Jane Howatt
True Crime Writer
My life as a housewife and mother was ready for a change. The boys were eight and ten, and my husband was devoted to his career as a physician. The time had come for me to follow my dream and write.
The journey took an unexpected turn one morning when I read a newspaper article about how Detective John “Jigsaw” St. John had just won a medal for solving a major murder case. Here was the story I wanted to write. After several phone calls, he finally agreed to meet me.
For the next thirteen years, he led me into a world I imagined existed only in crime novels: dingy motels, scary crime scenes, startling autopsies, and maximum-security prisons. Along the way, I grew to know and be fascinated by not just murder business, but a man whose compassion for victims, passion for justice, and unmatched sleuthing ability earned him the LAPD’s Badge Number One.
The Cop & Me
Detective John St. John was a nationally recognized serial murder expert. He not only solved over one-thousand murders but also worked on twelve serial murders, including the Trash Bag Murders, the Freeway Killer, the Elderly Women murders, and was one of the original detectives on the Black Dahlia case. When we met, I was a neophyte writer, a woman half his age who’d never seen a dead body. Slowly, as I earned his trust, he led me into Dante’s Inferno, where I learned much more about life than death. Both of us were forever changed.
The Killers & Their Victims
They were young adults with their lives still ahead of them. Steven was sixteen, Tracey was fifteen, and Shari was twenty-one. John took me to each of their crime scenes, introduced me to mothers whose stories I chronicled, and the District Attorneys who prosecuted the Bill Bonin and Bill Bradford cases.
Blog
Best Man in a Bow Tie
The detective who worked with John on the Bradford case – a hard-working, diligent, bachelor –finally found the girl of his dreams,...
Last Days in Florence
The night before Jim and I departed Florence, I reminisced about our two-week adventure by reviewing photos wondering why my heart beat a little faster with some and why I wasted camera space with others. Why did I dig into my purse for photos of a construction site and only one of two monks conversing in Santa Maria Novella?
From a Turtle Poem to True Crime: A Writer’s Journey
My love affair with books began before I could walk. The best part of the day was when my father would read to me. He’d help me turn the pages of a cloth book with buttons to button, shoelaces to tie and fuzzy creatures to touch. I was always more interested in my father’s questions than manipulating what was on the pages
Enough Pizza, Music and Dominique. Meeting Francesca.
On our fifth day in Florence, the sun shone bright and hot. Jim wanted to find a bench and read. I wanted to prowl and photograph. Across the street, half a block away I saw a walkway that led to a door, slightly open. I’ve never been able to resist an open door and peek inside. This time I went in.
Viva Florence! Long Live Clowns! Opera! Orchestra Toscana! Four Seasons!
By day two, our dream vacation to Italy felt more like Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown than a romantic interlude in our favorite city.
After almost an hour of Dominique’s grand tour of his Tiny Tim apartment, the moment had arrived for the presentation of his gift arrangement: a bottle of wine…
Welcome to Florence! Just a Few House Rules – Chapter Three
“We did it!” we cheered, relieved to be on our way to the apartment we’d selected after careful scrutiny. We looked forward to meeting Dominique, our host who’d greet us at the front door, give us a mini-tour, hand us keys and let us begin our vacation. Our driver sped the narrow-cobbled streets like it was the Indianapolis 500, but we were too busy being in the city we loved.
I’ll Pay Ten Euros for a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich
The first stop after landing was the document drill followed by watching a parade of suitcases on a carousal go around and around. The lucky passengers grabbed their bags and departed. The unlucky passengers held their breath wondering what it would be like to begin their vacation wearing the clothes they traveled in.
“We’re Late! We’re Late! For A Very Important Date!”
Finally, the day arrived. We hugged our dogs, took one last look at the spacious house and newly landscaped backyard with an aviary, pizza oven and cabana we’d be leaving for a 500 square foot apartment with a dish rack, living room sofa and teensy loft bedroom.
Quiche for an Informant and a Killer’s Best Friend
March 1983, I was preparing a quiche for the informant, Scott Fraser, who gave Detective John St. John the piece of critical information he needed to arrest The Freeway killer, Bill Bonin. As I poured the cheese mixture into the dish, smoothing the dough at the edges then crimping those edges, I wondered what it would be like to walk into the same room where Fraser smoked one Camel cigarette after the other and Bonin drank his non-alcoholic beverage of choice: Raspberry Kool-Aid with one ice cube.
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