Casefile True Crime - Case 200: The Zodiac (Part 3)

Episode Date: February 19, 2022

[Part 3 of 4] On September 27 1969, friends Cecelia Shepard and Bryan Hartnell were relaxing at Lake Berryessa, California, when their afternoon was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a menacing figure. His face was concealed by a black hood, painted with a crosshair symbol. The man unleashed a brutal attack on the pair before fleeing the scene. --- 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 ZipRecruiter – Post your jobs for FREE Catalina Crunch – Get 15% off your first order of keto cereals + free shipping BetterHelp – Get 10% off your first month of professional counselling with a licensed therapist Truebill – Take control of your finances and save money For all credits and sources please visit casefilepodcast.com/case-200-the-zodiac-part-3

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The afternoon of Saturday, September 27, 1969. Almost three months after the murder of Darlene Farron in Napa, California. 21-year-old Joanne and her two friends made their way into California's Vaca Mountains. They went into a parking lot south of their destination and pulled their car into park. After gathering their belongings, they prepared to make their way down to Lake Berryessa. The 23-mile-long human-made reservoir was a popular recreational spot for swimming, fishing and water sports. It was a warm afternoon and the three young women were planning to do some sunbathing. As they exited the vehicle, another car caught their attention.

A late model two-door blue Chevrolet sedan with California plates drove into the parking lot from the southern side. It passed the trio, but then began backing up to the empty spot behind their car. The driver continued reversing until the Chevrolet's rear bumper was almost grazing the bumper of the women's car. Then he stopped and switched the engine off. He didn't get out. As Joanne and her friends walked past the Chevrolet, they caught a glimpse of the lone driver inside. Sitting silently behind the wheel was a well-built white male who looked to be about 40 years old, with black hair parted to the left. The women continued onwards to the lake and settled by the shore.

They stripped down to their bikinis and began soaking in the sun. About half an hour later, they looked up and noticed a man standing approximately 40 feet away amongst the trees. The women recognized him. It was the driver of the Chevrolet. Now that he was standing outside, he looked tall, perhaps between six foot and six foot two. He was dressed in dark trousers and a matching shirt, a odd choice for the sunny waterfront setting. The enormous size of the lake meant there was more than enough room for visitors to spread out. This alone made the man's proximity unusual, but it was the way he stared at the women that was most unnerving. Deciding it was best to ignore him, the young women didn't speak to the man, but they glanced up intermittently to check if he was still there.

Every time they cast their gaze in his direction, he averted his eyes. After about 30 minutes, he finally stepped out of the shadows of the trees and dabbled down to the lakefront. He got within about 20 feet of the women, before traipsing up a hill and disappearing into the distance. When the trio returned to their car 15 minutes later, both the man and his vehicle had vanished. A short while later, Clifford Rayfield and his 16 year old son were further along the shoreline when they noticed the man in dark coloured clothing watching them. He stood on the incline of a hill, halfway between the nearby road and the lake. That's odd, Clifford thought. The man wasn't carrying a fishing pole, camping equipment or a firearm per hunting.

What's he doing out here then? Clifford wondered. The man moved closer. He was somewhat stocky and not very nimble, but he walked with purpose. When he was within 100 yards of the father and son, he stopped abruptly and stared at them. Six uncomfortable seconds passed. Then, just as suddenly, he turned around and headed back up the hill towards the road. It seemed as though he'd been agonising over something, but then changed his mind. Confused by the encounter, Clifford looked to his son.

The teenager happened to be holding his rifle. It seemed as though Clifford was holding his rifle. Clifford looked to his son. Clifford looked to his son. Clifford looked to his son. Clifford looked to his son. Oblivious to the strange man disturbing other Lake Berryessa visitors. 22-year-old Cecilia Shepard and 20-year-old Brian Hartnell took in their peaceful surroundings.

They had arrived at the lake earlier in the afternoon. The two students were good friends who'd previously dated. Cecilia had recently transferred to another university and had stopped in at her old college for a visit. When she bumped into Brian there, the pair decided to spend the afternoon together. A last-minute change of plans led them to the lake. Brian parked his white Volkswagen Carmen gear by the side of Knoxville Road. He and Cecilia gathered up a blanket and a deck of cards, then ambled along a narrow dirt trail towards the water. After walking for about a quarter of a mile, they saw a sandbar that provided access to a small, grassy island.

They walked across and spread their blanket under the shade of a large oak tree near the shoreline. From this idyllic spot, they had the perfect vantage point to admire the lake. Cecilia lay with her head on Brian's shoulder and they reminisced about old times. Two hours passed with nothing to disturb their privacy except for an occasional boat sailing across the lake's calm waters. It was nearing 6.30pm when all of a sudden they heard a rustling sound from some nearby bushes. Brian asked Cecilia if she could see what was making the noise. She looked over. The heavy-set man was standing a short distance away, watching them.

He was white, approximately 200 to 225 pounds and between 5'8 and 6' tall. As Cecilia watched, the man stepped behind a tree and disappeared. She told Brian, who assumed the stranger was merely looking for an isolated spot to urinate. Nonetheless, he told Cecilia to keep an eye on him. Suddenly, she squeezed Brian's arm and cried out. Oh my god, he's got a gun. Cecilia and Brian stared in shock as the man strode towards them, pointing a handgun in their direction. Dressed in dark trousers and a windbreaker, the man's face was concealed by a dark hood that covered his entire head, shoulders and part of his torso.

Holes for his eyes had been cut into the hood and he wore a pair of clip-on sunglasses over the top. A neat white crosshair symbol was carefully painted across his chest and hanging from the right side of his belt was a large sheathed knife. I'm on my way to Mexico, he revealed. I escaped from Dear Lodge Prison in Montana. Brian peered through the exposed eye holes in the man's mask and noticed sweaty brown hair stuck to his forehead. He thought the man sounded young as though he was between 20 and 30 years of age and he didn't come across as well educated. He also spoke with a slight draw that was strangely familiar. Brian explained that he didn't have any money but would help in any way he could.

He offered to hand over his wallet and car keys, but the man didn't take them. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, Brian nervously tried to engage the hooded man in conversation. At one point, the man reholstered his weapon, but he wasn't interested in being reasoned with. It was clear he had a specific purpose in mind. Like face down on the ground, I'm going to have to tie you up, he said. He removed several lengths of plastic washing line that were hitched to the left side of his belt and handed them to Cecilia. You tie the boy up, he demanded. Cecilia did as she was told.

The man hogtied Cecilia himself before checking Brian's restraints to make sure they were tight enough. He then bound their ankles together. Noticing the man shaking, Brian asked if he was nervous. Yes, I guess so, he replied. Since the beginning of the ambush, Brian had suspected that the man's gun wasn't loaded. Now that he and Cecilia were both restrained, he wasn't so sure. He asked the man who pulled out the clip in response, confirming there were bullets inside. He then reached into his belt and pulled out a bayonet style knife with a long sturdy blade.

Brian felt terror surge through his body upon realizing this wasn't going to end well. He begged the man to stab him first so he wouldn't have to watch Cecilia being hurt. He began stabbing Brian over and over in the back six times in total. Brian was flooded with shock. He lay prone in a total daze, unable to react. Cecilia started screaming frantically. The man turned to her and launched a frenzied assault. He stabbed her in the back before rolling her over and repeatedly stabbing her in the torso.

He launched his knife into her chest, breasts, groin and abdomen, grunting and breathing heavily as the attack intensified. When Cecilia stopped moving, the man calmly walked away from the scene. He headed back towards the road where his victims White, Volkswagen, Carmen, Gia was parked and took out a black marker. On the driver's side door, he drew a large crosshair. Then scribbled a series of words and numbers set out in several separate rows. He concluded his note with two final chilling words. By knife. Ronald Fong was fishing in Lake Berryessa with his nine-year-old son when he heard two voices screaming for help.

The cries sounded as though they were coming from a small island nearby. Ronald circled his boat approximately 100 yards from the island and switched off the motor. He could faintly make out a young man and woman on the shore, but it was too far away for Ronald to tell whether their pleas were serious. He ultimately dismissed it as a gag. But 15 minutes later, he could still hear the screams. Ronald decided to approach the island and cautiously called out to ask what was wrong. As he drew closer, he saw Brian Hartnell leaning his head against Cecilia Sheppard and swaying from side to side. Both were soaked in blood.

The pair had merely been playing dead in the desperate hope their attacker would leave. Brian explained that they had been stabbed and robbed. Horrified by the shocking scene, Ronald immediately piloted his boat to the nearby resort where he was staying to alert the authorities. With help now on the way, Cecilia and Brian managed to wriggle loose from their restraints. Both struggled to remain awake as blood continued to seep from their wounds. Brian's hands and feet were completely numb, but he was able to gather enough strength to stand up. He kissed Cecilia, telling her, I'm going to get help. On the verge of unconsciousness, Brian started walking towards the road.

Instead of focusing on the realization that he could die, he told himself not to give up and focused on pushing on. I'm not satisfied with my personal life, Brian thought. This is no way to end it. Slowly, pain started to slip through the shock. His vision soon went black and he had to lie down. He made several more attempts to move, but eventually collapsed not far from the road. All he could see were the trees around him, blurred into an indistinguishable haze. Then he heard a sound. It was the engine of a truck drawing closer. Park Ranger Dennis Land was driving en route to the location where fisherman Ronald Fong and his son had witnessed the young couple in terrible distress.

Approximately 300 yards from the road, Ranger Land found Brian Hartnell lying in the grass, his torso covered with blood. Ranger Land helped Brian to his truck and Brian directed him to the scene of the attack. By the time Ranger Land reached Cecilia Shepard, she was in an immense amount of pain. She had six stab wounds in her back and five to her front, the largest of which was 10 inches long. She was rocking back and forth on all fours, moaning. He was a man with a hood. His face was covered. It hurts. It hurts. At 7.40pm, the switchboard at the Napa Police Department lit up as a call came through. 70 minutes had passed since the attack at Lake Beriesa.

I want to report a murder. No, a double murder, the mail caller said calmly. They are two miles north of Park Headquarters. They were in a white Volkswagen Kalman gear. The caller continued, ignoring questions. I'm the one that did it. He then placed the receiver down instead of hanging it up, so the call remained connected. Officer David Slate kept speaking into his phone, asking whether anyone was there, but there was no reply. Passing traffic could be heard in the background, along with what sounded like female voices. Officer Slate contacted the phone operator to see if the call could be traced.

He was informed that the caller had used a pay phone. The operator would keep the line open as she attempted to find out where the call had originated from. Meanwhile, radio news reporter Pat Stanley was listening to his police scanner for possible stories. He overheard Officer Slate saying that a suspicious call had been made from a pay phone somewhere in Napa, and that the caller hadn't hung up properly. Pat decided to drive around town looking for the phone in question. Near a car wash on the corner of Main Street, 27 miles from the crime scene at Lake Beriesa, he spotted a phone booth. Inside, the pay phone's receiver was dangling down.

Pat approached the phone and began shouting into the mouthpiece, asking if Officer Slate could hear him. When Officer Slate responded that he could, Pat provided the location. Two officers were dispatched to the area. They didn't notice anyone suspicious, nor were there any footprints or tire marks nearby. They photographed the phone booth and processed it as a crime scene, finding seven latent fingerprints, three latent palm prints, and one indistinct print. At Lake Beriesa, officers had found Brian's Volkswagen parked on the side of the road, a short walk from where the couple were attacked.

Its doors were locked, and it didn't look as though anyone had attempted to break in. However, someone had used a black marker to write a message on the driver's side door. It began with a crosshair symbol, followed by the city name Vallejo, and vertical rows of numbers. The discovering officer immediately recognized these as significant dates. First was December 20, 1968, the date that the Zodiac murdered David Faraday and Betty Lou Jansen. Next was July 4, 1969, when the Zodiac attacked Darlene Faran and Michael Majo. The third and final date was the current one, September 27, 1969, followed by the time of 6.30, and the words, by knife. Upon seeing this final date, the police officer felt a wave of horror wash over him.

It seemed that Cecilia Shepard and Brian Hartnett were the latest victims of the Zodiac killer. His instincts were confirmed when the handwriting on the car was compared to the known Zodiac letters. It was a match. Several witnesses who'd been at Lake Berryessa that afternoon spoke of seeing a man lingering around the shoreline prior to the attack on Brian and Cecilia. Police believed this was the Zodiac. When collated, these reports depicted a heavy-set white man of average height, wearing dark-colored clothing. He had spent hours traversing the hills around Knoxville Road. It appeared that the Zodiac was on the hunt for solitary vehicles parked in the area.

He would pull up behind them, then go searching for the vehicle's owners. He'd first done it to the three young women who went sunbathing, but left without confronting them for reasons unknown. He then came across Clifford Rayfield and his son. It was possible he'd left them alone after being spooked by the sight of their rifle, or because he preferred his victims to be male-female couples. About 20 feet to the rear of Brian's Volkswagen were some tire prints believed to have been left by the Zodiac's vehicle. At least two of the wheels had an exceptionally worn tread, indicating an older, poorly-maintained vehicle that spent a lot of time on the road. Latent fingerprints lifted from the exterior of the Volkswagen didn't match anyone in police records. Several distinct footprints were spotted leading to and from Brian's car.

They were approximately 13 inches long, with a parallel bar tread design on both the heel and sole. Plaster casts of matching footprints were taken throughout the area, including one in the sand 100 feet from the point of attack. This one also showed a circular design in the instep area of the print. The pattern was from a wing walker shoe. Wing walkers were government-issued footwear worn by Air Force and civilian personnel. Their design allowed the wearer to walk on airplane wings without causing damage. It was determined that the Lake Berryessa print had been made by a military-sized 10.5R boot. Wing walkers were manufactured in Philadelphia before being shipped to Utah.

Military bases throughout the country would then place orders for the boots and sell them on site. The closest base to the crime scene was the Travis Air Force Base, located 25 miles east of Napa. Purchase records indicated that the base had ordered and sold roughly 100 pairs of size 10.5 boots to personnel over the past 13 months. Unfortunately, buyers' details weren't available for these sales. Another 500 to 1000 pairs had also been sold at the base's separate surplus store. Of those customers able to be traced and tracked down, none were arrested for crimes associated with the Zodiac. Brian Hartnell and Cecilia Shepard were both rushed to the hospital in critical condition. Cecilia lapsed into a coma on the way.

She died two days later without ever regaining consciousness. But, like Michael Majo before him, Brian miraculously survived. As he recovered, detectives stood vigil outside his hospital room, worried that the Zodiac might learn of the young man's survival and attempt to pay him a visit. Once Brian was well enough, he provided a detailed account of his terrifying encounter with the Zodiac killer. The Lake Beriesa stabbing was in stark contrast to his previous attacks at Blue Rock Springs Park and Lake Herman Road, which appeared to have been more opportunistic. Michael Majo said that when he and Darlene were approached, the killer fired into their car without saying a word.

In the Lake Beriesa attack, the killer had spoken openly. The difficulty lay in knowing whether or not to trust what he'd said. The killers claimed that he'd escaped from Deelodge Prison seemed like a cover, but police still considered whether Montana could be significant to him. He had also admitted to being nervous. Was the Zodiac not the confident killer he portrayed himself to be? The answer to that question and many others remained a mystery. What was known was that he was becoming increasingly cruel and violent.

His arsenal had increased to include a knife and rope. He had made himself a striking uniform, which Brian Hartnell described as carefully sewn and meticulously placed. But what was the point if he didn't plan to leave survivors who could describe it? Perhaps his motivation was to instill fear in his victims, ensuring that the last thing they ever saw was a dark hooded figure with a crosshair emblazoned across his chest. Or perhaps the outfit was linked to his self-aggrandizing fantasies. Whatever the reason, the Zodiac was receiving the notoriety he craved. His crimes were making headlines, as police chased a killer whose pattern of behavior was as unclear as his motive.

Investigators were flooded with tip-offs and struggled to keep up with leads. One suspect was investigated after speaking about Deelodge Prison. Another was interviewed for having a crosshair tattoo. A man who was shot by police during a hostage crisis used his dying breaths to gasp. I'm Zodiac. That's me. But it was later determined that he was a troubled individual struggling with substance abuse. Psychics muddied efforts with dubious visions, while the police were flooded with calls from pranksters purporting to be the Zodiac. Detectives travelled interstate, examined other murders for links, compared handwriting samples, and checked alibis.

As September gave way to October, newspapers ran frightening headlines warning of the danger. This type of person could strike today or tomorrow one article cautioned. He's not run of the mill. He's a real psychopathic killer. Citizens were advised to steer clear of remote areas and told to travel in groups. Couples in particular were warned to be careful. Meanwhile, on a street corner in San Francisco, the Zodiac killer raised his arm and flagged down an approaching taxi. The night of Saturday, October 11, 1969, two weeks after the murder of Cecilia Shepard in San Francisco, California. 29-year-old Paul Stein said goodbye to his wife Claudia.

By 8.45pm, he was behind the wheel of the taxi he drove for the Yellow Cab Company. It was a relatively new gig. Paul was completing his PhD in English and had turned to cab driving to make ends meet. Studying during the day and working at night was exhausting, but Paul was no stranger to hard work. A conscientious man with a sharp intellect that had earned him the nickname of Einstein, Paul was determined to make the arrangement work. His first customer was waiting near Pier 64 at Bayfront Park. Paul drove them to the San Francisco airport where he then received another job from his dispatcher. There was a customer waiting to be picked up at an apartment downtown on 9th Street.

Paul accepted the fare and began the 12-mile drive north back into the city. By this point, it was just after 9.45pm. As he neared the intersection of Mason and Geary Streets in the Tenderloin neighborhood, Paul caught sight of someone waving him down. He pulled over. The man asked if Paul could take him to the intersection of Washington and Maple Streets in the affluent neighborhood of Presidio Heights. Paul thought about it for a second. It was approximately a 3-mile trip in the same direction as 9th Street. He figured he could drop this man off on the way and still make it to collect his next passenger in time.

Paul accepted the fare, making note of it in his logbook. The passenger hopped in and closed the door behind him. Paul put his indicator on and pulled back into the street. He weaved his cab through the treeline streets of Presidio Heights, past the stately homes the area was known for. As he neared the corner of Washington and Cherry Streets, a block further than his passenger's original destination, his cab suddenly rolled to a stop. The engine idled. Paul Stines slumped down in his seat, flopping towards the passenger side. Blood snaked down his face and onto his torso.

The single bullet fired at close range to the right side of his head had killed him instantly. He didn't even have time to turn the meter off. Sitting in the passenger seat with the body of Paul Stines draped across his lap, the zodiac killer rifled through his victim's pockets. Then he pulled out a piece of fabric and methodically wiped down the car's interior. Stepping out of the vehicle, he turned his attention to the outside, rubbing the cloth carefully across the exterior paintwork. Satisfied with his cleanup, the zodiac straightened up and casually walked away down Cherry Street. What he didn't know was that he was being watched by three teenage siblings who had gathered at the upstairs window of their nearby home. While they didn't witness the shooting, they saw what the killer did after.

They quickly phoned police, describing the perpetrator as between 35 and 45 years old, about 5'10 and 190 pounds, with a pointy stomach and a reddish-blonde crew card. He was wearing horn-rimmed eyeglasses and dressed unremarkably in trousers and a jacket. Officers Donald Fowke and Eric Zelms were on patrol east of Presidio when they received word of the attack and a description of the perpetrator. They raced towards the scene at Washington and Cherry, keeping their eyes peeled for a suspect as described. They soon spotted someone. A stocky, middle-aged white male with a light-colored crew card. Standing at about 5'10, the man walked slowly with his head bent down, not appearing to be in any hurry. Curiously, he matched the suspect's description to a tee, except that he was white.

The dispatcher had specifically said the offender was a black male. As the man didn't fit the profile, Officer Fowke and Zelms continued on. Upon arriving at the crime scene, officers found Paul Stein lying in a semi-supine position across the front seat with his head resting on the floor. Both he and the front compartment of the cab were soaked in blood. The three teenage siblings who had witnessed the aftermath of the shooting were interviewed at the scene. When they described the attacker as a white male, the questioning officer was confused. Weren't they on the lookout for a black suspect? Realizing the dispatcher had made a grave error, the officer immediately radioed in to have the broadcast corrected.

He then walked north along Cherry Street, eyes peeled for anyone who looked like the shooter. But the streets were quiet. Not only was there no one who matched the suspect's description, there weren't even any witnesses around to question. Continuing east along Jackson Street, the officer passed the man out walking his dog but didn't see anyone else noteworthy. When word reached officers Donald Fowke and Derek Zelms that the shooter was actually a white male, they were stunned. They had just passed by a man who matched the perpetrator's description in every way other than the colour of his skin. Realizing they might have inadvertently driven right by the killer, Officer Fowke sped off towards the Presidio War playground, believing the man probably headed there after turning onto Maple Street. The area was surrounded by dense foliage.

Officer Fowke couldn't say anything through the dark. A large-scale search commenced. A spotlight scanned the darkened streets, alleyways and parklands as police swarmed the area in patrol cars and on motorbikes. Some paced the streets with sniffer dogs in tow. But the killer was long gone. Paul Stein's logbook indicated that the killer's destination had been the corner of Washington and Maple Street. The intersection was guarded by high trees that obstructed the views from residential windows, making it a safe place to pull off the murder without witnesses. It was also only one block from the Presidio War playground which would have provided a quick escape route.

However, the location where Paul's cab was found was one block further west in a more exposed spot further from the park. Police wondered if Paul had perhaps overshot the intersection and the killer asked him to pull over at the next corner. Or maybe the shooter saw an unexpected witness at the original destination and changed his mind at the last moment. Another possibility was that Paul had still been driving when he was shot, forcing the gunman to take control of the vehicle as it careened out of control. There was very little evidence to help identify the suspect, yet police had a couple of clues to go on. Despite the killer's attempts to wipe the cab clean of evidence, several latent bloody fingerprints were lifted from the exterior of the vehicle. A pair of men's size 7 black leather gloves were also found inside the cab. These didn't belong to Paul. Examination of a spent Winchester Western bullet casing found on the passenger seat confirmed that it had been shot from a 9mm semi-automatic pistol.

The killer had also taken Paul's wallet and car keys before fleeing the scene. This indicated to police that the shooting was nothing more than a violent robbery and there was no reason to believe otherwise. The three teenagers who'd seen the killer worked with a police artist to create a suspect sketch. Officer Fowke later helped complete a second composite based on the man he'd passed near the crime scene. The two faces were remarkably similar. Soon, both were on display in police stations across the state, printed side by side on wanted posters. Two days after Paul's murder, Carol Fisher-Cottes was sitting at her desk at the San Francisco Chronicle newspaper. She worked as the letters editor and it was her job to sort through correspondence sent by readers.

As she flicked through the mail that had arrived that day, she spotted an unusual envelope. In the top left hand corner where a return address was usually printed, someone had drawn a small crosshair symbol. Carol opened the envelope and, to her alarm, a strip of bloodied cloth fell out onto the desk. She looked inside the envelope and saw a single sheet of paper. It was a brief handwritten letter that read, This is the Zodiac speaking. I am the murderer of the taxi driver over by Washington and Maple Street last night. To prove this, here is a bloodstained piece of his shirt.

I am the same man who did in the people in the North Bay area. The San Francisco police could have caught me last night if they had searched the park properly instead of holding road races with their motorcycles seeing who could make the most noise. The car drivers should have just parked their cars and sat there quietly, waiting for me to come out of cover. School children make nice targets. I think I shall wipe out a school bus some morning. Just shoot out the front tyre and then pick off the kitties as they come bouncing out. The letter was signed off with the same crosshair symbol that appeared on the envelope. Law enforcement officials were notified about the Zodiac's latest confession and took possession of the letter.

Given that Paul Stein's murder had been classed as a violent robbery, detectives hadn't considered any links to the Zodiac killer. So far, he'd only confessed to murders involving young couples in isolated locales. Because the Zodiac had been particularly brutal towards his female victims, criminal analysts theorized that he had a particular hatred for young women. A male cab driver killed at work didn't fit with his ammo. Additionally, detectives weren't even aware that a piece of Paul Stein's shirt was missing. No one had noticed this detail when bagging his clothing as evidence.

They recovered Paul's shirt from the morgue and compared it to the strip of blooded cloth sent to the Chronicle. It was a perfect match. However, it appeared the killer had taken more fabric that was still unaccounted for. A handwriting expert for the FBI compared this letter with the others sent by the Zodiac killer and deemed that all had likely been written by the same person. With another Zodiac murder confirmed, criminal analysts now had more information to work with. They noticed how the killer's letters were peppered with misspelled words and grammatical errors. He seemed intelligent, so these mistakes suggested he lacked a formal education.

Though, it was also possible he was deliberately making mistakes, just to throw authorities off track. Another common thread was the fact that all of his crimes seemed to occur by bodies of water or in places with water-themed names. None of his crimes appeared personally motivated. It seemed that all victims had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was extremely concerning, given that the window between his attacks was narrowing. After shooting David Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen, almost seven months passed before the Zodiac killer struck again. Then, there were only three months between his attacks against Michael Majo and Darlene Farron and Brian Hartnell and Cecilia Shepard. Paul Stein's attack came exactly two weeks later.

If he continued following this pattern, it seemed likely that another murder was imminent. When newspapers reported on the Zodiac's latest letter, they strategically declined to mention the threat he'd made about killing schoolchildren. California's residents were panicked enough, and they didn't want the Zodiac to get any more satisfaction. That all changed on October 16, five days after Paul Stein's murder, when the Los Angeles Times decided to make the detail public. As expected, the result was widespread panic. On the afternoon of October 20, a couple was out walking with their eight-year-old daughter in the northern California town of Ucaya. As the trio strolled along the quiet back road of Lake Mendocino Drive, a light-colored car drove by. The driver threw a twig out the window towards them.

Attached was a piece of paper. Written on it in crude handwriting were the words, Your Next, Zee. The following day, a San Francisco Bay Area newspaper received a phone call from someone claiming to be the Zodiac. He issued a harrowing warning. He was planning to shoot children as they traveled on school buses. Both incidents were reported, and law enforcement agencies were immediately on high alert. The police and California's highway patrol began surveilling all school buses in the area.

Some even had officers on board, ready to respond if necessary. But there were no attacks. It was becoming abundantly clear that the media obsession had spurred hoaxes and attention seekers into action, prompting false confessions and copycats. Some individuals developed an unhealthy fixation with the case, including one man from Montana who was convinced he was going to be a victim. I left California because it got too hot for me, an individual claiming to be the Zodiac told an Oklahoma radio program. The Zodiac was a title many were willing to adopt for their own reasons, while the actual killer remained silent. To coax the Zodiac killer out of hiding, California's Attorney General appealed for him to come forward by promising to provide help and protection.

Editors at the San Francisco Examiner also ran a direct message to the Zodiac on the paper's front page. It read, in part, Five people are dead. Let there be no more killings. You are being hunted everywhere in the state and nation. You are alone in this world. You can share your secrets with no one. We ask that you give yourself up to the examiner. We offer you no protection and no sympathy, but we do offer you fair treatment, the assurance of medical help, and the full benefits of your legal rights. And we offer to tell your story. There was no response.

Paul Stein's brother Joe also directly addressed the Zodiac when he offered himself up as bait. Joe was sure that he could take the killer down, explaining that he was an Army and Air Force veteran capable of overpowering a coward like the Zodiac, even without a weapon. Giving specific details as to where the killer could find him, Joe said, I work at the Richfield service station at 706 Sutter Street in Modesto. I start at 7am. I go to lunch at the walk-in chicken in a shopping centre two blocks away, riding a bicycle along Sutter Street and leaving the station at noon each day. I go back to the service station and work until five. Let him come and get me. Other residents and business owners in the neighbourhood were less than thrilled about Joe's challenge.

They feared it would draw the serial killer to their community and place them in danger. However, their concern was unwarranted. The Zodiac didn't take Joe up on his offer. On the night of Saturday, October 18, a lone car sat in the parking lot of Vallejo's Blue Rock Springs Park, close by to where Darlene Farron and Michael Majo had been shot. It was nearing 2am when a second vehicle approached. A 1964 Greenish Grey Chevrolet station wagon pulled into the parking lot and drove towards the other car. The Chevrolet stopped and its engine switched off. A middle-aged man of average height and build exited the vehicle. He walked right up to the neighbouring car. Just then, two undercover officers sprang into action.

They had planted the first car there as bait, hoping to lure the Zodiac into attempting another attack. Their plan appeared to have worked. But the driver of the Chevrolet explained that he was a Navy employee stationed on Treasure Island in San Francisco. He was on his way to Lake Berryessa, but had gotten lost. Upon seeing the car at Blue Rock Springs Park, he decided to ask for directions. With no reason to doubt him, the officers let the man go and resumed their covert positions. They stayed there for the rest of the night, but nobody else approached the bait car. The Zodiac clearly wasn't falling for it.

Despite their initial hope, the tactic was unsuccessful and no further stakeouts were planned. Investigators turned their focus to the guns used during the attacks. In total, the killer had used three different firearms. A .22 caliber weapon had been used on David and Betty Lou, while two different 9mm weapons were used during the attacks on Michael and Darlene and Paul Stein. The one used to kill Paul was a semi-automatic that required ammunition only available from specialised gun dealers. Only 143 9mm firearms similar to those used in the Zodiac attacks had been sold in San Francisco over the last three years. Investigators hunted down the buyer's gun applications and compared their handwriting to that on the Zodiac letters.

No matches were found. It was close to midnight on Tuesday, October 21, 1969, when a phone rang at Oakland Police Department, 12.5 miles east of San Francisco. An officer answered and was greeted by a male on the other line who introduced himself as the Zodiac killer. He then made a strange request. He wanted one of two specific defense attorneys to appear on San Francisco talk show, the Jim Dunbar show, the following morning. If this request was granted, the caller said he would be open to negotiating live on air. To prove he was genuine, he provided knowledge about the Zodiac case that police deemed to be legitimate.

Investigators agreed to the caller's demands. One of the attorneys he wanted to speak to was Melvin Belier. He was famous for defending Jack Ruby, an American nightclub owner who killed presidential assassin Lee Harvey Oswald. Belier agreed to appear on the show. The next morning, the Jim Dunbar show went live to air at seven o'clock. All the other guests on the show were canceled as Dunbar and Belier made small talk. After 49 minutes, the phone finally rang. The caller identified himself as the Zodiac, but Belier asked for another name they could use.

He told them to call him Sam. Talk to us. Just tell us what's going on inside you right now, Sam. I have headaches. How long have you had those headaches, Sam? In a long time? Since I killed a kid. If it all boils down to the question of you're giving yourself up if you could be assured that you wouldn't get capital punishment for myself.

I don't want to give myself up. So when I kill those kids... In an effort to avoid having the call traced, Sam kept hanging up and calling back minutes later. In total, he phoned 15 times over the course of two hours. Before ending one call, Sam said, I'm getting one of my headaches now. I've got to kill. I've got to kill.

At one point, he threatened to jump off the roof of a hotel unless Belier agreed to meet him there. While off air, Belier convinced Sam to meet him elsewhere. They arranged to meet at 10.30 that morning at the St. Vincent de Paul's office building on Mission Street. Belier and Dunbar went to the location with high hopes. Word about the meeting got out and camera crews and curious onlookers flocked to the area hoping to witness some action. The police arrived half an hour later, but the Zodiac never showed up. Recordings of the calls were played to three people who had heard the Zodiac's voice. These were Lake Berryessa survivor Brian Hartnell and the two police dispatchers Nancy Slover and David Slade.

None of them thought Sam sounded like the Zodiac. With no evidence to convince them otherwise, police suspected that the calls had been a hoax. On Saturday, November 8, another envelope arrived at the San Francisco Chronicle with the words, please rush to the editor, written on both sides. It had been almost four weeks since the Zodiac had made contact. He was now attempting to be funny by submitting a greeting card that parodied a popular television commercial of the time. On the front was an illustration of a fountain pen dripping in blood and inside was a cipher with 340 different characters. Accompanying the card was a handwritten letter that read,

This is the Zodiac speaking. I thought you would need a good laugh before you hear the bad news. You won't get the news for a while yet. P.S. could you print this new cipher on your front page? I get awfully lonely when I am ignored. So lonely, I could do my thing. It was signed with the Zodiac's crosshair symbol followed by the words, December, July, August, September, October equals 7.

This final line was explained the very next day when the San Francisco Chronicle received another letter that began. This is the Zodiac speaking. Up to the end of October I have killed seven people. I have grown rather angry with the police for their telling lies about me. So I shall change the way the collecting of slaves. I shall no longer announce to anyone. When I commit my murders they shall look like routine robberies, killings of anger and a few fake accidents, etc.

The police shall never catch me because I have been too clever for them. The Zodiac's claim that he'd killed seven people was confusing as he was only known to have taken the lives of five victims. He went on to boast that he avoided detection by wearing a disguise and coating his fingertips with airplane cement while committing his crimes. He also claimed to have wiped Paul Stein's cab down to leave the police with false clues. Then detailed a supposed encounter he'd had with two officers near the scene. Quote, Two cops pulled a goof about three minutes after I left the cab.

I was walking down the hill to the park when this cop car pulled up and one of them called me over and asked if I saw anyone acting suspicious or strange in the last five to ten minutes. And I said yes. There was this man who was running by waving a gun and the cops peeled rubber and went around the corner as I directed them. And I disappeared into the park a block and a half away, never to be seen again. Hey pig, doesn't it roll you up to have your nose rubbed in your boo-boos? The letter droned on for six pages.

Towards the end, the Zodiac provided accurate bomb-making instructions along with an illustration of a homemade incendiary device. He warned he was going to use this contraption to blow up a bus, adding that he could be storing it in his basement or at the site where he intended to detonate. On his trademark crosshair symbol, the Zodiac had added small X's at various points of the circle, which were believed to indicate various times of day. Editors for the San Francisco Chronicle published excerpts from the two most recent letters, but decided to omit the bomb threat for fear it would lead to panic.

They also published the new cipher included with the greeting card, which was named the 340 cipher. It was a different code altogether from the original 408 cipher, and the editors hoped that amateur code breakers would be able to crack this one too. It was also forwarded to professional cryptologists at the FBI headquarters, the National Security Agency, and the Central Intelligence Agency. But no one was able to break the code. In December 1969, defence lawyer Melvin Beley travelled to the German city of Munich to attend a conference. While he was away, his housekeeper back in San Francisco forwarded all correspondence to his office

so his employees could check for important documents. When they returned to work after the Christmas break, they discovered an envelope postmarked December 20. Scribbled on the back in poor spelling was the message, Merry Christmas and New Year. One of Beley's colleagues opened the envelope. Inside was a blood-stained scrap of fabric along with a neatly handwritten letter that read, Dear Melvin, this is the Zodiac speaking. I wish you a happy Christmas. The one thing I ask of you is this, please help me.

I cannot reach out for help because this thing in me won't let me. I am binding it extremely difficult to hold it in check. I am afraid I will lose control again and take my ninth and possibly tenth victim. Please help me, I am drowning. At the moment the children are safe from the bomb because it is so massive to dig in and the trigger mechanism required much work to get it adjusted just right. But if I hold back too long from number nine, I will lose all control of myself and set the bomb up. Please help me, I cannot remain in control for much longer.

The envelope and its contents were passed along to authorities, who determined that the bloody fabric was another piece of Paul Stein's shirt. This, along with the fact that the Zodiac's bomb threat hadn't been released to the public, convinced them that the letter was genuine. Although it was significantly neater than the others, leading some to believe that the Zodiac wanted to impress Belai. It was difficult to tell whether the Zodiac was being sincere or sarcastic in his cries for help. Up until this point, he'd portrayed himself as a dangerous man not to be messed with,

but now he was coming across as vulnerable and desperate. It was also unclear what he wanted Belai to do with this information, as he hadn't specifically requested psychiatric or legal help. But the letter raised an even bigger question. At this point, the Zodiac had been linked to five murders, those of Betty Lou Jensen, David Faraday, Darlene Farron, Cecilia Shepard and Paul Stein. So who were the three other victims he was referring to? Were there more victims investigators hadn't yet linked him to?

Or was he simply taunting them? Belai appealed for the Zodiac to make further contact via an article in the San Francisco Chronicle. He offered to meet anywhere the Zodiac wanted and agree to any demands. On January 14, 1970, the phone rang at Belai's home in San Francisco. He was still overseas, so his housekeeper took the call. It was Sam, the same man who had called the Jim Dunbar show claiming to be the Zodiac. When he was told the lawyer wasn't available, Sam replied, I can't wait, it's my birthday.

He then hung up the phone. Almost a month later on February 5, Sam called Jim Dunbar again. Police were alerted and Jim tried to keep Sam talking while detectives raced to the studios to listen in. By the time they arrived, Sam had hung up. The call hadn't been long enough to be traced. The calls from Sam also continued at Melvin Belai's residence, so the FBI set up a trace on the line. One call was eventually traced back to a mental health facility in Oakland. It had been made by an inpatient named Eric Wheel, who was an amateur photographer from the San Francisco Bay Area.

Recordings of Wheel's voice were played to those who had heard the real Zodiac speak, including Lake Berryessa survivor Brian Hartnell, and none thought they were the same person. Regardless, Weir was interviewed extensively and also provided fingerprints and handwriting samples. Investigators confirmed he was responsible for the hoax phone calls to the police department, the Jim Dunbar show, and Marvin Belai's residence. But he was ultimately ruled out as a suspect in the Zodiac killings. The real Zodiac never responded to Belai's public offer of assistance. As news of the Zodiac continued to dominate headlines in California, Los Angeles resident Donald Cheney couldn't shake an uneasy feeling. He'd recently been plagued by the memory of something that happened a couple of years earlier, and it was eating at his every thought. In January of 1968, Donald had been on a hunting trip with a friend.

The two were chatting about a science fiction story when all of a sudden, Donald's friend turned to him and asked, Have you ever thought of hunting people? As Donald tried to process this disturbing question, his friend began describing the way he would carry out such an attack. He would go to a lover's lane armed with a revolver or pistol that was fitted with an aiming device and flashlight. He would then approach anyone in the vicinity and start shooting. Alternatively, he would shoot the tires of a school bus and then shoot each child as they came bouncing out of the bus. The crimes would have no motive, making it difficult for investigators to catch him. To amuse himself, he would then taunt detectives by sending them letters filled with red herrings.

While this information alone was enough to haunt Donald, there was one detail in particular that had his head spinning. His friend had said he would sign the letters with the name he'd taken a particular liking to. The Zodiac To be continued next week. .