Casefile True Crime - Case 200: The Zodiac (Part 2)

Episode Date: February 12, 2022

[Part 2 of 4] On December 20 1968, teenagers David Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen were gunned down in the middle of the night on a deserted road in Benicia, California. Six months later, another young couple, Darlene Ferrin and Michael Mageau, were shot in a parking lot in nearby Vallejo. When an anonymous caller informed the police that he’d committed both attacks, the hunt was on. --- 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 Article – Get $50 off your first order of $100 or more Noom – The last weight loss program you’ll need. Start your trial today BetterHelp – Get 10% off your first month of professional counselling with a licensed therapist Best Fiends – Download Best Fiends for free Sunbasket – Get $90 off and a free gift with promo code 'CASEFILE' For all credits and sources please visit casefilepodcast.com/case-200-the-zodiac-part-2

You know that feeling of getting lost in a story you're listening to? The power to spark our imagination is what Audible is all about. Canadian Voices reading best-selling audiobooks, podcasts, and exclusive originals. Hey, it's Roz Westin from the Roz and Mocha Show podcast. Welcome to A Good Listen with a new clip from a recommended title selected by our friends at Audible.ca. Take a good listen to Sleep Sound by Shamir Anderson. This Audible original podcast will transport you to the site of a historic Mayan ruin in

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episode on your app or on our website. The night of Friday, December 20, 1968, two years after the murder of Sherry Joe Bates in Benesha, California. It was between 9.30 and 10 o'clock when a small sports car slowly came to a stop on a gravel turnout, half a mile down the road from Lake Herman. Behind the wheel was William Crow. The car belonged to his girlfriend who was riding beside him in the passenger seat. Although the car was new, it was having some troubles, so William had taken it for a cruise

to test out the engine. His route led him down Lake Herman Road, a five-mile stretch that curved through the countryside to the neighbouring city of Vallejo. Traffic along Lake Herman Road was sparse during the day and near non-existent at night. It was a lonely, quiet road framed by fields, trees and ranches that stretched over the rolling hills. With no street lights to illuminate the scenery, the area had become a lover's lane of sorts. Living couples seeking privacy would park their cars in the numerous turnouts that lined

the road. William Crow pulled into one such turnout, situated at the gated number 10 entrance to the Benesha water pumping station. He positioned the car so that its rear faced the gate and the headlights illuminated the road. Soon, his attention was drawn to a growing light. Our vehicle was travelling down Lake Herman Road towards Vallejo. It rolled along in the pitch-black darkness until it reached the gate number 10 turnout.

William's headlights swept over the car as it passed and he caught a quick glimpse of the driver. He was male with short hair and glasses. The car itself was a light-coloured four-door Chevrolet Impala, a classic late 1950s model with a hard top and tail fin. The Chevy had barely cleared the turnout when it stopped abruptly in the middle of the road. Its tail lights lit up and it began reversing. Something about this sudden move made William uneasy.

He immediately felt compelled to leave, so he drove back onto Lake Herman Road and headed in the opposite direction of the Chevy towards Benesha. Keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, William watched the Chevy reverse into the turnout. Within seconds, it turned around, rolled back onto Lake Herman Road and sped up until it was right behind William. The Chevy's driver then started flashing his high beams. William was tempted to pull over and confront the driver, but his terrified girlfriend convinced him not to.

Instead, he sped up to create some distance between the two vehicles. The other driver matched his speed and then some. William glanced back. The Chevy's right front fender was closing in on the sports car's rear quarter panel. Irritation turned to dread as William shifted to a lower gear and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. Up ahead was a fork in the road. The Chevy remained hot on William's tail as he sped towards it.

Waiting until the very last moment, William gave the steering wheel a sharp turn, sending his car flying down the turnoff. The Chevy, far too heavy to make such a tight turn so quickly, barreled onwards. After traveling 200 yards, William braked to a stop. He turned to look back towards the intersection and was shocked to see the Chevy sitting idle in the middle of Lake Herman Road. Starting with rage, William yelled expletives and threats in the direction of the other driver.

The Chevy waited in the darkness, its engine quietly rumbling in response. After a short wait, the Chevy finally began to move. William watched nervously, his foot resting against the accelerator. The Chevy performed a U-turn and, to William's surprise, drove back towards Vallejo. The chase was over. The impulse to go after the Chevy and face its driver was soon overwhelmed by the instinct to do the exact opposite. Following his guard, William drove home.

A short while later, a two-toned 1961 AMC Rambler station wagon pulled into the gravel turn out at Gate 10. 17-year-old David Faraday had borrowed the car from his mother so he could take 16-year-old Betty Lou Jensen out for their first date. The pair had recently met while serving on a decorating committee for an upcoming music festival. David was the quintessential good-natured all-American youth who split his spare time between the Eagle Scouts and his high school wrestling team.

Betty Lou, a popular student at a neighbouring school, was smitten. By December 20, 1968, Betty Lou had only known David for one week, but all signs pointed to him becoming her first boyfriend. At eight o'clock that night, David arrived at the Jensen house to formally meet Betty Lou's parents. After he'd made a good impression, the teens left, with David promising to have Betty Lou home by 11. The teens were cutting it close to curfew when they parked at the turn out at around

10.15. Clining in their seats, Betty Lou rested her head on David's shoulder and looked out the windshield at the darkened fields to the east. She had never been on a date before, but the fact they'd ended up on Lake Herman Road meant that things were going well. They had the turn out to themselves, with only the occasional car passing by, and the teens soon lost track of time. It was minutes after 11pm when their solitude was disturbed by a bright light.

It was emanating from a pencil-sized flashlight that was taped to the barrel of a handgun. A male's voice ordered Betty Lou and David to get out. When the teenagers failed to follow his order, he started firing. One bullet ricocheted off the roof above the rambler's back passenger door. Another punctured the left rear wheel well. The third pierced the right rear window, causing the glass to crack. These were just warning shots. Now Betty Lou and David did as they were told.

A frightened Betty Lou unlocked her door and stepped into the cold night. David followed closely behind, scrambling over the bench seat from the driver's side. He had barely lifted himself out when the gun was pressed to his head and its trigger was pulled. David tumbled from the car and fell on his back by the rambler's rear wheel. Betty Lou sprinted towards the road. The shooter raised his weapon and fired off six quick shots. One bullet flew right by her.

The rest burrowed into the right side of her back, causing her to collapse onto her side a few strides shy of the road. With both teams down, the attacker fled. He didn't pass Stella Borges, who was driving along Lake Herman Road to pick her son up from a movie theater in Benesha. It was approaching 11.15pm when Stella reached the gravel turnout leading to the water pumping station. As she navigated the turn, her car's headlights swept across the area, illuminating a tan-colored

station wagon. It sat alone in the dark, its passenger side door wide open. A young man was lying on the ground. Stella's stomach lurched. Then she saw the body of a young woman sprawled closer to the road. Too frightened to pull over, Stella sped onwards to Benesha. She turned down East Second Street and spotted a police cruiser in the distance. Desperate to get the officer's attention, Stella frantically honked her horn and flashed

her headlights. The sight of Stella's discovery spread quickly, with police and paramedics converging at the turnout. As they approached the body of Betty Lou Jensen, it became clear she was deceased. Lying closer to the rambler was David Faraday. As officers moved in, they noticed a fleeting, misty cloud escape David's lips. He was still breathing. He was rushed to hospital, but died along the way.

Hours earlier, David Faraday had marched across the grounds of Hogan High School, where Betty Lou was an honour roll student. But David wasn't looking for Betty Lou. Witnesses watched as the typically mild-mannered David confronted 16-year-old Richard Burton. The pair exchanged some heated words, though they were discreet enough not to draw the attention of any nearby teachers. Fearful that he'd soon be spotted and get in trouble, David left before the altercation became physical.

Word of this confrontation reached detectives investigating David's murder. They visited Hogan High, where they examined Betty Lou's locker. In her binder for English class, they found a note she had written. �Do you know a kid named Richard Burton?� it read. I was going with him until two days before the installation. He still phones me and is threatening me to keep away from Dave. He said that if he's ever close enough to Dave, he would punch him one in the teeth. I told him to leave me alone, if he knows what's good for him.

Police were familiar with Richard Burton, who was also known as Ricky. He was currently on probation for stealing. An outsider with few friends, Ricky was often seen walking the school halls with Betty Lou and was rumoured to be pursuing a relationship with her. When Betty Lou started seeing David, Ricky was jealous. He'd been harassing her ever since, sometimes calling her house every 15 minutes. Betty Lou was convinced Ricky was spying on her and advised her sister and mother to keep the curtains closed at all times.

On several occasions, they'd found the side gate to their house mysteriously open. Although they had no evidence to prove it, the Jensen family suspected Ricky might have been prowling around. The evening before she was killed, Betty Lou confided in her sister Melody that she was afraid of Ricky. He had threatened to tell Betty Lou's parents some of her secrets, such as the fact that she was a smoker and had started a relationship with David. Ricky had also threatened to beat David up using brass knuckles.

Melody advised Betty Lou to beat Ricky to it and tell their parents about David herself. Betty Lou followed her sister's advice and introduced her parents to David before they left for their date. When questioned, Ricky said the last time he'd spoken to Betty Lou was around 4.30pm on Thursday, December 19. He hadn't been at school that day, so he'd called her at home to see if there was anything he'd missed. He denied exchanging heated words with David on the day of the murders and insisted he'd

never made any threats to David's face. Ricky was surprised but not upset to hear about the note Betty Lou had written about him. Ricky maintained he was home all night when David and Betty Lou were attacked. It was his sister's birthday and the family ate cake and watched a movie together until 11pm. Ricky said he went to bed at around 11.30 and learned of the shootings the following day. His parents confirmed he's alibi.

They explained that Ricky wasn't allowed out after 9pm and even if he was, he didn't have access to a car. His mother had a Maroon Pontiac grant pre, but Ricky wasn't permitted to drive it. Nor did he have access to a gun. Detectives accepted Ricky's alibi as ironclad but didn't cross him off the list completely. As the New Year approached, they explored a different theory. The crime scene had yielded few clues. The night of the murders was cold at just 22 degrees Fahrenheit and the ground had frozen

solid. This meant there were no traceable shoe or tire prints at the turnout. Neither victim was robbed. There was no sign of sexual assault. A struggle hadn't taken place. It was also needless, detectives thought. They began to consider the possibility that the crime was carried out by a motiveless, murderous maniac who didn't know David or Betty Lou.

10 22 caliber long rifle bullet casings were found around the Rambler, stamped with the Winchester Super X brand logo. The majority of the casings were scattered on the ground by the passenger side, indicating that after the killer shot David Faraday, he either ordered Betty Lou to run or she did so instinctively while he fired at her. As Sheriff Sargent explained to the press, quote, The killer needed no artificial lighting in shooting the girl since she was running on a plateau and her body was silhouetted against the sky.

While the type of gun used in the shooting was unknown, microscopic analysis of the spent bullets determined they were likely fired from a handgun, possibly a JC Higgins Model 80, a High Standard Model 101 or some other semi-automatic pistol. Locals were willing to cooperate with authorities, surrendering their guns for testing. Of those handed in, all were ruled out as the murder weapon. With little evidence to go on, investigators had to rely heavily on witness recollections. This wasn't ideal, given that human memory is inconsistent and easily influenced, but they didn't have much choice.

Although no one had seen the shooting, several people had passed through the area, enabling detectives to put together a relatively accurate timeline. It was through these witness statements that a crucial clue finally emerged. Before David and Betty Lou arrived at the gate tent turnout, a suspicious vehicle was seeing cruising up and down Lake Herman Road, intermittently pulling in and out of the turnout. Descriptions of its make, model and colour varied, as it had been too dark for anyone to get a good look.

Some thought it was white, while others said cream, blue or grey. The number of occupants seen inside varied, but a late 50s Chevrolet Impala appeared in three independent witness reports, including that of William Crow, who claimed it had chased him from the turnout just over an hour before David and Betty Lou were killed. Had William and his girlfriend crossed paths with the killer and managed to elude him, forcing him to find a new target. Witness James Owen was the only person who drove by the turnout around the time of the shooting.

He was on his way to work the night shift at his job in Benesha, when he passed the gate tent and saw the Faraday family's rambler. He recalled it with accuracy. Another vehicle was parked alongside it, closer to the gate. James didn't take much notice of this car, only noting that it was mid-sized, lacking in chrome finishes and was a dark colour. This contrasted with other witness descriptions of the Chevy Impala. James said he didn't see anyone in or near either vehicle, but described hearing a gunshot

once he was a quarter mile down the road. While James Owen's statement seemed significant, it wasn't particularly reliable. Under the case, neither the owner of the vehicle James allegedly witnessed, nor that of the Chevy Impala, came forward to police. 16 miles north of Vallejo in the city of Napa, 18-year-old Linda heard a knock at her front door. Her husband, 20-year-old Larry, was working the night shift at a nearby gas station, leaving Linda home alone.

She peered outside and saw a man in his late 20s standing there. He was about 5'11", with black hair and an acne-scarred face. Linda recognised him right away. It was Pete, a former neighbour who had once lived in the same apartment complex as the couple. Pete hadn't been inside for long when he abruptly asked to Linda, what would you do if I raped you? Linda was terrified.

She knew that Pete carried a fishing knife in his pocket and also possessed a rifle and a handgun. Without missing a beat, Linda replied that she would bang on the wall and her neighbour would phone the police. When deterred by this response, Pete asked Linda if she was happy. She replied that she was. Happy people piss me off, Pete complained. He began telling Linda how he'd been arguing with his wife and how all the people in his

new neighbourhood were stabbing him in the back. Pete decided to go south to Vallejo, or maybe Redding, a city 190 miles north. Linda did her best to remain calm. When Pete finally left 45 minutes later, she could hear someone walking around outside but didn't look to see who it was. Linda subsequently told Larry about the distressing encounter. He was shaken. Pete had visited him at work about 15 minutes before heading over to the couple's home,

as though checking to make sure Linda would be alone. The couple reported the incident to police. Pete's mention of Vallejo and the fact he owned multiple firearms seemed suspicious in the wake of David Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen's murders exactly one week earlier. Neither Linda nor Larry could recall Pete's surname, but they knew he drove a blue 1952 Chevrolet coupe and also owned a cream and maroon Buick. Pete was just one of many suspicious individuals to emerge in the Faraday-Jensen murder investigation. An unidentified prowler in a blue car who roamed Benesha at night was another, and investigators

also examined suspects from other violent crimes. Yet, as the weeks turned to months with no arrests, it seemed increasingly unlikely that the killer would be apprehended, and the case slowly faded from public attention. After questioning more than 100 people and amassing a 4-inch thick case file, police were at a loss. As were the victim's families, who collectively shook their heads during an interview with The Sunday Times Herald when asked if they had any idea who the killer was. Fearful the perpetrator might strike again, Betty Lou's father remarked,

I feel some nut is on the loose. David's mother agreed, adding, and he'll find it easier the next time. The night of Friday, July 4, 1969, six months after the murders of David Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen in Vallejo, California. It was close to midnight, and Independence Day celebrations were well underway all across the San Francisco Bay Area when a man drove away from the festivities and fireworks, searching for someplace quiet. He headed inland, where Suburbia soon gave way to the peaceful countryside.

After passing Lake Herman Road and the sprawling grounds of the Blue Rock Springs Park Golf Course, he pulled his car into an unsealed, unlit parking area overshadowed by tree-covered hills. The area was deserted, with the exception of one other car. A brown, two-door 1963 Chevrolet Corvair faced the parklands towards the southern corner of the lot. Its engine and lights were off, but its radio was playing loudly. Two figures were inside.

They were a young couple, 22-year-old Darlene Faran and her passenger, 19-year-old Michael Majo. The pair had met at the restaurant where Darlene worked as a waitress and became close over the course of a few months. Darlene picked Michael up that night and had taken him to Blue Rock Springs Park because it was secluded. She said there was something important she needed to tell him. Before long, their privacy was interrupted by the rumble of an engine and the sound of

tyres crunching on loose gravel. Another car rolled to a stop less than eight feet away from the Corvair's left side, where Darlene sat in the driver's seat. The two cars were very similar in appearance, right down to the California license plates, though the Corvair's brown paint job was a slightly darker shade. Darlene and Michael eyed the other car. Behind the steering wheel was a lone male. He switched off his vehicle's headlights and sat silently in the dark.

Michael often teased Darlene about her wide circle of friends, so he jokingly asked if she knew the guy. Brushing him off, Darlene gave a vague reply, oh never mind. The mysterious stranger didn't stay long. Within minutes, his car rumbled to life and he drove away. Five minutes later, he was back. This time, he parked about ten feet to the right of the Corvair. The man stepped outside, gripping the handle of a high-powered flashlight.

He walked up to the Corvair's open front passenger side window and aimed the flashlight directly into Michael and Darlene's eyes, blinding them. Michael assumed the man was a police officer wondering what they were up to and reached for his ID. As he did so, the man pulled out a pistol. Without saying a word, he began firing into the Corvair. Michael was struck in the right arm. Another bullet penetrated his right cheek, went through his tongue, out the left side

of his neck and into Darlene. The passenger side door handle was broken, preventing Michael from escaping the car. He tried to scramble over into the back seat but was halted by agonising pain as the shooter casually unloaded his pistol at him. Then, just as quickly as it started, the shooting spree was over. Darlene slumped against the steering wheel, bleeding from her arm, shoulder, chest and back. Michael had sustained similar wounds.

The shooter began walking back to his car when he abruptly stopped, turned around and marched back to the Corvair. Unable to conceal his pain, Michael Majo had let out an anguished yell, revealing that he was still alive. Looking inside to where his victims lay bleeding, the man shot each of them once more. Michael thrashed and was hit in the knee. Darlene didn't react at all. Satisfied he'd finished what he started, the shooter drove away from the scene slowly

so as not to draw any attention to his car. It was just after midnight when three teens arrived at Blue Rock Springs Park. The trio had been driving around looking for a friend. Their search led them to the parking lot adjacent to the golf course, where they noticed a single vehicle in the southern corner shrouded in darkness. This radio was blaring, but everything else was eerily quiet. The teens paused, wondering if their friend was inside. Suddenly, the car's headlights flicked on and a man's voice cried out.

The teens flashed their vehicle's high beams in response, illuminating a brown Chevrolet Corvair splattered with blood. A young man tumbled out of the car and writhed on the ground. His black hair was a mess and his clothes were stained red. He pleaded for the teens to get help. Then he called out the name Darlene. A blonde woman sitting in the vehicle's driver's seat let out a pained moan in reply. The teens raised the alarm and police raced to the scene.

They found Michael Majo sprawled alongside the Corvair, still clinging to consciousness. He winced in pain as he told the officers he'd been shot. Darlene Farron was still sitting behind the steering wheel. Her head was tilted and pressed against the driver's side window. Her pulse was weak and her breathing was shallow. She tried to say something but was only able to utter the words I or my before passing out. Half an hour later, at 12.40am, the phone rang at the Vallejo Police Department.

Dispatcher Nancy Slover answered. A man on the other line immediately started talking. I want to report a double murder, he stated matter of factly. Nancy assumed he was a local law passer-by who'd overheard the goings-on at Blue Rock Springs Park. Police were already on scene but she continued the call as per protocol and asked the man for his name and location. He cut her off, speaking loudly over the top of her in a flat, unwavering manner as though

he'd rehearsed what he was going to say. If you go to One Mile East on Columbus Parkway to the public park, you will find the kids in a brown car. They were shot with a 9mm Luger. The call as tone shifted. In a deeper, more taunting voice, he ended the call with the word, goodbye. Nancy tried to patch the call through to a desk officer, but the man hung up before she had the chance.

She hadn't detected anything distinctive about his voice and didn't have the equipment to record the call, but it was able to be traced. Three officers rushed to the corner of Tuolumne Street and Springs Road in East Vallejo. Their destination was a 10-minute drive from the crime scene via Columbus Parkway. Positioned on the street corner was Joe's Union gas station. On the curb in front was a phone booth. It was empty by the time police arrived. Over at Blue Rock Springs Park, the search for evidence was turning up dry.

Only two partial fingerprints were lifted from the Corvair's right-side door handle. The opposite problem arose with the phone booth. It had far too many fingerprints, making it impossible to isolate any as belonging to the anonymous caller who'd claimed responsibility for the shooting. At the time the call was placed, the gas station was closed, and no witnesses came forward to say they'd seen anyone at the payphone. All police had to work with were seven 9mm bullet casings found on the right side of Darlene Ferren's Corvair.

They were Western brand and fit Luger pistols. The gun the caller identified as being used in the shooting. What prompted the attack remained a mystery. Darlene's handbag and Michael's wallet had not been taken. There was no sign of sexual assault or a struggle. Why the person believed to be responsible had phoned police in the aftermath of his crime was equally puzzling. It was clear from his manner of speaking that he wasn't apologetic, upset, or frightened.

He hadn't tried to justify his crime or shift blame. All he wanted was to let the police know it was him. But who was he? Within three hours of the shooting, a man arrived at the Vallejo Police Department inquiring about Darlene Ferren. He had heard she'd been hurt and sought further information. The man was Darlene's husband, Dean. He said he'd last seen Darlene at 10.30pm when she visited him at the restaurant where

he worked as a chef. Although Darlene was alive when first responders arrived at Blue Rock Springs Park, she had died en route to the hospital. When informed of his wife's outcome, Dean Ferren crumpled to the floor sobbing. He was aware of his wife's close friendship with Michael Mejo, but said he didn't harbour any animosity towards the young man over it. While romantic rivalry, jealousy, heartbreak, or revenge all seemed like promising motives, Dean was at work when the shootings took place.

Darlene's first husband, whom she divorced two years prior, was also ruled out. Uncovering a suspect from the victim's social circles proved difficult. There was a general consensus among those who knew Darlene and Michael that neither had any enemies, nor were they in any trouble. Two days after the shooting, investigators visited the Mejo family home and spoke with Michael's loved ones, but left without any breakthroughs. Once they returned to the Vallejo police station, the phone rang. On the other line was Stephen Mejo, Michael's twin brother.

Although he hadn't been able to think of anything significant when he spoke to detectives earlier, a disturbing memory had since emerged from the back of his mind. It came with a name, George Waters. Months before she was killed, Darlene had told Stephen about an incident with a man named George Waters. Stephen had initially dismissed Darlene's story, but since her murder, it had taken on a new significance. Darlene revealed that Waters, who was known to pester her at work, had shown up at her

home and broken in. Once he was inside, he threatened to rape her. Darlene told Stephen that she managed to talk Waters out of hurting her. 29-year-old George Waters didn't have a criminal record, but he had a reputation at the restaurant where Darlene worked. He often teased Darlene, whom he referred to as Dee Dee. Darlene hated the nickname and often was riled up by George to the point of becoming angry. Up until about a month and a half earlier, George visited the eatery almost every night.

After that, the staff didn't see him anymore. Waters was taken in for questioning, where he admitted to teasing Darlene, but denied threatening or harming her in any way. He maintained that he last saw her about six weeks prior. Around the time others said he'd stopped visiting the restaurant. At the time, Waters observed that Darlene was quieter than usual, but their interaction was otherwise unremarkable. As for his whereabouts on the night of July 4, Waters said he went to a fireworks display

with his wife. They returned home at around 11pm and stayed there for the remainder of the night. Waters denied having a gun or ever visiting Blue Rock Springs Park with Darlene. He owned three cars, none of which were deemed relevant to the case. As the investigation progressed, it seemed less and less likely that Darlene and Michael knew their assailant. Turning their attention elsewhere, investigators noticed that a peculiar figure seemed to appear in multiple tip-offs from the public.

He was described as a heavy-set white man with curly hair who drove a brown car. A man fitting this description allegedly approached a couple in Vallejo, saying he'd been involved in the shooting of two people and needed a ride to Santa Maria. A similar man was named in an anonymous letter sent to the Vallejo police department, with the letter's author claiming he owned a suspicious vehicle and was, quote, about 25, over 200 pounds, brownish, thinning hair, sloppy, fat, and strange acting. But the most compelling witness statement regarding a curly-haired, heavy-set man came from Michael Majo.

Although Darlene Farron had succumbed to her injuries en route to the hospital, Michael miraculously survived following life-saving surgery. Investigators visited his bedside as he recovered in hospital and were able to obtain a firsthand account of the shooting. Michael described the shooter as a heavy-set man with light curly hair, aged in his 20s. An evening in February or March 1969, three to four months before Darlene Farron was murdered. Karen stood at the window, her attention drawn to the street beyond. A lone male figure was sitting outside in a stationary white American sedan.

Karen couldn't see much, only managing to catch a quick glimpse of the man whenever he lit a cigarette or switched on the vehicle's dome light. Karen was a babysitter, and that night she was at the home of Darlene Farron to look after her daughter. Darlene and her husband Dean were both out, and Karen had no idea who the stranger loitering outside their home was. He remained seated in the white car for about two hours. By the time Dean Farron arrived home at around midnight, the car was gone.

When Karen returned to babysit again the following night, the presence of the strange car lingered in her mind. She told Darlene about it while she applied her makeup in the bathroom. A look of fear flashed across Darlene's face. She said, I guess he's checking up on me. I heard that he was back from out of state. He doesn't want anyone to know what I saw him do.

I saw him murder someone. Darlene had mentioned the man's name, but by the time investigators spoke to Karen in relation to Darlene's murder, her memory had faded. She believed the name was something short, maybe three or four letters long. Darlene had also said that the man sometimes checked up on her at work. In the hopes of jogging Karen's memory, investigators arranged for her to see a hypnotist. While Karen was still unable to remember the man's name, she recalled more of his physical features.

He was white, middle aged, with a heavy set build and a round face framed by dark brown curly hair. The heavy set suspect had re-emerged, but his identity remained a secret. Now it seemed Darlene had known her killer, and her chilling remark, I saw him murder someone, became a mystery in and of itself. Just whose murder Darlene was referring to was unknown, but speculation ran rife. Three miles down the road from the Blue Rock Springs parking lot where Darlene was murdered was Lake Herman Road.

From there, it was a four minute drive to the turnout of the gated number 10 entrance to the Benesha Water Pumping Station, where David Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen were gunned down six months earlier. When Vallejo Police dispatcher Nancy Slover received the call from an anonymous mail taking responsibility for the Blue Rock Springs shooting, he had made a chilling remark before hanging up. After providing key information about his attack against Darlene and Michael, he added, I also killed those kids last year.

The similarities between the Faraday Jensen and the Faran Majo shootings were obvious to investigators the moment they arrived at the Blue Rock Springs Park. A young couple, a remote location with a water-based name, a handgun, lack of a motive or suspects, the randomness of the attack. While the caller could have been lying, investigators were open to the possibility that the same offender had gunned down all four victims. In the aftermath of the Blue Rock Springs Park shooting, an anonymous letter was sent to the case detectives.

It cast suspicion on the occupant of a house near Lake Herman, right near where David and Betty Lou were killed. According to the nameless source, a 22-year-old man named Charles lived there, and he was, quote, off-balance by things that he has done in the past, and very capable of committing the murders in that area and at Blue Rock. Lead detective on the Faran Majo case, Sergeant John Lynch, arrived at the North Shore of Lake Herman on the lookout for the suspect's house. Interestingly, Charles had a criminal history.

Detective Lynch had already tried calling the phone number police had on file for him, but the line was disconnected, so the detective decided to seek Charles out in person. His house shouldn't have been hard to find, given it had a unique characteristic. It was pink. Eventually, Lynch spotted the pink property. It looked as though it belonged to a caretaker and stood alone, with no other houses nearby for several hundred yards. Lynch approached the building, only to discover it was padlocked shut.

Lynch peered inside. The house was clearly vacant. As detectives for both murder investigations sifted through an array of suspects known to the victims, it was never far from their mind that the person they were looking for was not a jilted classmate or crush. He was a serial killer. On Thursday, July 31, 1969, almost one month after the Blue Rock Springs Park shooting, a strange envelope arrived at the editorial department of the San Francisco Chronicle

newspaper. It was postmarked from the San Francisco area and featured no address, just the name of the newspaper, followed by the message, please rush to editor. A curious editor glanced at the envelope before opening it. Inside was a double-sided, handwritten letter, riddled with spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. It read, Dear editor, this is the murderer of the two teenagers last Christmas at Lake Herman

and the girl on the 4th of July near the golf course in Vallejo. To prove I killed them, I shall state some facts which only I and the police know. At Christmas, one, brand name of ammo, Super X, two, ten shots were fired, three, the boy was on his back with his feet to the car, four, the girl was on her right side, feet to the west, fourth of July, one, girl was wearing patterned slacks, two, the boy was also shot in the knee, three, brand name of ammo was Weston. Here is part of a cipher. The other two parts of this cipher are being mailed to the editors of the Vallejo Times

and San Francisco Examiner. I want you to print this cipher on the front page of your paper. In this cipher is my identity. If you do not print this cipher by the afternoon of Friday 1st August 69, I will go on a kill rampage Friday night. I will cruise around all weekend killing lone people in the night, then move on to kill again until I end up with a dozen people over the weekend. Beneath this final line was a hand-drawn illustration of a crosshair circle similar to a gun sight.

It appeared the author was taking credit for the December 1968 murders of David Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen as well as the more recent attack against Michael Majo and Darlene Farron. The cipher he referred to was drawn on a smaller sheet of paper. It displayed a series of 136 characters organised into eight neat rows and 17 columns. They ranged from letters of the alphabet to less familiar symbols and shapes such as mathematical signs, naval figures and the same crosshair that the author had used to sign off his letter. Across town and in nearby Vallejo, near identical notes arrived at the editorial departments

of the San Francisco Examiner and the Vallejo Times Herald. They also contained additional portions of the cryptogram. With all three combined, the cipher featured a total of 408 characters which led to it being dubbed the 408. Police examined each letter for latent fingerprints and sent copies of the cipher to the US Navy radio station cryptographic unit. All they could deduce was that the writer may have been involved with the Navy and was possibly formally trained in encryption.

Editors at all three newspapers debated whether or not to print the cipher as instructed. Some felt the public had a right to know that a murderer was threatening to go on a killing spree. However, they were reluctant to succumb to a criminal's demands or cause unnecessary public distress as the city's headlines were already dominated by other violent crimes and the turbulent Vietnam War. On the other hand, the cipher had a greater chance of being solved if more people could examine it. The editors finally decided to publish the cryptogram but refused to meet the author's demands regarding the deadline or front page spot.

The San Francisco Examiner also ran an article pointing out that investigators couldn't be certain of the author's guilt until he disclosed more details about the crimes. On August 4, a three-page letter arrived at the San Francisco Examiner. It began. In answer to your asking for more details about the good times I've had in Vallejo, I shall be very happy to supply even more material. By the way, are the police having a good time with the code? If not, tell them to cheer up.

When they do crack it, they will have me. As the newspaper requested, the author gave more details about the crimes, including some that hadn't been released to the public. He pointed out things that detectives were wrong about, like their assertion to the press that he would have been able to see Betty Lou Jensen's silhouette as she ran across the turnout. Bullshit, he wrote. That area is surrounded by high hills and trees. He corrected them by explaining that he'd actually attached a small flashlight to his gun in order to see his targets better in the dark.

He also took responsibility for the disturbing phone call that dispatcher Nancy Slover received at the Vallejo police department, which he described as having some fun with the Vallejo cops. The letter concluded, I was not happy to see that I did not get front page coverage, followed by the same hand-drawn crosshair symbol featured on the previous letter. The San Francisco Examiner published an article about the latest letter and included a lengthy excerpt. Due to the author's self-introduction, the police, media and public finally had a name for the perpetrator. From this point on, he was known as the Zodiac Killer.

Many people seemed to fit the Zodiac characterization in some capacity. A troubled young man named David was reported after his former foster mother realized he'd been in Vallejo for his brother's funeral at the time of David Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen's murders. While there, he'd been gifted a firearm that had belonged to his brother, a .22 caliber rifle. Most notably of all, when David was upset, he would soothe himself by creating cryptograms. Some of these were passed along to detectives for examination, but they deemed David an unlikely suspect. A wife reported her ex-husband as he was known to sign his letters with a crosshair-like symbol. Another suspect came to light after a couple received a letter from a distant relative claiming he was a killer for the mafia and needed help.

The letter was sent for handwriting analysis with fingerprints lifted and compared to the partial prints on file. He was ruled out of the investigation. Many suspects were interviewed simply because those who reported them thought they had acted strangely and or they owned a gun. While each person varied in intrigue, the actual killer alluded investigators. 41-year-old Donald Hardin was a history and economics teacher from the Californian city of Salinas. In his spare time, he liked to create amateur cryptograms. He and his wife Betty had seen the Zodiac killer's 408 cipher published in the newspapers and decided to try to solve it. Their first move was to figure out which symbol might represent the letter E, the most commonly used letter in the English language.

However, the killer had apparently anticipated this approach and deliberately used 12 different symbols to signify E to thwart would-be code breakers. Donald and Betty considered the matter for a while, then tried a different tack. They figured the author had likely used the word kill more than once, so they began looking for four-letter patterns that would fit with this. For 20 hours, they painstakingly chipped away at the code. Finally, they cracked it. The decoded message read, I like killing people because it is so much fun. It is more fun than killing wild game in the forest because man is the most dangerous animal of all.

To kill something gives me the most thrilling experience. It is even better than getting your rocks off with a girl. The best part of it is that when I die, I will be reborn in paradise and all the people I have killed will become my slaves. I will not give you my name because you will try to slow down or stop my collecting of slaves for my afterlife. Following this was a garbled string of 18 letters that couldn't be deciphered using the code. Donald suspected that a separate method would be needed to unravel this final sentence and that it might hold the key to the zodiac's identity. He sent the decoded message to the San Francisco Chronicle along with several sheets of paper that he'd scribbled his work notes on. The newspaper's editors received the documents on August 8 and immediately notified Vallejo Detective Sergeant John Lynch.

Detective Lynch raced up to San Francisco to collect the letter and worksheets. As he cast his eyes over the decoded message, he was hit by a wave of disappointment. He'd hoped it would contain specific information about the killer's identity. The message was also sent to the President of the American Cryptogram Association who agreed with Donald's translation. To him, it was clear that the person who had created the cipher was extremely adept at designing codes. The biggest clue in the message was the killer's description of humans as the most dangerous animal of all. This was likely a reference to a short story titled The Most Dangerous Game in which a character kills people for sport after growing bored with hunting animals. The decoded cipher was published and people soon started coming forward claiming they could help decipher the garbled text at the end.

One thought it might read, Robert Emmett, the hippie. Another believed it could be a coded phone number. One tipster informed the police that the killer's reference to accumulating slaves for the afterlife was a spiritual concept found in parts of the Philippines and that the zodiac may have a connection to the area. All of these theories were investigated, but nothing came of them. Detectives were no closer to identifying a suspect and fears grew that the zodiac could soon strike again. Almost three months later, rookie officer David Slate was manning the telephone switchboard of the Napa Police Department when a call came through at 7.40pm. A male voice was on the other line. In a calm tone, he stated,

I want to report a murder. No, a double murder. They are two miles north of Park Headquarters. They were in a white Volkswagen Karman gear. Officer Slate thought the caller sounded young as though he was in his early twenties. Trying to coax out more information, the officer asked the man where he was. In a quiet, barely audible voice, the caller simply replied, I'm the one who did it. To be continued next week.