person. She said she met Reuben Low in 1951. He was 24. She was 16. He was dating her mother. He dropped her mother. He took up with her. They got married on 5/10/53. Her mother lived with them. Reuben had sex with her mother. Reuben abused them. Reuben bought cars and blew off the payments. Reuben was brutal. He tried to kill her with a beer bottle once. He liked guns and cars. He chased women. He had strange sexual tastes. He came home with scratches on his face all the time. He hated to work. He serviced vending machines sometimes. He lost the tip of his right index finger in a shop accident. She left Reuben in the early ’60s. He got killed 10 or 12 years later. He was living in South L.A. He was walking home from a liquor store. Two black kids robbed him and shanked him.

Reuben never said he killed a woman. The Outlaws never told her he did. Maybe he killed Jean Ellroy. Maybe the Outlaws knew it. Maybe they protected him.

Barbara Grover showed Bill a picture. The young Reuben Low looked like a young Swarthy Man. He looked hillbilly. He didn’t look Latin. His missing fingertip stood out.

Bill called LAPD Homicide. A friend pulled the Reuben Low file. The DOD was 1/27/74. The killers were captured and convicted.

Bill and I discussed Reuben Low. I said Margie Trawick would have known him. He was a Desert Inn habitué. He had a deformity. Bill said Hallinen and Lawton would have nailed him. They probably leaned on him and exonerated him.

We crossed him off our suspect list. He was the only motherfucker on our suspect list.

We got another tip via FedEx. A man from Somerset, California, called. His name was Dan Jones. He said he worked at Airtek in 1957. He knew my mother. He liked her. He had a picture of her.

Bill called Dan Jones. He said Jean went by “Hilliker” at Airtek. He said he left Airtek in early ’58. He never talked to the cops. He didn’t know who Jean was dating.

He gave Bill some Airtek names. Bill ran them statewide. He found eleven Airtek people in Southern California.

Dan Jones sent me four color snapshots. I time-traveled back to Christmas ’57.

The Airtek Christmas party.

Everybody was drinking. Everybody was smoking. Everybody was having a blast. My mother appeared in one photograph.

She was standing by the bar. She was wearing a white uniform and a hip-length windbreaker. I couldn’t see her face. I recognized her legs and hands. She was holding a drink and a cigarette. A man was leaning in to kiss her. His left hand was poised near her right breast.

Bill interviewed the Airtek people. Most of them remembered my mother. Bill wrote up the interviews and sent them to me. The details sent me airborne.

Airtek was Romance City. Airtek people worked hard and parried twice as hard. People came to Airtek. They caught the Airtek virus and ditched their wives and husbands. The Airtek virus was hot. It was the boogie-woogie flu. Airtek had a wife-swapping coven. Jean split Packard-Bell and came to Airtek. Ruth Schienle and Margie Stipp came too. Margie was dead now. Ruth disappeared. Jean was a beautiful lady. She drank too much. She knew it. She drank too much by Airtek standards. Airtek standards were very permissive. She drank at Julie’s Restaurant near the Coliseum. She dawdled over lunchtime drinks. Nick Zaha worked at Airtek. He had a thing going with Jean. Airtek men drank hard. Jean gave them B-I shots for their hangovers. The Airtek kids staged a wake for Jean. They played the Johnny Mathis tune “Chances Are” over and over. Jean got drunk at an Airtek party and rode a forklift platform up to the top of the main warehouse ceiling. Jean told a guy that another guy was giving her grief. She didn’t mention his name. She got killed a week later. Will Miller worked at Airtek. He was some nice guy. An Airtek guy went to Europe two weeks before the murder. Jean asked him to send her a bottle of Chanel No. 5. Jean was nice. Jean worked hard. Jean’s red hair sparkled behind three bourbon highballs.

She was sparkling now. I wanted more. We were in a parked car together. She was there under duress. I couldn’t wheedle or arouse her for more. Other people had to give it to me.

I didn’t know how to get more. Bill acted independently and showed me.

Joe Walker ran all the Hillikers in Wisconsin. He got a Leigh Hilliker in Tomah. Tomah was near Tunnel City. Bill called Leigh Hilliker. He was 84 years old. He was my mother’s first cousin. He said Leoda Wagner was dead. Ed Wagner was hospitalized in Cross Plains, Wisconsin. Jeannie Wagner was now Jeannie Wagner Beck. She lived in Avalanche, Wisconsin. She had a husband and three kids. Janet Wagner was now Janet Wagner Klock. She lived in Cross Plains. She had a husband and four kids. Leigh Hilliker knew the Ellroy-Stoner story. He saw the Day One show last year. Bill asked him if the Wagners knew. He said he didn’t know. He had their addresses and phone numbers. He didn’t stay in touch. He didn’t call them and mention the show.

Bill got Janet Klock’s number and Ed Wagner’s hospital number. He called them. He told them what we were doing. They were flabbergasted and altogether delighted. They figured I died in some L.A. gutter 15 years ago.

Uncle Ed was 80. He had congestive heart disease. Leoda died seven years back. She had cancer. Janet was 42. She was the town administrator of Cross Plains, Wisconsin. She said she had some lovely photographs. Her mother gave them to her. Aunt Jean was beautiful. She said the pictures went back to her childhood.

She said Aunt Jean was married once before. It was a very brief marriage. She was married to a young man named Spalding. He was an heir to the Spalding sporting goods fortune.

Bill called me and broke the news. I was more than stunned. Bill said we should go to Wisconsin. He stressed the family angle. I agreed to go. The family bit did not factor in to my decision. The photographs and the Spalding rumor convinced me.

It was more. It was her.