“As we progressed we learned about the school in Sonoma and that he had a trailer up there. ‘Leigh has a couple of old junkers, old beat-up cars,’ Ron told us. ‘He’s what you would call a professional student.’ Allen’s sister-in-law told us that the suspect was now residing alone in a house trailer in Santa Rosa part of the week [Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays]. Apparently this is where he kept all his personal property. We just didn’t have enough at the time to move up there. You can’t just go running in ten different directions. We were very careful to see the chief of inspectors when we came back, to keep him apprised of every move we made. ‘Keep working on it,’ Barca said.
“Next morning, I went in to see Walter Giubbini. We knew we needed more, but we had to fill in the number-two man in the D.A.’s office. All the fingerprinting had been negative and the handprinting of Arthur Leigh Allen had, according to Mulanax and Lundblad, been negative, but the chief assistant sat straight up as we told him what the Allens had related. ‘We’re pretty excited about it,’ I said.
“‘I wonder why Vallejo didn’t call you guys,’ said Giubbini, ‘and tell you everything about this Arthur Leigh Allen.’
“‘We’re giving them everything we’ve got, Walter, so we can get closure on this. Do we have enough for a search warrant?’
“‘Frankly, you don’t. Unless you get more physical evidence, all you have is theories and speculations by the brother of Leigh Allen.’
“‘We’re making some enemies with the other jurisdictions, these other detectives,’ said Toschi.
“‘That’s natural,’ said Giubbini. ‘D.A.s are like that too. They want to hold on and hog the case. But this is too good for you to just drop off with Jack Mulanax. You work it. They called for you. It sounds good, but work it up a little bit more.’
“We just kept moving along on Allen,” continued Toschi, “kinda focusing on him, but not ruling anyone else out. You can’t do that if you want to be a good detective. Because if all you’re thinking about is ‘John Doe,’ when ‘Charlie Smith’ is actually your suspect, you’re in real trouble. We weren’t getting tunnel vision on Allen and excluding other suspects. Still, he was the best we had had up to that time. Most of what Ron and Karen told us had already been discussed with Mulanax and Lundblad, only with more feeling with us. We were satisfied with Mulanax and his investigation. He did what he could. But I kept in contact with Mulanax, Lundblad, and Nicolai and Narlow.
“In Vallejo there was resentment, which bothered me all the time, especially when we went over to their headquarters. You could sense uniformed guys kind of turning their backs and staring at us. Here I am walking in with my large black folder, which I had with me constantly. We were goading the other guys, saying, ‘Stay with him. He’s too good to let go even if you’ve spoken to him ten times each. We are very impressed with this suspect.’ We were getting a lot of misinformation from Vallejo, Solano. This is why there is such a long delay before we got a warrant.”
Each time Toschi descended from Homicide, he passed Giubbini’s office in the west corner of the third floor, and Giubbini would call out, “Catch Zodiac yet?” Then he would laugh. But as the two investigators continued to gather evidence for a search warrant, he slowly became a believer. “Keep trying,” Giubbini said.
“Finally, when we felt we had built up enough information,” said Toschi, “that’s when we went to our lieutenant again. ‘I think maybe we could get a search warrant,’ I said. We had a lot going, but we just pursued the case much more than the other detectives working on Arthur Leigh Allen. It just sounded so right. That’s how we ended up finally getting a warrant.”
It was the information about Leigh’s trailer that impelled Armstrong and Toschi to seek a search warrant specifically for Santa Rosa. They began laying the groundwork—a time-consuming and tedious business. The D.A.’s office, specifically Fred Wissmann, in one county, San Francisco, had to be convinced. A judge, James Jones, Jr., in another county, Sonoma, had to grant a warrant. If they wanted to search Allen’s basement in Vallejo or his locker at the refinery in Pinole, that required warrants from Solano County and Contra Costa County. And negotiations with two other judges and district attorneys.
“And all the time more information was pouring in to Armstrong and to me from Allen’s brother. I just kept gathering it up and putting it all into a large homicide case folder. Then more physical evidence, until we reached a point where we went again to Giubbini and this time he listened. ‘Type up a search warrant for Allen in Sonoma County,’ he said, and we did.”
Thursday, September 14, 1972
“We compiled enough to complete an affidavit through our district attorney and search whatever property Leigh had in Santa Rosa,” Toschi said. At noon, Bill Armstrong filed an affidavit for a search warrant to the City of Santa Rosa Municipal Court, Sonoma County. Specifically, he and Toschi wanted close look inside Leigh’s Universal trailer parked at the Sunset Trailer Park. He requested the warrant include the shed Allen kept adjoining the conventional trailer. Armstrong described to Judge James E. Jones, Jr., the property they sought: two 9-millimeter guns, ammunition for them, and any expended 9-millimeter casings; a .22-caliber semiautomatic pistol, ammunition for it, and any expended cartridges from that weapon. They were especially interested in any pistol with a flashlight attached to its barrel.
The detective listed other evidence, items that fell under the province of stolen property: identification taken from the body of Paul Stine, keys to his yellow taxi, and the missing portion of the cabbie’s bloodstained shirt. Until recently Zodiac had been including bloodstained squares of the fabric inside his letters. All communications from Zodiac had abruptly ceased eighteen months ago. Toschi suspected they would never receive another scrap of that gray-and-white-striped sport shirt. From the Lake Berryessa attack Armstrong designated the square-topped, black executioner’s hood with a white circle and a cross emblazoned on it; black Wing Walker boots, size 10½ R; a blue bloodstained windbreaker jacket; a large foot-long knife, one inch wide with a wooden handle with two brass rivets and tape around the handle. Armstrong did not list the wooden brass-riveted scabbard for the knife. He spoke to the judge in chambers and went over some of the more confidential information with him. A stenographer took down his words.
“I remember the judge reading our affidavit and saying he actually felt we had him. ‘Good hunting, Detectives,’ he said. ‘I believe you finally have your man.’ And the D.A. here in San Francisco said, ‘I think you’ve got him.’ Even though other detectives had talked with the brother, we couldn’t drop the case. Our district attorney felt the same way. We just had to be sure. As usual we shared everything we did with Vallejo. We even told them we were going to Santa Rosa with a search warrant in case they wanted to come along. And they said, ‘No.’ Bill Armstrong and I didn’t even know if Vallejo was being up front with us in 1969-70 and ’71. They almost resented us because of everything flowing into San Francisco because of the Chronicle. I told Giubbini, ‘Bill and I aren’t out to badmouth the other detectives. We have a job to do.’”
Toschi picked up aspirin at the little cigar shop in the Hall of Justice. He grabbed some animal crackers from the corner store. “I’d usually bring in two or three boxes when we’d start to go on call on Monday morning,” he said. “I got so I liked them. So little time and I had to eat something. My head was almost coming off from stress. I chewed more than my share of aspirin every day, and especially the day we went to Santa Rosa.”
Toschi and Armstrong, accompanied by Bob Dagitz, an SFPD fingerprint examiner who had worked the Stine murder, and two local deputy sheriffs, arrived at 2963 Santa Rosa Avenue. Santa Rosa was a busy road not too far from the rush of traffic. Some of the trailers had gravel lawns spotted with foliage more suitable for the desert. They began hunting for the trailer.
“When we make an arrest, our work in Homicide begins,” said Toschi. “Is it a strong case for the grand jury? Is it a weak case? How can I build it up? W
hat didn’t I do properly? Unlike my television counterparts, much of my time is spent in dealing with the families of the deceased and the families of the suspect. I must sympathize with one and be extremely sensitive with the other. I’m an average guy and I’m an honest policeman. Anyone who is allowed legally to carry a loaded gun, and the right to shoot it, has power, but it calls for a lot of common sense. When I first put on my first gun I felt like a cowboy. I have only used it twice.” Under his corduroy jacket, on his left side, Toschi wore his upside-down triple-draw lightning rig. A spring in the holster held his .38-caliber Colt Cobra in place. They might be going up against a dangerous and powerful man. A refill of six bullets and handcuffs on his right side balanced the weight.
“As I said, I’ve drawn my gun twice. I was fired upon on September 22, 1956. Afterwards, they said I’d saved the life of a man who had been shot a few seconds before I got there. I threw him to the ground as I saw they had a shotgun. I couldn’t I.D. either one because it happened too fast. I saw the gun at the window, actually kicked in the door—it was not bolted too well, and caught one guy. Got the shotgun. The other guy got caught in the backyard. About an hour later I wondered, ‘Why was I playing such a cowboy?’ That’s the closest I came to being killed.”
Ron and Karen Allen had provided them with precise directions on the trailer’s location. Sadly, they had never visited the trailer. Toschi, to be certain, had Mrs. Reese, the trailer court manager, show them specifically which stall the professional student used. They walked unsteadily along the tar, concrete, and gravel sections that made up the stalls. At each, an aquamarine pole sported a miniature white streetlight. A few trees were struggling to grow. The sky was so crystal blue it made their eyes ache. “That’s it.” Reese gestured. “A-7.” The trailer’s license, AP 6354, jibed with their information. “But he just drove off before you arrived,” she said.
Leigh had been in such a hurry that he had left his trailer door standing open. Had he somehow known they were coming and fled with incriminating evidence? His immediate flight was suspicious, but there was nothing they could do about it. The suspect, a police groupie, was friendly with many officers and might have been warned. “You get friendly with cops and you hear things,” said Toschi. Perhaps his relatives had had a last-minute change of heart. The detectives just didn’t know. All they knew for certain was that they were dealing with a highly intelligent and cunning man.
Toschi and Armstrong spent the time poking around the exterior. Allen had made some alterations to the trailer, an earth-colored affair streaked with rust in places. “It was a standard trailer,” said Toschi. Tapered concrete blocks supported the off-wheels trailer. A locked shed adjoined it. What the detectives didn’t know was that Allen had recently repaneled the interior of one of his trailers, possibly this one, maybe the one in Bodega. Was something hidden within those walls? “We kind of moseyed around because we had a search warrant,” said Toschi. The investigators invited themselves in and made a cursory inspection of the trailer. It had an acrid smell like the refinery. Toschi indicated a map of Lake Berryessa taped to the wall. Zodiac had attacked a couple there.
Bob Dagitz had been excited about Allen as a suspect as soon as he heard Allen was familiar with Berryessa and the outskirts of Vallejo. He knew Leigh was ambidextrous, good with a bow and arrow, and proficient with various weapons. Toschi thought that Allen fulfilled everything he thought Zodiac should be. He moved Allen’s bed away from the wall and discovered the largest jar of Vaseline he had ever seen. Several large, uncleaned dildos rolled out at his feet. Sadomasochistic pornography was stacked in a box, and male blow-up dolls were in the trailer. Books on chemistry and biology were everywhere, many stamped with Allen’s name. Some bloodstained clothing littered a table. But they knew Allen was a hunter. Toschi pushed the bed back into place and entered the small unkempt kitchen. He pried open the freezer. Little animal heart, livers, and mutilated rodent bodies were inside.
Though no real sex was involved in Zodiac’s assaults, technically he was a sexual psychopath or, more accurately, a sexual sadist. Stanford’s Dr. Donald T. Lunde told me that sexual sadists commonly acted out sadistic impulses in their early teens—torturing and killing cats, dogs, and other small animals. “He tortures and kills substitute victims, small animals,” he said. “There certainly is the need to kill . . . something at certain intervals.” Lunde believed that in adulthood, such an individual, if it were made very difficult for him to kill humans, might revert to killing animals. “It would be better than nothing,” he said.
“The sociopathic murderer usually has a physically cruel, rejecting father and perhaps a hysterical, seductive mother,” Dr. Manfred Guttmacher reported in The Mind of the Murderer. “The effects of cruelty on the small child are more than simple neglect. In retaliation, the sociopath inflicts cruelty on others and feels no guilt in doing so. The earliest objects of his cruelty are often animals.”
Though Allen was working toward a degree in biology, he hadn’t yet requested permission from the state to dissect and experiment on small animals. He would file an application for a scientific collecting permit with the Resources Agency of the California Department of Fish and Game. “I intend to collect the following species,” Allen would write, “chipmunks—number indefinite. I expect to collect in the following localities: Marin County, Sonoma County and Mendocino County, (Possibly Solano, Napa & Lassen). I desire to collect by the following methods: Live traps (Havahart & home-made).” He was under the sponsorship of Dr. John D. Hopkirk, an associate professor of biology of Sonoma State College, where Allen majored in biological sciences and minored in chemistry.
Forty-five minutes after racing off, Allen returned. They heard his old clunker approaching, and were outside to meet him as he parked. A cloud of dust arose. “It was nice seeing Allen drive up and really introducing ourselves,” Toschi said later. “Both of us said, ‘Leigh, how are you—we’re San Francisco police inspectors.’ His car was dirty. Through the dirty rear window, we could see clothes, papers, and books in the backseat. He was frightened when he showed up because he had never had two detectives actually talking to him with a warrant in hand and we took him by surprise—the first time he had met two cops who meant business, face to face, inches away, and he didn’t know if we were going to arrest him.” Because Leigh was into a lot of other stuff, he wasn’t sure, at first, what had brought the police to his trailer.
The huge chemist crawled out of his car.
“What’s all this about?” he said coolly.
Allen didn’t recall Toschi and Armstrong from their visit to the refinery a year ago. He should have remembered, or might have been shamming.
“We want to talk to you, Leigh,” said Armstrong. “We have a search warrant for your trailer and for your person. We have information that you are a very good suspect in the Zodiac murders.”
Allen explained he thought Zodiac had been arrested. “Besides, I live in Vallejo,” he added, “and I’ve already talked to Vallejo P.D.”
“We know,” Toschi said. “Here’s your copy of the warrant.”
“Well, help yourself,” conceded Allen with a shrug.
Now the investigators began a more exhaustive scrutiny, dragging furniture away from the dingy windows and drawing back the sheets. Toschi tugged the bed away from the wall as if for the first time. Again dildos rolled out.
“I just sort of fool around,” Leigh said matter-of-factly.
He did not seem at all embarrassed by that, or the sadistic pornography the detectives ferreted out. In the close quarters of the off-wheels trailer they were aware of how physically powerful their suspect was. “Allen was an awesome and frightening man, a beast,” said Toschi. “He was so upset and angry at our being on his turf at Santa Rosa. Over the next hour, we tore apart his place pretty good. I remember for some reason he took an immediate dislike to me personally. And I was always the good guy. The D.A.s would use me to disarm these guys. I remember some of the guys saying, �
�With Dave it just comes natural. People believe him.’ I would just get them to talk to me, and I mean this without being pompous. But Armstrong told me afterward, ‘I don’t understand it. He doesn’t like you. Everybody likes you.’ Even Bob Dagitz, who was with us to take his prints, said, ‘That’s the first time, Dave, I ever saw a suspect not like you.’”
As they questioned Allen, Toschi did most of the talking, still playing good cop. Allen had an “I’ve seen through your sweet-talking act” look on his face. Toschi continued to probe. He noticed Allen was wearing a ring with a “Z” on it and the Zodiac watch, a gift for Christmas, 1968. He was practically shouting that he was Zodiac. “We have to take your prints,” Toschi told the student. Obviously annoyed, Allen fought against that. Finally, Dagitz got good fingerprints. He went to a lamp in the corner, and began making comparisons to the prints found on Stine’s cab. They believed Zodiac had left behind eight points on each of two fingerprints on the taxi. Partial fingerprints usually contain twelve characteristic points. All fingerprints have a delta, which serves as a starting point to tally the number of friction ridges separating it from the core of the pattern: radial loops, ulnar loops, arches, tented arches, and whorls. From the symbol numbers assigned to the components, the final classification is evolved. Toschi knew that less than twelve points of similarity would be subject to an expert’s “opinion” and that fragmentary prints, such as they had, most often could not be positively matched. He also knew that Dagitz was one of the best print men. Dagitz worked quietly by the lamp in a corner of the trailer. He wrote down: “0 9 R 001 13/4 18 U 101 13.” Then they went about getting samples of Allen’s handprinting. Toschi had two sheets of paper with typed sentences supplied by Sherwood Morrill. He had been carrying them around for three years. “Sherwood had given us forms when we had the opportunity, as he put it, ‘to have a strong suspect’ print for us,” recalled Toschi, “and I had them ready. On the original letters, the ink was quite dark, as if Zodiac had pressed very, very hard. He was very deliberate in what he was saying. The printing was small, most of it lower case. Once you saw one, you would pretty much immediately recognize another as from him.” The detective told Leigh he had to reprint the sentences on the first page. “We want you to print right- and left-handed and in upper case and lower case,” he said. “We want you to print this list of sentences.”
Zodiac Unmasked: The Identity of America's Most Elusive Serial Killer Revealed Page 15
