possible
cause of serious psychological problems.
After lunch, Morril got back to Mulanax in Val ejo about Starr’s canceled checks. “I’ve compared them to Zodiac lettering,” Morril said, “and they
come up negative.” What were they missing? wondered Mulanax. If Starr was Zodiac, had he devised a way to disguise his printing? Or had a
confederate written them? Right to the end that shadowy second man would be a worrisome element in the hunt for Zodiac.
Wednesday, August 4, 1971
Toschi, Armstrong, and Mulanax sped south from Val ejo along Interstate 80 and rattled across the Carquinez Bridge into Contra Costa County.
Tracing the shore of San Pablo Bay, they swept past Selby, Tormey, Rodeo, and Hercules. To the west Hamilton AFB shimmered across clouded
green water. The previous January two Standard Oil Company tankers had col ided just outside the Golden Gate, spil ing almost two mil ion gal ons
of black gummy crude into the Bay. Shortly before 10:25 A.M. the detectives halted at the chain-link gate of a vast oil refinery. The Pinole instal ation
was impressive. By night, when it was twinkling with a mil ion diamond lights, great clouds of roiling steam made it otherworldly; by day fingerlike
black towers shot hundreds of feet upward like the barrels of guns.
The gate slid back and, three or four blocks later, the detectives climbed out. Toschi craned his neck upward, where processing towers boiled
crude oil to 750 degrees. The heating procedure separated molecules, converting them into propane, gasoline, butane, kerosene, diesel fuel,
lubricating oil, even road tar and wax. Starr was a chemist and the refinery itself no more than a giant chemical lab. Complex conduits twisted into
overlapping tunnels, funneling raw petroleum into mammoth storage tanks, catalytic units, and vacuum distil ation units.
Sudden shril whistles alerted Toschi. High above, men scrambled on gantries and towers. An unctuous mist like soot showered down on them
and made Toschi queasy. His breakfast this morning and for many mornings prior had been a few aspirins washed down with cold coffee. They
entered McNamara’s office and watched as he phoned a lab to summon the unsuspecting assistant chemist. “It’l be a minute,” he said. Starr’s
records were spread out like a fan on McNamara’s desk. Bil Armstrong took the time to thumb through them since he would be in charge of the
questioning.
The investigators did not hear the suspect in the hal way—only the elevator doors opening with a “whoosh.” Starr walked softly for a big man and
was wearing padded shoes of some sort. At last they would see him face to face. Toschi sat rigid in his seat. He half rose. After so many suspects,
after so many years and disappointments, was Zodiac final y here—within their grasp? Toschi held his breath. The door opened. Starr’s physical
presence was al Toschi thought it would be and al that he knew Zodiac’s was.
2
robert hall starr
Wednesday, August 4, 1971
Starr filled the doorway. His bold, almost hairless head swiveled from face to face as the trio of detectives identified themselves. Starr seemed
surprised and a little nervous that they were policemen. “I realized that he was afraid he was going to get fired,” Toschi told me later, “and that alone
might have accounted for his apprehension.” Twenty-five hundred Zodiac suspects had surfaced over the years and been painstakingly checked
out. Since so many counties, jurisdictions, and unincorporated areas were involved, cops did not always compare notes or even names. Starr was
not their first good suspect. He was not their last. Conveniently, alarm bel s should have resounded in the investigators’ minds. They didn’t. Only
after the conference, when their heads were cool and time al owed them to consider what Starr had said, so much of it unbidden, did their pulses
begin to race. Back at Homicide that stark black clock seemed to tick faster.
As
cause of serious psychological problems.
After lunch, Morril got back to Mulanax in Val ejo about Starr’s canceled checks. “I’ve compared them to Zodiac lettering,” Morril said, “and they
come up negative.” What were they missing? wondered Mulanax. If Starr was Zodiac, had he devised a way to disguise his printing? Or had a
confederate written them? Right to the end that shadowy second man would be a worrisome element in the hunt for Zodiac.
Wednesday, August 4, 1971
Toschi, Armstrong, and Mulanax sped south from Val ejo along Interstate 80 and rattled across the Carquinez Bridge into Contra Costa County.
Tracing the shore of San Pablo Bay, they swept past Selby, Tormey, Rodeo, and Hercules. To the west Hamilton AFB shimmered across clouded
green water. The previous January two Standard Oil Company tankers had col ided just outside the Golden Gate, spil ing almost two mil ion gal ons
of black gummy crude into the Bay. Shortly before 10:25 A.M. the detectives halted at the chain-link gate of a vast oil refinery. The Pinole instal ation
was impressive. By night, when it was twinkling with a mil ion diamond lights, great clouds of roiling steam made it otherworldly; by day fingerlike
black towers shot hundreds of feet upward like the barrels of guns.
The gate slid back and, three or four blocks later, the detectives climbed out. Toschi craned his neck upward, where processing towers boiled
crude oil to 750 degrees. The heating procedure separated molecules, converting them into propane, gasoline, butane, kerosene, diesel fuel,
lubricating oil, even road tar and wax. Starr was a chemist and the refinery itself no more than a giant chemical lab. Complex conduits twisted into
overlapping tunnels, funneling raw petroleum into mammoth storage tanks, catalytic units, and vacuum distil ation units.
Sudden shril whistles alerted Toschi. High above, men scrambled on gantries and towers. An unctuous mist like soot showered down on them
and made Toschi queasy. His breakfast this morning and for many mornings prior had been a few aspirins washed down with cold coffee. They
entered McNamara’s office and watched as he phoned a lab to summon the unsuspecting assistant chemist. “It’l be a minute,” he said. Starr’s
records were spread out like a fan on McNamara’s desk. Bil Armstrong took the time to thumb through them since he would be in charge of the
questioning.
The investigators did not hear the suspect in the hal way—only the elevator doors opening with a “whoosh.” Starr walked softly for a big man and
was wearing padded shoes of some sort. At last they would see him face to face. Toschi sat rigid in his seat. He half rose. After so many suspects,
after so many years and disappointments, was Zodiac final y here—within their grasp? Toschi held his breath. The door opened. Starr’s physical
presence was al Toschi thought it would be and al that he knew Zodiac’s was.
2
robert hall starr
Wednesday, August 4, 1971
Starr filled the doorway. His bold, almost hairless head swiveled from face to face as the trio of detectives identified themselves. Starr seemed
surprised and a little nervous that they were policemen. “I realized that he was afraid he was going to get fired,” Toschi told me later, “and that alone
might have accounted for his apprehension.” Twenty-five hundred Zodiac suspects had surfaced over the years and been painstakingly checked
out. Since so many counties, jurisdictions, and unincorporated areas were involved, cops did not always compare notes or even names. Starr was
not their first good suspect. He was not their last. Conveniently, alarm bel s should have resounded in the investigators’ minds. They didn’t. Only
after the conference, when their heads were cool and time al owed them to consider what Starr had said, so much of it unbidden, did their pulses
begin to race. Back at Homicide that stark black clock seemed to tick faster.
As
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