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"We're going hunting for lost balls!" yelled
William Neer, ten, to his father. It was a statement, not a
request, part of an almost daily ritual in which William, whom
everyone called Billy, and his brother, Cole, eleven, rode their
bicycles to a nearby golf course where they hunted for balls that
had missed their marks and had gone astray. They nearly always
found most of the balls near the driving range, and were paid a
penny apiece for them by the golf course's manager. It was
easy money for the boys, which they eagerly spent on candy, baseball
cards, and toys.
Even though they hadn't lived there long, the McLoughlin Heights
neighborhood seemed like a good, safe place to raise children.
Automobile traffic, as opposed to some maniac running loose looking
for kids to kill, seemed to be a greater reason of concern to
parents looking out for their children's safety. It was a few
minutes past 4 p.m. when the boys left their home, the last time
that Clair Neer saw his sons alive.
Being kids, Billy and Cole paid their father little mind as they
hopped astride their matching BMX bikes and zoomed off down the
street, popping wheelies every half block or so. As always,
they arrived at the driving range without a hitch. Excited
about the prospect of earning money, they enthusiastically scavenged
for the lost golf balls for the next hour and a half.
By 6:15 p.m. Billy and Cole had found all the golf balls they
cared to find. They were getting tired and hungry and, after
collecting their money, decided that they should head for home.
Wanting to arrive home in time for dinner or risk getting grounded,
they took their favorite shortcut through David Douglas Park along
one of the secluded dirt bicycle paths, barely a half-mile from
their house.
Unknown to Billy and Cole, Westley Allan Dodd had begun walking
down the same trail only moments before they had turned onto it.
Dodd quickly saw them, and deliberately stood in the middle of the
trail to force the boys to stop. They were about the age that
he wanted, he decided, and there was no one else around.
Perfect. He approached them as they looked at him curiously,
and instructed them to get off their bikes. Both being
obedient kids, they did what they were told.
"I want you two to come with me," said Dodd.
"Why?" asked Billy, sincerely puzzled at the stranger's
command.
"Because I told you to," answered Dodd. "You
can bring your bikes if you want." Dodd had sensed that
Cole was going to leave his bike behind, and he didn't want someone
to easily find it and begin looking for its owner. The boys,
either out of fear, curiosity, or a feeling that the stranger needed
their help, followed Dodd down the path.
Along the way Dodd examined the boys carefully. He realized
that their complexion was darker than that of a Caucasian, and he
felt like they were of a different race. He had always limited
himself to molesting only white children, and had never liked
"the idea of (fellating) foreigners." Nonetheless,
he was committed. He might not have another chance as good as
this for some time.
As they walked along the trail they passed two teenagers at one
point. Dodd warned the boys to remain quiet, not to talk to
them. Billy and Cole looked at each other quizzically, but
obeyed. After the teenagers were out of sight, Dodd asked the
boys their names and ages. He was a little disappointed when
they told him their ages. They were both older than he had
initially thought, certainly older than he liked his boys to be.
But there was no turning back now.
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