by Jon Mills
He rose to his feet and turned to leave.
“Soon?”
“We have a killer to catch, don’t we?” Jack replied.
Her brow knit together. “You know I’m gonna have to bring her in.”
He stopped walking and turned back to her. “She’s got nothing to do with this, detective.”
“She has everything to do with this. Now you can either go with me to the station, or I’ll bring her in. You know I will.”
He snorted and walked back over to her. He crouched down in front of her. “You know, I could have killed you but I didn’t. Think about that, detective. We are on the same side here. Sure, you can go bring her in but she’s not going to be of much use. She’s not the one out there killing teenagers in rest stops, and neither am I.” He rose and looked down at her. He wasn’t in a hurry to leave and he damn well wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to be a pain in his ass while he completed this job. “So here’s what I propose. How about you tell me what you have got on this guy so far and maybe I can help you get him off the streets. It can’t be easy to sleep at night knowing he’s a breath away from taking your life, and believe me, detective, he will eventually come for you. A man doesn’t taunt his victims unless he has some end game. It’s just a question of when and where. You already know he can get to you.”
He stepped back and leaned against a vent.
Her chin dropped ever so slightly and then she returned to staring at him with that steely gaze. He shrugged. “Okay, fine, you deal with it yourself. See you around.”
Jack turned to leave when she spoke, “We don’t have anything on him. The closest we got was a lead on where he was uploading videos.” She paused and sighed. “He killed an eighteen-year-old university student a few days before killing Jason Grant. He used her library card and password to access the computers at the San Francisco Public Library. We checked the surveillance, but came up empty. He’s on there but he covered his features. We have height and build but that’s it.”
“And what do you estimate that to be?”
“Six foot, about two hundred pounds.”
“You know sometimes to trap someone you have to turn the tables. Give them a reason to come out of their hole. And there is no better way to do that than to make them sweat.” Jack paced back and forth for a second letting his mind wander.
“Hold a news conference to address the media. Tell them one of your cryptologists cracked the 340 Cipher and that you will be releasing your findings in a matter of forty-eight hours after you follow up on the name of the individual referred to as the Zodiac.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you crazy? You want us to taunt him?”
“No, detective, I want you to draw him out.”
“Who are you?”
“I think you already have my name.”
“Then what are you?”
“Detective, he’s already attacked twice, three times if you include the girl. Do you really want him to follow through with the next three attacks?”
“What you are asking me to do can’t be done.”
“Why?”
“I’ll give you one reason. Dickson.”
“Who’s he?”
“My captain. I’m telling you now, it won’t fly.”
“And neither will doing nothing. Right now, detective, you have nothing, except a lot of bodies on your hands. Now you can either try what I’m asking or live with the lives of more dead people on your hands as this guy is just ramping up.”
“What makes you think that he won’t just stop after he’s committed the last one?”
“Because in the original murders two people survived. Even though he’s duplicating the murders, he’s made sure this time around to not leave anyone alive to provide a composite. Go back through your books, you’ll find there are a number of people that have been murdered by this guy. These aren’t his first, just as the Zodiac didn’t just kill five people. Thirty-seven was the body count.”
“Those were unconfirmed.”
“Confirmed or not, a killer doesn’t just wake up and shift into overdrive. He starts by getting a taste for it.”
“You sound as if you speak from experience.”
Jack smiled and shook his head. “We are running out of time. You are running out of time. So you decide.”
A light rain began to fall, and more of that damn fog moved in making the streets seem even darker than they were. He turned to leave.
“Mr. Winchester.”
Jack cast a glance over his shoulder.
“And if I can pull it off?”
“Then expect him to show up.”
“And what about you? What are you going to do?”
“Shake a few trees, make a few people uncomfortable, the usual. Have a good evening, detective.”
He smiled as he walked away.
She yelled, “You’re just going to leave me here?”
* * *
The rain continued to assault the city as Jack caught a cab back to Dana’s place because his damn truck was out of action. Those bastards had taken a page out of his book and knifed a single tire. The taxi idled, heat kicking out and keeping him warm. He wasn’t planning on staying with Dana but he wanted to see if the cops were stationed outside. Sure enough there were two black-and-whites outside. The chances of getting close to her would be next to none. That was fine, it was probably best the cops were there. At least it gave him some peace of mind. After the last screw-up they made, they’d be watching her like a hawk, expecting him to show up.
“My friend, do you want to be dropped off here, yes or no?” the taxi guy asked.
“No, take me to 201 8th Street.”
He knew he couldn’t stay in any of the hotels, motels and B&B’s as Angelo would be searching them, especially after what happened tonight. 8th Street had a men’s shelter. He figured he could stay there. It wasn’t ideal, but they gave emergency shelter to homeless adults and right now that’s what he was. A man without a home. Since New York that had been the story of his life. Drifting from town to town, finding warmth in the arms of strangers and trouble in the most unexpected places.
When he arrived outside the Sanctuary, the rain had started to let up. He tossed the taxi driver some cash, but before leaving he asked him a question.
“Wyatt, how much do you earn a night?”
“Not enough,” he said before laughing. “This taxi business isn’t like what it used to be. With all the Uber drivers on the road it’s taken away from the regular taxi businesses. I’m actually thinking of jumping ship.”
“Would you like to earn some serious cash by doing me a favor?” He was putting his trust in a complete stranger but he didn’t have much choice.
“I don’t get involved in drugs.”
Jack pulled out his phone and showed him the address of a 24-hour towing and vehicle repair service.
“It’s not that. All I need you to do is call this tow truck and have them repair the tire and tow it to an impound. Give it a few hours at the impound, then pay them and have it dropped off here. I’ll pay you well.”
He twisted in his seat. “What kind of trouble you in, mister?”
“The kind that if I don’t get that truck back in working order, I’m screwed.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Uh, let’s just say that I have a few unsavory individuals looking for me. I can’t be seen strolling up and having that vehicle towed. But if they think it’s been impounded by the city. Well… look, you’d really be helping me out.”
He stared at Jack for a second and then shook his head while groaning. “I don’t know about that. I’ve got a busy night ahead of me. My boss is…”
“Busy? Really?”
He shrugged. “It happens.”
“Come on, man. This is easy money. When are you ever going to get an opportunity to earn more in one night than you earn in a week? I’m not asking you to drop everything now. Work it around your calls. Besides, I’m sure that pretty
wife of yours would appreciate a new dress, a night out, and well, your kids…” He trailed off allowing it to sink in.
He grimaced. “Okay, how much you paying?”
“How much do you want?”
A smile formed on his face and any walls of resistance crumbled in that moment. That was the key with getting anyone to do anything in this world. There was always a price, and if they got to pick it, well that was even better. Wyatt tossed out a number and Jack swallowed, acting like it was a big figure. His eyes widened, and he blew out his cheeks. He’d actually expected him to go higher, a lot higher. “You run a hard bargain, Wyatt, but okay, it’s a deal.” Wyatt’s face lit up as if he’d just won the lottery. To Jack it was nothing. After the numerous jobs he’d done over the past few years, it would barely scratch the surface. He wasn’t rich, but he lived comfortably. He fished into his pocket, and pulled out a roll of Benjamin Franklins and thumbed off his asking price, along with extra money to cover towing, impound and a new tire. That was the beauty of San Francisco. It was like New York. It was a city that never slept. Twenty-four-hour services were plentiful. However, before he let Wyatt take it, Jack gripped his hand tight. “Now remember, Wyatt. If I don’t hear from you by morning, I’ll come knocking, and you really don’t want me on your doorstep.”
Wyatt nodded nervously and Jack could tell he wasn’t going to be a problem. He wouldn’t have asked him if he hadn’t seen the photo of his young family clipped to the sun visor. He could barely get the guy to stop talking about them. He was a family man and certainly didn’t look like the type of guy that was going to be a problem. Besides, worst-case scenario, he had to track him down. That would have taken him all of half an hour as he had his name, his address and the names of his entire family. He’d made sure to get all his details on the ride over. Wyatt just thought Jack was showing an interest in his life, and he was, an interest in whether or not he would try to screw him over later.
Jack ducked out of the cab.
Wyatt gave a wave, and he ducked into the shelter for the evening. He watched the cab drive away, kicking up dirty street water. Several homeless people brushed past him and he looked up at the sign. The smell of a hot meal wafted out making his stomach grumble. He joined a line of homeless people and contemplated calling John Dalton. His hand was still bleeding, he was hungry and after the day he’d had, he was ready to hit the sack.
As he shuffled in with the line, a TV was playing in the corner of the corridor. There was no audio but the images on the screen revealed clearly what it was about.
The Zodiac.
Chapter 15
The two victims were laying face down in a shady and secluded section of Harding Park, overlooking Lake Merced. The lake was one of the largest in San Francisco. Situated between the Fort Funston cliffs and the southwestern side of the city, the park separated the north and south sections.
By late morning a heavy fog had settled over the still waters like an apparition. Hudson and Romero entered the park via Skyline Boulevard and drove past numerous parked vehicles along Harding Road. She’d visited the place numerous times over the years on her days off. It had always held a sense of peace and tranquility that couldn’t be found in the hustle of the concrete jungle. The area was known as a windy oceanside playground for locals to take their dogs off the leash. She’d often see hang gliders swooping in overhead and lots of boaters, hikers, bicyclists and bird watchers. She’d usually walk the 4.5 miles of paved trail that curved around the lake’s perimeter, see families picnicking and others fishing. This morning there was none of that. Police had cleared the area before the detectives arrived and cordoned it off. Multiple black-and-whites were parked helter-skelter near the end of the parking area. A crime lab van with dark tinted windows was already on scene as were two EMS ambulances.
A cold gust of west wind slapped her face as she elbowed her way through a throng of media itching to get a soundbite. She could feel her stomach rolling. After last night, this wasn’t how she wanted the day to begin. She scanned the faces of males, and older women bundled in heavy jackets to stay warm. They were shivering and craned their necks, hoping to get a glance of a body. It was a morbid sight.
Charley was the first to spot them. He waddled over wearing a police-issued parka.
“Seems like our guy again,” he said. “We’ve got a male and female, early twenties, university students. Both dead from multiple stab wounds. Sixteen to be exact. Six in the male and ten in the female.”
“No one survived?” Romero asked sounding surprised.
“It’s not his MO,” Hudson said. “Unlike the original attack at Lake Berryessa, he’s not letting anyone get away this time.”
In the incident that occurred on September 27, 1969, the male survived and was able to provide details about the attacker’s appearance even though he was wearing an executioner’s mask. He wasn’t taking any chances this time. So far no one had been able to provide an ID except what they’d managed to get at the library.
“Who found the body first?” Hudson asked as she passed by a couple of uniformed officers who were standing over by the crime scene talking among themselves.
“A lady’s dog. She had the mutt off the leash and after she went to collect him she discovered the bodies.”
According to Charley, the woman, who looked like a nervous wreck, took her dog for a walk here at ten every morning. She thought the dog had spotted a rabbit as it was unlike him to ignore a command.
It was clear why no one had seen or heard anything; the victims had been gagged, bound and dragged off the trail into a cluster of trees. Their jackets lay off to one side and their clothes were plastered to their backs by blood. A strong wind sucked through the trees, and one of the crime-lab boys chased after something that blew away like tumbleweed. He scooped it up a second before it went into the lake. Hudson put a hand to her nose at the smell of drying blood. Flies were already beginning to accumulate. A crime scene officer in white protective clothing swatted one as he loomed over the dead.
“So they’ve been ID’d?”
“Yeah, Tracey Martin, age twenty-one, and Lucas Ferral, age twenty-two, both of them attend the University of San Francisco. Poor bastards.”
“Have we contacted the parents?”
“We have an officer with them now.”
The cogs in Hudson’s head kept turning, she thought about the original attack and the message that was left behind on the car door.
“What about their vehicle?”
Charley guided her away from the grotesque scene, off towards the lot.
“He used a black felt-tip pen, and it has his symbol and murder count with dates.”
They approached a silver Toyota.
“Same door, pretty much the same,” Charley said.
Hudson crouched down and took a look at it before rising and taking a step back. She pulled out her phone and did a quick search online, checking some of the main sites that the other videos had been uploaded to. Her brow knit together. There was no video.
“You said the woman found the body, and no video has been uploaded?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Hudson flashed Romero a glance. He didn’t even need to be told.
“I’m on it.”
Romero walked away to a quiet spot where he could radio the task force that had been set up to hunt him down. After the previous break that had led to them discovering where he was uploading the videos, they now had the advantage. He didn’t know that they were on to him.
“Charley, keep me updated on what the Special Investigators Team finds.”
“Where are you going?”
“God willing, to catch a killer.”
She hurried off, breaking into a jog to catch up with Romero who had already made it back to the cruiser and was in the middle of calling it in. She slid behind the seat and fired up the engine. Romero remained on the radio as she slammed the gear stick into reverse and tore out of there. “Tell them to send in
plainclothes officers. I can’t have this guy getting spooked.”
“Already did.”
* * *
The cruiser shot by in his rearview mirror at a high rate of speed. Jack had been scoping her out since early that morning. Wyatt, true to his word, had shown up at the shelter and handed him the keys to his truck. He had some story that it cost him a little more because it was considered an after-hours repair. He could tell that he was fishing for a little extra, so he handed him a couple hundred more to keep him happy. After, he rattled off at the mouth saying that if he ever needed help again in San Francisco, Jack was to look him up.
He smiled. Who said money couldn’t buy friends?
Jack pulled out and followed the cruiser. Although he didn’t want to lose them, he suspected where they were heading. After his conversation with her the night before and the mention of the library, he knew it would only be a matter of time before they focused their task force’s attention there. The public library was located thirty minutes northeast, and just south of the Museum of Modern Art. He’d decided to turn the tables as he was pretty sure she wouldn’t go through with his suggestion, at least not at this stage, but perhaps the recent murder would shake her up. He’d been crawling the streets of San Francisco for several hours that morning with one headphone stuck into his phone, tuned into an online service that broadcast police and fire communications 24 hours a day. He’d learned to ignore the mundane calls and pay attention to homicides. Knowing that she wouldn’t have wasted her time on a run-of-the-mill dead body, he figured it had to be related, and with no video online he was now working off a hunch. The streets were alive with traffic, people coming and going about their day. He stayed several vehicles back, weaving between cars until they flicked on the lights and pulled away from the traffic clogging up Interstate 280. Sirens wailed, and they took off at high rate of speed.
Had it been New York, he would have been able to pull off and take a few shortcuts through the streets but without knowing the city, and only having GPS to guide him, he was working at a disadvantage. Within a matter of seconds they disappeared out of his line of sight.