Hunted: The Zodiac Murders (The Zodiac Serial Killer Book 1)

by Mark Hewitt

  ***

  Snook received from Detective Narlow several items, including one multi-colored blanket, one army type field jacket, and several lengths of white plastic clothesline (with a hollow core). Snook locked these in his car for transport to the Napa County Sheriff’s Office. Narlow had previously taken into evidence the following items from Park Ranger Dennis Land: a blanket, a pair of men’s shoes, a wallet belonging to Bryan Hartnell, one pair of eyeglasses, and a deck of playing cards. A few additional items were passed between the two, including numerous strands of white hollow plastic line cut into various lengths on which there appeared to be some blood staining.

  The pieces of clothesline that were turned over to Snook for preservation as evidence in time would be subjected to numerous tests, including blood typing and DNA recovery. Forty-two years would elapse before technology would enable the NCSO to conduct “touch” DNA analysis. Law enforcement was never able to extract any useful forensic evidence from them, however. Only Hartnell and Shepard were shown to have had contact with the cords.

  After Snook took the moulages of car tire tread marks, with Narlow and Lonergan assisting, Lonergan drove Hartnell’s vehicle to the park’s maintenance shop building, having acquired the keys from Hartnell at the hospital. The car was secured for the evening with the help of Ranger Land.

  The following day, the car would again be moved, this time from Park Headquarters at Lake Berryessa. The vehicle was towed to Biava Motors in Napa, a company with which the NPD frequently conducted business and the site of Napa County’s corporate yard. The vehicle’s several items were inventoried, including a girl’s red coat, a pair of girl’s shoes, one tool box with tools, and one bank book belonging to Hartnell. Snook carefully removed the passenger door with its graffiti and booked it into evidence.

  A vehicle report created after the car was impounded revealed that it was not well maintained. Overall, it rated a “fair” evaluation, and all four tires were in poor condition due to excessive wear. The spare was not any better. The interior had no clock, no air conditioning, and no heater. The report described the flivver merely as “drivable.” Curiously, the registered owner was listed in a police report as a Bruce L. Christie.

  Narlow and Lonergan traveled back to the turnout on Knoxville Road that had once contained the vehicle and waited for Deputy Sheriffs Allen Brambrink and Mel Fechter who were assigned security of the area. At 3:00 a.m., the lead detectives finally headed to their respective homes to catch a few hours of rest before continuing the investigation. The following weeks would see many nights of scant sleep for the investigators who devoted almost every waking minute to this case. This tragic and horrible event had entered their bailiwick. For Narlow, it would be a gnawing concern, not only during his career in law enforcement, but throughout his lengthy retirement, to his death at age 80, 41 years later.

  ***

  On the morning following the attack, Detective Robertson met with Cecelia’s parents, 48-year-old Robert Hiland Shepard and his 46-year-old wife, Wilma Dolores Shepard, both living in Loma Linda, in Southern California’s San Bernardino County. Cecelia’s friend, Lori, who had driven with her from Loma Linda that weekend, was also present for the questioning. The parents told Robertson that their daughter had been threatened by Gary, a 21-year-old senior at PUC, when she started dating Bryan back in 1968.

  But Gary was not a good suspect for the assault. Not only was he slight in build—far too petite to be the masked attacker—but he was also well known to Bryan who would have immediately recognized his voice and physique. Personal jealously of Hartnell did not appear to be the motive for the attack.

  Nevertheless, Robertson followed up on this lead. A sergeant from Oakland called him two days later, saying that he had been in contact with a friend of Cecelia’s, named Madeline, a first year Mills College student who knew Gary. The Sergeant wanted to know whether or not Gary was a prime suspect. He promised to call back if and when Gary made contact with Madeline.

  Cecelia’s parents could provide no other motive for their daughter’s predicament, but offered the names of numerous people known to her, including Gwendolyn, who had attended PUC two years earlier; Edward, a former PUC student who worked for a mortuary in Lodi; Eleanor, the dean of students; and Jerry, a current PUC student. Lori was unable to offer a single reason for the assault on her friend.

  That afternoon at 12:30 p.m. Robertson interviewed Hartnell. Shepard had undergone surgery earlier in the morning and was unavailable to talk. She persisted in a coma. Both victims remained in the ICU, Shepard in critical condition; Hartnell’s condition had been cautiously upgraded to serious. A heavily sedated Hartnell gave a statement that was recorded, and later transcribed by M. Feurle.

  Bryan explained that he and Cecelia had known each other for some time, were good friends, and that Cecelia had come to area for the weekend with Lori to visit some friends. The two girls were due to drive back south on Sunday, September 28.

  After enjoying each other’s company over the din of clacking plates and elevated voices at lunch that day, Bryan asked Cecelia (because they used to be good friends and had dated two years prior), “Well, are you doing anything special this afternoon?”

  “Why?” Cecelia replied.

  “I don’t know. We could go out and either go for a walk, go to San Francisco, or you know just…” At that, they made plans to drive to San Francisco together. Though Bryan’s current girlfriend was back home in Washington, he did not believe that he was betraying her. This was just a casual get together, a social meeting of friends, he convinced himself.

  By the time Bryan and Cecelia got done picking up a few things in St. Helena and carting around a couple of people, it was too late to make it into San Francisco and be home for the evening worship service, Hartnell explained to Robertson. They made a decision at that time to drive up to Lake Berryessa.

  Bryan had a favorite spot. Unfortunately, he was unable to locate it and stopped where they did simply because it was as good a place as any other. The parking area was deserted.

  Recounting the minutes leading up to the attack, Hartnell explained that the couple walked down to the water, about a quarter mile from the parking area on Knoxville Road, and had selected the shade from a large tree on the peninsula from which to look at the bucolic scenery. There were two trees that he noticed, one of them large that spread out. They selected the shade from the tree that was most northerly situated. Once reclined, they began to reminisce about old times. They talked for about 45 minutes.

  The first indication that the couple was not alone came from him. As they chatted—Hartnell explained to Robertson from his bed—he heard some leaves rustling and asked Cecelia if she could see anything, because she had her “specs” on (Hartnell was also facing the other direction). “See what the big deal is,” he commanded.

  “It’s some man.” Cecelia replied.

  “Is he alone?” Bryan inquired.

  “Yeah.” Shepherd kept watching him until she told Bryan that he had gone behind a tree. Hartnell wondered out loud why the man did that, asking whether he was taking a “leak.”

  “Keep looking. Tell me what happens.” Hartnell ordered.

  Years later, he would explain that he was lying on his back with Cecelia resting her hands on his chest. They were reclining on the blanket in such a way that she could observe events back from the shore while he gazed across the water. His later description of events differed somewhat from what Robertson recorded during the hospital visit. In 2007, Hartnell said that it was Shepard who first reported the presence of the man. She was obviously distracted from the conversation, he would explain, causing him to ask what was going on.

  Hartnell later elaborated that he thought that the stranger was far off in the distance, beyond and across a nearby cove, at least 1,000 feet away. He found the information about the man’s presence interesting, but nothing of great urgency. His misconceptions about the man’s location seemed confirmed when Cecelia reported that the
stranger had slipped behind a tree. Hartnell, aware that the adjacent peninsula was undeveloped and therefore had no bathroom facilities, believed that the man had ducked behind a tree to relieve himself—not something that particularly worried him. Yet Cecelia continued her inattention to Bryan, something he found annoying.

  Suddenly, Shepard noticed the stranger emerge from behind the tree whose shade they were enjoying. She squeezed his arm and shouted, “Oh my God, he has a gun!” (Hartnell’s version years later would be, “Oh my God, he’s got a gun!”) The assailant was pointing a black, automatic pistol as he walked briskly toward them.

  It would not be until 2007 that Sergeant Collins would relate what Cecelia had reported to him on the day of the attack as they rushed her to the hospital. The stranger was 200 to 300 yards away when she first spotted him, she had said to Collins. He made his way toward the couple until he was only 75 to 100 feet from them. Then he stepped behind a tree that was a mere 50 to 75 feet away, where he donned a black hood. In a 2007 interview, Collins shared Shepard’s description of her attacker, though the information never made it into his report: the hooded stranger was an overweight, bulky, 190 to 200 pound, Caucasian man with brown hair who was five feet, eleven inches or six feet tall. Collins would sheepishly explain that he saw no need at the time to include this information in a police report.

  Hartnell described for Robertson his recollection of the suspect’s odd appearance. He was wearing a black ceremonial hood made of cloth, covering his head and shoulders, almost to his waist. (He would later characterize the garment as an “overlay” or a “dickey.”) On the top of the hood, the four corners made it roughly the size and shape of a brown paper grocery bag.

  The hood was ingeniously devised. On the front of the assailant’s chest was a crosshairs symbol, three or four inches in diameter—four inches in diameter Hartnell would estimate years later. Even though the assailant wore clip-on sunglasses to cover the eye apertures slit into his hood—appearing to be affixed to the hood and not to glasses underneath—some dark brown, combed hair was visible.

  At the time of the attack, the outfit meant nothing to Hartnell. He assumed it was some disguise used only to hide his appearance, possibly something obtained at a costume shop. The crosshairs symbol also carried no meaning for him, though he noted that it was proportional, possibly machine made, and not merely scrawled haphazardly. The stranger wore a dark blue, cotton windbreaker, the type on which the collar can be turned up, and dark blue or black, old-fashioned-style pleated suit pants. He may have had something in the pouch of his jacket. Hartnell could not remember anything about the stranger’s shoes or whether he had gloves on his hands.

  From the sound of his voice, Hartnell estimated that his attacker was between 20 and 30 years of age. Because it was often difficult for him to guess the height of others, he estimated that the stranger was anywhere between five feet eight inches to six feet tall. He also had difficulty estimating the weight of the man. Sometime later, he would question his estimate because he was not certain of the man’s clothing. If he wore a jacket with a lining, Hartnell later reasoned, he might have been thinner and lighter than the original estimate, but he guessed the man’s weight at between 225 and 250 lbs. He noted that the man was a sloppy dresser. His stomach may even have been hanging out and over his trousers.

  The hooded man walked briskly toward the couple but did not run. He spoke with some kind of drawl, Hartnell suggested, but not a southern drawl. It was oddly familiar to him. He could hear it in his mind but was unable to replicate it. Also, there was something about the cadence. He described it as a moderately pitched voice that was neither high nor low. In a later interview, he described the voice as slow and measured, a very distinctive tone—with a precise cadence. He could not detect any foreign accent.

  The man did not appear to be well-educated, a point about which Hartnell was certain. However, he did not feel his attacker was illiterate either, just from a lower class of people, especially suggested by his clothing.

  The ridiculousness of the situation was one of the first things that struck Hartnell when he saw the costumed stranger approach with a gun. Bryan had only 75 cents in his possession, and here he was being held up at gunpoint. He even considered his good fortune: he could experience a hold-up for a very low cost. He recalled that he said to his attacker, “I don’t mean to call your bluff, but wouldn’t you rather be caught on a stealing charge than on a homicide?”

  “‘Well, just don’t start playing hero on me. Don’t try to grab the gun.’” Hartnell quoted the hooded man to Robertson.

  In a separate report for the NCSO, Hartnell did his best to recall the conversation that had occurred between the assailant, Cecelia, and Hartnell himself, attempting to recreate the dialogue verbatim. The following quotes are Hartnell’s exact words from this report:

  Cecelia was the first to speak. “What do you want?”

  As the hooded man began to cover the distance between himself and the couple, he pointed the gun, which he was holding in his right hand, toward them.

  “Now take it easy—all I want’s your money. There is nothing to worry about—all I want is your money.” The man began, trying to put Bryan and Cecelia at ease.

  Bryan spoke up at this point. “O.K.—whatever you say. I want you to know that I will cooperate so you don’t have to worry—whatever you say we’ll do. Do you want us to come up with our hands up or down?”

  This may have been going more smoothly for the man in black than he ever guessed it would. In his pre-attack planning, he may have considered many possibilities like a chess player anticipating the moves of his opponent. If they screamed, he’d have to order them to shut up. If they ran for the safety of the trees, he could shoot them—or possibly just return to his car and drive off. If they asked questions or argued, he would have to reason with them or threaten them. Their compliance was as much as he could hope for, and may have caught him off guard.

  “Just don’t make any fast moves—come up slowly,” he ordered.

  “But we don’t have any money—all I have is 75 cents.” Bryan explained, possibly laughing.

  “That doesn’t matter—every little bit helps.” Here the hooded man paused. His attack may have been progressing so easily that he almost didn’t know what to do next. Even though the couple never asked, he felt obligated to explain himself. “I’m on my way to Mexico—I escaped from Deer Lodge Prison in Montana, Deer Lodge. I need some money to get there.”

  The light was fading. By 6:00 p.m., the sun had ducked beyond the hills to the west. Lake Berryessa remained aglow from the sun’s radiance on the ridge across the lake and from the indirect rays emanating from the bright blue sky. Darkness would engulf the recreation area soon after 7:30; by 8:00, the welkin would be black.

  It would get cold at Lake Berryessa overnight, with temperatures dropping into the 50s. Still, for the trio, it was a pleasant, near-room-temperature dusk.

  Bryan attempted to be helpful. “You’re welcome to the money I have, but isn’t there something else I can do for you? Give you a check or get some more?” Years later Bryan explained that he was just trying to help the man in any way he could. Even though this stranger was training a gun on him, Hartnell felt compassion. He was cooperating with the stranger and expected him to reciprocate the kindness.

  Bryan’s offer of assistance may have surprised the assailant. In all of his preparations, he may never have expected his victims to become helpful, even offering to aid him in his quest for money.

  “No,” he said weakly. As Bryan would soon discover, the man with the weapon was never really interested in cash.

  Taking charge of the conversation, Bryan offered more assistance. “I can give you my phone number and you can call me.”

  There was no reply.

  “I want to get in contact with you.” Bryan continued. “I am a sociology major and maybe I can even offer you more help than you think you need.”

  “No,” the bemused man r
eiterated. He had become an automaton. He may not have been sure how or when he should regain the upper hand in the conversation. He had ceded control, and it likely bothered him. He had brought a gun, a knife, and some rope to the scene to give him the power that he probably lacked in other areas of his life. Kind words from a helpless victim had completely wrestled away from him any illusion of control.

  Unintentionally, Bryan may have added to the insult. “Well, is there any other thing you need?”

  “Yes.” The hooded man seemed to have found a way to save face, all the while continuing to accede to the leadership of his victim. He could deflect the grilling by Hartnell if he could make new demands. “One more thing—I want your car keys. My car is hot.”

  Once again, the man with the gun had control of the conversation. Nevertheless, he again felt the need to explain and defend his request. While his car may or may not have been stolen, it was not true that he wanted Hartnell’s car keys. He would never take them with him, just as he would leave behind the 75 cents, untouched. These were props, as if used in a movie, soon abandoned because they had served their purpose of disguising the faux robber’s true intentions.

  Bryan reached into his pockets. In the stress of the situation he had forgotten where he had stowed his keys. He patted his front pockets, then his back pockets. He explained to his attacker, “I guess in all the excitement I don’t remember where I put them. Let’s see. Are they in my shirt, in the ignition, on the blanket…?” The many words may have allayed Hartnell’s anxiety, but may have also served to frustrate his attacker.