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

by Mark Hewitt

  Latent fingerprints lifted from Bates’s car were eventually compared by the FBI to prints that were collected from the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia at Lake Berryessa, but they provided no match. The Bates prints were never identified or matched to anyone else either. They remained with the FBI, file #32-27195. The RPD letter included several enclosures: two reproductions of the Confession letter, a photo of the envelope received by the press, a photo of the envelope received by the police, and two photocopies of envelopes after having been processed for prints. A copy of the letter was additionally sent to the San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) Chief of Police. The entire package was signed by Sergeant H. L. Homsher, with the letterhead backing of L. T. Kinkead, the Riverside Chief of Police.

  ***

  The death of Cheri Jo Bates became the focus of renewed attention in 1982, Riverside officials expressing confidence that the case would soon be resolved. In a press release on May 20, the RPD reported in response to substantial pressure put on it by the press and the public that in November, 1981 new information had come to light. Accordingly, four investigators had been assigned to the case full time. They would be tasked, the press release notified, with interviewing numerous people and re-examining all the physical evidence available.

  The RPD denied that there was a connection to other cases in Northern California. The detectives expressed an awareness of an individual who was being considered by the SFPD, and adamantly maintained that the Riverside suspect was not responsible for additional murders to the north, nor was the man being investigated in the Bay Area responsible for Bates’s murder. Any speculation and creative reporting could hamper successful prosecution, the press release warned, and any media reports that linked the murder of Bates to the killings in the Bay Area were outdated.

  The RPD promised a thorough investigation for 90 days before anyone would be charged, a sentiment that was to prove overly optimistic and unnecessarily confident. No one was charged after 90 days; no one was ever charged. Due to privacy concerns, and the fact that the suspect was never arrested, the RPD never publicly shared his name.

  Nevertheless, some members of the RPD remained convinced that they had identified the perpetrator but were merely unable to gather sufficient evidence to bring the case to trial—and that he was not responsible for any Northern California activity. No credible evidence against their suspect ever leaked out of the department, and no follow-up was ever provided to the 1982 press release. However, the department’s dogmatic stance would be challenged less than two decades later.

  In 2000, mitochondrial DNA testing was conducted on the blood clot discovered on the base of Bates’s right thumb. The resulting sequence was compared to mitochondrial DNA testing done on blood drawn from the RPD suspect. There was no match. The RPD’s suspect was not the origin of the biological material deposited on the victim.

  ***

  Services for Cheri Jo were conducted at St. Catherine’s Catholic Church in the sanctuary that she had visited with her father just hours before her death. Detectives observed the attendees, while police photographers captured faces on film.

  Cheri Josephine Bates was laid to rest on a misty hillside at Crestlawn Memorial Park into which she was interred on November 4, 1966. Twenty years later, her body would be exhumed and cremated, and her ashes scattered at sea.

  The man responsible for her death would not remain so quiet.

  2 | SOLANO COUNTY

  “the boy was on his back with his feet to the car”

  On the bitterly cold evening of December 20, 1968, the killer struck again. He resurfaced more than 400 miles to the northwest, just outside of Benicia, in an unincorporated area of Solano County, part of the larger San Francisco Bay Area of Northern California.

  Despite the lack of eyewitnesses to the crime itself, the investigators could pinpoint in time the attack at Lake Herman Road through statements made by those who had been in the immediate area at the time of the attack. Not only did the citizens report on what they had seen as they drove past gate 10, the entrance to the Benicia Water Supply Pumping Station—the scene of the crime—some of them reported on the actions and movements of others, and thereby corroborated one another’s statements. If each of the statements given by people in the vicinity is to be believed, there was only a six-minute window of opportunity, between 11:14 p.m. and 11:20 p.m., in which the perpetrator callously shot and killed two teenagers in the roadside turnout.

  Stella Medeiros, formerly Stella Borges, a 32-year-old Vallejo mother, was the first to observe the carnage. Close to noon on the day before Christmas, she gave an interview to Detective Sergeant Leslie “Les” Lundblad of the Solano County Sheriff’s Office, the seasoned lead investigator of the dual homicide. She described the events that led to her discovery of the ghastly crime scene four days earlier.

  She explained to Lundblad that on the evening of Friday, December 20 she had returned from Oakland at about 10:50. When her mother called to ask her to pick up her 13-year-old son at a show, she did not stop to take off her coat. She left her home, which was on the other side of the street from her parents’ house, to retrieve her son. A glance at the clock told her it was ten minutes past eleven. She, with her mother-in-law and young daughter in tow, entered Lake Herman Road. Driving cautiously, she covered the serpentine 2.7 miles to the crime scene in about four or five minutes. Medeiros estimated that they arrived at the pump house entrance on Lake Herman Road at 11:14 or 11:15, though it was determined at the interview that her watch was one minute fast. She added that she observed no vehicles going in either direction.

  As she reached the gravel alcove which served as a small parking lot off to the south of Lake Herman Road, an entrance to a dirt roadway that led toward a county pump house, her headlights picked up a vehicle. She told Lundblad that she observed a boy who looked as though he had fallen out of the open door of his station wagon. A girl, adorned in an elegant purple dress, was collapsed on the far side of the lot, facing the road.

  Stillness pervaded the scene. There were no other cars parked nearby.

  Medeiros raced farther along Lake Herman Road. She achieved speeds between 60 and 70 miles per hour. At the horrific sight of the bodies, she needed to gather her composure. She knew she had to report the incident to an officer in the sleepy town of Benicia. When she found a police car, she honked her horn and flashed her lights until she received the attention from Officer Daniel Pitta of the Benicia Police Department (BPD) that her ordeal warranted.

  Pitta corroborated Medeiros’ statement, reporting that he first observed her at 11:25 p.m. He quickly responded, and with his partner for the evening, BPD Officer William T. Warner #12, he arrived at the scene three minutes later.

  In 1969, Lake Herman Road was a desolate, rural road that connected the tiny town of Benicia with Vallejo, its larger neighbor to the west. It remains quiet and undeveloped to this day. One end is located just east of Vallejo, where it joins Columbus Parkway. The other end is in Benicia Township, six miles to the east. Most long distance drivers will circumnavigate the stretch by steering to the north or the south of Vallejo, the indirect highway routes providing much quicker transit through the area. To locals, however, Lake Herman Road provides an often convenient, if meandering, back route.

  Its six-mile length still has no street lights in the second decade of the twenty-first century. It is a very dark, out-of-the-way, corridor. It sees infrequent traffic, especially at night. In the 1960s, amorous couples came to rely on its seclusion for late night “necking.” The entrance to a pumping station, a gravel turnoff to the south of Lake Herman Road bordered by sharp turns and a steep hill, was a particularly popular lovers’ lane. Couples knew they could linger there in relative privacy, far from the prying eyes of parents and the local police. The lot itself, only a handful of yards wide and directly in the line of sight to eastbound traffic, offered scant privacy from anyone who drove past, but if the occasional car did happen by, everyone knew why the couple was parked there, and t
hey were left alone. Sometimes, groups of students would congregate. It was a fun, enticing hangout, well known to all who attended either Hogan High School or Vallejo High School, the two secondary educational institutions in Vallejo.

  Police officers were also aware of the location. They knew cars would assemble there and understood the attraction that brought the young people. A county worker made daily checks on the pump house, driving the length of the dirt road to ensure that nothing nefarious was occurring at the property owned by Solano County.

  Formed in 1850, Solano County comprises seven jurisdictions, including the towns of Vallejo and Benicia, as well as some unincorporated regions. The county was incorporated in 1850, marking the founding of the county. It hosted the California state capital for nearly 13 months in 1853 and 1854.

  The town of Benicia, the southernmost part of Solano County, was founded in 1847, and named for the wife of General Vallejo, the region’s top military man and first landowner. In 1852, with the opening of the Young Ladies Seminary, it boasted the first woman’s college west of the Rocky Mountains. The Seminary’s name was later changed to Mills College, and was in time relocated to Oakland. In the 1960s, the town saw dramatic changes, including the closing of the Benicia Arsenal of the U.S. Army, which occurred from 1960 to 1964, causing a disruption of the economy, at least until growth was made possible into the former property of the Arsenal. The completion of the Benicia-Martinez Bridge in 1962 transformed the lickspittle village into a convenient suburb of San Francisco, causing a surge in population to around 5,000 by 1968.

  Pitta, upon arrival at the scene, noted a young female lying face down. Next to her in the gravel a large volume of blood was flowing to the north of her motionless head. She had obviously expired. To the west, a dark-haired young male lay face up, blood pooling around the back of his skull. An A1 ambulance arrived, alerted by a code 3—an emergency requiring lights and siren—and the male was transported to Vallejo.

  Solano County Coroner Dan Horan was summoned to care for the remains of the girl. Pitta notified the Solano County Sheriff’s Office, requesting an investigator and a Sheriff’s unit.

  At 11:52, Deputy Sheriff Russell T. Butterbach and his partner, Deputy Wayne Waterman, both of the Solano County Sheriff’s Office, reached the scene of the crime. They observed several police units that had arrived before them. Officer Pitta, Lieutenant Little, and Officer Warner were poring over the scene. A reporter from the Fairfield Daily Republic, Thomas D. Butler, following the scoop, was trying to capture some useful photographs and any stray details about the breaking story. He would later report that he took pictures from “a discrete distance” once the coroner arrived at the scene and carefully lifted the blanket.

  Deputy Sheriff Butterbach’s regular partner had been unavailable that evening. Waterman, typically stationed at the jail—the starting assignment for all new officers—had asked Butterbach for permission to ride along. The patrolman was more than happy to have the company.

  Earlier in the evening, the two were assigned to scout for the blue truck of a man who had gone fishing at Lake Berryessa and had not returned home. They were ordered to search Lake Herman Road for the missing vehicle. As soon as they entered the road, however, their car was reassigned to visit the Hells Angels headquarters on Warren Street in Benicia. After about 30 to 40 minutes there, Butterbach recalled years later, they learned that a shooting had occurred. When they returned to their patrol car, they were notified of a double 187 (murder) on Lake Herman Road, and raced to the scene.

  Pierre Bidou, a detective with the BPD, with his partner for the night, served the search warrant on the Hells Angels. They confiscated about a pound and a half of marijuana, a rather large bust for 1968. As Bidou and his partner headed back to the Sheriff’s Office to drop off the seized drugs, they passed the Lake Herman Road pumping station entrance. The site of the future crime scene was deserted. The actors in the macabre drama that would play out in just a few minutes had not yet assembled. When the officers finally arrived at the office parking lot, they heard the BPD call: a possible shooting with victims on Lake Herman Road. They turned around immediately and headed back. By the time they arrived on the scene, there was already a police sergeant as well as a marked patrol car present.

  Butterbach and Waterman surveyed the scene. They observed a 4-door, 1961 Rambler Station Wagon with a dark tan over light tan paint scheme, sporting California license plates DTL-962. The front of the car pointed in an easterly direction. At 28 feet 6 inches behind the vehicle—an initial police report incorrectly stated 10 feet; another provided an estimate of 10 yards—the body of young woman lay motionless on the ground.

  Years later, Bidou would state that he took her pulse. It was an unnecessary task. It was obvious that she was dead.

  The lifeless girl would be identified as Betty Lou Jensen, a 16-year-old Caucasian female, born July 23, 1952. Her remains were partially covered with a gray wool blanket, because the police wanted to protect any evidence and modestly conceal the victim from the press and the public. Her face and head were awash in blood. Next to the body, a large amount of blood was pooling.

  Despite passing her sixteenth birthday in July, Betty Lou was, in appearance and action, still a chubby-cheeked child. Her sweetness and innocence made her a most tragic victim. At five feet three inches and 115 pounds, the round-faced brunette had only had two previous “relationships” with young men prior to meeting Faraday. These innocent bonds consisted merely of talking together and walking the hallways at Hogan High School, where Jensen was a junior. David was her first serious boyfriend, and her time with him on December 20 was her first real date.

  A native of Colorado, the ingénue was an honor roll student, and always dedicated to the task at hand. She was hoping to earn a generous art scholarship to pursue her talents in a variety of artistic media. Her many friends described her as caring and kind. Warmth radiated from her bright blue eyes. She was a member of the Pythian Sunshine Girls. She welcomed the input of others, often seeking advice from her friends and her older sister and only sibling, Melodie. She resided with the other members of her family at 123 Ridgeway Court in Vallejo.

  On the cusp of adulthood, Betty Lou had become secretive about some aspects of her life—nothing sinister, just a growing independence. Prior to that evening, her parents did not know that she had begun dating. Whether from embarrassment or not wanting her parents to meddle in her affairs, she kept her relationships quiet. She had also begun to experiment with cigarettes.

  Butterbach and Waterman observed a chalk outline on the ground, on the passenger side of the station wagon. The newly created shape, laid down by Warner, represented the point of collapse of David Faraday. A large pool of blood was present by the right front door of the station wagon, extending from where the young man’s head was outlined. Bidou would later state that when he first arrived at the scene, he could see Faraday’s breath in the cold evening air, because the young man was fighting to live.

  David Arthur Faraday, a 17-year-old senior at Vallejo High School, enjoyed music and friends. He had a ready smile that complemented his dark brown eyes and dark brown hair. His long face was horse-like, his mouth perhaps too large for his other features. Whatever he lacked in physical beauty, however, he more than made up for in charm.

  He was a fun-loving, easy-going teenager who had recently discovered girls. He had just started to date Jensen, whom he met on a committee to decorate the Pythian Castle for a music festival. Once the two found each other, they were quickly an item.

  Born October 2, 1951, and originally from San Rafael, California, Faraday resided at the small suburban home of his parents at 1930 Sereno Drive. The family had been in Vallejo for only three and a half years. Faraday possessed a firm confidence that had served him well during his years as an Eagle Scout, a member of Explorer Post 209. Recently, he had won the prestigious “God and Country” award—the highest honor in scouting—for his hard work.

  His accolades did n
ot end there. He was active in school government. He was Lodge Chief of the Order of the Arrow for Napa, Solano, and Lake Counties. He served in the Knights of Dunamis, was active in the Presbyterian Church, and participated as a member of the staff of the Silverado Area Council Camp.

  In addition to all of his committees, he found time for athletics, competing on the wrestling team. He was planning for a career as a teacher. His interactions with his three siblings—16-year-old Debra, 15-year-old Robert, and the youngest, Stephen, at 13—no doubt aided his gregariousness and helped hone his leadership abilities, attributes that Jensen likely found both alluring and attractive.

  Butterbach and Waterman found small caliber casings littering the ground. Upon closer inspection, the officers noticed that the vehicle had also been violated. There was a bullet hole in the rear window on the right side, just above the chrome stripping on the lower portion of the window and slightly off center to the rear of the vehicle. Another bullet had entered the station wagon just above the center of the right rear passenger window. A lady’s white fur coat lay undisturbed on the left side of the rear seat. Realizing the gravity of the situation, and his own limitations as a mere patrolman, it was at this point that Butterbach contacted his office to summon the sober-sided Detective Sergeant Lundblad.