[2.5 stars, rounded to 3 for hometown bias.]
The merciless Goodreads statistics might show that I started this book in 2011, but while yes, I am a slow reader, I’m not that slow. I wasn’t on the page-a-day diet, rather I threw this book aside numerous times for months on end out of sheer frustration, but always determined to come back to it. It. Was. A. Slog. The thing with true crime, sometimes you get lucky and Truman Capote writes one, but that’s not the rule. I have genuine admiration for what Robert Graysmith, at the time the political cartoonist for the San Francisco Chronicle, did here. He saw a need for this book, saw no one else was writing it, and so he wrote it himself. And threw himself completely into the task, which involved a level of legwork, research, and interviews almost inconceivable. But my own take is that he needed a strong editorial hand in marshalling it into a coherent and readable book, and simply didn’t get one. The result is a quagmire of data, an absence of any real prose style, and an endurance test for the reader. The big problem here is that Zodiac might be the most uninflected book ever written. My hat is off to Graysmith for the staggering amount of research he obviously did, but it’s like he skipped the crucial step of sifting through it afterwards, and instead threw it all into his book. Where was his editor?? So you get vital and fascinating anecdotes and bits of information right alongside mundane and irrelevant factoids and dead end tangents, all given equal weight. It’s maddening.
The ‘60s bleed into the ‘70s
I have a perspective on the weirdness of the ‘70s now that I lacked when I was growing up amidst it. The social/political zeitgeist of the ‘70s wasn’t something I pondered much (as opposed to The Six Million Dollar Man, which I pondered quite a lot). It’s as if the idealism of the ‘60s didn’t go away, exactly, but curdled into something twisted. My own touchstone for the weirdness/corrosion of the decade was the SLA (Symbionese Liberation Army), possibly the dumbest and least coherent of all political radicals of the era (no small thing). Yes, the folks who kidnapped Patty Hearst in ’74, which, if nothing else, introduced the concept of brainwashing to my young self. But in 1973, in perhaps the nadir of the era’s half-assed, intellectually bankrupt, violent posturing, the SLA murdered Marcus Foster, the Superintendent of Oakland Schools. I was an Oakland elementary school kid at the time; we had a school assembly in tribute to Foster after the murder. He was the first black superintendent the Oakland school district had. Why assassinate a public school official? Something to do with a debate over introducing identification cards into the schools. Typically, the SLA didn’t even bother to learn that in fact Foster was not a proponent of the idea (which was also never implemented). Two members were arrested and convicted of the murder. This was actually the seed of the Patty Hearst kidnapping, originally conceived as a way to leverage the release of those members. Amazingly, that didn’t pan out. Most of the SLA died later in 1974 in a police shootout and resulting house fire in Los Angeles. The remaining members went into hiding. Between 1999 and 2004, most of these were finally captured, tried and convicted for a 1975 murder committed during a bank robbery in the town of Carmichael.
I don’t know how relevant that is, possibly not in the slightest, but the Zodiac phenomenon that snaked through the decade seemed of a piece with much else that was going on, particularly in the Bay Area. Ever hear of the Zebra murders? Racially motivated attacks targeting whites in San Francisco in 1973 & ’74. 22 attacks, 14 deaths. One surviving victim was Art Agnos, who years later would be elected Mayor. This remains oddly low profile. But the darkest year was undoubtedly 1978. On November 18, the Jonestown mass murder/suicide claimed over 900 lives in Guyana; the cult had relocated from SF to escape increasing scrutiny of Jim Jones. Nine days later, on Nov. 27, SF Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk were assassinated by former cop and Supervisor Dan White. Getting back on topic, what wasn’t apparent at the time but is clear now with hindsight, is that the Zodiac crimes were in a sense Act 1, and the Zodiac phenomenon was Act 2, and they didn’t overlap much. The Zodiac had seven confirmed victims, David Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen in 1968, Michael Mageau and Darlene Ferrin in 1969, Bryan Hartnell and Cecelia Shepard also in ’69, and Paul Stine in ’69. Mageau and Hartnell survived, the other five were killed. The first Zodiac letters (to the SF Chronicle, the SF Examiner, and the Vallejo Times Herald) appeared August 1, 1969. A second letter was received six days later, in which the name Zodiac was used for the first time. The last confirmed victim was Stine in October ’69. A third letter appeared three days after Stine’s murder, which included part of the cabdriver’s bloodstained shirt. There were more letters to newspapers from 1970 to 1974, but no further crimes definitively tied to the Zodiac. He kept his name front and center by frequently claiming credit for crimes he most likely read about in news stories (once claiming a tally of “Me = 37, SFPD = 0”), but the consensus is that these claims are pretty clearly horseshit.
(Graysmith also attributes the 1966 murder of Cheri Jo Bates in Riverside to the Zodiac. There are aspects to this killing that suggest it’s a possibility, but there is no consensus. Personally I’m skeptical, given that a Zodiac letter claiming credit only appeared after Paul Avery wrote an article in the Chronicle detailing the similarities.)
(There is one other incident sometimes linked to the Zodiac, sometimes not, in 1970. Kathleen Johns, driving at night through the Modesto area, pregnant and with her 10-month-old daughter in the car, was flagged down by a motorist who claimed there was a problem with one of the wheels of her car, offered to fix it, and instead made it so the wheel came off when she resumed driving. He then offered her and her child a ride to a service station in his car. He then drove for over an hour, passing several gas stations and not stopping, at one point calmly telling her he was going to kill her and her child. When he slowed at an intersection, she jumped out of the car with her daughter and hid in a field. The man looked for her with a flashlight, eventually gave up and drove off. When Johns made it to a police station, she saw a composite sketch of the Zodiac and said that was the man who abducted her. While undoubtedly a terrifying incident, there is no real evidence that the Zodiac was in fact her abductor.)
Graysmith's exhaustive approach does yield some truly bizarre anecdotes. My favorite of these involves a low budget movie about the Zodiac that played for a week in 1981:
Chronicle reporter Duffy Jennings told me of a contest the producers of the Zodiac movie devised inviting moviegoers to win a new motorcycle by filling out cards telling in 25 words of less "I believe the Zodiac killed because..." Thinking the real Zodiac might be curious and vain enough to see the film, a huge carton was set up in the lobby for deposit of entries, and inside it crouched a man who read each card as it slipped through the slot at the top. Ostensibly, he was to alert theater management via intercom when he spotted a suspicious entry from someone claiming to be the actual killer.
Unaccountably, this failed to crack the case. But hey, what a cool thing to put on one's resume.
I’m not old enough to have any memory of the crimes, but in the late ‘70s I would occasionally read about a new Zodiac rumor, most often in Herb Caen’s column in the Chronicle. I also remember reading an investigative piece (in the ’80s?) that detailed the jurisdictional rivalries, which were so ingrained as to hinder any notion of cooperation between agencies. Basically, SF didn’t want Vallejo to solve it and get the credit, nor did Vallejo want SF to solve it, nor did Benecia want… Oddly, this aspect is barely mentioned in the book; possibly no one wanted to own up to this on the record. Obviously the fact that the murders remain unsolved contributes greatly to the lasting cultural memory. I would even speculate that had the Zodiac been caught, the cultural impact might have been diminished. One salient point about true crime books is they tend to demystify killers. Read enough of them, and you begin to realize that brilliant Hannibal Lecter-type figures are almost entirely in the province of fiction. Zodiac comes off as half-bright, smart and careful enough to avoid obvious mistakes but otherwise delusional and intellectually stunted. Also, he would have been caught had he not been gifted with one bit of incredible luck.
Sometimes the movie really is better
In 2007 David Fincher made an utterly brilliant movie about the Zodiac, one of those rare occasions when I knew instantly I had just seen one of my favorite films ever. It’s a rather counterintuitive movie, in that it’s intensely procedural, never really settles on a main character (Jake Gyllenhaal, playing Graysmith, comes closest), and strains to be as literal as possible. Usually a movie’s greatness comes from a subjective vision, but Fincher filmed each Zodiac crime as a recreation of witness accounts (and therefore, doesn’t portray the Faraday/Jensen killings at all, because there were no witnesses), and never showed the killer’s face. The movie does ultimately endorse Arthur Leigh Allen as a likely suspect (in the book he’s called Bob Starr, a pseudonymn likely necessitated by the fact Allen was still alive when the book was written – he died in 1992), but even then, there’s no smoking gun moment, just an accumulation of evidence. And still there are things that don’t fit, such as a DNA test in 2002 that was not a match for Allen. But ultimately Fincher’s Zodiac is about three men who became consumed to varying degrees by the case: Graysmith, the SFPD detective Dave Toschi, and Chronicle reporter Paul Avery. We know there can’t be a clear resolution; and yet it’s riveting. Movie taglines are a lost art, but Zodiac had one that is spot on: There’s more than one way to lose your life to a serial killer. And the film closes with one of the most haunting endings you’ll ever see.
One Mistake
Only the Stine killing had third party witnesses. The Zodiac was a passenger in Stine’s cab, shot him from behind, took his wallet and car keys, tore off a bit of his bloodstained shirt, wiped down the cab, and left on foot. Three teenagers witnessed this from across the street and called police. Shortly after a responding police car encountered the killer walking on a sidewalk a couple blocks away. The police dispatcher’s alert had said to be on the lookout for a black suspect; the officers therefore only observed the white man on the sidewalk for several seconds, and drove on. The details of Stine’s killing are such that it is believed the killer almost certainly would have had blood on him when leaving the scene. This was the moment, I can’t help but think. Whoever the Zodiac was should have been arrested that night in 1969. No explanation has ever been offered for the dispatcher’s initial mistake.
Intermittently, the writing comes alive. For me, the most haunting figure is Darlene Ferrin, 22, a bit wild, and by multiple accounts scared of a man she vaguely knew who seemed to be stalking her. In this instance I agree with Graysmith's speculation that her stalker was likely her killer, and was the Zodiac. Which would make hers the only killing that was personal. If there was a road to unmasking the killer, it would seem to be through her. But in the end, to borrow the old Jim Croce song lyric, the case was like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone.