by Jon Mills
“So why couldn’t they use the cipher key for 408 and apply it to 340?” she asked.
“They are each their own cipher. So you can’t apply it to another message.”
She sighed and asked if he wanted more coffee. He gave a nod, and she went and filled the cups.
“Well I don’t get it. I mean, if the four ciphers he sent to the media and posted online are meant to reveal the cipher key for 340, how does anyone decode those four?”
“With difficulty but 408 was cracked so I’m assuming there is some pattern and symbols that have been spread across the four.”
He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face. She handed him his coffee and ran a hand around the back of his neck.
“You need more sleep,” she said.
He smiled. “I need a vacation.”
He looked at her and with a dead serious expression posed a question he’d been meaning to ask if the opportunity presented. “Dana, with Jason gone and all that’s happened, do you think…”
She swallowed a mouthful of coffee and put a hand up. “Don’t even ask.”
“Right. It’s too early.”
“I can’t think about life beyond the next five minutes, let alone tomorrow.”
Chapter 11
Hudson kicked the bumper of the cruiser hard as paramedics drove away with the bodies of two more victims. The call had come in a little after ten that morning. She was at the office following up with the FBI to see if they had made any headway with solving the four ciphers. They hadn’t had any luck. Not even their best cryptologists were able to figure it out.
“This asshole is playing with us.”
She smashed a fist down on the back of the trunk, her eyes washing over the faces of curious onlookers. Was he among them? Watching her? In all the years she’d worked for the department she’d never come across someone who taunted the police. Most were gangbangers, mobsters and domestics. Serial killers didn’t go out of their way to draw attention to themselves. Through her time in the academy she’d studied Bundy, Dahmer, Gacy, Wuornos and many others. They thrived on anonymity, on being able to pick off the weak and continue their rampage of violence. They didn’t want to get caught, and they certainly didn’t toy with the police.
“That’s two more in the bag,” Romero said staring absently at the vehicle riddled with bullet holes. “Which means the next two will be stabbings by water.” He shook his head. “We don’t have the manpower for this.” He sighed. “But I guess there is one positive thing to take from all of this.”
Her brow knit together as she looked at him thinking he was joking.
“And that would be?”
“Well, we know this isn’t just about Ms. Grant, unless of course her son knew these two.”
Hudson didn’t know how to reply to that. Her mind was churning over what to do next. They were running up against a wall and running out of time. The media was having a field day with this. She pulled out her phone and took another look at the video that was uploaded online. Each of the videos had gone viral across social media. It had taken on a life of its own. CNN, Yahoo, Google and all the big news channels were jam-packed with articles about it. Sick meme images had been created, one of which was her running on a treadmill with the words beneath it saying: You’re running out of time, detective. Groups for and against the Zodiac were sprouting up overnight. The sicko had already garnered a fanbase of groupies who were selling T-shirts of the Zodiac cross symbol.
“Why’s he doing this?” she muttered leaning back against the vehicle.
“Seems pretty obvious to me. Why did the Zodiac do it? For kicks and giggles. He got off on it.”
“Sure but that was him, why is this guy focusing on the Zodiac? I mean, he could go about killing these people without drawing attention to himself. What is he hoping to get out of this? Why has he focused in on me?”
Romero looked at her unsure of how to reply to that.
“I think you might be overthinking this, Hudson. These guys aren’t trying to make a statement, they’re looking for attention. The Internet gives them that. Back when Zodiac was around, it was the papers, so the only way he could draw attention was to threaten them. He has no need to threaten because he has access to a world of spectators.”
“And yet he sends these to the media, video recorded me and spiked my drink.”
“It’s a control thing. He wants people to know he’s in control.”
“You got a cigarette?” she asked.
“You gave up smoking.”
“Just give me one.”
“Your funeral.”
He fished into his pocket and pulled out a pack and handed it over. It had been a few years since she’d quit but that was before this, before the stress. It had helped her think before and right now she needed whatever edge she could get. She blew out a cloud and felt dizzy.
She paced from the rear to the front of the vehicle.
“So he wants control. But again, you can get that without the ciphers. Why send out the ciphers? Why does he want us to crack the code? The real Zodiac would be dead now. Why does it matter to him?”
* * *
Jack turned the laptop around and showed Dana the website that had a list of names of people that had come forward in the past claiming that their father was the Zodiac. He was wired from his fifth cup of coffee but felt like he was making progress. At times in his line of work he had to make connections, find patterns or look at the problem from a different angle.
“I think we are looking at this completely wrong. Everyone is trying to figure out these four ciphers, which are meant to reveal the locations of where he will strike next. Four ciphers, four more attacks. The fourth one, he said, would provide a clue to unlocking 340. He wants people to solve 340 but why? It’s almost fifty years later. We know it’s not going to reveal his identity, so even if the cops were able to solve it, it might provide the true identity of the real Zodiac but by now we have to believe he’s dead or laid up in some home for the elderly. So, this got me thinking.” He took another swig of his coffee, then pointed at the webpage that listed four different people who had come forward claiming their father was the Zodiac.
“While there were many that claimed it was their father, there were really only four that caught the attention of the media, the San Francisco police and the FBI. They were dismissed for one reason or another; inconclusive DNA samples taken from the letters sent in, a mismatch of handwriting style, a lack of credibility from unsubstantial claims, and evidence that was debunked. Even though some of them had compelling evidence, it was either shot down by the San Francisco police or dismissed by the FBI because they believed they were attention seekers and nothing more than opportunists.”
“What are you getting at, Jack?”
“What if one of them was correct? What if that’s why he’s doing this?”
Dana clasped her hands together and leaned forward in her chair.
“You’re suggesting that the person doing this is the son or grandson of the real Zodiac? That because they weren’t believed after they came forward, they are now taunting the police and killing until the cops figure out what they had been told all along?”
“I know it sounds crazy but think about it.”
“It is crazy, Jack. I mean if the guy wanted to prove that the Zodiac was his father or grandfather, why go to all the trouble of killing people? Why not just come forward with the decoded version of 340 which is meant to reveal his name?”
“Maybe he doesn’t know it. Perhaps 340 doesn’t reveal the Zodiac’s name. I don’t know right now, but look at these four people. None of them mentioned a cipher key to 340 because perhaps they thought what they had presented would be enough to validate what they were saying. In fact, maybe they did present the cipher key but weren’t taken seriously. I mean, you only have to go through the countless number of forums out there to see how many people came forward in the last forty-eight years claiming that the Zodiac was a family me
mber or that they had decoded 340. The police don’t have the resources to attempt to substantiate every claim.”
She closed her eyes. “Look, even if it was true. Who’s saying that it’s one of these four people and not one of the many others that came forward?”
“Because they were the only ones that presented evidence among a host of people that actually caught the attention of the police. Something in what they sent in or told the police gave them enough reason to examine the evidence.”
“Okay, so they took their claims seriously at first. They were eventually ruled out. Why now do you think that one of them could be our attacker?”
“Look, I’m not saying that one of these four is our suspect, or that their parent was the Zodiac. Hell, for all I know they might just be a nutjob seeking attention. Someone who’s obsessed with killing, or cracking the code and maybe they think the only way to get the police to relook at the case is by doing what they have done so far. I mean, let’s face it, if you were obsessed with cracking that code, how would you go about doing it if you had exhausted all avenues?”
Dana leaned back in her seat.
“Publish it online, draw enough attention to it that the world would take notice and let them try to solve it.”
“Exactly.” He tapped the screen on the names of the four individuals. “So, that’s where I’m going to begin.”
* * *
At the request of her captain, Hudson went home that afternoon. She fought him on it but with little ground being gained in the past twenty-four hours, and with the attacker’s fascination with her, he felt it was better that she stayed under police surveillance.
She shook her head and thought back to the argument with Captain Dickson.
“What am I supposed to do? Sit around all day?” Hudson asked.
“Look, a few of the officers on scene noticed how you’re taking this. I’m not reassigning you but we need to play this safe. In fact, there is a good chance that perhaps this will draw him out.”
“Oh great, so now you want to use me as bait.”
“Hudson, I can’t have you roaming all over the city chasing down empty leads. We are doing the best that we can right now.”
“We need more officers assigned to this case. Sixteen and a few FBI agents aren’t enough.”
“Every officer that is out there is a set of eyes.”
“Yeah, but they are distracted by countless 911 calls. In the meantime this attacker is being able to kill right underneath our nose. Hell, he infiltrated the department without anyone knowing.”
Dickson’s blew his cheeks out and ran a hand around the back of his neck. He slumped down behind his desk and for a second she thought she’d managed to wear him down. Any second now he would tell her, fine, go do your job. But he never did.
“Go home, Hudson.”
“Sir.”
“I won’t ask again. I don’t want to see you for the next forty-eight hours.”
“By then it will be too late.”
He turned his back on her and looked out the window as she exited his office. Outside Romero was perched on a desk chatting away to some busty new female officer. She walked straight past him.
“Anyway, give me a call,” he said, hopping off the desk. “Hold up, Hudson. What did he say?”
“To go home.”
“Both of us?”
She turned and continued walking backward. “No, just me.”
“Ah great, for a second there I thought I was going to be able to put my feet up, suck down a few brews and binge watch The Walking Dead.”
She pursed her lips and held in what she wanted to say. Instead, she scooped up her jacket off the back of her office chair and headed for the elevators.
Within twenty minutes she was home. She inserted her key into the door and looked over her shoulder at the officer in the parked cruiser. The apartment was at the corner of Jefferson and Scott. There was one cruiser at the front and another around the side. Every fifteen minutes they would take turns patrolling the perimeter.
As soon as the door was closed, she pressed her back against it and closed her eyes.
She was physically and mentally exhausted from trying to figure out where to look or what to do next. Hudson tossed her bag down and her cat came bouncing over and rubbed his head against the side of her leg. She scooped him up.
“Hey, Milo. I know, I shouldn’t be here.”
She headed into the kitchen and tossed her keys down and went over to the fridge and grabbed a carton of milk. After pouring out a glass, and giving the cat some, she headed upstairs to take a shower. She entered her bedroom and cast a glance at her wedding band on the side table as she took her earrings out. She’d worn it for four years until her marriage fell apart. He cited irreconcilable differences, but that was just a fancy way of saying he was screwing someone else. She wouldn’t do it again. Being a cop and staying married just wasn’t in the cards for her. Too many hours working took its toll. In reality she kind of blamed herself for the breakdown. She came home at all hours and he was working as an attorney. They just couldn’t make it work. Hudson slipped off her clothes and headed into the shower.
As she stood under its flow, she let the hot water ease the tension that was on the verge of building into a migraine. She chewed over the case and tried to think of what she was overlooking. Without a break, it was pointless. So far he hadn’t made any mistakes, and he probably wouldn’t. How long had it taken him to plan this? How long had he been observing her? She pulled back the shower curtain and double-checked that she’d closed the blinds on the bathroom. The mirror was steamed up and the whole room was in a fog.
After getting out, she towel dried off and slipped into a white robe. Although she didn’t want to be at home, fighting her captain was pointless. She shuffled out of the bathroom thinking that at least she could catch up on sleep. Hudson entered her bedroom and tossed the towel to one side, she was just about to reach for the hair dryer when her eyes fell upon the bed.
There before her were multiple photos of her at the two crime scenes as well as outside the homes of Ms. Grant and Ms. Gilbert. A shot of fear flooded through her. They weren’t there minutes ago.
Her eyes darted to her firearm, still in its holster slung over the chair. She pulled it out and checked the magazine before slapping it back in and approaching the closet. For a split second she thought about opening the door but then decided to back up and quickly headed over to the window and shouted out to the two officers.
Chapter 12
Oh, how he wished he could have been there to see the look on that bitch’s face.
The excitement of slipping into her home without being noticed was damn near perfect. The arrogance of the department to think they could post two cops outside her home and he wouldn’t be able to get to her was hilarious. It was a walk in the park. He’d thought of waiting there for her to come out of the shower and firing a suppressed round into her thick skull but where would the fun have been in that? No, he enjoyed watching her squirm. Of course eventually he would have to take her life but when that time came he planned on relishing it. A bullet was too quick. He wanted her to suffer the way he had. He wanted her to know what it was like to feel out of control, to feel a million eyes boring into her.
He sat before a workbench inside his basement. The aroma of tobacco lingered in the air. Before him was an ashtray full of days-old cigarette butts, and a mug of cold coffee off to his right. On a whiteboard in front of him were the next three attacks already planned out. Each one listed how many victims, the positions of their bodies, how many shots fired. The only thing he varied was the locations. This kept things fresh and prevented the cops from homing in on him. Excitement churned inside of him. The number of times he’d played out the scenarios in his head — stepping out of the vehicle, shining that flashlight into their eyes before ending their pitiful lives. He was doing them a favor. Making them a part of his legacy. Giving them the privilege of becoming his slave in the aft
erlife, just as his father had done so many years before.
His eye squinted as gray smoke from a cigarette in the corner of his mouth swirled up. He blew out a plume as he worked away on creating an intricate Semtex bomb. Bullets were fine, knives a delight to use but a bomb — oh, that sucker would level the playing field. There was nothing more that would make them stop and take notice than an explosion.
He put his cigarette down and laid aside the work in progress.
Over the course of the next 10 minutes he sharpened his hunting knife getting it ready for his next attack. It needed to be real sharp. He’d bought the sturdiest one available.
His pulse quickened as he ran it at an angle across the gray stone. Even though he’d given a lot of thought to the next three kills, it wasn’t these that excited him the most. No, it was the bus full of school kids. That’s when the legacy of his father would end and his would take over. He would do what the Zodiac only threatened to do.
He stopped and from a drawer nearby pulled out a copy of the letter he’d sent to the media at the height of the hysteria. He scanned the letter until he reached that part.
School children make nice targets; I think I shall wipe out a school bus some morning. Just shoot out the front tire + then pick off the kiddies as they come bouncing off.
And how easy it would be.
The San Francisco school board had made it so easy by listing the schedules online. He had all the times, routes and schedules at his fingertips. A month ago he’d followed one of the buses, watching all those delightful kids hop on and off. He’d picked out a location that would give him a perfect shot. Before they knew what had happened, he would have taken about ten of those little kiddos, and then he’d drive off without anyone being wiser.