antique, RobertUnmasked 7 страница

“If I wanted to kil you, I could just hit you in the head with this piece of wood.” She returned to the car, but instantly his hands closed around her. “Now if I wanted to kil you, I could just snap your neck,” he said. “Shal I kil you now, or are you going to take off your clothes?”he grabbed her sweatshirt, she wriggled free and bolted into the woods. The stranger gave up searching for her and roared off with her pursebooks. Sobbing, covered with scratches and burrs, she staggered to the Highgrove area. When police responded, she described the suspect“thirty-five, five feet nine inches tal with a chunky, protruding stomach.” Later descriptions of Zodiac mentioned “a slight potbel y” and that his

“stomach hung over his trousers.”, November 29, 1966’s killer (or someone pretending to be her murderer) mailed two unstamped letters from a rural mailbox to the police and Riverside Press-. The typed confession letters, repeating what he and Cheri Jo had spoken to each other in the dark, were blurry fourth- and seventh-carbon copies. The original was never mailed, making a match to a specific typewriter difficult. The writer had used a portable Royal, Elite-type, Canterbury shaded.1 Leigh’s mother had given him just such a portable. The length of the paper was unknown since thehad torn off the bottom and top of a strip of Teletype paper. Oddly, he had folded back both bottom corners. The writer claimed to havethe Press-Enterprise, but probably did not. Some of the language was Zodiac-like. “I AM NOT SICK. I AM INSANE. BUT THAT WILL NOTTHE GAME.” Zodiac wrote: “why spoil our game!”, November 30, 1966received his first critique at Val ey Springs School. “It might be better to refrain from drinking soda pop in the classroom,” his evaluator, “and voice loudness needs to be refined.” Leigh’s personal characteristics were judged “satisfactory,” as were his classroom controlmanagement. “Very excel ent in use of Audio-Visual materials... needs to react with pupils so they can distinguish between friendliness and.”, March 10, 1967Valley Springs administrator delivered his second appraisal. “Leigh accepts criticism and suggestions easily, is open-minded andto new ideas,” it read. “I would suggest he take more care in his dress.”Leigh would sometimes, when the black mood was upon him, lower his head to his desk in the classroom and murmur the word “Titwil ow”and over. This and his unwelcome advances against the eleven-andtwelve-year-old girls in his classes caused great fear. He would have thedeveloped girls bounce for him on his trampoline, then make unwelcome remarks. Two of the girls caught him spying on them at their’s house across the freeway from Al en’s home.was morning, March or early April 1968, and classes at Val ey Springs had already started, when the mother of one of Al en’s pupils stalkedthe principal’s office. “Yesterday,” she said, “Mr. Al en had his hands al over my daughter right at his desk.” The principal, already suspicious,her immediately. He cal ed and got a substitute teacher. When the substitute arrived, he cal ed Al en out of his class and fired him on the. Al en started crying and sobbing. “Yes,” Leigh said, “I did it. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” As far as the principalconcerned, this was a “great big act.” Within days, Ron and Karen Al en drove to the school to apologize for Leigh’s behavior. They had beenhe had gotten a job there in the first place.official reason for Leigh’s termination was given as “improper conduct” and an “exaggeration of his teaching credentials.” Leigh filed hisand moved on, continuing to work with children., April 30, 1967months later, in response to an article in the Sunday morning Press-Enterprise, Zodiac cruel y wrote the victim’s father, the Enterprise, and the police. His three handprinted letters, on lined, three-holed school paper of poor quality, measured eight inches wide. Standard writing papereight and one-half inches wide. His letters, like Zodiac’s letters, carried double postage, and like Leigh Al en’s personal letters to children,in pencil., August 25, 1967

“In the summer of 1967 Leigh and I went on a deer hunt north of the Bay Area,” Cheney told me. “I used to be an avid hunter, but I don’t hunt. That was when I was growing up and that was what we did then. I didn’t go hunting with him often because I real y didn’t think he was ahunting partner. I went a couple of times with him on a major deer hunt where we went and spent two or three days. A few other times wewent out for the day to hunt smal game. He was al right to fish with, if you didn’t have to hike. He wasn’t that good on his feet. His feet hurt him.had flat feet and was overweight; sometimes he had gout. As for weapons, I had a Winchester Model 88,.308 NATO cartridge, but I don’twhat gun Leigh had. I didn’t have another large rifle to loan him at that time, and so he dug something up on his own. He got it from.

“Just a couple blocks away from his house, nestled at the bottom of Fresno Street, was a pancake house. After the hunting trip, we were goingfor an outing when we saw a girl there, a waitress. Leigh indicated that he was interested in her and asked what did I think of her. Hehe might make some headway with her. In al the time I had known him this was the only female he had ever mentioned, the only time I’dhim show interest in a particular woman. He liked women, but they just didn’t like him. The waitress was young, pretty, with brown hair. I don’ther name and it was the only time Leigh mentioned her, the only time he mentioned a specific woman. That stuck in my mind.”, September 4, 1967began teaching at Camp La Honda YMCA at La Honda Gulch, never missing a day of work until Monday, February 5, 1968, when hethree days in a row. “Personal business,” he scrawled on his absentee slip, then thought better of it and altered it to read “school business”., June 7, 1968left La Honda and for the next year toiled sporadical y at Harry Wogan’s as a mechanic, at the Franklin School as a janitor, and at a host ofjobs in menial positions. He stil found room for good times. “Ron and Leigh went to Mexico,” Cheney told me. “I heard this story secondhandRon. ‘Nasty Norm’ might have been along. They cal ed him ‘Nasty Norm,’ a school nickname, because he had dark curly hair, a French look,of a low forehead, dark hair on his arms, sort of ape-looking guy. He was perfectly civilized, but he had that appearance. He and Leigh werediving buddies, and I did a little skin diving with them when we visited Norm at Morro Bay on one trip and in Monterey, on another. At that timehad a catamaran, a Catalina Cat, and he had a smal awkward boat. In Mexico, Ron, Leigh, and possibly Norm caught some lobsters anda Mexican couple they met on the beach into cooking a big feast for them on the shore.” By October 6, 1969, Leigh was laboring part-timea custodian at Elmer Cave School. It was there that Sergeant Lynch, dispatched by some stil -unknown informant, questioned him as a suspectthe Zodiac murders., October 20, 1969Police Chief L. T. Kinkead and Detective Sergeant H. L. Homsher contacted Napa Sheriff Earl Randol and Captain Donald A.: “This letter is in reference to our telephone conversation of 10/17/69 regarding the similar M.O. of your ‘Zodiac’ suspect and the suspectour homicide File No. 352-481:

“One month after the homicide, letters were received at the Press and our department written by the suspect of our homicide. The suspecta black felt pen to address the envelopes and had used upper case print. The confession letter was typed. There are numerous errors ining, punctuation, etc., as you wil notice. The person who wrote the confession letter is aware of facts about the homicide that only the kil erknow. There is no doubt that the person who wrote the confession letter is our homicide suspect. There are numerous similarities in yourand our Inv. 352-481. I thought you should be aware that we are working a similar-type investigation.”the murderer disabled Bates’s car, he might have left prints. Unidentified latent prints were lifted off the vehicle and sent to the FBI, whichthe file #32-27195, Latent Case #73096. The SFPD rushed copies of their latents from the cab to the FBI for comparison. However, theprints did not match anyone in the case, and there had been innumerable suspects.on the RCC campus had escalated. More open space had been cleared and bright lights instal ed. Joseph Bates secured a loan on histo finance a reward for the capture of his daughter’s kil er., October 21, 1969Francisco newsmen stil struggled to make sense of the case. “In al three cases,” a Chronicle interoffice Zodiac memo to reporter Mikeread,

“When there was a boy and a girl—Zodiac tried to kil both, got the girl al three times, but got the guy only the first time. There were 197 daysthe first pair of kil ings and the second attempt; 84 days between the second and third tries; and 14 days between the last tries—’re getting closer. Zodiac seems to strike exclusively on Fri. and Sat. nites—which makes it questionable how he’s going to get a school. Any pattern I have tried to draw is broken at least once. Horoscopes (at least those in the Chron) offer no clue. Capricorn is vaguelyexcept for the first murder.... I have been unable to find any statistical or numerological pattern here in about 2-3 hours work....

[Lake Berryessa victim] was stabbed more than 20 times with a 12-inch butcher’s knife, in the chest, back and abdomen—with many of thecoming in pairs, making Zodiac’s cross-hair mark.—[Marshal ] Schwartz.”last was not true.at the SFPD, professorial, pipe-smoking Bil Hamlet was hunched over a makeshift desk in the hal way. “We put a little partition around himhe wouldn’t be bothered,” said Toschi. “We were getting prints from al over the Bay Area and Northern California. He’s got his magnifyingon, he’s working off three-by-five cards. That’s al he was working on. If you get too many guys examining prints, you lose something.” Butcab print never matched anyone., December 31, 1969’s periods of violent activity mirrored school-year vacation time and holidays—summertime, Columbus Day, Hal oween, Thanksgiving,, and the Fourth of July. Leigh Al en’s revelations to Cheney had been imparted on New Year’s Day. Most of his time-consuming letterscodes were mailed during school vacations. Few occupations outside an elementary schoolteacher’s offered holidays off, plus an additionalmonths’ vacation. Zodiac’s activities fit the school year and hardly anything else.had threatened to shoot children as they dashed from a disabled school bus. He promised to plant bombs that targeted the buses by theirand number of windows and detonated along school bus routes. “I feel that the odds are substantial that the kil er is a public employee,working for one of the schools,” theorized an expert. “His possible connection with a school or university, even if only as an areaman, is open to speculation.”Leigh, at this time, was showing those closest to him cryptograms he kept concealed in a gray metal box, he never spoke of codes with. “No, absolutely not,” said Cheney. “Leigh never talked about codes, didn’t even work crossword puzzles, and at no time evidenced anyin astrology. He liked to make up rhymes, however.”, January 30, 1970Cal Poly at San Luis Obispo students provided a tip to the local police, who passed it on to the FBI Identification Division. Their informationthat a graduate of their university closely resembled the composite of Zodiac. “He owns 9-mm and.22-caliber handguns and frequently travelsin San Francisco and frequently remote areas of the state,” they said. “He was absent from Cal Poly the weekend of the last murder.” Duringtime Zodiac was penning letters and committing a string of brutal murders, Al en was wel settled in the Bay Area. However, if it was Leigh thestudents were pinpointing, then he might stil be making frequent southbound trips to his old alma mater. He tended to rove the Golden State,blocks of his time unaccounted for, and this left his family wondering., March 23, 19703:00 A.M, forty minutes after she escaped from her kidnapper, Kathleen Johns filed a report with Stanislaus Sheriff’s Deputy Jim Ray Lovett.pregnant woman and her baby girl had been abducted en route to Petaluma from her Compus Way, San Bernardino home. As with Bates, thehad gimmicked her Chevrolet wagon to trick her into his car. He conveyed Johns on a terror ride until she and her baby leaped from thecar and hid in a field. He searched for them until the timely arrival of a passing trucker. Deputy Lovett later located her blazing auto on132, about one-quarter mile west of the Delta. The abductor had taken the time to replace a sabotaged tire, drive the car elsewhere, andit.kidnapper drove a tan late-model vehicle, wore glasses, a dark ski jacket, and navy-blue bel -bottoms. Johns had recognized him as Zodiaca wanted poster tacked to Lovett’s wal. He was thirty, stood five feet nine inches, and weighed 160—too light for Zodiac. “It was twenty-eightago,” Johns recal ed recently, “and I perhaps wouldn’t know him now.... The calm voice—I remember it like it was yesterday. I don’t think youlive through something like that and forget.”, July 24, 1970belatedly claimed responsibility for the Johns abduction in a letter not published until October 12. On June 26 he had claimed to have shotOfficer Richard Radetich, and that was a downright lie. It made Toschi wonder about his claims of a Riverside murder.

and the dark alley, October 24, 1970Zodiac case was already affecting Chronicle reporter Paul Avery’s health. It would eventual y destroy it. In the early morning hours he drovecar onto narrow little Mary Street. Mary lay in the shadow of the Chronicle and continued on northwest, running behind the Old Mint. Averywhere Mary intersected Minna, the dank al ey separating the Chronicle from the Examiner. It was a rough area and Minna at the time held a dubious honor. It was the site of more murders than any other place in the city. He was not gone long—from 12:40 A.M. until 1:40 A.M., but long. During that time he traversed a long, dimly lit corridor into the city room. The Chronicle was a huge three-story barnlike building with aat the Mission and Fifth Street corner. The quality of light was yel ow-greenish at best. Beneath his feet Avery felt the tremble of tremendousgrinding out an early morning edition. Teletype keys rattled nervously in a little room to his left—a ghost was on the line. Lines of rubber-pots, rows of battered old Smith-Coronas, and stacks of used photo zincs, copper-backed and etched with acid, crowded desktops.filed a story, then returned to his car. The right vent window was smashed—the mark of an experienced booster. Only a few things were. His Wel s Fargo checkbook, containing checks numbered 118 to 125, had been taken. His expensive Sony cassette tape recorder, whichan interview with a Zodiac tipster—a man with a muffled voice—was gone. Avery was concerned enough to cal the police. Officers Geraldand Wil iam Thiffault reported.was then Avery noticed that his large gray briefcase, emblazoned with his initials, “P. A.,” had been stolen. He had stuffed that briefcase with aclipping file on Zodiac. He looked up and down the darkened street. It began to dawn on him how close the kil er was. He seemed to beto reporter’s notes and Sunday features before they were published; he used newspaper Teletype paper and supplies that might had beenfrom Woolworth’s down the street. What if Zodiac were getting into the building late at night? The paper was a twenty-four-hour, but manned by a skeleton crew at night. Security in the building consisted of a guard at a tal desk on the Fifth Street entrance, but theretwo sets of back stairs and two elevators that led to the editorial floor. Additional y, there was a passage between the Examiner andthat spanned Minna Street and al owed people to walk from one paper to the other. Zodiac was not just watching the hunters; he mightentering the paper at night. Chronicle printer believed Zodiac actual y worked there. “Many of the Zodiac cipher symbols are also printer’s proofreading marks,” he told. “The Zodiac symbol itself is a proofreader’s mark used to line up corrections on a tissue overlay and for color registration. His method ofpages is also the printer’s method: 1/6, 2/6, one of six, two of six, etc.... to alert the typesetter and proofreader to fol ow the flow of copy.arrows used on the bus diagrams are also printer’s arrows. Not just a line with an inverted ‘V,’ but with the ‘V’ fil ed in.

“When Zodiac began writing his letters, the paper was attempting to enter the electronic age with a computer system known as the ‘Braegen.’than generating tape-punched copy for the Linotype machines on Fairchild TTS machines, copy was typed on IBM typewriters, then single-fed into scanners, which in turn generated tape sent to the Linotypes. The paper used for typing was narrow fan-fold cheap bond such asused. Blue felt-tipped pens were provided to us (they would not reproduce on copy fed through the scanners) and used by the copy cuttersinstructions and the typesetters for notes questioning spel ing, continuity, and so on.”editors eventual y cast a jaundiced eye upon two former employees. The editors went over their employment records to see if any dayscorresponded with Zodiac crimes and letters. One worker, suffering bouts of severe depression, had disappeared during the night shift, leavinga note for four years’ sick leave. The other vanished, leaving behind four payrol checks he never picked up., October 26, 1970North Sacramento, two days after Avery’s files were stolen, twenty-eight-year-old court reporter and juvenile court aide Nancy M. Bennal ackto show up at work. Friends discovered her bloody body, throat slashed, in her second-floor flat. The unknown kil er had entered by a slidingdoor Miss Bennal ack had left open so her cat could get in. She was engaged to be married on November 28. She had not been sexual y. Her apartment was a half mile from Nurse Judith Hakari’s apartment. Hakari, twenty-three, had been kidnapped from in front of her Northapartment after leaving her job at a local hospital. Her badly beaten body was found in a shal ow grave in a remote section of Placer County.too had not been sexual y assaulted. Like Miss Bennal ack, she was engaged to be married., October 27, 1970next afternoon Zodiac mailed “Averly” a garishly decorated Hal oween card signed “Your Secret Pal.” My comparison of an unaltered cardZodiac had done considerable redrawing. He had careful y cut out and pasted a skeleton and an orange pumpkin to the card,staring eyes, and skil ful y added brush lettering. It had taken him at least a day to prepare. “You can see how Zodiac must have takenin putting his own markings on the card,” Toschi told me.

“Also, the ‘PEEK-A-BOO’ and the added printing on the card. Al done by Zodiac.” The card, il ustrated with a smiling skeleton giving Avery the high, was signed “Your Secret Pal.” Zodiac had painted a smal number 14 on the skeletal right hand. Inside, he claimed victim “4-TEEN.” News ofack’s death would not appear in the Chronicle until the fol owing morning.wrote Chief Al Nelder:

“Due to the death threat mailed me by the so-cal ed Zodiac kil er, I whole-heartedly agree with the advice I have received from ArmstrongToschi that discretion is the better part of valor and that I should carry a gun in order to protect myself should need arise. Therefore this isformal request that your office issue me on a temporary basis a permit to carry a concealed weapon.”concurred, not only granting Avery authority to pack a.38-caliber revolver, but permission to practice on the police target range. Nelder’sgot Avery in hot water immediately. Around 9:45 P.M., patting the reassuring weight of the.38 in a concealed holster under his jacket,waved good night to Night City Editor Steve Gavin. Avery retrieved his car from the multistory lot on Fifth Street and turned onto Minna. At theof Sixth Street, twenty derelicts, peering from dark doorways and gloomy barroom entrances, watched intently. Avery’s headlightsuminated a one-sided struggle. Only ten feet away, two men were grappling. The first, making hard, thrusting motions from the waist, was armeda hunting knife. The second, wounded in his chest, had doubled his belt around his fist as a shield and was backing up, warding off blows witharms.frantical y honked his horn, but the fight continued. Worried about his own safety, he made a quick U-turn to the opposite side of Sixth. Theman moved in as his victim final y toppled into the street. Avery, stil honking and yel ing, observed a drunk lurching up Sixth, supporting himselfagainst the dirty building fronts. As the wino weaved by, the knife man wheeled, rushed the drunk, and stabbed him too. In a pathetic attemptself-defense, the drunk folded his arms over his heart. Anyone who crossed the knife man’s path was in peril.

“Someone is going to be kil ed,” Avery thought, and slipped from his car, drawing his weapon as he crept closer. Halfway across Sixth Street, he, “Drop the knife and get against the wal!” The knife man froze, then faced Avery. He raised his arms above his head and took a few haltingin the reporter’s direction, fixing him with a glassy stare as he came. Avery repeated his command, locking eyes with him and leveling the gunhe heard, rather than saw, the bloody knife land at his feet. The knife man placed his palms against the front of 125 Sixth Street, a hotel. Averyed into the lobby to the desk clerk: “Cal the cops!” In a minute a relatively wel -dressed pensioner tottered to the door and said, “The police arethe way.” For the next five minutes Avery kept wel back from his prisoner. Final y he heard the wail of a siren, a police car appeared, and twoclimbed out.

“This guy just stabbed a couple of people—wil you take over?”

“Whose gun do you have?” said the senior officer.

“It’s mine,” said Avery, producing his special police star. He explained the circumstances leading up to authority being granted for him to carry a. “You can check this up by giving the chief a cal,” he said.

“Oh, yeah. I’m supposed to cal Chief Nelder at ten o’clock on a Sunday night.”

“Why don’t you cal Armstrong or Toschi?”

“You do it,” said the cop.vouched for Avery and everything was fine, except that the two victims had limped away into the night.

“No victims,” said the cop, shrugging. “The best we can do is book him for brandishing a knife in a rude and threatening manner. Just.” No one was questioned and, since Avery ended up being the only witness, he signed a citizen’s complaint. Next morning, he gotthe Hal of Justice by 10:30, but the knife man, sentence suspended, had already been released. “I didn’t exactly enjoy the role of policeman,” heNelder. “I’m worried how close I came to kil ing the guy. I kept looking at him and thinking if he comes at me with a knife, if it comes down to it, if’s a matter of survival, I’m going to have to pul the trigger. I don’t think I ever real y paused to consider before that by carrying a gun, I was puttingin a position where sooner or later I’d have to use it. I’m going to get rid of it, Chief. The weight of that gun has gotten too heavy.” When Averyto his houseboat in Marin County, he hauled down the sheet of steel plate he had instal ed in the one window that faced a shadowedstreet next to Gate 5. He felt sick and Zodiac had made him that way. Over time his lungs began to fail.

leigh allen, November 13, 1970San Rafael graphologist analyzed Zodiac’s handprinting. “He is five feet eleven and one-half inches tal, sharp but not creative,” she speculated.

“His hair is sparse and he may sometimes wear a wig or false beard. He may wear lenses on occasion. He may have a malformation or fault suchfinger damage on his right hand. He puts himself under self-hypnosis consciously or unconsciously, and may know something of this in actual. He always believes that he is drowning, either by emotional pattern or literal y by water or being overwhelmed by unpremeditated. May have boat or houseboat. Has probably scuba dived. Brain damage. Tissue damage from oxygen lack at birth or later, maybediving too long and running out of oxygen...” Zodiac had written, “Please help me I am drownding.”the fal Leigh had begun attending Sonoma State University in Rohnert Park, and rented a slot for his trailer in Santa Rosa. On Friday the, Al en had a motorcycle accident while returning from Sacramento where, earlier in the day, someone murdered Santa Rosa residentBeth Hilburn. She had last been seen at the Zodiac, an after-hours club on West Capitol Avenue frequented by members of motorcycle. She had been wearing a jacket with the large yel ow letters SANTA ROSA on the right side. Hilburn had been staying in Santa Rosa withsister while studying to be an X-ray technician. On the left side of her slick, hip-length black jacket was her name, CAROL. She was the thirdyoung woman to be kil ed in less than a year in Sacramento. Her nude, severely bludgeoned body was found in an isolated field near Dryon the city’s northern edge. A car had dragged her into a field and left her face up. Her throat was then cut and she was beaten so savagelywas unrecognizable.afternoon, both Paul Avery and Detective Sergeant Dave Bonine requested Sherwood Morril conduct a comparison between handwritingfrom Zodiac and the Riverside printing received in the Bates case., November 15, 1970the years a white Chevy Impala would make many appearances in the Zodiac case. A victim’s baby-sitter saw a round-faced watcher onace Street in an “American made sedan, white with large windshield and out of state plates.” Three women at Lake Berryessa the day of theobserved a suspicious man in a Chevrolet, “silver blue or ice blue in color, 1966, two-door sedan, ful size car, quiet, very conservative,California plates.” The Impala showed up again in Santa Rosa on November 15, 1970. At 4:00 A.M. a woman driver saw “a 1962-63 White” fol owing her from a Santa Rosa post office. Shortly after, a “white Chevrolet Impala, sedan 1964,” fol owed a second woman onAvenue and Chanate Road. At 5:10 A.M. a “white Chevy, 1963-64” tailgating a woman on Fourth Street was stopped by police andto speed off. The driver, a twenty-five-year-old Val ejo man, said he was lost and looking for way out of town. The officer escorted him out of. The next day came a break in the case., November 16, 1970found a match, linking Zodiac’s printing with three “BATES HAD TO DIE” letters and a wavering blockprinted poem discovered in theCol ege Library. Zodiac had carved a ghastly verse into a plywood-board study desktop with a blue bal point pen. The poem waswritten as early as January 1967, when the desk was stored in an unused col ege basement. “Sick of Living...” it began. Beneath thepoem were the incised lower-case initials “R H.” Morril checked over six thousand handwriting samples searching for a kil er with those. “Most of those exemplars came from the Riverside Col ege and military instal ations,” he told me. “They were al on microfilm, blown up, andhad a magnifier that I just slipped them under one after another. Now this is the weak link in the case—some of those registration certificates were.” Captain Cross was encouraged. “Wel, it looks like we’re in business,” he said. The hunt for Zodiac was now statewide.the early evening of November 16, Al en stood in the doorway of his trailer nursing his wounds, physical and emotional, past and present. He. The roar of traffic on Santa Rosa Avenue fil ed his head. He put on his white hat and locked the door to his trailer. He limped to his car andthe dusty old clunker. Night was fal ing.6:00 P.M. an employee at the Los Guilucos School for Girls, about eight miles from Santa Rosa, returned from shopping. She slowed foroncoming traffic at the corner of Pythian Way and two-lane Sonoma Highway. Approaching the narrow road for her turn, she flicked on hersignal, slowed, and waited for two cars at the corner. As the second car passed by, a hand shot from the bushes. It fastened on her door. A face glared at her from the brush. It looked familiar. The features resembled the Zodiac wanted poster. “My impression was of light-hair, somewhat receding, though not bald,” she recal ed. “He was dressed in a navy-blue jacket and I judged him to be about thirty-five anddark-rimmed glasses.” She stepped on the throttle, executed a sharp left turn, and raced another quarter mile to the apartment complexshe lived. “I feel,” she said, “that the man at the corner and the man sketched in the paper are one and the same.”, November 19, 1970Riverside P.D. held a secret Zodiac conference. While Armstrong remained behind, Toschi, Narlow, and Nicolai flew southward. “Sometimessplit up,” said Toschi. “‘Do you want to do this?’ Armstrong would ask me, and we would take turns in order to accomplish different tasks at thetime.” Toschi was shocked to discover Avery on the same plane to Riverside. “We saw him right away. He had his name stenciled on theof his carry-on. Narlow and Nicolai looked at me, and I said, ‘Hey, I don’t know anything about this!’ They thought Bil or I might have told him. IAvery, ‘Paul, how did you know we were going down? You have to tel me. These guys think I’m a snitch.’ Avery said, ‘Captain Cross told.’ After we landed and were waiting for our Rent-A-Car, Avery had the bal s to ask to ride with us to headquarters. Of course the answer was no. IAvery and had been able to trust him on cases where a lot of guys thought he was a little sneaky. He was never that way with me at any time.”Avery drove alone to the meeting, he thought back three days earlier to an incident on Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue. A stocky stranger,

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