Girl With a Past

by Sherri Leigh James

  Schmidt glanced around at what we were drinking. “Just plain soda, or tonic, would be fine. Thank you.”

  Elliott poured a tonic from the bar set up on the sidewall.

  “There’s something else that’s come up. Maybe you caught it on the news?” Detective Schmidt said.

  “We’ve avoided the news today,” Dad said.

  Detective Schmidt nodded his understanding. “The Chronicle received a letter from the Zodiac today.”

  “Wha-at?” Dad blanched losing what little color the previous good news had restored.

  “From a dead guy?” Steven asked.

  “The writing’s different, although it looks like an attempt to copy the original," Schmidt said. "The tone and sentence structure are very similar. The letter claims responsibility for Ron Bailey’s murder.”

  “Phew!”

  “Fuck!”

  “Shit!

  “Christ!”

  “A copycat, of course, but damn close. The weirdest thing is the bullet that killed Ron Bailey is a match for two that killed Zodiac victims.” Schmidt laid that bomb on the coffee table along with his glass.

  “Does that mean you’re convinced that Derek’s father––”

  “Stepfather,” Schmidt corrected Steven.

  “Are you convinced it was him?” Steven asked.

  “The hair turned over to us by Derek is from the female victims, from more of them than we had tied to the Zodiac, and the guns are a match too,” Detective Schmidt said.

  “So Derek’s father, uh stepfather, was definitely the Zodiac?” I asked.

  “There is definitely a connection. We’re doing some more DNA testing. Testing on the stamps has been inconclusive.”

  “How does that happen?” Steven asked with a frown.

  “It seems that more than one person licked or handled those stamps.”

  “What? On each stamp there is DNA from more than one person?” I jumped to attention in my armchair.

  “How does that happen?” Steven repeated.

  “Perhaps the Zodiac had another person lick some stamps, and then he licked’em later,” Detective Schmidt said.

  “Why would he do that? I mean DNA testing didn’t start until like twenty years later. How could he have foreseen that the stamps would be tested?” Elliott asked.

  “We’ve no way of knowing that. Maybe it was an accident, a coincidence.” Detective Schmidt looked at each of us in turn. “Most of the stamps have one type of DNA. But there are two different types of DNA represented on stamps. Just a couple stamps have two. And the DNA types found on those two stamps are the same as found individually on other stamps. Points to the likelihood of two individuals being involved.”

  “So you aren’t convinced of Derek’s father’s guilt?” I asked.

  “Let me explain. We have no doubts that Derek’s father committed some of the murders, but we have not eliminated the possibility of another murderer. We’ve got the hood that Derek found. It fits a description given by a survivor. That’s being tested, but it’s been handled by both Derek and his son Lian, so results certainly wouldn’t be admissible.”

  “But they don’t need to be if the guy is dead, right?” Elliott asked the detective.

  “If the guy is dead, yeah, but the latest shooting muddies the waters. Profilers have always thought that the Zodiac was at least in his late thirties. That put him in his late seventies now, so him being dead didn’t seem unlikely. But Ron Bailey was definitely shot with the same gun as two victims who were killed in 1970.”

  “But Derek gave you the Zodiac guns.” I said.

  “Maybe he didn’t give us all the guns. He could’ve hidden one.” The detective answered.

  “But didn’t you search the house?” I asked.

  “Not thoroughly. We had no reason to think he was holding out on us. We’ve got Crime Scene over there now.”

  “Does that mean that you suspect Derek was the Zodiac killer?” Steven asked.

  Detective Schmidt shrugged with the corners of his mouth turned down.

  “Wait, wait. Are you sure that Lexi was killed by the Zodiac?” I jumped up from my chair, nearly spilling my gin and tonic.

  “Yes, right gun, right MO, right signature.”

  Shit, how would I explain this one? I knew Derek wasn’t the one who shot me. He was standing right behind me. We had just kissed. Lexi was shot from the front and from at least twenty feet away, Derek didn’t have a gun–– no it was impossible, but what could I say? “What about what’s-his-name, cousin Harold?”

  “Both men have voluntarily given us samples. Harold gave us two guns but he claimed he’s missing the third, a rifle.”

  “Why would Derek come forward with the evidence, the hair and guns if he were the Zodiac?” I asked.

  “There’s no explaining what some of these nutcases do.”

  “And what about the handwriting. You said it was different?” I asked.

  “It was somewhat similar, and handwriting does evolve over forty years. We got handwriting samples from Derek and Harold. Experts are lookin’ at ‘em.” Detective Schmidt said.

  “Derek was in Italy when most of the Zodiac victims were killed. You’ll be able to check on that. He said he went to the American embassy shortly after he arrived in Florence. Check that out.” I said.

  “Will do young lady.” Detective Schmidt smiled at me, stood up from his chair, then nodded at both Steven and me. “I’d like to pick you up around eight in the morning. Okay?”

  Steven and I looked at Dad for permission.

  “Are you sure they’ll be safe?” Dad asked the detective.

  “They’ll be safe with me.” Detective Schmidt assured Dad. “And I won’t drop them off in Berkeley if there is any reason to believe they’re in danger.”

  CHAPTER

  61

  Detective Schmidt showed Steven and me into a room with a huge window, presumably with one-way viewing, that looked out into a larger room with an elevated platform at one end, a lot of visible recording devices, and a row of metal chairs with vinyl seats. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.

  Steven grinned at me, raised an eyebrow. “Tight, huh?”

  “Yeah, I’m down with it.” I returned his smile, but butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

  On the other side of the window, a group of six men were ushered onto the platform by uniformed policeman, and lined up against a white wall. Brawny and Fatty were number three and six.

  “Well?” Detective Schmidt asked as he re-entered the room.

  “Number three and number six,” I said.

  “You sure?”

  “Totally.”

  “Good deal. I’ll get your statement typed up. You sign it, and we’re outta here. Let’s take you two back to school.”

  The process wasn’t quite that fast. I spoke with a young officer who typed very fast, but then Detective Schmidt and, I imagined, his supervisor wanted to see my statement. Given the red tape, it took awhile to get something to sign, but by late afternoon we were headed to Berkeley in the back seat of Detective Schmidt’s police car. A uniformed officer drove.

  We’d missed two weeks of classes. I wondered if there was any hurry, or if we’d already blown it.

  “Steven, have we missed the drop date?”

  “Whatta ya mean?”

  “I don’t know about you. But I don’t think I can miss this many classes and still do okay.”

  “You mean, maintain your stellar GPA?”

  I frowned at my brother. With my hand out of view of the front seat, I flipped him off. “Like you don’t care about your grades,” I said.

  We drove onto the Van Ness entrance to the 101 headed for the 80 and the Bay Bridge when Schmidt got a call.

  He hung up and turned around to speak to us. “Sorry guys, just a little detour. Something’s come up. You’re gonna stay in the car.” He motioned to the driver who took the next exit and headed back to Van Ness and over to Pacific Heights. We drove up Calif
ornia Street.

  “We’re getting close to Derek and Lian’s place,” I said.

  No response from the front seat, but three minutes later we pulled up across the street from Derek’s house. The huge second floor window had the curtains drawn. No other windows were visible from the street. Two uniformed policemen sat on the wall that surrounded the courtyard entrance.

  “Detective Schmidt, what’s going on?” I asked.

  “Stay here.” The detective and his driver exited the car slamming the doors shut.

  “Steven, what the hell?”

  “You think I know?” Steven leaned back in the seat.

  “Are you still smarting over a remark I made ten minutes ago? Get over it.” I leaned over him to see, if I could tell who answered the door. “I’m not staying here. I wanta know what’s going on.” I flipped the door handle down, but it didn’t budge. “Shit, we’re locked in here.”

  Steven tried his door. “Yep, we sure are.”

  CHAPTER

  62

  What the hell were we doing here? I couldn’t see past Schmidt and the uniformed driver in the courtyard, or the two officers on the wall.

  Detective Schmidt looked ready to spring into the house. Somebody with dark hair, maybe Derek, stood in the shadowed entry hall, blocking the entrance. The two figures in the doorway were animated, agitated.

  What the hell were they talking about? I reached across Steven again and tried to put the window down. “Trade places with me?”

  Steven slid across the bench seat; I climbed over his legs. The window went down exactly one inch but at least now it was possible to hear the heated discussion taking place in Derek’s entry court.

  “There’s no need for your involvement here,” Derek said. “It was an accident, I tell you. Nobody is hurt, no harm done.” Derek blocked the entrance.

  “Where is your son? Is he here?” Detective Schmidt demanded.

  No answer.

  “We will not leave here without seeing your son, without verifying that he’s okay.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “The gunshot gives us probable cause to search the premises.” Detective Schmidt pushed Derek out of the door and went into the entry hall. Derek stumbled, recovered and followed.

  The quiet of the neighborhood was broken by what sounded like a gunshot. A second gunshot rang out. The body of the uniformed driver jerked. He fell onto the courtyard paving.

  A third explosion, the force of a bullet hitting his chest, knocked one of the uniforms backwards off the wall. The other officer dropped into the shrubbery that ringed the inside of the courtyard.

  CHAPTER

  63

  Steven and I exchanged startled looks.

  “Where did those shots come from?” Steven asked.

  “I think from over there. ” I pointed to a yard behind us. “In that hedge.”

  “He was hit, right? The cop?” Steven looked from the officer to where he imagined the shots were fired.

  “Either that or he was ducking out of the line of fire.” Remain calm. Stay cool. My god, we were like ducks in a barrel, trapped in this car.

  Schmidt ran from the house. He motioned with his arm, yelled, “Get down!” from where he crouched behind the courtyard wall.

  We ducked down, but when a loud thud hit the car, Steven jumped off the seat and grabbed my arm. He yanked me down to the floor, on top of his legs.

  “Two hit.” Steven said as he punched 9-1-1 into his phone. He didn’t wait to be asked questions. “This is Steven Nichols, I am with Detective Schmidt, SFPD, at California and Scott in Pacific Heights. His driver and another officer have been shot. He needs back up. We need paramedics. Officers down.”

  The rear window shattered at the same moment we heard the bang. The bullet entered the back of the seat above our heads. A bullet slammed into the trunk, another bounced off the rear bumper.

  Steven pulled me tighter to the floor then threw himself on top.

  We heard the percussion of projectiles striking the body of the car, the whack of slugs on metal.

  Detective Schmidt fired from behind the low courtyard wall drawing attention away from the car. We heard the thud of bullets hitting the concrete courtyard wall.

  “Who the hell is that?” Steven asked, his voice tight with fear.

  “Lian, probably. Or Harold, but I’m betting Lian.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do I think that? Or why is he shooting at us?” I didn’t even try to control the quaver in my voice. “I think whichever one it is, he sees himself as carrying on for the Zodiac. Lian could’ve got the missing gun from Harold.”

  I clinched my teeth to stop them chattering. “And he is scary weird.” I remembered the cyclist who was outside Ron’s townhouse and realized why he looked familiar. It was Lian I saw there and in Pacific Heights. Had he followed us to Ron’s condo? Why would he carry on where his step-grandfather, a man he wasn’t actually related to, left off? Perhaps it was pointless trying to understand craziness.

  Gunfire, sirens, the arrival of a swat team, and paramedics distracted Steven from asking more questions.

  Steven allowed me to lift my head to steal a peek out the bottom of the window just in time to see a barrage of bullets hit the hedge. Lian’s bullet ridden body fell forward out of the shrubbery, down the property line wall and onto the sidewalk.

  Deathly silence followed when even the usual sounds of the city were muted in ears scarred by gunshot explosions.

  CHAPTER

  64

  Detective Schmidt opened the car door. We slid out like snakes on our bellies, then struggled to stand and regain our dignity, but our limbs wouldn’t stop shaking.

  The detective looked us up and down checking for damage. “As that was going down, I kept seeing myself trying to explain to your father how I managed to get his children shot. You’re okay, right?” Hearing his voice tremble made me feel less like a scaredy cat.

  “I have to deal with this for awhile.” Schmidt yelled over the sirens of numerous vehicles arriving on the scene. “Please call your parents before the media gets here.”

  I glanced over to where Lian’s body lay on the ground, but I had to look away when Derek knelt next to his son’s body. He held his son to his chest, and sobbed. Horrible wracking, gut wrenching sobs. The sight ripped my heart. My tears couldn’t relieve my pain.

  Crime scene investigators swarmed the area to document the justified, unavoidable killing. Paramedics tended three wounded officers who all looked like they might make it.

  Fog rolled in obliterating the stars and black evening sky. Mist haloed the streetlights and wrapped the half-block of the incident location in an obscuring haze that shut out the rest of the city. Damp cold caused us to shiver and our teeth to chatter severely as we stood around watching, waiting to leave.

  Detective Schmidt had ignored us once he determined we were not hurt. An hour later he stood next to me, handed me a handkerchief to wipe my nose and face instead of the sleeve I’d soaked with snot and tears. “Back to headquarters, time for another statement, you’re getting to be pros. I’ll catch up with you soon as I can, and take you home, I promise, straight home.”

  Steven and I nodded. We allowed ourselves to be ushered into the back seat of another police car. I leaned on my brother and he put an arm around my shoulders. I closed my swollen eyes for the drive back.

  The officers who drove us back to the station escorted us to the room where our statements would be taken, fetched us terrible, but thankfully hot, coffee that sat badly in our empty stomachs. We spotted snack machines and bought stale crackers and faux cheese. It had been twelve hours since we last ate.

  While Steven was giving his statement, I found a restroom and felt the déjà vu as I used it, splashed cold water on my face, then soaked a paper towel and held it to my eyes. I made the mistake of looking in the mirror and blew out of the room.

  Kyle, the young officer who had typed a statement into a computer for
me earlier in the day, shook my hand. “Sorry to see you back again.”

  “Me too,” I answered with a heavy sigh.

  I described with as much objectivity as I could muster what I had just seen happen in front of Derek’s house. Kyle was patient. He waited calmly while I cried, wiped my nose, got water. My hand shook violently enough to slosh and spill the water.

  “Thanks,” he said when I couldn’t think of anything more to say about the shooting.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “Sure.” Kyle smiled gently, “Shoot.” He caught himself, “I mean, please go right ahead.”

  “Are there ways of comparing or locating similar crimes, crimes with the same MO or signature?”

  “Sure, we call it linkage. When forensics or the profile, or really any aspect of a crime links to another crime, there are a number of databases we can access. There’s this really long form you fill out with all the info you have about a certain crime and the database finds matches. The one most law enforcement agencies use is VICAP, stands for Violent Crime Apprehension Program. It’s an FBI program.”

  “So is that a national program?”

  “Yep.” Kyle nodded.

  “What about internationally? Is there a way to compare international crimes?”

  “Yep, via the International Criminal Police Organization, or Interpol.”

  “How does that work?” I asked.

  “Same way really. We use an access known as I-24/7 to get to the Interpol National Central Bureau that links us to all the national databases throughout the world.”

  “In southeast Asia?”

  “Yes. It’s not as instant as with EU or UK, but we definitely exchange data.”

  “Am I correct in assuming that the Zodiac data has already been entered into Vi-i-i––”

  “VICAP?”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “Yep, in fact I just updated the Zodiac data a couple days ago.”

  “Did you send it to Interpol?”

  Kyle blushed. “No, nobody said anything about that.”