My mother drank Early Times bourbon. She f.u.c.ked cheap men and cut them off if they cloyed or messed with her solitude. She got pregnant in '39 and aborted herself. She rammed literacy and the Lutheran Church down my throat and made me grateful as a middle-aged man.

Betty fell into things. My mother hid out in El Monte. She lived out the dreams and crazy expectations that drive bright and beautiful women. Betty hid out in El Monte. It was a good place to live the lie that life was hunky-dory.

Two Jeans.

My mother went to nursing school and shortened Geneva to Jean. She was 19. It was 1934.

She could shoot men down with stern words or a look. She wanted s.e.x on her own sweet and unconscious terms. She knew how to say no.

She said yes, no, or maybe that night. She didn't sense danger. She could have walked away from the drive-in. She had options that Betty Jean didn't. Her unconsciousness made her pa.s.sively complicit. Betty Jean went to the drugstore and bought baby food. Her life ended nineteen years short of my mother's.

I wanted to find the piece of slit who killed her and f.u.c.k him for it.

Bill called first thing in the morning. He said he just got off the phone. He talked to Tom Armstrong, Joe Walker, and Lee Koury.

They traced the kid. He was serving three-to-life. He got out on parole in '75. He stayed out two years and went down behind a fresh rape.

AND:.

Koury said the kid almost confessed to the killing. He almost gave it up at his polygraph test. He said, "My dad's got heart trouble. This would really kill him."

II.

4.

I replayed the words from L.A. to Fresno. Koury and Meyers made the kid for the Scales snuff. The kid was 42 now. He was locked down at the California Men's Colony. He fell behind a kidnap-rape in Bakersfield. Tom Armstrong just received a full report.

Bakersfield was a hundred miles from Fresno. Bill was from Fresno. Betty Jean's parents lived in Fresno.

We drove up in Bill's car. We took Bill's father along. Angus Stoner was 86. He knew Kern County. Kern County was all new to me.

Dirt fields and shack towns. Wind and dust and a big flat sky.

Angus supplied travel notes. He identified orchards and harvesting contraptions. He talked up his hobo adventures, circa 1930.

He picked walnuts and grapes. He slept in boxcars. He poured the pork to numerous women. He cut a wide indigent swath. Butch queers rode the rails then. They dogged his handsome a.s.s. He kicked their a.s.ses good.

Bill and I laughed. Bill called Kern County "El Monte North." I called it "Dogd.i.c.k, Egypt." We were white-trash postgrads. Disorder and poverty scared us. We trashed it with postgrad license. We were like blacks calling each other "n.i.g.g.e.r."

The kid did Youth Authority time, and he got paroled. He split the San Gabriel Valley. He pulled a postgrad rape here in Kern County.

We hit Fresno at dinnertime. It was too late to hit Betty's parents. We booked three hotel rooms and ate at a chain coffee shop. Angus reprised his travelogue. I drifted in and out of it. I had the kid in my brain-sights.

Bud Bedford lived in a trailer park between two freeway ramps. His trailer was small and dirty inside and out.

He lived with his long-term girlfriend and a small, bug-eyed dog. The dog perched on his wife's lap and showed Bill his teeth. He stared at Bill and sustained a low growl throughout the whole interview.

Bill and I flanked Bud Bedford. Bill laid out the investigation and emphatically cleared Betty's husband. Bud Bedford stared at a neutral point between us. He sucked on a cigar stub and took the smoke in deep. His girlfriend stared at him. The dog stared at Bill.

Bedford was seventy-something. His hands twitched. His face twitched. He looked frail and nihilistically inclined. A good blast of cigar smoke could debilitate or kill him.

He did not react to Bill's pitch in any discernible manner.

I said, "Tell me about BettyJean."

Bedford said, "She was a good girl and a good mother."

I said, "What else can you tell us?"

Bedford said, "She shouldn't have got mixed up with Bill Scales."

I backed off. My questions were taking me nowhere. I wanted perceptive or pa.s.sionate answers. I wanted to know if Betty Jean still lived in her father's mind and if he fought to keep her there.

Bill took over. He asked specific questions and let Bedford ramble. I listened for signs of fatherly love in the mix.

He broke up with Betty's mom when Betty was 8 or 9. They fought some custody battles. She got Betty first. He got her second. Bill Scales married her. Bill was plain no-good. He was scared that Bud would get custody of the kids he had with Betty. He hid them with his sister so Bud couldn't see them. Bud hired a private eye. He wanted to get the goods on Bill Scales. The P.I. infiltrated a bike gang Scales allegedly rode with. Bud paid him $500. The guy took his money and never turned up s.h.i.t.

Scales was no outlaw biker He was an amateur motorcycle racer.

The monologue winded Bedford. His voice broke a few times. I didn't know if he was fighting emotion or exhaustion. I didn't know if he was reliving the loss of his daughter or the weight of his hardscrabble years.

I didn't bring up my murder story. I tried to get some empathy going with Betty Jean's daughter and got nowhere. That interview went nowhere. I didn't want a repeat here.

Bud Bedford hated Bill Scales. It felt like a property beef. He ceded his daughter to the man who he thought killed her or let her die. Ownership infractions. Bud set Betty up in her own pad and cut off the rent when he caught her in bed with some guy. Bill Scales a.s.sumed ownership then.

Bill got out his mouth swabs and explained the procedure. Bud Bedford put his cigar down and rinsed his mouth with water. He took a swab and ran it-all over his gums.

I thanked the Bedfords and walked to the door. The dog growled at me.

Betty's mother was named Lavada Emogene Nella. She lived in a board-and-care home in middle-cla.s.s Fresno.

Bill called ahead. Mrs. Nella and her companion met us. We sat down in the dayroom. Old people on walkers pushed by.

Mrs. Nella was attractive and perfectly groomed. She was young and fit by rest-home standards.

Her eyes darted and latched onto fixed targets and went blank while she retained eye contact.

I said, "Tell me about Betty Jean."

Mrs. Nella called her daughter a "chatterbox" and a "homebody" and a "sweet-natured girl" who "only wanted to be a good wife and mother." Things tended to confuse Betty Jean. She was outgoing and shy at the same time. She relied on other folks to make her decisions.

Bill mentioned Betty's marriage. Mrs. Nella said it was difficult. Bill Scales was cold and dictatorial.

Bill mentioned physical abuse. Betty Jean's daughter described her dad as hard and domineering. That accusation dominated her interview.

Mrs. Nella said no. Bill Scales didn't need to hit. He had Betty under his thumb without resorting to violent behavior. He controlled Betty with his knowledge of how much she loved him.

I said, "He didn't kill her."

Mrs. Nella said, "Oh, I knew that. The police cleared him back when it happened."

Bill said we had a hot suspect now. We might be able to close the case officially.

Mrs. Nella lit up. Her eyes slipped into focus.

Her companion showed me some press clippings. I read an L.A. Times piece from March '73. It described the escalating murder rate in El Monte. The ironic postscript: The Scales case was the first unsolved murder since "Jean Elroy in 1956."

They misspelled my mother's name. They got the year of her death wrong. It p.i.s.sed me off more than it should have.

Mrs. Nella gave us a cell sc.r.a.ping. She said she never got to say good-bye to Betty. The police said she was too far decomposed.

We drove back to El Monte. Tom Armstrong got the file from the Bakersfield PD and let us read through it.

The kid's name was Robert Leroy Polete Jr. His last name was p.r.o.nounced Po-lay. He married Vonnie in April '76. He entered the United States Navy in September '76. He completed basic training. He was a.s.signed to the Naval Air Station in Lemoore, California. Lemoore is near Bakersfield and Fresno.

Polete was arrested on 2/8/7 7. The charges: FELONY, IN FOUR COUNTS, TO WIT: RAPE, 261 PC/KIDNAPPING, 209 PC/ROBBERY, 211 PC/ORAL COPULATION, 288A PC.

2/4/77:.

Polete leaves Lemoore air station. His intention: to visit his wife in Hacienda Heights. Hacienda Heights is in the San Gabriel Valley.

Polete has $5. It won't get him out of Kern County. He buys a $4 bus ticket. He lands in Bakersfield at 8:25 P.M.

He doesn't know what to do. He wants to see his wife. She's about to be evicted from her apartment. He's nursing a grudge. The navy should have stationed him down in L.A.

Polete walks around the bus depot. He contemplates a purse s.n.a.t.c.h and rejects the notion. If he grabs a purse in the depot and buys a ticket south, the cops will bust him right here.

He leaves the depot. He walks by the Pacific Telephone Building. He spots a woman. He follows her to a '74 Honda Civic.

The woman gets in the car and pulls out. The driver's-side door is unlatched. Polete opens it. He places a knife against the woman's neck and says, "Move over or you're dead."

The victim says, "You can have my car if you let me out." Polete says, "Don't give me any lip." The victim slides into the pa.s.senger seat.

Polete drives a short distance northwest. He pulls into a parking lot and stops the car. He tells the victim to crawl into the backseat and undress.

The victim complies. Polete tells her to lie on her stomach. The victim complies. Polete ties her hands behind her back. He uses her bra, her panties, and a swimsuit top.

Polete orders the victim to turn over and sit up. She complies. Polete gets into the backseat. He kisses her and fondles her genitalia. He sticks two fingers in her v.a.g.i.n.a and sticks the same two fingers in her mouth.

He orally copulates the victim. He rapes her. He wipes his p.e.n.i.s with the victim's clothing.

He goes through her purse. He finds $7 in change. He says, "You sure are rich." The victim says she's got another $6 in bills.

Polete steals the money. He drives to a dark field off the Rosedale Highway. He marches the victim sixty-five yards in and orders her to sit down. The victim complies. Polete scatters her clothes out of sight.

He tells the victim not to leave for ten minutes. He says, "I know where to find you." He tells the victim not to call the cops-- because he's got her ID and he's got friends who'll get her if anything happens to him. He says he'll drop the car off in Fresno. If anything happens to him or the car, his insurance will take care of it. He says, "I'm sorry, but I had to do this. I've been treated badly."

Polete drives off. The victim finds her clothes and walks to a gas station. She calls her father. Her father calls the Bakersfield PD and reports the incident.

Polete drives to Hacienda Heights. He spends the weekend with his wife. He returns to Lemoore air station early Sunday night.

Tuesday, 2/8/77: Polete calls the victim's mother--collect. He uses the phone in his office.

The victim's mother does not accept the call. Polete gives her a call-back number and ID's himself as "Security Officer Johnson." He says he has information on her daughter's car.

Polete hangs up. The victim's mother calls the victim. The victim calls the Bakersfield PD. She talks to DetectiveJ. D.Jackson. She says a "Security Officer Johnson" called her mother. The man implied her car was somewhere at Lemoore air station. He left a number: (209) 998-9827. - Detective Jackson calls the number. Polete answers. Jackson asks him about the car. Polete says Johnson is handling it. Jackson says he'd like to talk to him. Polete says Johnson is out. Jackson tells him to secure the car. Polete says he will.

Jackson talks to his supervisor. They've got a lead on the missing car in the 2/4 rape. The supervisor calls Lemoore. He contacts the chief of security. The chief tells him that Airman R. L. Polete told him the following story: Polete was. .h.i.tching back to the station last Sunday night. A man in a Honda Civic picked him up. The man pulled a knife. He told Polete that he stole the car from a woman in Bakersfield. He told him to call her on Tuesday and make sure she got the car.

Polete balked. The man gave him a phone number for the woman's mother. The man stole Polete's ID papers. They showed his address in Hacienda Heights. The man said he'd better comply--or his wife would have problems.

Detective Jackson and Detective J. L. Wheldon drove to Lemoore. They questioned Airman Polete. He strongly resembled their victim's description. Polete told them his. .h.i.tchhiking story. Jackson and Wheldon poked holes in it. They read Polete his Miranda rights. Polete started sobbing. He said he stole the Honda. He described the events preceding the theft.

From the Bakersfield PD report: Polete said he had to see his wife. He needed bus fare. He was stuck in Bakersfield. He figured he'd s.n.a.t.c.h a purse.

He saw this girl. He pulled his knife and jumped into her car. He stated his intention: to drop her off someplace safe and split with the car.

He drove off. Polete said the girl came on to him. She rubbed his leg up near his crotch. He said, "Don't do that, I'm married-- all I want is the car."

The girl said, "If you're going to take the car, you might as well take everything." She groped him again. She said, "Let's pull over somewhere--get in the backseat and do it."

Polete said he'd do it--"if she promised to leave him alone." The girl got in the backseat and took all her clothes off. They drove to a dark field.

The girl pulled him into the backseat. She started kissing him. She asked him to give her some head. Polete refused. The girl said she wouldn't make hini do it.

They had intercourse. Polete got back in the front seat. The girl said, "You said you were going to leave me off somewhere. Let's go."

Polete dropped the girl off on the other side of the freeway. He found $5 on the floorboard and took it. He drove down to Hacienda Heights.

Jackson and Wheldon booked Polete on four felony counts: 261, 209, 211, and 288A. The victim viewed a mug shot spread and identified him. Jackson and Wheldon got a warrant and searched Polete's locker. They found the clothes the victim said Polete was wearing.

The prelim was held on 3/1/77. Polete was held to answer for the 261 and 209 charges.

He went to trial on 7/5/77. He pleaded guilty. His lawyer said he should. His lawyer thought he could get him tagged as an MDSO--a Mentally Disordered s.e.x Offender.

His lawyer thought he could get him some state-hospital time. His lawyer miscalculated.

The judge gave Polete the maximum sentence. Two terms prescribed by law--to run consecutively. The court transcript stated: "I think he is a serious menace to the people of this community and any other community that he would live in. I want to make sure that he doesn't get out for a long, long time."

I went through the rest of the file. Polete was denied parole in '83, '92, '93, '94, and '96.

Three to life. Two consecutive terms. Twenty years and four months inside. It was unknown why Polete was denied parole.