Casefile True Crime - Case 200: The Zodiac (Part 1)

Episode Date: February 5, 2022

[Part 1 of 4] During the 1960s, California saw a wave of senseless, unsolved slayings. Cab driver Ray Davis was murdered in cold blood after an anonymous killer warned of his intentions. Two young couples – Robert Domingos and Linda Edwards, and Johnny and Joyce Swindle – were gunned down in separate yet similar attacks. --- Narration – Anonymous Host Research – Jess Forsayeth and Milly Raso Writing – Elsha McGill, Erin Munro, Milly Raso and Jess Forsayeth Creative direction – Milly Raso Production and music – Mike Migas Music – Andrew D.B. Joslyn This episode's sponsors: Crime Interrupted – New podcast from Casefile Presents  Scribd – Get your two first months of Scribd’s unlimited number of full-length books, audiobooks, and other content for only $0.99 a month BetterHelp – Get 10% off your first month of professional counselling with a licensed therapist SimpliSafe – Get a free indoor security camera and save 20% on the security system when you sign up for the interactive monitoring service Allbirds – Discover your perfect pair of sneakers ShipStation – Try ShipStation FREE for 60 days with promo code ‘CASEFILE’ For all credits and sources please visit casefilepodcast.com/case-200-the-zodiac-part-1

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Our episodes deal with serious and often distressing incidents. If you feel at any time you need support, please contact your local crisis centre. For suggested phone numbers for confidential support, please see the show notes for this episode on your app or on our website. The evening of Monday, April 9, 1962 in Oceanside, California. He pressed a fingertip to the phone's rotary dial and turned its wheel until it hit the stop position. He repeated this motion over and over until he had spun each digit of the Oceanside Police Department's phone number. I am going to pull something here in Oceanside, he warned the answering officer. And you will never be able to figure it out.

The following night, 29-year-old Oceanside cab driver Ray Davis pulled up at a downtown taxi stand on Mission Avenue. At 11.10, a customer approached his vehicle and climbed into the back seat. Ray radioed his dispatcher to inform that he'd just picked up a fare and was headed for South Pacific Street. He didn't report back or respond to any further radio communications. After a considerable amount of time had passed with no contact from Ray, his employer notified police. A beach patrol discovered Ray's lifeless body later that morning in an alley off South Pacific Street in the upscale neighborhood of St. Malo. The 11.10 curbside pickup was Ray's last job for Checker Cab Company, his employer of less than four months. At some point during this trip, Ray's passenger pulled out a gun and fired it into the driver's seat, hitting Ray in the back.

The shooter then aimed at Ray's head and pulled the trigger. The third and final bullet punctured the windshield, missing Ray completely. Two 22-caliber long rifle bullets were recovered from Ray's body. Despite their name, long rifle bullets could also be used in handguns. Ray's cab was found abandoned in an alley one and a half miles up the road. It appeared as though his killer had used the vehicle to facilitate a quicker getaway. Police were puzzled by the seemingly motiveless crime. Ray hadn't been robbed. His wallet had been left behind, as had a small amount of change in his shirt pocket.

Nevertheless, unrelated armed robberies were examined for possible links. None were found. Both evidence and persons of interest were limited. Ray was relatively new to Oceanside, having moved there with his brother just four months earlier. He didn't have the community connections necessary to pat out a suspect list. Most of the individuals questioned were known petty criminals who were quickly ruled out. A fellow cabbie was also looked into, but accusations against him proved baseless. Then, four days after Ray Davis' murder, a second anonymous call was placed to Oceanside PD. Do you remember me calling you and telling you that I was going to pull a real baffling crime? The caller asked.

I killed the cab driver and I'm going to get me a bus driver next. Oceanside police took this very seriously. They had kept word of the initial call they received on April 9 under wraps, so they were certain they weren't dealing with a copycat or hoax. The caller had made good on his first threat by murdering Ray Davis, so there was a very real possibility he would follow through with the second. Faced with an unpredictable killer, the city manager gave officials blanket authority to take whatever steps necessary to protect Oceanside's 25 bus drivers. Buses and bus stops were placed under close observation. At night, military police from the nearby Marine Corps Base Camp stood guard over the nervous drivers on the lookout for any suspicious passengers. Four days after the second threat was made, a woman answered her telephone to hear a man warn,

tonight is the night I'm going to kill that bus driver. The caller didn't give his name, but told the woman to relay the message to the police. They listened to her claim, while also being mindful that the case's notoriety would likely appeal to pranksters and attention seekers. The chaos was making headlines across the city, but concerns dissipated when the killer failed to carry out his second threat. As a precaution, two drivers were assigned to all buses that travelled lonely routes, but for the most part, life in Oceanside returned to normal. Eventually, the Ray Davis case went cold. At the time of his death, he was estranged from his wife and had no children. He was close to his brother and mother, but when they died many years later, Ray's senseless murder faded from California's memory.

Decades later in 2018, local historian Christy Hawthorne donned a pair of white cotton gloves and began flipping through archived newspapers at an Oceanside museum. She had lived in the city since 1983 and harboured a deep passion for preserving its history. Christy was researching the St. Malo area when a three-word front-page headline caught her attention. Written in large, bold letters across a yellowed copy of the Daily Blade Tribune were the words, Local Cabbie Slain. Dated Wednesday, April 11, 1962, the accompanying article detailed the circumstances of Ray Davis's murder. Christy was unfamiliar with the case which had occurred more than half a century earlier. As she read on, her heart beat quickened. A cab driver, a .22 caliber firearm, long rifle ammunition, a city with a water-based name, a waterside crime scene, its proximity to a military base, lack of a motive or suspects, the randomness of the attack, and, most intriguing of all, a cryptic killer who taunted the police.

Alarm bells rang in Christy's mind. This seemed all too familiar. Daybreak on Sunday, June 2, 1963, one year after the murder of Ray Davis, near Gaviota, California. The sharp crack of gunshots echoed across the rolling landscape of Santa Barbara County. Three teenagers who were camping alongside Tejiga's Creek were alarmed by the unmistakable noise. It sounded as though the shots were fired just south of their location, where the creek filtered into the Pacific Ocean. There were no subsequent reports of damage or harm. It seemed as if the shooter had been firing for no reason at all. Later that same day, eleven teenagers were enjoying a day of surf and sand at a beach adjacent to Gaviota State Park, just seven miles west of Tejiga's Creek. By mid-afternoon, the teens had made their way back to the secluded spot just off Highway 101, where they'd parked their cars.

As they huddled around chatting, a loud cracking sound startled them. The noise was accompanied by a high-pitched whir as something small flew right by them. It was a bullet. Another quickly followed. No one was hit, but the teens were left shaken. They never caught sight of the shooter. Two days later, on Tuesday, June 4, eighteen-year-old Robert Dominguez was at the wheel of his family's 1956 Pontiac. Sitting beside him was his childhood sweetheart-turned-fiancé, seventeen-year-old Linda Redwoods. It was a special occasion for the pair. Both were senior students at Lompak High School and were due to graduate later in the week. That Tuesday was a ditch day, an official day off from classes for the graduating seniors. While their peers partied together, Robert and Linda decided to spend their free afternoon at a secluded beach near Gaviota State Park.

Linda had an additional reason to celebrate. Her eighteenth birthday was just three days away. It was around midday when the young couple hit the road for their trip to the coast. They reached Gaviota before continuing another four miles down Highway 101 to a dirt turnout that provided a good spot to pull over. After stripping down to their bathing suits, Robert and Linda crossed the road and began the arduous track down the hill to the beachfront below. Once there, they unraveled a blanket on a small patch of sand and laid down together. With no one else in sight, Robert and Linda believed they had the entire area to themselves. They were wrong. A man suddenly appeared before them.

He handed Linda a piece of rope and ordered that she tie Robert's hands behind his back. Terrified, she did as she was told. She didn't have a choice. The man was holding a gun. Once Robert was under control, the man set about restraining Linda. Before he could loop the rope and pull it tight, he was tackled by Robert, who had managed to wriggle free from his ligature. An altercation ensued. Despite sustaining several bruise-inducing blows to the face, Robert managed to overpower his opponent. He and Linda then ran for their lives. The gunman scrambled to his feet. The two teens hadn't gotten far.

The only way out was up, and the rugged hillside was slowing their escape. The attacker raised his gun and took aim. He fired over and over until the chamber was empty and his targets had fallen. He reloaded, then marched intently to where his victims lay bleeding in the sand. He then shot them both several more times at close range. Robert was shot 11 times, Linda rate. After the slaughter, the shooter dragged Robert's body 30 feet across the rough terrain to a driftwood shack hidden in the bushes. He pulled Robert inside before collecting Linda and dumping her on top of her boyfriend.

He then cut Linda's bathing suit open with a knife, exposing her breasts. It was easy to pull down the shack's dilapidated roof to conceal the bodies. After stacking further debris on top, the killer lit several matches and threw them at a tarpaulin covering the shack's entrance. It was time to leave. The fire would take care of the rest. It was nearing 10 o'clock the following night when California Highway Patrol Officer Paul Schultz drove along Highway 101, 22 miles southwest of Lompoc. The area was quiet, save for the sound of the sea crashing against the coastline. Officer Schultz approached a stretch of roadway south of Gaviota State Park, where three men were standing by the side of the road. One was George Dominguez, who was out looking for his son, Robert.

No one had heard from Robert or his fiance Linda since they left for the beach the day before. George Dominguez had gathered a small search party at the teen's last known location. They had since made an important discovery. The men led Officer Schultz to a turnout off the highway. Parked in the dirt by some bushes was the Dominguez family's Pontiac. The doors were locked. Three empty soda bottles were spotted within. Linda's purse lay on the floor in the front, and her and Robert's clothing was strewn about in the back. This confirmed the couple had made it to the beach, but they hadn't returned to the vehicle since.

One of George's companions informed Officer Schultz that there was a makeshift shack on the nearby beach where local youths were known to hang out. Schultz crossed the highway and headed towards the shore to check if the missing teens were there. It took a few minutes to hike down the steep, bush-lined trail to the water's edge. The secluded area attracted few visitors, aside from drifters who travelled along the nearby Southern Pacific Railroad. One had built the shack out of driftwood, cardboard, tin and grass among the trees and vegetation a few yards back from the water. When Officer Schultz reached the crudely built shack, it was in bad shape. Someone had tried to destroy it by pulling the roof down from within. Inside, partially concealed by the collapsed roof, was a horrific site.

The bloody bodies of Robert Dominguez and Linda Redwoods were piled one on top of the other. 22 calibre long rifle bullets, lengths of pre-cut cord and burnt-out matches found throughout the crime scene helped investigators piece together what likely happened. While Linda's bathing suit was cut open, there was no evidence that she had been sexually assaulted. Police were dealing with a particularly cunning offender, who had the foresight to stage the crime scene in an attempt to throw them off. It was clear the killer had hoped to cover up his crime by destroying the shack. But, unluckily for him, the matches snuffed out before the fire took hold. As both victims were popular and well liked, it was hard to identify a motive for the killings. But, not everyone was happy for the young couple.

17 year old Jason, not his real name, was known to be openly jealous of Robert Dominguez. Robert was a star player on the school's football team and was dating a cheerleader, whereas Jason was in and out of trouble with police. He'd been arrested multiple times, including immediately after the murders for causing trouble while intoxicated. On the day of the double homicide, Jason was at a beach four miles from the one Robert and Linda were visiting. During questioning, police noticed that Jason's hand was bruised as though he'd been in a fight. He also admitted to having access to his father's guns. Still, there was nothing directly linking Jason to the murders, and he was released without charge. After speaking with locals, railroad men and youths that frequented the beach area, investigators became aware of a 50 year old army veteran turned drifter named George Gill.

A loner with a penchant for military style clothing, Gill visited the Gaviota beach often, surviving on the pelicans, mussels and wild mustard he found there. Gill had actually built the shack where Robert and Linda's bodies were found, and was reportedly living in it in the days prior to the murders. He kept a .22 caliber rifle in a bundle strapped to his back, which he was seen firing in the area. Could Gill have been responsible for the gunshots heard and even felt by the two groups of teenagers near Tahiga's Creek and Gaviota State Park in the days before Robert and Linda were killed? The teens had described the gunfire as having come from a .22 caliber semi-automatic firearm, possibly a long rifle. There was no way to know for sure. By the time Gill was brought to police attention, he was long gone. The bullets recovered from Robert and Linda's bodies were too versatile to isolate exactly what type of firearm they came from. But the discovery of several boxes of Winchester-Western Super-X long rifle ammunition inside the beach shack helped direct detectives to the bullet's origin.

The boxes, one empty and three partially filled, featured a lot number, TL-21. While this batch was stocked in local sports stores, it was also sold at a base exchange at the Vandenberg Air Force Base, just over 9 miles from Lompoc. Yet, the boxes lacked any identifiers that could help narrow down where or when they were purchased. As these bullets were also the most popular and common type of ammunition purchased, it was difficult to isolate a suspect using this evidence alone. The graduation ceremony for Lompoc High's senior class of 1963 was held on Thursday June 6, the day after Robert Dominguez and Linda Edwards were found murdered. The mood amongst the students was somber, and they laid wreaths on two empty seats in honor of their slain classmates. That same day, two teens were transferred to Santa Barbara County Sheriff's Department, having just confessed to witnessing a murder. Daytime on Friday May 31, 1963, four days before the murders of Robert Dominguez and Linda Edwards, in Santa Cruz, California.

16-year-old James Coleman and his friend, 17-year-old JC Reed Jr., eyed the stranger before them. He was maybe a year or two older than them, of average height and build, with thick natural blonde hair combed to one side. A pair of black-rimmed prescription eyeglasses framed his pale blue eyes. In between taking drags from a pal-mouthed cigarette he held at the base of his fingers, the stranger introduced himself as Sandy and said he'd run away from his home in San Francisco. Sandy's story was inconsistent. Each time he told it, the details varied slightly. Whatever the truth, Sandy was a transient who'd taken to sleeping under the Santa Cruz boardwalk. His peculiarities soon made him a recognizable figure to locals, who thought his army fatigues were an odd choice of attire for someone living on the beach. Sandy often asked other young men where he could find girls, even though girls clearly weren't interested in him.

On one occasion, Sandy received a warning from police after a young woman complained that he'd been bothering her. While Sandy's requests for food or drinks from passers-by weren't particularly unusual, he raised eyebrows when he produced a knife and asked where he could get it sharpened. There was no doubt that Sandy was a strange character, but James Coleman and JC Reed Jr. were somewhat charmed by him. On the day they met, the trio teamed up and embarked on a crime spree that led them 200 miles south to Lompoc. Coleman and Reed weren't new to petty crime, but Sandy's influence seemingly emboldened them to commit increasingly violent acts. First, they stole some drinks from a YMCA, then they robbed a woman of $20. Next, they stole a sunbeam convertible. During their misadventures, Coleman and Reed gifted Sandy a pair of black pants and a black slip-over shirt with a button-down collar.

They also supplied him with a yellow-handled fishing knife, though Sandy desired a deadlier weapon. He kept talking about wanting to procure a .22 caliber rifle. In Lompoc later that night, they approached 63-year-old quarry worker Vernon Smith with the intention of robbing him. Sandy asked for Vernon's help, explaining that they'd run out of gas. As Vernon used a gas can to fill the tank of the stolen sunbeam, Sandy walked up behind him and pulled out his fishing knife. This wasn't part of the plan. Coleman yelled at Sandy. Don't do it, boy.

Sandy ignored him and plunged the knife into Vernon's back, killing him. Stunned by the sudden and brutal attack, Coleman asked Sandy why he did it. Sandy shrugged and with cool indifference said he didn't know. He then laughed as if the whole thing was a joke. The murder marked the end of Sandy's time with Coleman and Reid. Unnerved, the boys ditched Sandy at a motel in a Royal Grande, 45 miles north of Lompoc. The very next day, Robert Dominguez and Linda Edwards were shot dead on Gaviota Beach. Police caught up with the James Coleman and JC Reid Jr. and arrested them in relation to one of the robberies they committed during their crime spree.

When grilled about Vernon Smith's murder, the pair quickly implicated Sandy, but neither could provide his full name. They weren't even certain if he was really named Sandy. While police were wary of Coleman and Reid's story, it appeared to be the truth. Other people confirmed Sandy's existence and he had been sighted with Coleman and Reid in Lompoc. One witness recalled him carrying a yellow-handled fishing knife, exactly like the one Coleman and Reid said he used to kill Vernon Smith. There had been no sightings of Sandy since Coleman and Reid abandoned him at the motel in a Royal Grande, but police were able to piece together his possible movements. After killing Vernon Smith, Sandy had pocketed $20. It was believed that he used some of this money to fund an overnight stay at the motel.

He booked a room using the pseudonym William Carr and a fake address before checking out at 11 the following morning. A seasoned hitchhiker, Sandy would have been capable of securing a ride further south. He could have obtained a gun and ammunition at any point throughout his journey. Known for approaching locals and begging for help, someone might have told him he could stay at the beach shack near Gabiota State Park. No stranger to sleeping rough, Sandy would have been comfortable hold up there for a night. He might have spotted Robert Dominguez and Linda Redwoods arriving the next day. Sandy was carrying at least one knife which he could have used to cut the rope ligatures as well as Linda's bathing suit. Given he was a smoker, it was likely he would have been carrying a pack of matches.

This timeline, coupled with Sandy's willingness to kill and desire to obtain a .22 caliber firearm, put him high on the list of suspects in the double homicide. The hunt for Sandy was on. A composite sketch was created based on descriptions from those who had interacted with him. Police dubbed him the laughing boy and the laughing killer due to his amused demeanor following the stabbing of Vernon Smith. Alleged sightings of Sandy were reported across the state. Sacramento teen Robert Lee Bell was one such lookalike. The 17-year-old raised eyebrows when he abruptly quit his job at a Lompoc car wash and skipped town days before the Dominguez-Edwards murders. Before he left, he stole a .22 caliber rifle and ammunition.

When police tracked Bell down, he still had the gun in his possession. Week-old scratches marked his wrists and forearms, but Bell insisted they'd been caused by a puppy. Ballistics confirmed that Bell's rifle wasn't the murder weapon, and when several witnesses placed him at a Sacramento baseball game on the day of the shooting, he was dropped as a suspect. Bell was just one of several young men suspected of being Sandy. While some owned or had access to .22 caliber firearms, investigators couldn't connect any of these weapons to the crime. Clues were scarce, and those police did have were confusing. Sandy had left behind a green military jacket, which had the name Robert Kaufman scrawled along the inside of the collar. Coleman and Reid recalled Sandy saying he had stolen the jacket and the rest of his army clothes.

It was also possible that Kaufman was just another of Sandy's aliases. Either way, the name was a dead end. For their involvement in the killing of Vernon Smith, James Coleman and JC Reid Jr. played a guilty to conspiracy to commit robbery and second-degree murder. They were sent to prison, while the person they alleged had committed the slaying remained on the run. The evening of Wednesday, February 5, 1964, eight months after the murders of Robert Dominguez and Linda Redwoods in Ocean Beach, California. Although Johnny and Joyce Swindle had only been staying in Ocean Beach for a week, they'd already formed a nightly routine. The newlyweds, aged 20 and 19 respectively, did everything together, from washing the dishes to making their bed. Every evening, they left their rented bungalow to take a stroll down to the beach.

The night of February 5 was no different, except for a brief visit to a pharmacy where Johnny purchased a red heart-shaped box of candy for his wife. Valentine's Day was more than a week away, but it didn't matter. The childhood sweethearts had been on Cloud 9 since their wedding three weeks earlier. The couple continued their usual walk, which ended nine blocks from their home at the beach front. Joyce in particular loved the ocean. It fascinated her, and Johnny couldn't keep her away. During the day, Ocean Beach foreshore was a hive of activity. Tourists and fishermen lined its pier as swimmers took to the surf below. Just left of the pier at the foot of Narragansett Avenue was a wide concrete patio that provided uninterrupted views of the ocean. It was the perfect spot to observe the sunset. By late evening, most beachgoers had retreated like the tide, leaving the area peaceful and private.

Placing the candy box on the retaining wall framing the water, Johnny and Joyce snuggled together, oblivious to anyone but each other. All of a sudden, Johnny was struck in the back by something small but powerful. He barely had time to register the accompanying pain before Joyce collapsed into his arms. She too had been hit in the upper back. Quickly realizing that they were being shot at, Johnny turned his body into the line of fire trying to shield his wife from the barrage. His pained cries of no, no, carried up the cliffside to the apartment buildings above. Johnny's left thigh was hit and another bullet struck the right side of his head. A bullet pierced Joyce's left arm.

Exposed and unable to see their assailant in the dark, the couple crumpled helplessly to the ground. With his victims immobilized, the shooter eased down the rocky cliff face to the patio below. Joyce was facedown when he marched up and shot her at point blank range in the back of the head. Then he turned towards Johnny who had collapsed against the retaining wall and fired a bullet into his left ear. After rummaging through Johnny's pockets and taking whatever he could find, the killer then fled the scene. A short while later, Ocean Beach local Edward Nelson descended the steps that led to the patio overlooking the sea. Spotting something on the ground ahead, Edward raised his flashlight, illuminating two bodies piled on top of one another. Edward suspected he had stumbled across a pair of drunk lovers who had passed out together.

Edging closer, his flashlight reflected off something glistening and red. Underneath the couple was a large pool of blood. Two empty 22 calibre long rifle cartridges lay nearby. Matching shells were also found on a dark, well-hidden cliff top, 50 feet above. By the time Edward found the swindles, it was too late for Joyce. However, Johnny was clinging to life. Gurgling and gasping for air, he managed to weakly lift himself up and drape one arm over his wife's body. Witnesses heard him splutter.

My God, how much blood does a person have? He lost consciousness and was taken to hospital, where he died less than three hours later. While no one saw the shooting take place, an unidentified man was spotted standing on the rocks near the patio shortly before the swindles arrived. 15 minutes later, another witness saw a man running at full speed along Del Monte Avenue away from the beachfront. It couldn't be ascertained exactly what type of firearm was used in the crime. A sniper rifle correlated with the crime scene's layout and the position of the shooter. However, the erratic gunfire and execution-style headshots were more in line with someone wielding a handgun. Although Johnny's wallet had been stolen, robbery didn't appear to have been the killer's true motive.

Johnny was so short on cash that he'd started painting for his landlord in lieu of paying rent, making it unlikely that he had much money on him. Robbery might have been the killer's secondary motive, or merely an afterthought intended to confuse investigators. There was little in the victim's lives that indicated the crime was personal. Johnny and Joyce had barely settled into their apartment, where they kept to themselves. They were making the most of their honeymoon period before Johnny reported for naval duty aboard a radar picket ship. Nothing in their backgrounds pointed to someone they knew wanting to kill them. Police concluded that the crime was a senseless thrill-killing committed by a psychopathic killer whose only motive was excitement. With the murders of Johnny and Joyce Swindle, a pattern was beginning to emerge.

The similarities between the Swindle's killing and that of Robert Dominguez and Linda Edwards less than a year prior was not lost on investigators. A young couple, a .22 caliber firearm, long rifle ammunition, a water-side crime scene, lack of motive or suspects, the randomness of the attack. Although ballistics confirmed that a different gun was used in each crime, a lingering suspicion remained that one person was responsible for both. Three days after the murders of Johnny and Joyce Swindle, a priest sat in the confessional of St. Joseph's Catholic Church in San Diego. It wasn't long before he heard a footfall echoing off the terracotta tiles as someone made their way down the center aisle. The footsteps stopped at the confessional. A man took a seat inside, cleared his throat, and said, Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have an urge to hurt someone. Anyone.

The priest paused, uncertain of what to say. Before he could respond, the man leapt from his seat and ran from the church. The confessor was identified as 18-year-old Rene Leon Trudeau. A transient who worked part-time as a janitor, Rene was arrested and booked at the city jail on suspicion of murdering the Swindles. He told the arresting officer, I would hurt you if I had the chance, any way I could. That's why I saw the priest. I guess I need help. With no evidence to tie him to the double homicide, Rene was released without charge. Across the Pacific Ocean in Hawaii, television repairman Michael Patrick Moeller purchased a gun on a whim. The 23-year-old made his way up the steep mountainside five miles outside of Honolulu to the Pali Lookout.

The mountain provided stunning panoramic views across the island of Oahu, but Moeller wasn't there to enjoy the scenery. Instead, he crouched amongst the dense vegetation and raised his firearm. He watched as a tourist bus descended on the area. With his sights set on the vehicle, he pulled the trigger. His shooting spree continued for five hours. By the end, four people were injured and a highway patrolman had lost his life. Moeller blamed the attack on his mental health. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. He'd previously committed another sniping in Germany while serving in the US Air Force. Investigators fronting the swindle case arrived in Hawaii and entered the state hospital ward. They made their way to the psychiatric ward where Michael Patrick Moeller was being held.

With his military ties and known love of guns, police considered whether Moeller could also be responsible for the swindle's murder or that of Robert Dominguez and Linda Redwoods. Moeller told police that at the time the newlyweds were killed, he was undergoing psychiatric care in Texas in response to the German shooting. His alibi checked out. Moeller was cleared. It was approaching midnight on December 1, 1964 when Santa Ana city patrolman James Pico pulled up at a ramshackle campsite near the Santa Fe Railroad tracks. A woman had called police to report some property damage and she suspected a person at the camp was responsible. Pico had arrived to do a routine check of the site which consisted of makeshift shelters used by itinerants and the homeless. One person in particular caught the officer's attention. A tall and thin reclusive man in his 50s with blue eyes receding brown hair and a sullo weather beaten face.

Pico obtained the man's name and ran a background check. It turned out he was wanted for questioning in relation to the murders of Robert Dominguez and Linda Redwoods. Pico had inadvertently found George Gill, the drifter who had built the beach shack where the teenagers bodies were discovered. Gill had been on quite a journey in the year and a half he'd been avoiding police, funding part of his near 200 mile trip south by selling pistols he had stolen from a retreat in San Diego. He also sold a knife for bus fare. Witnesses claimed that Gill was living out of the shack when the murders took place, but Gill insisted he'd left before then. He agreed to take a polygraph test, but an inconclusive result only propelled Gill into further suspicion. Yet, his alibi placing him in San Jose for work checked out and George Gill, like many others, was scrubbed from the suspect list.

On Wednesday, September 28, 1966, two and a half years after the swindles were gunned down, three residents of a San Diego apartment complex noticed something strange. There was a young man loitering outside the building. They didn't recognise him, and as it was almost 11 o'clock at night, his presence seemed suspicious. The concerned residents decided to approach the stranger. They greeted the young man and asked what he was doing in the neighbourhood, when suddenly he pulled out a pistol. If you value your lives, you'd better run for it, he warned. The trio wasted no time. As they bolted away from the young man, they heard a shot ring out behind them.

Luckily, none of them were struck by the bullet. Another resident later reported that the young man had also fired at him, sniper style. Flagging down a nearby police officer, the trio explained what had happened and to jump in the patrol car to track down the shooter. It didn't take long. They soon spotted the young man crossing Mission Boulevard, and the officer turned his car around to give chase. Realising he was being pursued, the shooter ran towards a nearby hotel and vanished into the night. The policeman radioed for backup, prompting other officers to descend on the scene. Together they began scouring the grounds of the hotel, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.

Suddenly, a shot rang out from the direction of the hotel's wedding chapel. The shooter had fired at his own right temple with a .38 caliber pistol which lay nearby. A driver's licence identified the man as 24-year-old Wayne David Chandler. He was transferred to hospital but died hours later. Chandler's death was unwelcome news to the detectives fronting the swindle investigation. After learning what Chandler had done, he'd become a suspect in their case. Now they were unable to question him to determine whether he had any involvement at all. Meanwhile, in Ocean Beach, business had dried up after the double homicide, with locals and tourists alike fearing the shooter would return.

Merchants offered a $700 reward for information leading to the arrest of the swindle's killer, hoping to speed up a conviction and to draw back crowds. But years passed, and the bounty went unclaimed. The evening of Sunday, October 30, 1966, two years after the murders of Johnny and Joyce Swindle in Riverside, California. 18-year-old Sherry Jo Bates grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled a quick message. Dad went to RCC Library. She placed the note where her father would see it when he returned home from his trip to the beach. Sherry Jo then left home in her most prized possession, her lime green 1960 Volkswagen Beetle. The first-year Riverside City College student had taken great pride in the fact that she'd managed to buy the little car all by herself, with money saved from a part-time job. Shortly after 6pm, Sherry Jo arrived at the RCC Library alone, leaving her beloved Volkswagen parked 30 yards down the road on Terracina Drive.

Young and beautiful were the words that came to mind as he watched the petite co-ed with dark blonde hair and striking green eyes walk towards the library building. Once she was out of sight, he turned his attention to her car, a lime green Volkswagen Beetle. Working swiftly under the cover of darkness, he opened the Volkswagen's rear compartment where its engine was located. He removed the distributor coil and condenser, then took hold of the distributor's middle wire and tore it out before lowering the trunk shut and slinking away. He then made his way to the library, where he spotted the Volkswagen's owner studying alone. He watched and waited until she stood from the desk, collected her books, and headed outside. He let two minutes pass before taking off after her. Sherry Jo Bates climbed into the driver's seat of her Volkswagen.

Tossing her pocketbook and the three library books she'd borrowed onto the passenger seat, she then inserted her keys into the ignition and turned them. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing. For some unknown reason, her car wouldn't start. Suddenly, a man appeared at Sherry Jo's window. Acknowledging her car troubles, he offered to help. He said that his car was down the street and he'd be happy to give her a lift. Sherry Jo accepted the kind offer and followed the man as he headed away from the library. They soon reached a gravel alleyway between two houses that led to a car park.

As the man guided Sherry Jo down the dark and quiet alley, he abruptly remarked, It's about time. Confused, Sherry Jo asked. About time for what? The man turned to her. About time for you to die. He launched at Sherry Jo and pressed one hand over her mouth while holding a small knife to her neck with the other. Sherry Jo fought back and the pair fell to the ground mid-struggle.

She scratched at his face and tore at his hair. Sherry Jo managed to let out a desperate scream before he kicked her in the head to silence her. He then plunged his knife into her chest over and over, causing it to break before finally cutting her throat. I am not sick, he told himself. I am insane. Cleophus Martin was used to rising early for work. He was employed by Riverside City College as a groundskeeper and it wasn't unusual for him to begin his shift at the Crack of Dawn. When Cleophus arrived at the college in the early hours of Monday, October 31, the area was deserted.

By around 6.30 he was driving his street sweeper along Teresina Drive on the north side of the campus library. Cleophus approached the alley that led to the student parking area. It ran between two large, vacant houses honed by the college. He glanced down the alley and caught sight of something bundled up on the ground towards the rear of the houses. It was a young woman lying face down in the dirt. Beneath her torso was a pool of blood. Police arrived at the scene and examined the woman. She was fully dressed in red Capri pants, a yellow blouse and white sandals.

Dry leaves were tangled in her dishevelled dark blonde hair. Her body had been stabbed with a small knife upwards of 42 times with lacerations found on her face, hands, arms, chest and back. The most violent wound was to her neck which had been so viciously cut that she was almost decapitated. There was no sign of sexual assault. Pressed beneath her was a straw tote bag. Papers inside featured the name Sherry Jo Bates. Scuff marks in the gravel indicated that Sherry Jo had tried to flee while foreign skin scrapings underneath her fingernails proved she had put up a fight. There were also four blood-soaked sandy brown hairs stuck to her right thumb.

Forensic testing limitations meant that only one key feature about the hairs could be ascertained. They had come from a white male. One student reported seeing a man standing in the shadows of the alley where Sherry Jo's body was later found. He was smoking a cigarette and staring fixedly at a lime green Volkswagen parked nearby. The student had managed to take in some of his features estimating his age to be 19 or 20 and his height about 5 foot 11. She'd exchanged a brief greeting with him before continuing on her way. Sherry Jo's unlocked Volkswagen was found on nearby Teresina Drive with the keys still in the ignition. Her pocketbook and textbooks remained on the passenger seat.

Examination of the car's engine revealed it had been tampered with, which prevented it from starting. Several foreign finger and palm prints were lifted from the driver's side front door, but the fingerprints weren't substantial enough to be analyzed. The three partial palm prints were in better condition, but weren't a match to anyone on file. Investigators believed that Sherry Jo remained in the library until it closed at around 9pm and was then lured from her car to the alleyway 100 yards away. As she was afraid of the dark and prioritized safety, some suspected Sherry Jo must have known her killer to have willingly gone with him. But the fact she'd left her precious car unlocked with the window down and the keys in the ignition implied she might have been forced to leave under duress. Resting on the ground 10 feet from Sherry Jo's body was a man's Timex brand wristwatch with a white stainless steel face. One of the fasteners had been torn off, leading detectives to speculate that Sherry Jo might have ripped the watch from her assailant during the attack.

Small flecks of white paint dotted its wristband. As the college was undergoing renovations at the time, some theorized that the watch could have belonged to someone connected to the campus. Timex watches were commonplace and there was no serial number on this one to trace its origin. The same model was sold at retail stores on US military bases both throughout the country and overseas. Some connected the paint and military link to Johnny Swindle who had been gunned down with his wife Joyce two years prior. Johnny, a naval man who had taken up painting to make Anne's meat, was robbed as he lay dying. If the watch was indeed Johnny's, this implied that Sherry Jo was a victim of the same killer. The Swindle's unknown, quote, psychopathic thrill killer was also thought to be responsible for the shooting murders of Robert Dominguez and Linda Redwoods.

While there were notable differences across each case, the similarities were striking enough to make some speculate that a serial killer was targeting Southern California's youth. Sherry Jo's murder stood out for seeming so wildly distinct but a deeper examination of the case uncovered hints of the familiar pattern. A young victim, a knife, a city with a water-based name, lack of a motive or suspects and the randomness of the attack. The watch wasn't the only military link uncovered at the bait crime scene. Pressed into the soil near Sherry Jo's body was the hill-print of a man's shoe, size 8 to 10. It had a distinctive waffle design unique to a type of shoe sold only to federal prisons and the military. The March Air Reserve Base was only 15 miles southeast of Riverside and 154 servicemen stationed there attended classes at RCC. All of these men were questioned in relation to the murder. None were charged.

While detectives fronting the investigation considered the possibility that Sherry Jo's killer was a current or former serviceman, they couldn't rule out that the watch and shoes were red herrings. The killer might have intentionally staged this evidence to throw them off or perhaps the shoe print and watch were already in the alley long before the murder, making them entirely unrelated. The same could be said about a cigarette butt found near Sherry Jo's body. As night fell on November 13, 1966, the RCC library and its surroundings were a buzz. It had been two weeks since Sherry Jo Bates was murdered and the investigation had stalled. In an effort to generate leads, police had organized a full reenactment of the events leading up to the attack. 65 people who were known to have been at the library that evening agreed to participate. The males among them also provided hair and fingerprint samples to be tested against those recovered from the crime scene. None were a match.

Participants parked their cars in the same spots they had used two weeks earlier. Notably, some vehicles were missing. These included a bronze-colored 1965-1966 Oldsmobile that was seen following Sherry Jo's Volkswagen when she drove towards the library. A 1947-1952 model Studebaker that had parked south of Terrasiner Avenue an hour after Sherry Jo arrived. And a 1948 Tucker torpedo that parked directly behind Sherry Jo's Volkswagen. An older model vehicle was also heard starting up and driving away from the crime scene at the time of the attack. As some of these vehicles had similar design characteristics, police considered the possibility that they were all one car, mistaken as several. At 6pm, the library doors opened. Staff and students gathered inside as they had two weeks prior. Each person was dressed in the same clothing they'd been wearing on the night and everyone sat in the same seats.

This time, the mood inside the cramped annex was somber and suspicious. There were few recollections of Sherry Jo who appeared to have come and gone mostly unnoticed. But soon, those present realized that one particular individual was missing. There had been a heavyset man with a beard in the library on October 30. He hadn't shown up for the re-enactment. On November 29, one month after Sherry Jo's murder, an employee of the Riverside City Police Department arrived at the local post office. Tasked with picking up the station's mail, they opened the police collection box and found an envelope inside. It was addressed to the Homicide Squad using thick handwritten block letters.

There was no stamp. Upon opening the envelope, the employee found a white sheet of paper approximately 8 inches wide with the top and bottom portions torn off. Typed using a typewriter, the letter was written in capital letters and riddled with spelling and grammar errors. An identical letter was also sent to the office of the Riverside Daily Enterprise, addressed to the newspaper's crime reporters. It was titled A Confession, followed by the word by and a long blank space. The letter began. She was young and beautiful, but now she is battered and dead. She is not the first and she will not be the last.

I lay awake nights thinking about my next victim. Maybe she will be the beautiful blonde that babysits near the little store and walks down the dark alley each evening, about seven. Or maybe she will be the shapely blue-eyed brunette that said no when I asked her for a date in high school. But maybe it will not be either. But I shall cut off her female parts and deposit them for the whole city to see, so don't make it easy for me. Keep your sisters, daughters and wives off the streets and alleys. The author then claimed responsibility for the murder of Sherry Jo Bates, going into detail about how he had lured the 18-year-old to her death after disabling her car and offering her a lift. Miss Bates was stupid, he had written.

She went to the slaughter like a lamb. He described the murder, his thought process and the dialogue between him and Sherry Jo step by step, including how he had told her that it was time for her to die. Claiming that he'd had a ball, he also offered a possible motive. Quote, only one thing was on my mind, making her pay for the brush-offs she had given me during the years prior. He concluded the letter with the following threat. I am not sick, I am insane, but that will not stop the game. This letter should be published for all to read it, it just might save that girl in the alley, but that's up to you. It will be on your conscience, not mine.

Yes, I did make that call to you also, it was just a warning. Beware, I am stalking your girls now. While investigators couldn't rule out the possibility that the letter was a hoax, the author's accurate description of undisclosed details led them to believe it was genuine. His claim that Sherry Jo rejected him indicated the pair had known each other. Yet, all of those closest to Sherry Jo had been ruled out, including her boyfriend who was 400 miles away in San Francisco when she was killed. The author calling himself insane was considered another clue. There was a mental health facility located on the same road as Riverside City College, and one patient had claimed to have committed the killing during the initial investigation. However, he was prone to delusions and his confession wasn't credible.

Investigators wondered whether the phrase, it's about time, referred to the Timex watch recovered from the crime scene. The mention of a phone call was more ambiguous, as no one recalled any suspicious calls recently received by the police department or newspaper. It was possible a call had come through and been dismissed as a crank, then quickly forgotten. In any case, the reference suggested the author was prone to phoning the authorities and the media to discuss his crimes. This behavior, coupled with the author's request that his letter be published for all to read, revealed that he wasn't confessing out of a desire to clear his conscience. He sought notoriety. On the night of Wednesday, December 7, just over a month after Sherry Joe Bates' murder, 19-year-old Linda Gillinger sat frozen in fear. She had just gotten behind the wheel of her car when she was startled by a stranger's voice.

A young man had broken into her vehicle and hidden in the back seat, awaiting her arrival. Linda didn't recognize him. He looked to be college-aged with short brown hair and a medium build. He ordered her to drive him to San Diego, just under a two-hour drive from Riverside. Linda couldn't refuse. The man was pointing a gun at her. Once they'd reached the destination, Linda's captor tried to kiss her. She forced him away with a swift slap to the face. He slapped her back, then barked at her to get out of the car. Locking the vehicle before throwing away the keys, he turned to Linda and remarked, Now you have as good a chance as I do.

Linda ran away as fast and as far as she could. It was around 2am when she finally reached the San Diego Police Department to report her ordeal. Word of the hijacking reached detectives investigating Sherry Joe Bates' murder. They found themselves pondering whether Linda Gillinger had crossed paths with the co-ed's killer and inadvertently facilitated his escape. That same month, a janitor entered the Riverside City College Library's storage room and began stacking some plywood desks. As they went to lift one, they noticed someone had scrawled what appeared to be a poem on its underside. Measuring just under five and a half inches in length, it had been scratched into the desk in neat vertical rows, then gone over with a blue ballpoint pen. At the top was written, Sick of living, unwilling to die.

The rest read, Cut, Clean, If read, Clean, Blood spurting, Dripping, Spilling, All over her new dress. Oh well, it was read anyway. Life draining into an uncertain death, she won't die, this time someone will find her. Just wait till next time. Troubled by the message, the janitor notified the police and the desk was taken into evidence. While it couldn't be determined when the poem was written or what it was in reference to, speculation arose that it was written by Sherry Joe Bates' killer. Written in lower case at the end of the poem were the letters R-H. These were given many different interpretations. Some believed the letters indicated the initials of the RCC president, R-H Bradshaw.

While others thought they could stand for Riverside Halloween, the date Sherry Joe's body was discovered. Although police confiscated the surface of the desk, they weren't convinced it was relevant to the Bates case. The woman in the poem was described as wearing a red dress, whereas Sherry Joe was wearing pants and a blouse when she was killed. They were inclined to think the disturbing message was nothing more than a sick hoax. Four months later, an envelope arrived at the Bates household. It was addressed to Sherry Joe's father, Joseph, and postmarked April 30. Joseph opened the envelope and pulled out a lined piece of notebook paper. Scrawled across it in haphazard writing were the words,

she had to die, there will be more. That same day, near identical notes arrived at the Riverside Police Department and the Riverside Press Enterprise. In these versions, the pronoun she was replaced with the name Bates. Whoever wrote the letters hadn't left anything to identify themselves. They simply signed off each note with a squiggle that somewhat resembled the letter Z. To be continued next week. .