Chapter 12
Kerne Jarecki's lawyer pleaded vehemently with him, urged him to plead not guilty by virtue of insanity.
It is to Jarecki's small credit that he was adamant on this point, refused to do so. "I knew what I was doing every minute of the time," he testified. "I'm not crazy. I wanted to hurt those girls, I wanted to punish them for the rotten trash they were. It was my mission. I would have killed more of them if I could have. They were bad; they deserved to die."
When the reporters cornered him he laughed, pretended disdainful braggadocio, and said, "I guess I'll go to San Quentin. I've got this coming. I want to die. After all, they can only give me one shot of gas. There isn't anything worse they can do to me."
He blanched, stiffened slightly as one reporter gritted, "And that's the shame of the century too. I sure's hell could think of some things I'd like to do to you."
And though the state appointed psychiatrists and physicians declared that he was a sado-masochist, had always felt inferior to the opposite sex, chose this grisly way of proving himself otherwise, they nevertheless adjudged him sane, saw no reason to recommend clemency by reason of mental breakdown.
Jarecki was in the L.A. County jail infirmary for two weeks after being apprehended. And when the doctors considered him strong enough to be moved, he was installed in a cell. From which he was removed some 24 hours later, taken for a long ride. To the Anza-Borrego State Park. The judge, a convoy of reporters, police department photographers and officials escorted Jarecki all the way.
Jarecki was reported as telling one police official of his predeliction for rope: "It seems when I was a kid," he said, "I always had rope around. I was playing with it, practicing knots, twisting it, wrapping it around my arms."
Jarecki was almost proud when the police dug up the Casino grave, uncovered the evidence.
He was shaky as they reached the grave where Kitty Milford was interred. But he quickly recovered, even smiled slightly when it was discovered that scavengers had got to Kitty first. Her bones were scattered over a block wide area.
The Helen Gould grave revealed only a twisted skeleton, draped in faded, molded clothing. A large ant hill had to be torn down before the digging could begin.
The uncovery oi Anita Moreno proved to be the most grisly of all. The skeleton was found exactly where Jarecki indicated, was desert-cured, white and dry.
Jarecki's photography equipment was exhibited during his trial. As were certain of the photographs he'd taken of his unfortunate victims. There was no doubt as to the judge's verdict once these sick souvenirs were passed around.
On October 16, Jarecki was sentenced to death.
One month later, at San Quentin, the cyanide gas pellet was dropped into the acid catalyst. Observers claimed that Jarecki smiled icily throughout. At least until the gas did its ugly work.
On the day Jarecki received sentence, Terri was released from the hospital where she'd been convalescing ever since the grotesque nightmare with Jarecki had taken place. It was Matt Schaffner who came to get her, moved her to a new apartment in the Griffith Park area. Pam was there to welcome her, to be her companion and sometime nurse until the time that she was absolutely sure of what she wanted to do with her life.
Matt had been her constant companion, her most frequent visitor during the long weeks Terri had been hospitalized. Her parents had come from Waterloo, had proved more hindrance than help, had finally been sent back home. It was Matt who assumed all Terri's expenses, who constantly sent flowers, who talked to her, read to her, brought her thoughtful gifts, who had done everything in his power to keep Terri's mind from dwelling an that heathenish nightmare.
It was Matt who had finally taught Terri the true meaning of love, who had shown her what maturity can mean. It was Matt who impressed upon her the meaning of responsibility, the gravity of the debt she owed to a life that had been spared.
To Terri it had seemed as if, for the first time in her life, her eyes were truly opened. She could see her goals now, she could accept the fact that life's quieter virtues offered far, far more challenge, more adventure than any hedonistic seekings could ever approximate.
Of course, during this self realization seminar, there bad come a time when unpleasant things had to be discussed. Matt had been so kind, so patient, so gentle with her. And little by little Terri had been brave enough to tell him just what had happened previous to her marathon vilification, and the reasons she'd consented to become a nude model in the first place.
Then, as Terri had told him about the baby, she'd been vastly moved, had known the depths of quiet, abiding love, a love she'd never known had existed within her. For Matt pl-edged himself, vowed he'd spend the rest of his life making this up to her. He declared his love anew, asked her to marry him once more.
Terri had consented to become Mrs. Matt Schaffner, had been amazed to the depths of her being that this man should still want her.
She ached with loneliness when he was gone, she brightened immeasurably as his visiting time came, as she heard his eager footsteps in the tiled hall.
She flowered when he came to her, gently, ardently kissed her.
She discovered what it was to love a man. And though the doctors gave only a fifty-fifty hoped beyond hope that she would give normal birth, present Matt with the baby he wanted-she wanted-so badly.
It was time to begin living.
Even then, amidst all this happiness, all this anticipation, Matt had been magnanimous to the last. He'd urged her to take all the time she needed to decide for certain. He would not press his proposal at a time like this.
And even though she knew what her answer would be from the very moment he'd reapplied for her hand in marriage, she saw the wisdom of the waiting period, consented to it.
And after three weeks of seclusion, in San Francisco (Matt having affected a transfer from Los Angeles to this branch), in a vestry ceremony, Terri Cavan became Mrs. Matt Schaffner.
It was only a matter of the most preposterous coincidences that the date was November 16.
One life had ended.
Another had begun.