The car. Racing along the road’s edge, she fell. “I’m not going to kill you,” he shouted as she scrambled to her feet.
“If I wanted to kill you, I could just hit you in the head with this piece of wood.” She returned to the car, but instantly his hands closed around her throat. “Now if I wanted to kill you, I could just snap your neck,” he said. “Shall I kill you now, or are you going to take off your clothes?”
As he grabbed her sweatshirt, she wriggled free and bolted into the woods. The stranger gave up searching for her and roared off with her her purse and books.
Sobbing, covered with scratches and burrs, she staggered to the High grove area. When police responded, she described the suspect as “thirty-five, five feet nine inches tall with a chunky, protruding stomach. ” Later descriptions of Zodiac mentioned ” a slight potbelly” and that his “stomach hung over his trousers.”
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1966
Bate’s killer (or someone pretending to be her murderer) mailed two unstamped letters from a rural mailbox to the police and riverside
Press-Enterprise. The typed confession letter, repeating what he and Cheri Jo had spoken to each other in the dark, were blurry fourth-and
seventh-generation carbon copies.
The original was never mailed, making a match to a specific typewriter difficult. The writer had used a portable Royal typewriter, Elite-type, Canterbury shaded. Leigh’s mother had given him just such a portable. The length of the paper was unknown since the author had torn off the bottom and top of a strip of Teletype paper. Oddly, he had folded back both bottom corners.
The writer claimed to have phoned the Press-Enterprise, but probably did not. Some of the language was Zodiac-like. “I AM NOT SICK. I AM INSANE. BUT THAT WILL NOT STOP THE GAME.” Zodiac wrote: “why spoil our game!”