A real estate agent told of entering into a cattle ranch deal with Ginny, who negotiated the price down from $350,000 to $335,000. As a deposit she gave him a $50,000 personal check.
An assistant cashier from the First National Bank of Denver testified that at the time of this transaction Ginny had $32.08 in her account, and that the maximum balance for the entire life of the account had never exceeded $150. Delusions of grandeur.
A string of real estate agents testified, each one having once sold Ginny a ranch, for which he was given a deposit of a rubber check. The DA had arranged their appearances in descending order of the real estate value involved, from a $350,000 ranch to a four-acre rancho at $36,500. Finally he called a butcher who had sold Ginny a quarter steer, cut and wrapped for the freezer, and he still had the check, which had come back stamped insufficient funds.
Agents and collectors, landlords and tradesmen, ex-husbands and lovers, all testified to the failure of Ginny to give truth to her dreams.
What’s it for, Ginny? asked Beef in his solitude. The emptiness seemed far from its end. With a gravity of half the world, he read on, each tale sadder than the preceding one.
And to urge them to let her live? Only Ginny herself, her son, and Harold Buddusky.
At first both Sally Ryan and Gordon were against having Beef back to testify for Ginny. The testimony of a convicted felon and perjurer could not endear her to the jury. But Ginny insisted they ask him, and Beef readily agreed.
Beef read in the transcript his own feeble words of praise for her: that she took him in when he was down and out, that she fed him and gave him money and found him a job, that she made him belong and for the few months he knew her he was not lonely, and the finest gift anyone ever gave another was to take away his loneliness. For this much humanity alone, she deserved to live, Beef in his stumbling way tried to tell the jury, but they looked at him as though his own loneliness was not an issue in the case.
As he was led away from the stand Ginny whispered, “Thanks, Bomba.” She suddenly looked so much older.
He nodded to her and was quickly taken out of the courtroom and to Orison. That was the last time he saw her, so different from the first.
In the falling dusk of his rented room he read Gordon’s testimony. She was a good mother, he said. Granted she was over-possessive, granted she was jealous to a fault, she was still a good mother. She had had a hard and empty life, with grand desires and no achievements, except for one: her son, the only bright light in a frustrating life. “Can you put a mother to death for loving a son too much?” he asked the jury.
Beef floated in a bottomless melancholy, knowing that they would.
He could read no further. He went to bed. He must have been too loud, because the landlady rapped solidly on the door and said in her landlady’s suspicious voice, “Who’s in there? Who’s in there?”
“A crying fool,” answered Beef Buddusky.
FIVE
With arrangements made by Ferguson, Beef was able to interview Martin Lowell, who said (after a promise from Beef that he would not repeat it to the DA) that he believed no one would ever go to the chamber for killing Maria, and Ronnie Fischer, who asked him, “Bomba, what’s the big deal? Why are you bothering with all this?”
“Morbid curiosity, I guess.”
“Well, it’s your life.”
“Not until I get this settled. Now, Goose said three or four times something about Maria was a witch. I remember Rudy saying the same thing. Do you?”
“I don’t recall now.”
“I read their confessions in the transcript. I’m sure they said witch. Do you know anything about Mex’s? I mean, do they believe in witches?”
“I know a lot of them have some funny superstitions, but I don’t know about witches.”
“If they really do believe in witches, and if they thought they were taking a job to kill a witch, don’t you think that makes it a whole other thing? I was always bothered by them killing another Mexican. It never seemed right to me somehow. Now, if they thought she was a witch...”
“I’m not going to lose any sleep about it, Bomba.”
“What I can’t figure out is how they thought she was a witch. Ginny called Maria lots of names, but she never called her a witch.”
“She used to call her a bitch,” said Fischer.
“She did!” said Beef, rising out of his seat and pacing the office. “All the time! Hey, Fischer, when she and Mrs. Lister saw Barrajas the first time, Ginny probably said she wanted some help to kill a bitch. Barrajas has trouble with English. What if he told the boys the job was to get rid of a witch? Man, that’s a whole other thing.”
“You’re only gonna give yourself grief, Bomba.”
“There might be some of those extenuating circumstances or something here.”
“It’s crazy, pal, drop it.”
Beef paced back and forth. He made some notations in his notebook and underlined them several times.
“I don’t know,” said Beef. “This Montalvo is supposed to be a very religious guy.”
“There’s nothing like murdering someone to bring you closer to Christ,” said Fischer.
“But for all this time he’s been talking about his conversion. He says he ain’t afraid of the chamber.”
“Good for him.”
“You don’t think he’s sincere?”
“I’ve seen too many punks give their heart to Jesus. Once their ass is out of hot water they take it back again pretty quick.”
“Do you think they’ll really get the chamber?”
“The boys will. Ginny Mom will beat it.”
“How do you figure?”
“You never get gas for murder. You get it for a lot of little things. These kids are dumb pachucos, conned into things all their lives. They’re conned into buying cars they can’t afford, they’re conned into using drugs they can’t handle, they’re conned into committing crimes beyond their smarts. Mrs. Wynn conned them into murder, I conned them into confessions, their lawyers conned them into copping pleas. Society wants retribution against these kids, but not just because they murdered someone. They want retribution because of how they murdered someone. They don’t like the premeditation, the brutality. They don’t like the idea of Maria being buried alive carrying an unborn little girl. They don’t like their motive for doing it and they’d like to see a lot more remorse from them. Most of all, what they’re going to execute them for is their goddamn stupidity. They’re so stupid they’re dangerous.”
“What about Ginny Mom?”
“Well, there are a lot of little things that people would like to see her die for. Maria was young and pretty and innocent, for one.” Fischer started counting on his fingers. “Add to that her rejection of her unborn grandchild, her disregard for the sanctity of marriage, her not letting the young people live their own lives. It didn’t help her either to smile when she was told that Maria’s body was found.”
“She smiled?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Sounds bad,” said Beef.
“Now, she’s just another old lady who believes she inherits the earth. Old ladies have this thing about believing they are entitled to incredible considerations and privileges. You don’t execute an old lady, because...well, because she’s an old lady.”
“She ain’t that old,” said Beef.
“The culprits are the two boys. They should have been smart enough to say no. That’s why they’re gonna kill them. After all, every other little old lady on the block wants someone murdered. We all know that, we just don’t listen to them. Ginny Mom will beat it.”
Beef went back to the district attorney’s office. He had to ask him about his witch concept.
“Mr. Ferguson, do you remember anywhere where the two boys said they thought they were killing a witch?”
“A witch?”
“Yeah.”
“I really think you should relax.”
“They both said they thought they
were killing a witch. I figure somewhere along the line the word ‘bitch’ became ‘witch.’ Now, if they got some kind of superstition against witches, wouldn’t that make it a whole other thing? Wouldn’t that be extenuating circumstances?”
“Look, son, why don’t you just forget the whole thing? Get it out of your mind and work on advancing yourself. This is going to make an old man out of you, the way you’re going.”
“Well, I don’t mind, as long as it’s worth it. I got to find out why they did it. I’m a psychology student.”
“They did it for money, son.”
“Not good enough. Folks think I was in on the annulment for money, but I wasn’t.”
Ferguson smiled at him. “Well, I suppose you have to do what you have to do.”
“Tell me, sir, why weren’t they all tried together? Why did they each have to go through a separate trial, since they were in it together?”
Ferguson actually chuckled. “I’ll tell you a secret. If they had been tried together, they could have got away with murder, just by refusing to testify.”
“I thought they never stood a chance.”
“Without the testimonies of the two boys they could have made it scot-free.”
“How?”
“I had a lot of circumstantial evidence. I was going to prosecute Barrajas as an accessory, but had to make a deal with him to get his testimony. The testimony of Mrs. Lister would have tolerated no cross-examination, and you were still at large. In short, I had a weak case or no case at all without the testimonies of Rudy and Yanez. I could use their confessions and their testimonies before the grand jury, which would have been admissible hearsay and potent evidence to convict them, but no jury would have convicted the killers if they had to let the driving force behind the conspiracy go free, and they would have had to let her go. The court probably would have instructed them to.
“I was being forced into making a deal with the boys, giving them life sentences in exchange for their testimonies, which I needed to convict Ginny Wynn. But no jury would sentence her to death if they knew the actual murderers were promised life sentences. It was a sticky situation for me. It looked as though the best I could get would be life sentences.”
“But then why...?”
“Montalvo had been building himself as a sincere convert to Christ. He figured he was young, good-looking... like everybody’s paper boy. He was convinced that if he threw himself on the mercy of a jury he could draw a relatively light sentence. He didn’t want to be judged alongside of his pal Yanez, who he knew would come off in an unsympathetic light. So he wanted a separate trial and of course Yanez had to go along with it. Their big mistake was in their resentment of Ginny. They wanted her to go to prison. They didn’t mind serving some time themselves, but they wanted to make sure she served as much. So they made a deal for separate trials in exchange for guilty pleas and testimonies. That hung the three of them.”
“You did that, knowing...”
“My job was to make sure they got the stiffest punishment possible.”
“Well, how does that make you feel?”
“Fine.”
“I mean, psychologically, doesn’t it...”
Ferguson laughed. “It’s been nice talking to you, Mr. Buddusky, but I really have things to do.” He stopped Beef before he could leave the office and said, “You want to dabble in psychology?” He went to a file cabinet. He opened a drawer and took out a fat Manila envelope. “Read these. These are letters I got while the case had national publicity. They’ll give you something to work on.”
Beef took the envelope.
“You be sure to return this,” said Ferguson. “Sometimes I like to remind myself of who’s out there.”
J.B.S. from Oregon sent the district attorney a scroll on which Psalm 1 was printed in Gothic letters. J.B.S. had written, “Give her the gas chamber for there is where she should go! Don’t ever let her free to kill once again!”
Montgomery W. Douglas wrote on yellow legal paper from Jackson Heights, New York, to put his finger on the real cause of this murder. “What can you expect from one who was trained in the Roman Catholic Church?”
Mrs. Clapton, a student of criminal types, wrote from Newport News to say, “When the news of this dastardly crime was first known to the public and Gordie Wynn’s picture first appeared in our paper, I studied it and I remarked to my family, do not like his appearance and before this thing is over and done with, I believe he will be drawn into it in some way.’ I watched him on TV and I was amazed at his manner and almost arrogant attitude. Not once did I detect any emotion of sadness in his manner or voice as he talked of the disappearance and death of his wife, the girl whom he said he loved. He was in on it, mark my words. Don’t let him get away!” she pleaded.
From Haynesville, Louisiana, Betty Weldon wrote, “This is my first such letter, but this case is so close ‘to home’ with me. I had plenty just such to contend with, and was persecuted almost to death by a most jealous mother-in-law, and then to my face she was so sweet the sugar melted in her mouth.
“No, Gordie did not love his wife, for if he had then he would have told his mother where to head in. I had the same thing, and this man never told his mother what was what either. He yo-yoed back and forth for about forty years. I was a fool to put up with it like I did, and now that the mother is gone there are two old maid sisters who keep the yo-yo going. Isn’t life a struggle?”
An old lady living on $85 a month Social Security wrote from Kansas City, “This is a lonely Sunday. I have spent so much for newspapers following the Wynn trial that I can’t afford a bus ride, so I am writing to thank you for the outcome of the trial, and I hope no new trial is granted her. Everybody realizes what was going on between her and her son, even tho I’m sure it started when he was just a kid, still he could have put a stop to it when he got grown if he really wanted to. He should be sent to the gas chamber right along with his wicked mother and the two rats that done the actual killing and that crazy Bomba the Jungle Boy. Yours for a speedy execution, Angel Matteson.”
Beef tugged hard at his chin.
Not all the mail came from proponents of capital punishment, however. A dissident from Los Angeles wrote, “Always before I’ve felt some compassion for criminals and murderers. Always I’ve hated capital punishment. My own worst enemies I leave to God, and I’ve some dillies, but Mrs. Wynn I can’t take. There’s something here worse than gore and wanton slaying. She can’t be explained as almost every other criminal and human, nor excused. It isn’t even that she appears in love with her son. Maybe it’s evil, just plain evil, not as rare as we thought.
“Worse, or darn near it, is Gordie Wynn. The contempt I have for this one is overpowering. He acts like the most spineless, stupid, shallow and moronic creature ever born. That’s my honest impression and I almost prefer him in the gas chamber. Any man so helpless and thoughtless to a girl as he, saying it kindly, should be a girl himself.”
Beef read the last thought again and again, since this Solomon justice applied to him as well as to Gordon. He too had been so helpless and thoughtless to that girl, and to another girl. For it, he should be a girl himself.
The disconcerting thing was that no matter who was out there, no matter their spelling and grammar, their love of underlinings and quotation marks and exclamation points, no matter even their irrationality and the fact that you sometimes had to laugh at them, they were in you too. And .none of them, thought Beef Buddusky, wanted to believe for a moment that Ginny Wynn was in them as well.
They’re all over, thought Beef, out there, and there is a lot of Ginny Wynn in a few, and a little Ginny Wynn in all. Is that why he wanted her to live? Then why did they want her to die, those thousands of legal, moral, and psychological opinioners, steeped in TV, Official Detective, and National Enquirer, who “...had a husband like that,” who “...have a mother-in-law like that,” who gasp in the solitude of their parlors and shake in their kimonos, who take up a stubby and chewed pencil
and root through their kitchen drawers until they find a postcard, to cram onto it the benefit of their experience for a district attorney they imagine will be grateful:
Dear Sir,
Gordon Wynn, flatfoot, is a pronounced case of a male? with Oepipus Complex. The kinsey report overlooked this angle. My years of observation and close experience with this type of psychastenians possessed with the desire of sex consummation with closest blood relative—is more prevalent than is publicized; such as a mothers? desire for her son’s frigging, or a desire for a father? to sleep with his daughter, or a brothers unnatural love for his sister and vice versa. There will be a dearth of numskull reports by psychiatrist, psychoanalysts, psychologists, etc. in this case —but the simple fact is Mrs. Wynn’s obsessed desire for her son’s sexual love—period.
Another student of psychology, like Beef Buddusky. He probably had as many lists as Beef himself.
Beef read every letter, flinching when someone mentioned him and his share of the guilt. By the time he finished and rose from his table, his mouth was full of canker sores, sending shocks of pain to his ears and his throat.
SIX
Beef continued to roof houses, mechanically. He now worked only enough to pay for his few needs. He was humorless and his body stayed pale. The truth of his life existed in the commission of a single criminal act, to which he was losing himself entirely. A chance remark about Mexico would send him there, trying to see her as a child, a student, and eventually the images would lead to Maria as a decomposed corpse. He overheard some weekend gardener say, “The ground is very hard,” and he was with her killers taking turns at clawing the ground like dogs, strangling her as they rested.
He wrote letters to both Montalvo and Yanez, exploring his theory that they might have thought they were executing a witch. They did not reply. He wrote their lawyers. He did not hear from them either. He took to hanging around Mexican bars, in violation of his parole, asking individual patrons about their fear of or belief in witches.
The Accomplice: The Stairway Press Edition Page 22