Destination by James Ellroy Page A

gig. It was a parked-car caper. It featured a Hami girl and a boy. The girl was topless. Her name was in Stephanie’s address book. The caper was Mickey Mouse. They cleared the boy.
    â€œHarvey the Confessor” confessed. Harvey was habitual. He showed up at West L.A. Station. He copped to the Gorman job. The cops heard his jive confession. The cops cut him loose.
    Fall ’65 dragged on. They checked out the Standard Club. It was in Cheviot Hills. It was mid-upscale Jewish. The Gormans partied there. Maybe some freak saw Stephanie there. Maybe his hard-on commenced there. Maybe Stephanie flipped his freak switch.
    They did 122 interviews. They ran gun checks concurrent. They checked 8/5/65 time cards. They logged rumors. They logged more good-girl rebop. They found some freak employees. They found some ex-cons. They looked at them close.
    They read rap sheets. They charted work histories. They charted work absences on 8/5/65. They leaned on the freaks.
    One Negro had two DUIs. Fuck him—he’s a lush. One Negro had multiple busts: burglary/ADW/check-bounce tsuris. One Negro had a stat rape bust.
    They leaned on them. They gun-checked them. They print-checked them. They cleared them both.
    They checked out snack-bar guys, pool guys, lifeguards, tennis pros. They braced a potential rape-o. He picked a girl up at the club. He invited her to a movie. He drove her to the Hollywood Hills. He tried to promote a fuck. She said no fuck. He drove her home then.
    The Standard Club washed out. They ran gun checks, print checks, and show-ups with George Iwasaki. They got bupkes. They punted. They tracked obscene-phone-call reports.
    They waded in. They slid through slime. They tracked back four years. They tracked freaks who called young girls and freaks who bugged women about their daughters.
    It was ugly. Bondage themes and straight fuck themes ran equal. The callers: all male. The victim-complainants: all female.
    â€œBaby, let’s fuck.” “I want to eat your pussy.” “I heard your sister works at Kentucky Fried Chicken on Pico. Do you and your sister fuck?”
    â€œIf you don’t come across, I’ll hurt your children.” “I know you got a 19-year-old daughter. Meet me on Ventura. Wear a skirt, blouse, and no nylons, or something will happen to her.”
    This freak was typical. He calls a young girl. He says he’s a school official. He asks embarrassing questions. He tells her to take her measurements. Ditto
this
freak. He calls a Valley woman. He tells her to wear high heels and eschew underwear. He tells her to meet him at the Akron store on Sunset. The cops show. He doesn’t.
    The detectives tracked reports. They grilled known phone freaks. They cleared them. Phone freaks were tough to catch. More freaks at large.
    They dumped the phone shit—12/29/65. Cheryl Gorman got a late Christmas card. It mentioned a meeting in 7/65. The family had gone down to Coronado. Ed and Julie played bridge. Stephanie and Cheryl hit the beach.
    They met two boys. Cheryl said she was reading
The Collector.
It’s about a freak. He kidnaps a woman. He holds her hostage. She dies in captivity.
    The kids played a game. The boys tied up and untied the girls. It was brief chuckles. That was all of it.
    That was July. Cut to late December. One boy sends a Christmas card. It mentions the rope trick.
    The detectives studied the card. The detectives drove to San Diego. They found the boys. They grilled them. They polygraphed them. They cleared them.
    Adios, 1965—1966 struts in.
    1/5/66: The lab tests the south and east bedspreads for semen. The
east
bed hits positive. There’s no sperm isolate. There’s a blood-type A reaction. The result: inconclusive. The stain is near the foot of the bed. It’s near Stephanie’s death pose. The rest of the bedspread tests positive: A-type blood reaction. That marks the
specific
stain inconclusive. That means the semen could match