I asked Mrs. Krycki about my mother and men. She said Jean went out most Saturday nights. She never brought men home. She never bragged about men. She never talked about men at all. I asked Mrs. Krycki about my mother and liquor. She contradicted all her old statements.
George smelled liquor on Jean’s breath one day. He found two empty bottles in the bushes outside. Jean brought bottles home in brown paper bags. Jean looked tired most of the time. They suspected that Jean was quite a heavy drinker.
Mrs. Krycki stopped talking. I looked directly at her and nodded. She ran a fast free-form riff.
Jean had a deformed nipple. She saw Jean’s body at the morgue. They had her under a sheet. Her feet stuck out. She recognized them. Jean always walked around the yard barefoot. The cops ran up her phone bill. They never offered to pay for their calls.
Mrs. Krycki stopped talking. Bill eased her through 6/21 and 6/22/58. Her account matched our Blue Book reports.
Mr. Krycki walked in. Bill asked him to recount those two days. Mr. Krycki told the same basic story. I asked him to describe my mother. He said she was a good-looking woman. She wasn’t the El Monte type. Anna May knew her better than he did.
Mr. Krycki looked uncomfortable. Bill smiled and told him we were fresh out of questions. Mr. Krycki smiled and walked outside.
Mrs. Krycki said there was one thing she never told the cops.
I nodded. Bill nodded. Mrs. Krycki started talking.
It happened around ’52. She was living on Ferris Road in El Monte. Gaylord was six or seven. She was separated from her first husband.
She shopped at a market nearby. A family named LoPresti owned it. This box boy played cupid with her. He said his uncle John wanted to take her out real bad. John LoPresti was about 30 then. He was tall. He had dark hair and an olive complexion.
She went out with him. He took her to the Coconino Club. They danced. He was a good dancer. He was “smooth and calculating.”
They left the Coconino. They drove out to the Puente Hills. LoPresti stopped the car and made some very fresh moves. She told him to stop. He slapped her. She got out of the car. He grabbed her and shoved her in the backseat.
He pulled at her clothes. She resisted him. He climaxed and wiped his pants off with a handkerchief. He said, “You’ve got mustard” and “You’ve got nothing to worry about now.” He drove her home. He didn’t touch her again. She didn’t call the cops. She was embroiled in a custody fight with her ex. She didn’t want to raise a stink and tarnish her reputation. She saw LoPresti two more times.
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
