by Mark Hewitt
Hartnell changed the subject as he continued to search. “On T.V. movies and in an article in the Readers Digest they say that thieves rarely keep their guns loaded. Is yours?”
Responding slightly excitedly, the man blurted, “Yes, it is!” As if to explain himself and his ferociousness, he calmly added, “I killed a couple of men before.”
“What? I didn’t hear you.” Bryan challenged. The hood was difficult to hear through, or maybe the man beneath it spoke too softly.
“I killed a couple of guards getting out of prison. And I’m not afraid to kill again.” By elaborating on his past, the gunman may have been hoping to instill more fear in a young man who was more chatty and helpful than afraid. (When Narlow later contacted the Montana State Prison located in Deer Lodge, Montana, he learned that no such escape had occurred and no guards had been killed.)
Cecelia interjected at this point. “Bryan—do what he says.”
“Now I want the girl to tie you up.” Strangely, the hooded man spoke only to Hartnell, maybe because Bryan was so talkative, but maybe because he felt intimidated by his female victim. The assailant pulled some lengths of pre-cut, hollow clothesline from his back pocket and passed them to Cecelia.
Hartnell years later clarified this point. At the time, he felt that he could get the gun away from the hold-up man if he could get just a little closer, Bryan being the taller of the two. As Cecelia tied loose knots around his wrists, he suggested the idea to her. She responded with obvious fear and didn’t want him to try anything dangerous. He heeded her request since her life would be at risk as well as his if he were to attempt to snatch the gun.
This decision may have cost Cecelia her life. But not necessarily. Bryan also noted that the hooded man stepped back a few paces and kept his distance from that point on, never giving him a real chance to reach for the weapon.
Hartnell continued to talk. “This is really strange. I wonder why someone hasn’t thought of this before. I’ll bet there is good money in it.”
The cloaked stranger said nothing.
“What was the name of that prison?” Hartnell continued his friendly banter, attempting to draw out the mysterious man.
Again, the hooded man said nothing.
“No really, what did you say the name of it was?” Hartnell insisted.
Possibly feeling obligated, the gunman now responded grudgingly, “Deer Lodge in Montana.”
Cecelia, fighting back her nervousness, loosely tied the hands of her former boyfriend. The stranger approached and tightened the cords that bound Hartnell, and then tied Shepard’s hands behind her back. If there was additional dialogue here, Bryan could not recall it. It may be lost to history. The next words he remembered occurred after the couple’s wrists were tightly bound.
“Now I want you both to lay face down so I can tie up your feet.” The assailant demanded. Either the grammatical error in his words was inserted by Hartnell and the stranger actually said, “lie face down,” the stranger did not know the proper use of the word “lie,” or he wanted Hartnell to believe that he did not know proper grammar.
“Come on—we could be out here for a long time and it could get cold at night,” Hartnell objected strenuously as darkness encroached. He considered the prospect of remaining out by the lake, through the descending temperatures, until they would invariably be discovered by Sunday picnickers. The cold would be uncomfortable, but the real annoyance was the inconvenience of remaining there for hours.
“Come on—get down.” was all the man said, insistently.
Bryan was not done arguing. His amiable attitude had elicited facts as a poker player cajoles his opponents into conversation for advantage. He knew he could question and object without being shot. He continued to speak in an effort to finagle concessions.
“Listen, I didn’t complain when you tied our hands, but this is ridiculous!”
“I told you…” The man tried to cut Bryan off.
“We aren’t going anywhere—Anyway, I don’t think that it’s necessary.” Bryan may instead have said, “Aw, come on—we don’t want to.” He couldn’t remember which statement more accurately represented his actual words.
The man pointed his pistol at Hartnell. “I told you to get down!” (To Robertson, Hartnell quoted the man, “Get down. Right now!”)
Hearing the seriousness of the demand and feeling the threat of the gun, Hartnell and Shepard acquiesced. They lowered themselves to the ground and lay on their stomachs. The hooded man wasted no time in using additional cords to bind their legs. Then he began to hogtie them like two expendable sheep at a rodeo.
Hartnell spoke again to continue humanizing the victims in the eyes of their assailant. “Your hands are shaking. Are you nervous?”
“I guess so.” The hooded man laughed in a relaxed manner. The conversation may have been calming to him too.
“Well, I suppose that I’d be nervous too.” Hartnell attempted to make a connection with the man who was binding him. It wouldn’t matter. “Now that all is said and done, was that gun really loaded?” Hartnell may instead have said, “Now that everything is all said and done, could you show me that your gun is loaded?” He still suspected that no bullets were involved in this attack, still did not comprehend the extent of the threat to their lives.
“Yes, it was!” the attacker claimed. Hartnell thought his words may instead have been, “Sure, I’ll show you.”
In one final act of responding to Hartnell’s numerous requests, the man proudly displayed the gun, removed the magazine, and demonstrated that in fact the gun was loaded by showing him a full magazine. He then returned the magazine to the weapon.
Then, without speaking, he put the gun back into its holster hanging from his belt, and with his left hand drew a 12-inch bayonet-style knife from a scabbard, also hanging from his belt. Crouching down, he thrust the blade into Hartnell’s back.
In his interview with Robertson, Hartnell provided some additional information that did not appear in the transcript of the dialogue he provided the NCSO. To Hartnell, the assailant had also said, “Okay. Lay down. I’ve got her tied down.”
Hartnell also summarized the event in a joint interview he conducted from his hospital room on October 7 with the Napa Register and the radio station KVON. To the media, he claimed, “I tried to keep the conversation as light as possible.” He also acknowledged that he had “tried to maintain the psychological advantage over the hooded man.” He told the media that he had asked a lot of questions, but the man refused to answer most of them.
Hartnell described for Robertson the events following the dialogue. After he saw the man put away his gun, he turned toward Cecelia to say something to her. Suddenly, without any warning of what was happening, he was struck. He may have seen a flash of the knife as it was being drawn. He couldn’t remember. The knife now slid into the flesh of his back, again and again. He described the sound as, “CHOMP, CHOMP, CHOMP, CHOMP.”
In reaction, he made guttural sounds as though he were unable even to scream at the way the appalling events were unfolding.
When Cecelia turned to see why he was making the odd noise, she almost fainted. She became hysterical and began to yell.
Bryan, realizing his predicament, resigned himself to dying. With 6 stab wounds deep into his back (not the 10 or the 12 that The San Francisco Examiner would later report, nor the “dozen” mentioned in The San Francisco Chronicle), he was certain that the only outcome for the two was that of murder victims.
Still, he wanted to live, so he feigned death. It was his only hope against the unprovoked brutality.
After stabbing Hartnell, the knife-wielding man turned his attention to Cecelia, who was by this time screaming uncontrollably. She had seen what had happened to her friend and knew exactly what awaited her. Frantically, she began to twist and turn against the ropes that held her in place. Thrusting with grunts of exertion, or sexual release, the assailant stabbed her 10 times (and not the 24 times The Examiner would report or th
e “more than 20 times” reported by The Chronicle), 5 times in her back, and then 5 in her front when she attempted to roll away from him, including 1 thrust to her groin area and 1 that pierced her left breast. Bryan would describe the attack on his friend as “some kind of frenzy,” adding that the attacker “went hog-wild.” Years later, he would explain that he had watched the start of the attack on her, but had turned away. He couldn’t bear to witness what was happening.
Bryan described the knife to Robertson. It was sheathed in a case that might have been made of wood, and hung on the right side of his belt on the front of his trousers. It appeared to be a bread knife in size and shape, approximately 12 inches long, and three-quarters of an inch wide. The handle was hardwood, with two brass rivets. There was also some cotton surgical tape with a width of approximately one inch wrapped around the knife’s handle.
Hartnell also clarified a few points, including the fact that Cecelia had tossed Hartnell’s wallet toward the attacker as she was tying him up. He described his attacker’s gun holster as a shiny, smooth, and black, not a weave pattern.
Their attacker departed after the stabbing. Hartnell sensed that he was being observed so he held his breath and continued to play dead. He did not hear the man make his way back up the path toward Knoxville Road. The assailant took neither money nor keys. He had been with the couple about 15 minutes in total, Bryan estimated.
Turning to Cecelia when he felt it was safe to do so, Bryan began to share. He told his friend that he did not intend to make a death-bed conversion, but wanted to speak about some things before he died.
Hartnell provided Robertson some of the personal information that flowed between the two ill-fated friends. Later to the media, he confided that he and Shepard “needed the psychological and spiritual encouragement.”
***
In addition to taking a statement from Hartnell, Robertson was also tasked with determining, if possible, the type of gun and brand of ammunition that had been present at the scene. Because Hartnell had observed the stranger’s handgun, and had gotten a glimpse of the bullets when his attacker removed the magazine, investigators hoped that he could describe—and even clearly identify—what he saw. Unfortunately, Hartnell’s information was of limited use, even though he tried to describe for Robertson the shape and size of the bullets and the specifics of the handgun. Drawing pictures and explaining details provided little additional information.
On the Wednesday morning following the attack, Robertson brought 10 different models of handguns to his hospital room, including a Luger automatic 9mm, a Browning automatic 9mm, and a Colt automatic .45. Hartnell, who was utterly unfamiliar with guns, was not sure whether any of them resembled the assailant’s weapon. He did state that he thought the model that most closely represented what he saw was the .45 caliber steel-blue pistol. The handguns were cataloged and photographed by Sergeant Butler and Deputy D. Bush.
Robertson returned that afternoon with a collection of 10 sample bullets of various size and design. Hartnell selected a .45 caliber brass bullet with brass casing as what he possibility saw, but he said that he could not be absolutely certain whether this was exactly like what he had seen in his attacker’s possession.
***
From his hospital bed the day after the attack, Hartnell provided Robertson with details on the minutes after his ordeal:
The couple attempted to wriggle free of their bindings. Hartnell explained that Shepard was too weak to move her hands—and therefore unable untie him—but he was able to loosen her knots with his teeth. Though she pulled one hand free of the cords, she was too upset to aid him. He remained immobilized.
As they struggled, the couple noticed a boat with two people in it that was circling the waters. They yelled to the occupants for help. Bryan desperately rocked back and forth to gain their attention as if he were dodging bullets. The boat approached the shoal in front of them; the engine shut off. After about 15 minutes (the driver of the boat would later estimate only 2 or 3 minutes), its engine roared to life and it slipped away.
Hartnell would elaborate on the situation in an interview years later. In the effort to gain emergency assistance, he had set to work calling across the water, and found a specific position at which he felt the sound of his voice carried. A couple of boats passed by—as many as four or five—possibly thinking that the couple was playing or joking, or simply unaware of his cries over the sound of their motors. A fishing boat, passing between the couple and a nearby island, stopped to observe. The boat moved closer. Someone shut off the engine. The couple tried everything they could think of to cajole the boat’s two occupants to come to their aid. Soon, the boat started again and, like the others, it too departed.
About the same time, Hartnell told Robertson, Shepard suggested that she try again to loosen her former boyfriend’s cords. With much effort, she was able to release one of his hands. (Years later, his story would omit Shepherd’s offer and provide an abbreviated, “I felt her hands on my bindings…”) He quickly untied both of his hands and then released Shepard. They were free of the attacker’s cords, but they were not yet in the clear.
Hartnell still believed that he was dying. He felt his consciousness drain from his body, as someone might experience the descent of a fall. When the bottom never came, he began to think that he could survive. As he considered his fate, he thought of his parents and their Christian faith: his father was a clergyman with the Seventh Day Adventist Church. He acknowledged to himself that he hadn’t been as good of a Christian as he wanted to be. He also pictured in his mind the many things he still hoped to accomplish in his life.
He realized that “whatever was going to be was going to be,” but resolved to live. “I was going to try my damnedest to stay alive,” he told Robertson. He asked God to help him. He held on to the belief that “God would do everything the best,” but Bryan didn’t think that his death would be the best. This firmly-held belief became his motivation.
With his new found mobility, he attempted to reach the highway, his only hope of gaining assistance, he believed. However, when he moved, darkness covered his visage. He was only able to ambulate 5 or 10 feet at an effort, and then only by stooping, clutching his chest, and repeatedly falling to the ground to regain strength. He attempted to push himself further but was too weak to do so. He told Robertson that he was certain that he never lost consciousness during the whole ordeal.
Hartnell achieved the gravel service road, but had not gone very far away from his former girlfriend. Suddenly, a pick-up truck approached and a man with a heavy coat emerged. His attacker had returned, Bryan thought. Then he noticed an emblem on the driver’s jacket.
Park Ranger Dennis Land would report that he was patrolling with Sergeant William “Bill” White—a veteran who had been a member of the Lake Berryessa ranger staff since 1959—near the Pope Creek Bridge when the emergency call had interrupted them. He had deposited his partner at the marina to speak to the witnesses and summon backup, and then headed for Twin Oaks Ridge. When he found Hartnell in the grass on the right of the dirt pathway to the lake, he noticed the blood on the young man’s back and abdomen.
With Land’s arrival Hartnell realized that the fisherman had not abandoned the couple. Their savior had motored to the marina for help. That boatman, Ronald Henry Fong, who had traveled to Lake Berryessa with his nine-year-old son for a fishing trip, later reported that he told the couple that he was going to get help, left over their pleas to take them with him, and returned after about 25 to 30 minutes. When he first heard their cries, he thought it was a “gag.” He noticed through his binoculars one person was resting against another, and one of whom had a large amount of what looked like blood on his back.
The injured man cried out to the ranger, “Help me. Help me!” As Land identified himself, Hartnell changed his message: “Don’t bother with me. My girlfriend is hurt much worse.”
Land gathered Hartnell into his truck, attempted to make him as comfortable as possibl
e, and drove down to the water to where Shepard remained. When they approached her, Land and Hartnell observed that Ranger White had already arrived by boat with four others. They were offering Shepard assistance. Rangers Land and White had reached the victims by land and by water.
To Hartnell, it seemed that the rangers were not in a hurry. He estimated the Land’s arrival at 90 minutes following the attack. White and Land wrapped the couple in blankets and tried to quiet them as they waited for the ambulance.
Though the couple was anxious to get to a doctor, it was another 15 minutes before the ambulance appeared. Hartnell estimated the wait at 60 minutes. Fong also remained there with his son until the couple was transported.
The officers reported that as they waited Shepard was in particular distress. She cried out to them, begging for something that would kill the pain or knock her out. Ranger White suggested that she scratch some other part of her body in an effort to distract her from the anguish. It worked for a few minutes, but soon she was crying out again. He noticed that, surprisingly, the victims weren’t bleeding anymore despite the fact there were so many knife wounds. It was a very bad sign.
The journey to the Queen of the Valley Hospital proved to be a tortuous and agonizingly slow ride as they traced the serpentine highway that separated Napa from Lake Berryessa. Hartnell later estimated that the journey took an hour. If only an ambulance had been stationed nearby, he later bemoaned, Cecelia may have survived.
Robertson asked Hartnell a few final questions before wrapping up the interview.
“Did he swear or use profanity?”
“No.” Not any more than Hartnell used himself, nothing that stood out to him.
“Did he search you?” Robertson continued.
“Heck no.” Hartnell found the man totally unprofessional. He didn’t even take the quarters or his billfold.