Zodiac Unmasked (5 page)

they were getting hundreds of tips. Then Sandy Panzarel a asked me to come down and work for him in 1971 at Science Dynamics. We were

always good friends. After col ege, Sandy had become an electronic engineer and worked at that for a few years. Then he went into this computer

bookkeeping business on his own and did very wel . He had the magic touch. He got his foot in the door and soon was doing bil ing for medical

practices and hospitals—that sort of thing.

“I was the operations manager at Science Dynamics—hiring and firing, managing the keypunch department and twelve girls, two couriers that

made al our pickups and deliveries in Los Angeles County, and three or four boys in the mailroom to handle the logistics of the paper. I was

responsible for al the material logistics. We had another team that ran the computer part of the business. Of course I’ve used computers in

structural analysis and pipe stress, but was never a computer guy. Then one day the subject of Starr came up again and I final y told Sandy of my

suspicions.

“Later, Ron came down to Torrance and we al talked over our apprehensions. Once we got on that discussion, we decided to do something

about it. ‘I can see that the police have basical y ignored you,’ said Sandy. He was a real ‘take-charge guy.’ I had never spoken to Manhattan Beach

police, but for some reason that’s who responded to Science Dynamics in Torrance that afternoon.”

“Don kept tel ing me the story,” Panzarel a told me later. And he said, “No policeman wil answer my cal .” I said, “Bul shit! Let’s get on the phone

here.” And that’s how it got started. Don was trying and no one took him seriously. He was not an aggressive guy. There was a Torrance policeman

named Amos, and I knew if I cal ed him that would get things going. “I know you guys get a lot of crank cal s about who the Zodiac kil er may be,” I

told him. Amos then cal ed up to San Francisco, asked who was on the case, and they referred him to Inspector Bil Armstrong. Armstrong advised,

“Get the local P.D. to send us a report.” And then Amos cal ed me back. “Come on over and talk to us,” I said.

Meanwhile in Val ejo, another investigator was fast becoming an expert on Zodiac—Detective George Bawart (Bow-art), a stocky, powerful man,

relentless as a bloodhound. “Cheney had already talked to Panzarel a about his suspicions,” Bawart told me later, “and at that time Cheney stil was

friends with Starr. Then he became non-friends. There was an inference that Starr may have become too friendly with his daughter, and Cheney

broke off the relationship because of that. And I was concerned that was the reason he might be making up a story.

“I don’t real y trust polygraphs to any great degree, but that was one of the reasons we afterward ran Cheney on a polygraph up in the state of

Washington. The Washington state police ran Cheney on a poly and he came out clean.
He was telling the truth.
I tend to agree with the results of

that because Panzarel a claims and Cheney claims that before the fal ing-out occurred, he had al uded to this incident to Panzarel a.”

In mid-1967 Starr and Cheney and his wife and daughter, who was two or three at the time, went camping and fly-rod fishing up near Val ey

Springs in the Mokelumne. The daughter came up and said, ‘Daddy, Uncle Bob touched my bottom.’ Cheney, noting his daughter wasn’t upset or

hurt, had no reason to believe that his friend had real y done something like that. However, from that point on when Cheney was around his friend,

he didn’t have his family. “He stayed friends with Starr for a year and a half after that,” said a source. “Of course the daughter couldn’t communicate

very wel . If Cheney was upset he wouldn’t have stayed friends afterward for so long, right? They were pals long after that.”

Tuesday, July 27, 1971

Lieutenant Ellis of
SFPD Homicide relayed Armstrong and Toschi’s findings to Val ejo Police Sergeant Jack Mulanax, alerting him the two

inspectors would soon pay a visit. At the time Mulanax inherited the Blue Rock Springs murder case (and with it the Zodiac investigation), his chief,

Jack E. Stiltz, had made a comment. “Zodiac keeps putting out clues for us,” Stiltz lamented, “taunts us and doesn’t indicate in any way that he

suffers from the slightest feeling of remorse. He is a thril kil er and the most dangerous person I’ve ever encountered in al my years of law

enforcement.” Mulanax agreed. Mulanax was also a man known to get white hot about a suspect, and once he scanned what the SFPD had learned

so far, his temperature rose. His first order of business was to learn as much as possible about Zodiac’s true physical appearance and compare it

to the new suspect’s.

“Now where was that description of Zodiac?” he thought. The two-year-old circular, No. 90-69, case No. 696134, buried under more recent

wants, was stil pinned to the bul etin board. The wanted poster showed not one, but two composite drawings of Zodiac. That in itself was unusual,

thought Mulanax. Some new information had caused the police to alter the description. The three teenagers who had witnessed the murder of

Yel ow Cab driver and student Paul Lee Stine near San Francisco’s Presidio had at first estimated Zodiac to be “a white male with reddish or

blond crew-cut hair, around twenty-five or thirty years of age and wearing glasses.”

“Supplementing our Bul etin 87-69 of October 13, 1969,” read the second flier. “Additional information has developed the above amended

drawing of the murder suspect known as ‘Zodiac.’” An adjusted written description now placed Zodiac’s age at thirty-five to forty-five years old. He

was of “heavy build, approximately five-foot, eight-inches tal . Short brown hair, possibly with a red tint.” Mulanax checked Starr’s physical statistics.

He was a White Male Adult, with light brown hair and clear brown eyes, thirty-seven years old, and weighing between 230 and 240 pounds. Mulanax

noted Starr was five-eleven and three-quarter inches tal —almost six feet—and four inches tal er than the circular’s estimate. Mulanax took into

account that the kids were peering down from a second-floor window. The children had observed Zodiac waste precious time ripping off a portion

of the cabbie’s shirt and squander more time walking around the cab, cool y rubbing the vehicle down and apparently drenching the fabric in blood.

Zodiac must have been covered in blood himself. “In a head wound,” Toschi explained, “the person may or may not bleed profusely. When a

person does not, it’s because the swel ing brain has plugged the bul et hole. In the case of Paul Stine, the path of the bul et tore the vessels badly

and destroyed one main blood vessel along the top of his head. He was kil ed with a contact wound [barrel against the skin] in front of his right ear.

This type of wound usual y destroys many blood vessels in the head and brain, causing extensive bleeding. From witnesses’ observations, Stine’s

head was laying on Zodiac’s lap as he searched him, so when Zodiac made his escape he
had
to have extensive blood on his person.”

Two Richmond District patrolmen, Donald A. Fouke and Eric Zelms of Richmond Station, got a better look that wild night, Columbus Day,

October 11, 1969. Zodiac always earmarked holidays for his most vicious actions.

Fouke and Zelms
chanced upon Zodiac in the shadows as he “lumbered” north toward the heavily wooded Presidio. He later claimed he glibly

sent the officers roaring off in the wrong direction, then sprinted through Julius Kahn Playground, vanishing near Letterman Hospital. Zodiac’s

narrow escape permanently enraged him toward the SFPD—a fury approaching that of a rebuffed suitor. Days later the two officers realized they

had passed Zodiac. “I felt so bad for Officer Fouke,” Toschi said. “He was afraid he was going to be reprimanded and that’s why he waited so long.

‘Why would they reprimand you?’ I reassured him. ‘No, you did the right thing in reporting it.’ This would have come out eventual y because we

heard the transmission tape and we were trying to find out which Richmond Station unit was circling the area. We wanted to talk to them and find

out if they had touched the cab. We had to know who was in the area. And final y, they came forward quite some time after. It was kind of frustrating.

“Transmission to radio cars that night was halting. Lots of pauses. Units circling the area kept saying, ‘How many suspects? How many

suspects?’ Communications wasn’t responding. They were tel ing officers, ‘Stand by—we’re dealing with youngsters—stand by!’ These kids were

scared stiff and they were al trying to talk on the phone at once, and Communications were trying to get a true picture of a suspect or how many

suspects. They were relaying the location . . . ‘Victim appears to be DOA . . . ambulance responding . . . we’re trying to get a description of suspect

. . . ’ And they said that several times. ‘We’re dealing with youngsters.’ And the officers in the radio car, trying to make an arrest, asked, ‘What’s the

description . . . we’re responding . . . we’re close . . . we’re on Arguel o [Avenue] . . . what’s the description?’

“And final y, the misidentification of an African American by someone over the airwaves threw Fouke and his partner off. There was so much

chatter going on because everyone figured it was a sloppy cab stickup gone wrong. The kil er was supposedly seen on foot, and unfortunately a

couple of words came over unintel igible and BMA blurted out when it should have been WMA. They are now assuming it’s a black suspect. Then

—‘Correction . . . we now have further information . . . a Caucasian . . . short hair, glasses, husky, potbel y, black or blue windbreaker jacket . . .

baggy pants . . . armed with a handgun . . . use caution, very dangerous, use caution if approaching.’ But in the meantime we were losing seconds

and minutes. It was very exciting. I remember it as if it were last weekend.

“Afterward, I decided to go talk to the fel ow who took the cal . He says, ‘Damn it, Dave. I got two or three kids who sound like teenagers and

they’re screaming in the background. First I thought they were being hurt. I was trying to talk quietly. They kept saying, ‘Our parents are coming

home . . . the driver looks like he’s dead in the cab and there’s a light on in the cab and they were fighting. Oh, please come, please come!’ I kept

tel ing them, ‘Stay in the house.’ Which they did. You know how fast those black and whites need the radio information. We do our best, but when

you’re dealing with children . . . I’ve got my own and I know . . . they’re scared to death and they know something’s wrong and they can see this body

of the cabbie laying over on the side with the door open.’

“There were Richmond units and Park Station units al responding. They al knew that Julius Kahn Playground is there and that’s part of the

Presidio. If he goes in there, we’re probably going to lose him. From Arguel o, Fouke and Zelms would have to make a right going north, then onto

Washington. They were probably the only unit there and I’m convinced that they actual y saw the Zodiac. Fouke was more of a veteran officer than

Zelms. As senior officer, he was driving and got the better view of the stranger. Apparently Zelms didn’t think it was anything. And Fouke would

have had the radio conversation. Things happened so quickly. And then you have no idea that three days later you realize you’re dealing with the

most dangerous serial kil er in the country.

“That cab was out of there long before the Fire Department arrived. Al we wanted from them was a special smoke-eater unit for searchlight only.

Coming up the hil from Arguel o was an Army unit with large searchlight trucks. We had gone over everything and I told [Bil ] Kirkindal and [Bob]

Dagitz, ‘Get the cab out of here. The body’s gone.’ Neighbors were kind of leaning in. I had to ask two or three uniform guys, ‘Don’t let anybody near

the taxi, guys, please.’ I had Dagitz fol ow the tow to the Hal of Justice. They put the cab in the impound room and started work on it in the morning.”

The officers’ modified second sketch made Zodiac ful er-faced, older. But an amended written description, including details in an important

interdepartmental memorandum submitted by Fouke a month after the shooting, November 12, 1969, was never added to the wanted circular.

Fouke’s more accurate depiction languished within SFPD’s eight drawers of files on Zodiac. It is crucial enough to quote in ful :

“Sir: I respectful y wish to report the fol owing, that while responding to the area of Cherry and Washington Streets a suspect fitting the description of the Zodiac kil er was observed by officer Fouke,” he wrote, “walking in an easterly direction on Jackson street and then turn north

on Maple street. This subject was not stopped as the description received from communications was that of a Negro male. When the right

description was broadcast reporting officer informed communications that a possible suspect had been seen going north on Maple Street into

the Presidio, the area of Julius Kahn playground and a search was started which had negative results. The suspect that was observed by

officer Fouke was a WMA 35-45 Yrs about five-foot, ten inches, 180-200 pounds. Medium heavy build—Barrel chested—Medium complexion

—Light-colored hair possibly greying in rear (May have been lighting that caused this effect.) Crew cut—wearing glasses—Dressed in dark

blue waist length zipper type jacket (Navy or royal blue) Elastic cuffs and waist band zipped part way up. Brown wool pants pleeted [sic] type

baggy in rear (Rust brown) May have been wearing low cut shoes. Subject at no time appeared to be in a hurry walking with a shuffling lope,

Slightly bent forward. The subjects general appearance—Welsh ancestry. My partner that night was officer E. Zelms #1348 of Richmond