Chapter 11
Vallejo
Watson and Holmes had stayed up late the night before going over the notes of the David Arthur Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen case. That morning, they drove to Lake Herman Road in Vallejo and stopped at a local diner along the way. It was reported that the couple had their last meal there before going to the lover’s lane where they were murdered. Holmes and Watson were eager to speak to the waitress, Maggie, who had been working that night.
“Yes, I remember them,” she said, smoothing her crisp white apron. “They seemed like a very sweet couple, though I later learned she was married and that fellow wasn’t her husband. From what they said, this was their first official date. They each had hamburgers and milkshakes,” she said.
You could tell she had been over her story many times and was proud to have some sort of fame, even if it was linked to a heinous crime.
“Is most of your crowd regulars, or do you get a lot of people passing through?” asked Holmes.
“It’s a good mix of both,” Maggie answered. “I have a good memory for faces, but there’s no way I could have known who was important and who wasn’t that night; it wasn’t like the man was wearing a sign that said ‘Killer.’” Her voice had grown a bit defensive. Like the librarian, she probably carried a bit of blame for not being able to help identify the Zodiac Killer.
“Of course not,” Watson soothed her. “But do you remember anything out of the ordinary?”
“I do remember a light-colored Impala turning around in our lot several times like he was lost. I never saw the driver, though.”
“Did anyone else notice this car?”
“Well, after the murders, three other couples said they had noticed the same vehicle on Lake Herman Road. It would drive up and then drive away as if it was waiting for some of the cars to leave. Nobody ever paid any attention to what the driver looked like.”
The men tipped her and headed off to the scene of the crime. The area was empty except for them—with a killer on the loose, couples were more reluctant to go parking, especially at a confirmed crime scene.
Holmes and Watson saw from the pictures in the files where exactly the car had been parked, and they directed James there as well. They both had images in their minds of what had happened, and it was the stuff of nightmares. They could imagine both of the kids scrambling to get out of the car at the sight of the gunman. Both were killed from not quite ten feet away. The monster was just waiting for one single car to be left before he made his move. Did he know which car he wanted from the start? Holmes wondered. Probably not. It probably made no difference to the Zodiac as long as it was a stranded couple he could kill.
“Were there any other suspects in this murder?” Watson asked.
“There were rumors that David knew too much about a drug deal, and that put him at risk; others wonder if the couple knew their attacker. But it’s all speculation at this point,” Holmes answered.
“Well, I guess we won’t know if the Zodiac did this or not until we find him. The police feel he did, as we can see from the files,” Watson said. “Another couple was shot nearby as well, weren’t they?”
“Yes,” said Holmes, “and we’ll go to that crime scene next—Blue Rock Springs Park in Benicia. The attacker shot Darlene Ferrin and Mike Mageau multiple times, but somehow Mike survived. We’ll also be meeting with Mike later today.”
The secluded area where Mike and Darlene had been shot was peaceful and serene; it was hard to imagine that tragedy had now tainted the spot. After Holmes and Watson looked around and worked out the mechanics of the crime, they drove to Mike’s home.
Mike opened the door reluctantly, his eyes still haunted with pain and trauma. “Dr. Greystone, Dr. Watson,” he said, “please come in.”
He made them comfortable in the living room, which was filled with family pictures.
“We know this is still painful for you, Mike, but we would like to hear what happened that night. We are trying to tie the attack on you and Darlene to more recent murders,” Holmes told the young man.
“It’s all right,” Mike said. “I’ve told this story so much it’s like it didn’t even happen to me. But I doubt I’ll remember anything extra to help you crack this case.”
“Anything you can tell us will help.”
“We were supposed to get something to eat, but Darlene said she needed to talk to me first. We went to the Blue Rock Springs golf course. We had been there a little while when a carload of guys drove by, shouting and laughing and setting off firecrackers. We laughed at them. We knew they were just having fun,” Mike said.
He stopped for a moment while remembering Darlene’s last few moments alive.
“We were alone after that until a brown car pulled up alongside of us. It stopped on Darlene’s side, about six to eight feet away. I asked her if she knew who it was, and she said something strange—she said, ‘Oh, never mind.’ I remember thinking to myself, Well do you know that person or don’t you? Suddenly the car peeled out and left in a hurry, and we got back to our conversation. We didn’t think too much about it until it returned. I thought it might be the police or something,” he said as he rubbed his chin.
“But it was not a marked police car, correct?”
“Correct, but I thought it might be an undercover car or something. We had started getting out our IDs when the door opened, and the man got out. He had a flashlight and was shining it into the car. I remember he shot me, and as I panicked, I crawled into the backseat. I remember hearing the shots as he fired on Darlene. Some of the shots he fired in me had hit her too. The gun blasts sounded like the firecrackers we had heard earlier, but they were muffled. It was so confusing, like maybe he was using a silencer or something.”
Mike went on to describe the rest of the attack and his ride in the ambulance during which Darlene had died. It was almost verbatim to the story he had already told the police.
“And tell us one more time anything you remember about the murderer’s appearance,” Holmes said.
“Well, he seemed short to me,” said Mike, “maybe five eight. And he was heavyset, stocky, you know, but not obese. I didn’t get a good look at him. It was all too much of a blur.”
“We hate that we put you through this again,” said Holmes as he and Watson stood to take their leave. “We can tell how upsetting it is for you to talk about, but you must remember one thing—if you are feeling guilt over Darlene, don’t let it overtake your life. There’s nothing you could have done.”
“I tell myself that every day,” said Mike. “And one day, I’ll believe it, I hope.”
As Holmes and Watson drove back to their apartment, they discussed Mike’s story and the notes in the file.
“It says here the police also interviewed George Bryant, the son of the groundskeeper. He and his father lived in a small house in the park,” Watson remarked. “Do you think we should talk to him as well?”
“If we have time, we can double back,” said Holmes. “But I’m satisfied with the interview the police did. George said he heard both the firecrackers and later a gunshot followed by more rapid-fire gunshots. He didn’t see the murderer, and he didn’t leave the cottage to investigate. Mike had managed to switch on the car’s blinkers, and he and Darlene were discovered by a group of teenagers who called for help.”
“Well, at least we have a basic description of the killer,” said Watson, “though it may not be accurate. Victims aren’t always reliable in their memories. But it’s better than nothing.”
“Yes,” Holmes said almost to himself. “I suppose it is.” He remembered Jack the Ripper as he had last seen him and wondered how much the man could have changed over the years. The monster was taunting him with these crimes, daring Holmes to catch him.
Tomorrow he and Watson would investigate the more recent attacks and struggle to get one step closer to the killer known as the Zodiac.
Chapter 12
Bryan Hartnell
Cecelia Ann Shepard and
Bryan Calvin Hartnell were the next attacks Holmes and Watson investigated. Bryan, who had survived, had agreed to an interview with them, so they had their breakfast and started out for Napa.
Bryan was waiting for them in his hospital room; his face was wan and tired, and Holmes found himself disquieted by the many beeping machines and wires in the room. Life is precious and fleeting—how fortunate that this young man has many years left ahead of him, thought Holmes. I must never take for granted the extra years the astralagus has granted me.
“It was just supposed to be a romantic date,” Bryan told them. “We were both so excited about graduating from high school, and the future seemed so full and bright for us. We spread out a blanket, and I stretched out looking at the sky. Cecelia lay down and put her head on my chest. Suddenly, there was a man nearby. We hadn’t even heard him walk up. That’s when Cecelia and I noticed the gun, almost at the same time. I could tell she had too because she started shaking with fear.”
“Was he pointing it at you?” asked Watson.
“No, he just had it casually at his side. He told us he escaped from prison, and he wanted money and a car.”
“Yes, we have that information. Can you describe his appearance?”
“I’m not good at judging heights, but I would say he was well over six feet tall. Of course, he would have looked like a giant to anyone lying on the ground. He then pulled out something that I later saw was a roll of clothesline and told Cecelia to tie me up. I guess you have that part too?”
“Yes. You said he had some kind of hood on. Can you describe his clothing?”
“Well, he had on a pair of black or blue pleated pants. You know, old suit pants and a dark-blue windbreaker. The hood had four corners at the top like a paper bag and was black. It came down his back and the front, over his shoulders, with a circle and an X on it. He also had clip-on sunglasses, the kind you wear over your regular eyeglasses,” Bryan continued.
“What about his hair?”
“It was dark brown and combed but still sloppy. His whole outfit was sloppy, and he spoke with a bit of an accent. I can’t really say what it was.”
They continued, and Bryan filled in the holes in the information that Holmes had already read. A look of fear came into Bryan’s eyes as he described how the man had stabbed him repeatedly. Holmes could tell it was still very painful, both physically and mentally.
“Did you see him stab Cecelia?”
“Yes. He stabbed her several times in the back and then turned her over and stabbed her in the groin and arm. He was really striking her hard. He was rougher with her than he was with me. I didn’t know what to do except play dead, and I guess it worked.”
“So when the man left, he thought you both were dead?”
“Yes. When I was sure he was far away, that’s when I started screaming for help. Cecelia kept moaning in pain and then passing out for moments at a time, and I told her not to talk, to save her strength.”
“Is there anything else you remember? Any odd turns of phrase the killer might have used, any identifying remarks?”
Bryan thought for a moment. “No, he seemed like a normal, everyday guy,” he said. “I am a Christian, and I knew God would do what he thought best, but I prayed the best would be for us to live. I guess God didn’t have that plan for Cecelia, though.”
Holmes, though he usually remained aloof with strangers, felt compelled to reach out and squeeze the young man’s hand. “Recover and live your life well,” he said. “That’s the only way you’ll have kept this madman from doing what he set out to do.”
Holmes and Watson passed by the guard outside the hospital room and made their way to the scene of the crime.
Chapter 13
Mark
Mark was outside enjoying the sunny day and bouncing his basketball in the driveway. He wished he had someone to play with him, but Lydia had promised him that a friend could come over this weekend. He was so engrossed in practicing dribbling that he didn’t even notice when the man snuck up behind him.
All he saw was a blur of dirty white as a chloroform-soaked rag covered his face, and then everything faded to black. His ball rolled off toward the gutter and stopped at the edge of the street.
Mark hadn’t even had time to yell for help, and Lydia carried on her chores inside the house, not realizing her beloved only child had just been taken.
The kidnapper looked around and, seeing no one on the street, carried Mark to the car, where he tossed him into the backseat and covered him with a coat. He then drove to his apartment; he became anxious when the boy started to stir, but he managed to get Mark inside without anyone noticing. He did hope the boy wasn’t ill when he woke up—it wouldn’t do for him to throw up all over the carpet.
As Mark’s kidnapper left the neighborhood behind, Lydia stepped outside to call Mark for supper.
“Mark? Mark, it’s time to come in,” she called.
No answer.
“Mark, did you hear me?”
Still no answer.
Lydia checked to see if his bicycle was where it should have been. It was. She looked in the front and back and went to her neighbor’s homes to ask whether they had seen Mark. Nobody had seen him. It was then that Lydia saw his ball lying in the gutter. Mark would never have left his ball; it was one of his prized possessions. Panic set in, and she rushed into the house to call Holmes.
“Mark is gone!” she screamed as soon as Holmes answered the phone.
Holmes was taken aback. “What do you mean, gone? Are you sure he hasn’t just wandered over to a friend’s house?”
“I’ve checked with his friends and the neighbors—no one has seen him,” Lydia cried. “I should never have left him outside alone. I knew that paper was meant as a threat to us. I knew it! And now someone has taken my boy.”
“I’m sending the car for you. Pack up some clothes. You’re staying over here. I’ll send James for you now. Try not to worry. I’ll find Mark.”
As soon as Holmes hung up the phone, he called for Mrs. Merritt. “Lydia will be staying with us awhile, so you’ll need to make up the guest room with fresh sheets,” he said. “Has the mail come?”
“Yes. It’s on the table by the door. I’ll get started on the room now. Is Mark coming too?”
“If it is within my power, yes,” answered Holmes, his tone grim.
He thumbed through the mail and saw exactly what he had expected: a letter. It had no postage, meaning the sender had dropped it into the mail slot personally. Holmes hurriedly opened it.
Hello, Mr. Holmes, or Dr. Greystone, whatever you want to be called. Did I get your attenshun? The game is now in full swing. Can you ketch me before anything happens to Mark? I don’t know. You haven’t been able to save anybody else. I don’t think you have taken me siriously, but maybe now you will. I just want you to know I can get to anybody. Nobody could pick me out in a crowd. You will get your boy back soon enough—probably in one piece, ha-ha. What kind of man would I be if I killed a child? Better keep up with the investigashun, though.
Zodiac
Holmes called Davis immediately. “I can’t explain now, but the Zodiac knows I’m investigating him,” Holmes said. “He’s taken my grandson, a boy named Mark. I need you to put out an all-points bulletin immediately; he’s eight years old with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. I’ve received a letter from the Zodiac too. I’ll drop it off at the police station for you now. I’m on my way.”
***
Mark stirred and sat up on the couch, feeling queasy. The fabric felt rough under him. He realized it wasn’t his couch. Then he remembered what had happened and was gripped with fear. He looked around, trying to decide where he was.
Mark’s kidnapper walked over to him and sat down. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve never hurt a kid before, and I won’t start now,” he said.
“Where am I?”
“You don’t need to know that, but you can call me Jack. I have gotten in touch with your family. Your grandpa needs to
be taught a lesson. If you do what I say, nothing will happen to you.”
“What has my grandpa ever done to you?” Mark asked, confused.
Jack looked at the boy. Realization dawned over his face. “Do you not know who your grandpa really is?”
“He’s a retired doctor,” said Mark. “Dr. Alexander Greystone.”
The Zodiac laughed. “No, my young friend. Your grandfather, who is actually your great-grandfather, is none other than Sherlock Holmes himself. He probably didn’t reveal his true identity in order to protect you, but as you can see, it hasn’t worked.”
Mark gasped. How did I not connect those stories to my grandpa? he wondered.
Zodiac Killer: Newly Discovered Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Page 5
