The Friday Night Club

Sunday afternoon a lineup was held with Joseph Boggs as one of six men in the lineup. Vincent Siguerra and Antonia

Pivetta were both there in hopes they would provide a positive identification. We had each man in the lineup stand facing

forward, then left and right, both with and without a baseball cap.

Each of the witnesses quickly identified Boggs as the person they had seen either at the bar or at the commune. They

each signed an affidavit swearing to that identification before leaving. Back in his cell both Jason and I tore into Boggs.

“You have been identified by two witnesses,” I began, no longer mister nice guy. “You were seen at a house party by a

young woman who accompanied Karen Dunston, the girl who was murdered by Franklin Walsh. And, you were identified by

a man who saw you sitting in the booth with the young lady who was murdered Friday night. Why don’t you begin by telling us

who she was. We’ll find out sooner or later so why not now?”

Then Jason went on the attack. “We’ve got you cold, lover boy; there’s enough evidence to hang you three times over.

So get it through your thick skull that no one will show you any mercy.”

“We’ll get you a lawyer if you can’t afford one,” I interposed, but not unless you start cooperating.”

By now Boggs was showing signs of being very fearful. He had a nervous tic in his eye that got worse as we continued

the pressure. We were sure he was going to crack and he finally did. Once he started there was no stopping him.

“Okay, okay; I’ll tell you everything I know,” he blurted out.

He then began a tale that was incredible for its depravity. He had joined together with a half dozen other young men he

met a year or so ago. All of them were marijuana users, most of them also used cocaine. They had one trait in common,

preying on young, inexperienced women; plying them with drugs and liquor and getting them to become sex slaves.

The girls, most of them just out of high school, once hooked on drugs would perform any sex act the men requested. If

they didn’t, they were beaten and drugs were withheld from them. After about three months two of the girls, Karen Dunston

and Helen Swift, rebelled and left the commune. A third girl, the last victim, sneaked out two weeks later.

One evening, several weeks later, during a drinking spree, six of the men plotted to execute the three transgressors.

They planned, in step by step detail, the three Friday night stabbings. Each of the bars was selected carefully; the instrument

to use and its purchase; how to enter and leave undetected. All of these details were care-fully plotted.

Each of them drew lots to determine who would be the executioners and kept their identities unknown to the others.

Each of the chosen three would locate one of the girls and carry out the executions in the manner planned.

Boggs identified Walsh as one of the six but didn’t know he was one of the perps. He gave us the names of the four

other plotters and described them to us. Only one was very tall and matched the description of Helen Swift’s assassin; his

name was Anthony Wister. The third victim was identified as Cynthia Healy.

We put out an APB on Wister and the three other members of the ‘Friday Night Club’ as we had begun to call them. We

also called the prosecutor’s office to have an attorney assigned to Boggs and asked headquarters to set the wheels in

motion to locate relatives of Cynthia, or a local address if there were no local relatives.

Wister and two other members of the club were apprehended within hours, the other member the next day, but tracking

down Cynthia Healy proved more difficult.

* * *

We got a big boost to our interrogation on Monday when two former commune members came forward. Charlene

Edwards and Frances Lajoie, who were room- mates, had recognized the names of the three stabbing victims as girls they

had known at the commune and had become concerned for their own safety. They told us a tale that verified many of the

horror stories Boggs had told us. They both expressed a willingness to testify even if it might throw a cloud on their

reputations.

The two admitted to being part time prostitutes and stated that the three victims had also become prostitutes after

leaving the commune. They knew for certain; all of them worked for the same pimp, whom they would not name. When we

mentioned the name of Helen Swift’s roommate they added her name to the list of prostitutes.

Once the collapse began the roof fell in completely on the three perps. Joseph Boggs and Anthony Wister were both

charged with murder one. The other three club members who helped plot the executions were charged being accessories to

murder. The trial didn’t take place until almost a year later. At that time Boggs and the three accessories were each

sentenced to a term of twenty years to life. Anthony Wister was sentenced to life with no opportunity for parole.

My partner Galen rejoined me in mid-May after six weeks of intensive treatment and physical therapy for his broken leg.

He still had a slight limp and I could tell he was still in pain. The doctors had told him he might have the limp for the rest of his

life. “Not me,” he declared. “I’ll shake this limp in less than a year.” I believed him; Galen is a very determined young man.

In late May Alex accepted my umpteenth proposal of marriage, with a condition attached. I had to take a year’s leave of

absence to get my degree in criminal investigative techniques at UC Davis. Alex would continue working and support me

while I was in school. All talk of family would be put on hold until I had my degree. And, as Alex said, we would have more

time together for the next year at least.

What better offer could a man have?

END OF STORY