Third, Rasmussen notes that The Town That Dreaded Sundown depicts the Phantom using a revolver with a silencer during the Starks attack—implausible, as we have seen, since the attachment of a sound-suppressor cannot “silence” a revolver—then observes that 1969 Zodiac victim Michael Mageau “got the impression the gun had some sort of silencer on it.”59 Mageau’s statement to police indeed refers to “muffled” shots, “sounding like a gun with a silencer on it.”60 The weapon in Mageau’s case, a nine-millimeter semiautomatic pistol, can been silenced, but linking one crime to another based on its portrayal in a work of cinematic fiction is an exercise in folly.
Finally, Rasmussen notes that a shoe print estimated at size 9½ to 10½ was found at the Starks murder scene in May 1946, while size 10½ shoe prints were also found and photographed at the Lake Berryessa site, twenty-three years later.61 Zodiac “prime suspect” Arthur Leigh Allen wore size 10½ shoes, but DNA collected from Zodiac letters cleared him of suspicion in October 2002. Allen must also be excluded as the Phantom, since he was born in Hawaii on December 18, 1933, then moved to California with his parents and did not graduate from Vallejo High School until 1950.62
Serial killers, assuming they are not arrested, often “evolve” over time, refining their methods to make killing simpler, more efficient—or, from their perspective, more enjoyable. Rasmussen theorizes that the Phantom was a young, inexperienced slayer, noting that he approached James Hollis and Mary Jeanne Larey with a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, wearing “a loosely fitting cloth-hood over his head that probably interfered with his eyesight.” He also suggests that the Phantom “may have been a young person” who attended the “young people’s dance” at Texarkana’s VFW hall on April 13, 1946.63 Both arguments suffer, however, from closer examination.
The dance in question, though described in one FBI memo as a gathering of “young people,” was in fact a weekly event at the VFW hall, open to anyone with the price of admission. Many servicemen on leave attended with their dates, and there was no age limit for attendance. It was not a high school function or by any means restricted to teenagers.64
With regard to the Phantom’s maturing techniques, no living Texarkana victim described the killer’s hood as loose of cumbersome; none claimed his vision was impaired in any way. As for the Zodiac’s maturing as a killer, Rasmussen claimed that “he used a rifle with a flashlight attached to the barrel, thus freeing the other hand.”65 In fact, police surmised but could not prove that a flashlight may have been attached to the Zodiac’s gun barrel in one case only—at Benicia, in December 1968—to facilitate accurate firing at night. Nine cartridge cases found at the scene apparently matched a J. C. Higgins .22-caliber semiautomatic pistol, not a rifle (which naturally would be aimed with both hands). In the Vallejo attack, seven months later, the Zodiac held a flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other. No flashlight was employed at Lake Berryessa or in Paul Stine’s murder.66
The rest of Rasmussen’s case hinges upon peculiarities of the Zodiac’s prolific correspondence, matched after a fashion to the anonymous Texarkana letters discussed in Chapter 9. We might dispose of this argument summarily, by noting that (a) none of the Texarkana letters professed to come from the Phantom, and (b) their author—a woman—was identified, to the satisfaction of local police, FBI agents, and a federal grand jury. Still, it does no harm to review Rasmussen’s claim in greater detail, since he offers them as serious hypotheses.
Ramussen’s theory, where the letters are concerned, is driven by conviction that the Phantom-Zodiac hailed from Texas. Among his points set forth to prove that case we find the following, in order of submission:
1. The Phantom stalked and killed his victims “approximately 175 miles from Dallas.” In fact, if it is relevant, he slightly overestimates the distance, which is actually 162 miles.67
2. One of the Phantom’s attacks occurred near a tavern called Club Dallas (presumably selected by design).68
3. One Zodiac letter included the phrase “fiddle and fart around,” suggested by Zodiac researcher Robert Graysmith as a figure of speech “used predominately by older people, most commonly around Lubbock, Texas.”69
4. Another Zodiac note contained the word “bullshit.” Straining logic, Rasmussen writes, “The word ‘bullshit’ is used throughout the United States but quite frequently in the Lone Star State, famous for its Long Horn Steers.”70
5. Zodiac victim Darlene Ferrin visited the Dallas/Fort Worth area seven years before her murder, giving one unidentified Texan her family’s California address and phone number, later snubbing another unknown man (or perhaps the same one) who made advances to her in a Texas bowling alley.71
6. A Zodiac letter addressed to celebrity lawyer Melvin Belli on December 20, 1969, “may provide a clue that indicates that he was from Dallas, Texas.”72 That letter, with no apparent hint of Texas whatsoever, reads, in full and unedited:
Dear Melvin
This is the Zodiac speaking I wish you a happy Christmass. The one thing I ask of you is this, please help me. I cannot reach out because of this thing in me won’t let me. I am finding it extreamly dificult to keep in check I am afraid I will loose control again and take my nineth & posibly tenth victom. Please help me I am drownding. At the moment the children are safe from the bomb because it is so massive to dig in & the triger mech requires so much work to get it adjusted just right. But if I hold back too long from no nine I will loose complet all controol of my self & set the bomb up. Please help me I can not remain in control for much longer.73
7. Finally, both Texas and California host various military bases and airfields which, during 1969 and 1970, were busily shuttling personnel to and from Vietnam. From that, Rasmussen proceeds to suggest that “[a] serviceman, or someone pretending to be a serviceman, dressed like a serviceman and with the proper, forged documents, could easily travel freely throughout the United States on either domestic or military flights.” That supposition, in turn, supports Rasmussen’s claim that the Zodiac “may have, and in my estimation probably did, originate from a state other than the state of California.” As additional “proof,” he notes that possible Zodiac victim Kathleen Johns was waylaid while en route to California’s Travis Air Force Base, near Fairfield, in Solano County.74
Some theorists speculated that the Phantom might be a serviceman, mentally unhinged by his experiences during World War II. If so, and he remained in military service, even a very young veteran—say nineteen or twenty years old—would have been in his early forties by the time the Zodiac claimed his first confirmed victims, nearly a quarter-century after the Texarkana murder spree. That estimate conforms to eyewitness description of Paul Stine’s killer, placing him between thirty-five and forty-five years of age, but fails to match descriptions of a suspicious (perhaps innocent) man seen near the Lake Berryessa crime scene, pegged between twenty-eight and thirty.75 Adding the twist of a faux serviceman traveling in disguise, on forged documents, naturally defeats any effort to bracket the suspect by age.
While attempting to buttress his case for a serviceman-slayer, Rasmussen twice notes that “nearly all” of the Zodiac’s crimes occurred either on weekends or holidays.76 In fact, all of the killer’s confirmed attacks meet that criteria: three weekend assaults, and one on the Fourth of July. The same pattern extends to all but one of the speculative cases described above: Robert Domingos and Linda Edwards were slain on a Tuesday in 1963, bucking the trend. Having established that, however, where is any military link revealed? Duty rosters on military bases keep various personnel active twenty-four hours a day, year-round, without regard to legal holidays or weekends. The timing of the Zodiac’s crimes is more likely to suggest a man employed at some civilian job five days a week, during normal daylight working hours.
On balance, Rasmussen’s case for a Phantom-Zodiac tie-in is highly speculative at best—and clearly not corroborated.
* * *
A distant echo of the Phantom Kille
r’s crimes, albeit unrecognized for the most part, emerged in the first decade of the twenty-first century from the lyrics of singer-songwriter David Whitehead, of Asheville, North Carolina. Whitehead performs under the stage name Youell Swinney, moaning songs like “Godforsaken Town”—a tribute to his roots in tiny Mangrum Landing, Arkansas, in Craighead County. “It’s just like three houses,” he recalls. “And some of them are empty.” His themes run toward the grim realities of death, pervasive loneliness, and struggling to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere of tiny southern towns. As for his competition, Whitehead says, “A lot of the country that plays on the radio these days doesn’t sound like country to me. It just sounds like pop music being sung by someone with a drawl.”77
His namesake, probably, would understand.
* * *
Tillman Johnson, last surviving investigator from the Phantom case, died on December 10, 2008, at age ninety-seven. His passing rated a 427-word article in USA Today, briefly recapping the crimes and Johnson’s career in law enforcement, noting his conviction that the Texarkana gunman was identified but never brought to justice for his best-known crimes. Dr. Jim Presley observed that Johnson “was sharp-minded and he had a good memory to the last, and I feel blessed that I was able to have his friendship and benefit from his judgment and clear thinking for so many years.”78
On January 31, 2010, a new stage play opened off Broadway in Manhattan, at the nonprofit Abingdon Theatre Company’s Dorothy Strelsin Theatre on West 36th Street. Titled “Phantom Killer,” the eighty-minute drama was written by Jan Buttram, the Abingdon’s artistic director and a native of DeKalb, in Bowie County, Texas. The plot finds newlyweds Luke and Jesse (played by Jon McCormick and Wrenn Schmidt) parked on a lonely rural road, when corrupt and sadistic Texas Ranger Randy (Denny Bess) arrives on the scene, ostensibly seeking the titular slayer. Tension ensues, with a full-house audience of fifty-six viewers left to wonder which—if any—of the players are responsible for recent murders in the neighborhood. Buttram left the play’s ending deliberately ambiguous, telling Texarkana Gazette reporter Aaron Brand, “All three of these characters because of poverty and race have a reason to be on the lam. They have reason to take advantage of society.”79
“Phantom Killer” played to mixed reviews over its two-week run. Critic Clifford Lee Johnson III, writing for Back Stage, opined, “The theatrical thriller, already an ailing genre, receives a body blow from ‘Phantom Killer,’ the disappointing production currently on the boards of the Dorothy Strelsin Theatre at the Abingdon Theatre Arts Complex. It’s unfortunate, because all the elements for a shiverfest are in place: a young couple parked on a deserted country road, a serial killer terrorizing the vicinity, and a menacing lawman of questionable motives. But playwright Jan Buttram ... fails to weave these threads into a believable, goose bump–raising drama. Instead she elicits winces with hokey dialogue, contrived plotting, and embarrassing actions.... Each time Jessie pleaded to be taken home, I wanted to say, ‘Come on, sister, I’ll drop you off.’”80
As for the actors, Johnson wrote, “As Jessie, Wrenn Schmidt gamely attempts to flesh out a two-dimensional character, and Denny Bess struggles to inject humanity into the one-dimensional Randy, but neither gets much help from the playwright, who forces them to engage in inane dialogue as Randy pounds Jessie against Luke’s car. Jon McCormick’s Luke is frequently unintelligible due to swallowed words and a wavering accent. Director Jules Ochoa keeps his trio whirling around the Strelsin’s postage stamp–sized stage—almost to the point of inducing motion sickness—perhaps to prevent us from concentrating on the absurdity of the proceedings.... Those of us who love thrillers will regret the passing of this venerable genre. But if plays like ‘Phantom Killer’ are what we get, I for one will gladly pull the plug.”81
Jan Buttram, for her part, defended the players’ Texas accents as “very authentic.”82
Scott Mitchell, blogging for London-based musicOMH, shared Johnson’s negative take on “Phantom Killer,” writing: “Played with an excessive, over-the-top quality, the character of the Ranger toys with the newlyweds, dragging out his ‘investigation’ as he decides how to manipulate them. After the Ranger leaves, the scenes turn dark and bleak. There are a rape, murders, threats, extortion and, layers of truth are revealed about the newlyweds. It is all too much. The characters act so blandly evil that there is no one to root for. They don’t even maintain the semblance of attraction for each other, which might have provided a Bonnie and Clyde type dynamic.... [T]he writing by Jan Buttram left the characters completely unlikeable. They all had valid motivations for their actions, but that isn’t enough.”83
Mitchell shared Johnson’s displeasure with the play’s director, but for different reasons, finding that “Jules Ochoa has chosen a rather lackadaisical pace for the show. The pace mirrors the pace of rural east Texas but doesn’t raise the emotions which the show needs to bring to life. Plays and movies like The Bad Seed or Rope turn on the arrival of a singular and often surprising evil character. The tension mounts as others have to react to this unexpected situation. If everyone has immoral motivations, there is no surprise in their responses. As for the central mystery of who the ‘Phantom Killer’ is, we ultimately don’t care. He or she could cause the disappearances of each of the characters and none of these people would be missed.”84
Marilyn Stasio, writing for Variety, was more kindly disposed toward the play, describing “Phantom Killer” as “a tough character study of a local girl so desperate to get out of town she puts her trust in men with trouble written all over them. Beaucoup tension is built up on a sliver of a stage, but in these tight quarters the cat-and-mouse action—which leaves the murder mystery unsolved—is too confined for comfort. Buttram has a real feel for the impoverished areas of East Texas, where the economic depression lingered well into the lean postwar years.”85
Nor was Stasio put off by Buttram’s dialogue. She wrote: “You can hear the despair in the flat dialect in which characters matter-of-factly swap hard-luck stories about being dumped at an orphanage or gang-raped by their schoolmates. As children of this dirt-poor region of rural America, newlyweds Jessie and Luke know all about being kicked around by their parents and peers. ‘Sometimes it’s like I can’t get nobody to look at me,’ says Jessie, in the play’s eloquently blunt idiom. What does ring true ... is the sense of desperation in the couple’s dreamy plans to drive to New Orleans and begin a new life together. Jessie’s acute need to escape her shadowy past comes through in her plaintive promise to her new husband. ‘I’m going to be a whole new person,’ she tells him. ‘You’re going to make me over, Luke.’”86
Where Johnson and Mitchell found Jules Ochoa’s direction of “Phantom Killer” inept, Stasio praised his “tight helming,” under which “all three characters in this rural gothic tale are drawn with precision. Playing the good ol’ boy-with-a-hidden-agenda, Bess proves adept at keeping Randy’s sadistic streak in check until the scary moment this randy ranger gets down to business. McCormick, a new face worth watching, has an air of innocence that keeps us guessing about Luke’s true feelings for Jessie. The pivotal player in this deadly dance is Jessie, the ‘high-strung’ bride whose secrets are gradually, almost tenderly revealed by Schmidt in a perf[ormance] that respects her complexities even as it exposes her pain. ‘Every time I get a plan going, it turns to nothing,’ she says in desperation. ‘I can’t get a future.’ Buttram succeeds in making Jessie both a product of her cultural era, when women needed the protection of men to survive, and victim of the men she chooses to provide that protection. But she’s just as much a victim of her own false faith in men, and Schmidt makes us care very much about the fact that ‘every last hope I got’ is based on fantasy.”87
Finally, though, comes disappointment. “But sensitively drawn characters,” Stasio writes, “do not a play make; ‘Phantom Killer,’ which presents itself as a mystery, lets us down by failing to honor the cheesy, but necessary conventions of its own genre. For al
l the surprising things we learn about Jessie and Luke and even Randy, we never do find out who the killer is. And that’s a crying shame.”88
To which, as students of the Phantom Killer’s reign of terror, we may only add, Amen.
Conclusion
Texarkana’s phantom killer was neither the first nor the worst to stalk victims in lover’s lanes or similar situations. Such incidents are depressingly common—common enough, in fact, to spawn an urban legend with near-universal application.
That urban legend is the story of The Hook, altered in various particulars as it has made its way across the country—and, no doubt, around the world. A young couple seeks privacy in lover’s lane, soft music playing from the dashboard radio, but are disturbed by a news flash reporting a homicidal maniac’s escape from some nearby mental institution. The killer may be recognized, says the announcer, by a metal hook he wears in place of a lost hand. The girl is frightened, anxious to go home, but her date persists in pitching woo. She grows resentful, pushing him away, demanding that they leave. Angry, her boyfriend starts the car and roars away from lover’s lane, fuming. Upon arrival at the girl’s home, both are shocked to find a bloodstained hook dangling from one of the car’s door handles.
That tale began to make its rounds during the 1950s “happy days,” less than a decade after Texarkansans learned to fear sundown.1 Cast as a morality play, it warns that premarital sex—especially teen sex—is a sin, and the wages of sin are frightful. By the 1970s, tales of The Hook would strike Hollywood gold in a deluge of slasher films, often shot from a masked killer’s point of view, wherein promiscuity, drug use, and underage drinking literally lead young sinners to the chopping block. That is the message scrawled in crimson throughout Halloween and Friday the Thirteenth, with their endless sequels and low-budget imitators.
The Texarkana Moonlight Murders Page 23