Part 8: The Ultimate Evil...Inside the Biggest Case ....The Most Unlikely Ally

THE ULTIMATE EVIL 
An Investigation into a 
Dangerous Satanic Cult

XV 

Inside the Biggest Case 

John Plansker, commander of detectives for the NYPD's Seventh Area in the Bronx, was a man held in high esteem by the cops who worked under him. At fifty, Plansker was respected for his professionalism, his fairness, and his confidence in the men and women with whom he'd broken many an important case over the years. When he was promoted to deputy inspector in 1985, he tossed his own party at a Bronx restaurant and invited about a hundred and fifty of his former and current detectives, picking up the tab himself. 

On August 31, as Cinotti prepared to board the flight to Minot, the lean, soft-spoken captain, whose reddish hair showed hints of gray, sent a report to Deputy Chief Edwin Dreher, commander of all Bronx detectives. It was titled "Confidential Investigation, Interim Report #1." 

Plansker summed up the allegations against Rockman as he then knew them to be, and mentioned that police officials in Minot had advised Cinotti by telephone that Rockman had been in North Dakota with John Carr. Plansker wrote: 

It appears that we will be able to draw an association with Rockman, Berkowitz and Carr. . . . This would raise the possibility that Berkowitz did not act independently or operate alone as originally believed. 

I fully realize the implications and ramifications of this report and I also understand the need for discretion in this matter. However, I do believe that we must pursue this investigation to the point where we have eliminated any element of conjecture. 

Dreher, who knew Plansker was a first-rate investigator, approved the request, and the Son of Sam investigation was reopened by the New York City Police Department. There was, of course, no public announcement, and even within the ranks only a handful of people knew what was going on. 

For a long time, I'd envisioned champagne corks popping if I was ever able to get the case reopened. The impossible had been accomplished; the perseverance rewarded. But there would be no celebrations. Instead, I found myself sworn to secrecy. 

Dreher and his superiors, particularly Chief of Detectives James Sullivan, had not been amused by the Moskowitz investigation we'd published in July, and Dreher probably wasn't overjoyed that Plansker also attached our March conspiracy article to his report. But Dreher knew he had no choice but to act; serious questions about Berkowitz's alleged sole responsibility were being raised publicly for the first time. Neither Dreher nor Plansker knew that the person most responsible for those articles was at that moment en route to Minot to interview witnesses. 

Hank Cinotti had made his own choice—a decision many would disagree with. He had gauged the Police Department's reaction to the press's butting into the sacrosanct .44 case, and decided the information he'd gleaned was more important than the source of it: the antagonistic media. For a similar reason, he also protected Veronica Leuken's identity, listing her as a confidential informant. He believed, correctly, that the mention of Lueken's name would sink the ship before it left the pier. Some NYPD officials have stated that Cinotti would have fared better had he laid all his cards on the table. No one will ever know. 

For my part, Lueken and Reeve Rockman were mainly the NYPD's responsibility. I was long wary of Lueken, but there was no doubt Rockman was identified by Carr's friends in Minot. But what was his role? Was he an active conspirator and cult member, or was his part that of a well-heeled, white- collar dope dealer? As the NYPD was focusing on Rockman, I left that question unanswered and devoted myself to a deeper probe of Michael Carr and the events surrounding John Carr's death. 

The reconstruction of the scene and events immediately preceding John Carr's death strongly suggested he was murdered. The position of the body and that of the gun were prominent factors, but there were others.

For instance, Carr's actions on February 15, the day before he died, were decidedly not those of a man contemplating suicide. He rented a postal box, opened a checking account at a local bank and visited the Air Force to ensure continuing payment of a disability check he was receiving because of a service-connected injury. He took each of these steps within twenty-four hours after returning from New York, from where he'd told Linda O'Connor the police were "hot on his trail." 

Next, on the night of his death, February 16, he received a phone call at Linda O'Connor's home before she went out for the evening but he didn't reveal the identity of the 8 P.M. caller to her. When Linda returned at about 12:30 A.M., she saw that her two Irish setter dogs were outside the house; they should have been inside. 

She also said that a latch lock on the inside of the front door had been turned to open it—an unnecessary action. John Carr, Linda said, knew the door could be opened from the inside without turning the latch. 

Linda also said that Carr was in good spirits before she left and that he told her he would wash the dinner dishes. But the dishes were left half done in the sink, as if Carr was interrupted while washing them. The daily newspaper was also missing from the home, and she reported finding a single glove —neither hers nor Carr's—in the residence. 

Linda further stated that she borrowed some money from Carr's wallet, leaving several bills in it. Yet the wallet was empty when Gardner went through it. 

For years, Carr had worn a good-luck charm he'd acquired overseas—a "rubbing Buddha"—which was on a chain around his neck. But this artifact wasn't on the body and was missing from the house, as was a picture of his daughter Carr kept in his wallet. 

Linda O'Connor also said that she found a spot of blood under a living-room table the next morning. Gardner, however, said he saw no such blood when he examined the premises the night before. 

The rifle itself contained no fingerprints—not even smudges. It was as if it had been wiped clean. 

At my request, Dr. Louis Roh, the deputy medical examiner of Westchester County, examined the Carr autopsy report. (Roh's testimony would be instrumental in the conviction of Jean Harris for the murder of "Scarsdale Diet Doctor" Her- man Tarnower.) On the basis of the powder burns on Carr's  inner mouth and palate as described in the autopsy report, Roh said he believed the gun had been inserted deeper into the mouth than normally would occur in a suicide of this type. 

Combined, these elements pointed to murder. 

Roh's opinion supported Cinotti's and my evaluation of the case, which held that an unconscious or semiconscious Carr was propped up and the gun forced into his mouth. 

Linda O'Connor would later tell a friend she believed Carr was silenced because "he knew too much." Berkowitz himself would label him "the weakest link" because of his drug and alcohol problems. 

The photos taken of the death scene were merely snapshots. But examining them through a magnifying glass, I noticed several intriguing clues which escaped the attention of North Dakota investigators. 

I brought the pictures to Captain Gerry Buckhout of the Greenburgh Police Department in Westchester County. Buckhout and Donald Singer, Greenburgh chief of police, had been aiding the investigation because of the possible connection of several sniper incidents which occurred in their jurisdiction. Buckhout handed the photos to Greenburgh police laboratory, where enlargements were made. As I suspected, the results were startling. 

First, the blowups clearly showed smudges of blood on the bedroom wall. On top of those smudges, which were caused by someone bumping into the wall, were other splatters—angled right to left. These blood splatters were caused by the rifle shot which ended Carr's life. In other words, the blood smudges on the wall preceded the splatters from the head wound. This would have been impossible in a suicide. 

Second, on the baseboard of the wall, at floor level next to the body, someone apparently attempted to write a message in blood. The letters weren't clear enough to be conclusively deciphered, but there appeared to be several illegible letters followed by "NY SS." This, we believed, may have represented "New York Son of Sam," but we weren't sure. 

Buckhout, Singer, Cinotti and later officials in the Queens DA's office all agreed that some form of writing was evident on the baseboard. Even Gardner reluctantly added his assent. 

These two developments led to the belief that Carr may have been knocked out in the living room, which would have ac- counted for the blood Linda O'Connor said she saw there.

Then he could have been dragged semiconscious into the bedroom and thrown to the floor, bouncing off the wall and leaving the first blood smudges on it. 

A loaded shotgun in the bedroom closet was bypassed and the .30-30 Marlin rifle next to it—in a box—was chosen instead, perhaps because a rifle was less likely to shower a killer or killers with blood than would a shotgun blast. But that wasn't certain. 

Regardless, the rifle ammunition was stored in another part of the house. That is, if Carr was murdered, his killer(s) would have left the bedroom to locate that ammunition. While alone, the semiconscious Carr, bleeding on the floor, could have tried to leave a message in blood, probably about the identity or origin of the killer(s), on the baseboard next to where he lay. 

Then the killer(s) would have returned to the bedroom, propped Carr up, put the rifle butt on the floor and its barrel into his mouth and set off the fatal shot. The box which contained the rifle was on the bed, indicating the gun was loaded on the spot. 

But there was more. The photographic enlargements also showed that two small numbers, perhaps a half inch in height, were scraped into the drying blood on Carr's right hand. They were sixes. A third number was obliterated except for a faint trace. But it, too, was apparently a six, for, together, the numbers would read 666—the sign of the biblical great beast of Revelation: the mark of the devil. There was no other conceivable significance to the numbers. 

It simply wasn't credible that Carr could have scraped those numbers into his own drying blood or that he would have. 

Once again, the authorities who viewed the blowups agreed that the numbers were indeed visible. And since they were scratched out of blood, they were erased when the body was washed prior to autopsy. The photographic evidence from the death scene was all that remained. 

It was now evident, based on all the circumstances surrounding his death, that John Carr was murdered. There was no doubt in the minds of any of the professionals involved that Carr was killed, and that the slaying was motivated by his connection to the Son of Sam case. 

The murder determination in New York reflected the feelings of Linda O'Connor, Tom Taylor and other Carr friends who maintained that Carr, despite his problems, wasn't suicidal.  

Since Carr was murdered, who did it? He had expressed fear of Reeve Rockman, but from all indications Rockman wasn't the killer type, at least not personally. But could he or someone else have sent the killer(s) from New York or elsewhere to eliminate Carr, who had become the object of police interest? Yes. But it was also possible that someone from North Dakota did the job. Someone Carr knew, someone he would have allowed into the house. Someone with whom Carr spoke on the telephone at eight o'clock that night. Someone who would have known from that conversation that Linda O'Connor was leaving for the evening. 

As far as could be determined, not many people knew Carr had flown back to Minot. So the murderer(s) would have learned his whereabouts from one of the few who did know where he was, or from Carr himself. 

Terry Gardner would later say that he believed an outsider committed the murder with the help of a North Dakota accomplice. I share Gardner's opinion, but these are informed judgments, not facts. But it is apparent that the murder, made to look like a suicide, was intended to halt the Son of Sam investigation right there—six months after Berkowitz's arrest. The idea would have been to convince the police that if a .44 conspiracy existed, it was limited to Berkowitz and John Carr. The result: case closed. 

When New York's analysis of the nature of Carr's death was relayed to Gardner, he perfunctorily advised his superiors. The conclusion didn't come as a total surprise, since the case was originally labeled a homicide and Gardner and others in the Ward County Sheriff's Department already knew a motive for murder existed. But considerable time had elapsed since the incident and no real suspects were identified. There was little the Sheriff's Department could do. If Carr's killer was to be found, it would be New York that would come across him during the Son of Sam investigation. If that happened, Ward County could actively join the probe again. And that was that. 

For a time New York officials weren't even convinced that Carr was dead. The body was too disfigured for visual identification, and at least three sets of fingerprints sheriff's investigator Glenn Gietzen said he obtained from the corpse were missing. When the Queens DA's office later requested proof that Carr was dead, there were no fingerprints available. 

Additionally, the autopsy report itself raised some troublesome questions. For instance, the body was listed as being five feet nine inches tall, two inches shorter than Carr's stated height. Estimates of Carr's weight varied widely, some far removed from the corpse's 170 pounds. The corpse's stomach was empty, whereas Linda O'Connor said John had consumed a light dinner. There was no sign of lung damage in the corpse, although Carr had been a heavy smoker of both cigarettes and marijuana for years. 

Likewise, chemical tests revealed no traces of drugs in the body's system, although Carr, at the least, was taking the powerful tranquilizer Haldol in the days preceding his death. 

And just as puzzling was the fact that the autopsy report failed to note that Carr's left ring finger was scarred as the result of a military accident. It was possible the defect was simply overlooked. But because of the blood on the hands, the photos we enlarged didn't reveal any scarring either. 

Most curious, however, was the autopsy report's specific notation that the body was distinctively suntanned, but only "between the upper thighs and knees such as might be seen with the wearing of shorts and high socks." 

In the first place, the death occurred in North Dakota in February. Before that, Carr was in New York's cold weather. He was in Houston around Christmas of 1977, but that was two months before his death. And as the autopsy noted, the tan was restricted to that portion of the body between the knees and the upper thighs. John Carr's friends said he wasn't the type to wear knee socks and shorts in any weather—let alone in a cold climate in the middle of winter. These mysteries would remain. 

Later, one set of fingerprints was located and the FBI matched them to those known to be John Carr's. The discovery didn't settle all the doubts. "He could have mailed them in, for all we know," Queens assistant district attorney Herb Leifer would say later. "He almost certainly is dead, but it remains a small, nagging doubt. It's remotely possible he pulled a body switch and cleared out." 

If the body wasn't Carr's, what kind of person would be apt to suntan in such a manner? Possible answers include hikers, backpackers, forest rangers or military personnel who were recently in the tropics. 

My own opinion is that Carr is dead. But like Leifer, I retain a lingering doubt. Carr's body has not been exhumed, and dental records weren't checked by North Dakota authorities. And so stands the case of John Carr. 

While the Carr analysis was going on in mid-September 1979, Terry Gardner called from North Dakota to report that Michael Carr had become aware of the Minot trip. Linda O'Connor had phoned him with the news. 

"She didn't think she was doing anything wrong," Gardner said. "She told him we were checking up on John, and that only a few general questions were asked about him." 

"That's just great," I replied. "The cops know about him, but they're working on Rockman first. Now Michael has plenty of time to cover his tail. He's going to be cagey; he isn't a fool." 

"Just watch your butt," Gardner advised. 

There was reason to be concerned about Michael Carr. The probe had appreciably raised his suspect stock, and we would soon learn even more about the enigmatic other son of Sam Carr. The knowledge would cement his position as a prime suspect and answer a question about Berkowitz that plagued me for years. 

The information came from a source close to Berkowitz, and the details were essentially confirmed. He reported that David's all-important entry into the world of killer cults came about in an undramatic, mundane manner. 

Already at least somewhat familiar with occult precepts since his acknowledged conversations with his stepmother's daughter—the nomadic "witch" Ann—Berkowitz was lounging outside his Barnes Avenue apartment building in the Bronx one evening in mid-1975 when darkest destiny materialized. 

Its name, the source stated, was Michael Carr. Berkowitz, as superintendent James Lynch verified, would frequently "just hang out in front on nice nights." 

Michael Carr was attending a party in a certain apartment in the building when he, too, decided to enjoy the evening air. On the sidewalk, the source continued, Michael and Berkowitz struck up a casual conversation, which gradually crossed into areas of spiritualism. 

Michael, born in 1952, was a year older than David. He had light brown curly hair, styled into a "perm." He'd had a number of drug- and alcohol-related problems, as did his brother, and later became active in the Church of Scientology. 

No fledgling follower, Michael rose to a mid-level position in the church. But he was also interested in other spiritual matters, too—such as the occult and devil worship. 

It is an old, but insightful parable which advises that when a person is starving he will accept bread from whoever is there to offer it. In Berkowitz's case, the source stated, the slices popped from the toaster that night. 

Berkowitz, already hurt from the recent reunion with his natural mother, listened eagerly as Michael Carr chatted about such topics as reincarnation, God, Satan and mysticism. Michael then invited his new acquaintance to join him and the others at the party inside, which the source described as "a floating coven party." 

Symbolically, the .44 Bulldog was put into Berkowitz's hands that night. 

For a long time, I'd looked for the rhyme and reason behind Berkowitz's moves from the Bronx to New Rochelle and finally to out-of-the-way Pine Street in Yonkers. But when I learned of his sidewalk meeting with Michael Carr, the zigzag wanderings took on a rational meaning. Michael Carr lived two hundred yards behind 35 Pine Street. 

Unknown to the source, Berkowitz had labeled Michael a devil worshipper at Marcy. We had another important confirmation, and now the suspect knew we were asking about him in North Dakota. 

Meanwhile, Jim Mitteager was disappointed that an agreement to withhold publicizing the NYPD's new investigation was struck. Once more, he felt that decisions were being made without his input, and he also was isolated from the Minot officials and sources. In another move, he replaced Felix Gilroy with Ed Rappaport, a prominent criminal attorney. So it would be Rappaport, and not the colorful Gilroy, who would represent Jim at his trial, which was slated to begin in November. 

I called Gilroy to express my regrets, but he was nonplussed about the situation. "We just disagreed on how to present the defense; that's all," he said. "Just keep going and let me know what happens." 

"Remember Marcy," I signed off. 

"You got it. We learned a lot that day." 

In late September, Cinotti and I met for an update at the Westchester home of Joe Basteri, who retired from the NYPD in 1978 after a thirty-year career. Basteri was a homicide detective for twenty years and an original, chosen member of the Son of Sam task force. He and Hank worked some cases together in the past and remained friendly. Both Cinotti and I wanted to discuss the current inquiry with him. Basteri also spoke by phone with Gardner and Knoop in Minot. 

"It looks good to me," he said after a two-hour briefing. "But you can't do anything about John Carr now. The PD will never admit it. For what? They'll let the dead dogs lie. You've got to go ahead with Michael Carr and Rockman. And you need something concrete from Berkowitz to bust this wide open. That stuff he said at Marcy was good, but you want him to give you more than that." 

"I know," I said. "But John Carr is still important. We can't just say we've got him connected to the biggest case in NYPD history—when no one else is supposed to be involved—and let it go at that." 

"I didn't mean you should forget him," Basteri explained. "That's the way the department will look at it. They don't want to know about this stuff." 

"There are bodies all over the goddamned streets and all they care about is their image," I said. 

"No," Basteri said. "You can't blame the whole department for this. The task force didn't know all the details—everything went upstairs. Whatever went down on this case involved the brass and Eugene Gold." 

"I have no bitch with the task force guys or the rest of the NYPD," I replied. "Just with those people who knew and did nothing about it." 

Basteri was torn by the new developments. He was staunchly loyal to the NYPD, but at the same time he recognized the Son of Sam case was far from settled. The meeting with Basteri marked the beginning of what we'd later jokingly call "the Pine Street Irregulars"—a takeoff on Sherlock Holmes's vagabond "Baker Street Irregulars." In time, a group of current and retired police officers would occasionally convene at one of our homes to compare data and discuss new avenues of investigation in the case. All involved were interested in seeing the true story of the killings exposed. Their assistance would be invaluable. 

Included in the group, whose membership varied from time to time, were Basteri and Cinotti, Yonkers Lieutenant Michael Novotny, Greenburgh Captain Gerry Buckhout, Yonkers arson investigator Don Starkey and myself. Chief Don Singer of Greenburgh also provided support, as did several other officers, including FBI agents, for whom anonymity is necessary. Eventually, Ted Gunderson, a retired senior special agent in charge for the FBI, would join the effort from his private investigation agency in Los Angeles. Gardner, Knoop and reporters Jeff Nies and Jack Graham remained in contact from Minot. 

"We've got our own informal Omega task force," Buckhout once observed. 

That may have been so, but one of its charter members was nearly lost at 11:15 P.M. on September 24. Terry Gardner, on a routine stop in his unmarked sheriff's car, slowed to a halt at a trailer dealership on U.S. 83 south of Minot. 

As he did, a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed over the roof of his car, leaving a hole in the wall of the building behind him. Gardner jumped out, dove under his auto and lay in silence for several minutes. There was no additional gunfire. 

A nearby witness said he observed two men acting suspiciously in the area investigators determined the shots came from, and it was believed a blue-and-white car was used in the getaway. 

The Ward County police speculated that Gardner, who cruised the lot nightly, may have happened upon teenagers siphoning gasoline. No arrests were made. I learned of the incident from Jeff Nies, who told me the article would appear in the following day's Minot Daily News. Later, Gardner phoned and confessed that the attempt rattled him considerably. 

"Why," I asked, "would kids snatching gas be carrying guns and fire at a cop who didn't even see them? And when's the last time someone shot at a cop out there?" 

"A long time ago," Gardner said. "I don't know what the hell this was all about but you can keep your thrill-a-minute investigations back there." 

"Burglars don't usually shoot at people," I said. "They're more apt to run if spotted—and you didn't even see them." 

"No, I didn't. But I do go by there every night, usually within a half hour of the same time. But no more." 

There was no way of knowing for certain if the attack on Gardner was connected to the ongoing .44 investigation in Minot. We had strong suspicions, but that's all they were. Nonetheless, I called Cinotti immediately and relayed the information to him. 

"It's probably related," I said. "Whatever, you and your people are all safe and sound in your secret investigation while someone out on the front lines is getting shot at." 

"I don't like this," Hank replied. 

"Damn right. It's our work they're doing out there now. And they're getting no help from you guys. If this one didn't involve Sam, the next one might." 

"I'll take care of it," Cinotti said, and passed on the details to his superiors. 

The detective was alarmed, and I was apprehensive, too. Not a week before, Gardner had cautioned me because Michael Carr had learned of our visit to Minot. Now someone had taken a shot at Gardner. Our flanks were decidedly unprotected. 

Two days later, the NYPD reacted by veering from the Rockman road when Detective Captain John Plansker interviewed Mrs. Florence Larsen at the 50th Precinct in the Bronx. Larsen was the animal placement worker who received a call from someone identifying himself as Berkowitz seeking a German shepherd just two days before his arrest. I learned of Plansker's questioning because Larsen called me as soon as she returned home. 

Larsen said that Plansker showed her a copy of the March article in which I'd quoted her and asked if the story was accurate. "He had me read it and I told him it was true," she said. "He told me, 'We're going to investigate this article and all the information that's in it point by point.' " 

"I certainly hope so, Florence," I answered. 

Larsen said that Plansker "took down all sorts of information about me and my family, the call about the shepherd, and dead shepherds in Yonkers and other people involved in the case that I knew. He had me repeat my whole part in the case. 

"He said that you [Gannett newspapers] were stirring up a lot of trouble and that he'd just been assigned to the case and that he'd be getting back to me again." 

In his next report to Dreher, dated October 1, Plansker wrote that Mrs. Larsen "remains firm about the details of the telephone call from "Berkowitz" and apparently has no reason or motive to fabricate this incident. The telephone call is significant because persons associated with John Carr in Minot, North Dakota, have been reported to use German shepherds in connection with rituals and sacrifices. We have a copy of a taxidermist bill dated August 9, 1977, for the mounting of a dog ear." 

In terms of publishing, the lions were still at bay. The Gannett Westchester-Rockland papers and the Minot Daily News were aware of what was occurring, but agreed to delay publicizing the NYPD's new investigation to honor the arrangement Jeff Nies and I had made with Cinotti. Some will certainly say the news should have been made public immediately; that Nies and I were becoming "part" of the story rather than simply observers of it, as some believe the press should only be. 

An Associated Press reporter said, "People want to know if you're a reporter or a detective." 

"A little of both," I answered, and within those boundaries I believe any investigative journalist should feel confident of decisions he or she might make. Uncovering the news, conducting investigations, is not the same as chronicling the news. And in the .44 case, my role fluctuated between both poles. I thought it was in the best interests of the overall investigation to withhold certain developments from publication until an appropriate time. 

My position was never one of news management or interference with the public's right to know. But from the singular perspective one gains when inside a particular probe, I believe it is beneficial to avoid premature disclosures which could compromise the opportunity for success. 

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the "hold" agreement after Gardner became a target. Jim Mitteager was pressing for full disclosure, and the Plansker interview of Mrs. Larsen added more fuel to the fire. I told Cinotti that as more principals in the case were questioned, the likelihood of leaks to other media branches increased. At the same time, in Minot, sheriff's investigator Glenn Gietzen was angered that he wasn't consulted during our trip to his jurisdiction. 

"We met the sheriff, and we were with Gardner, so what's Gietzen's problem?" I asked Nies. 

"He says he should have been informed, and that he thinks Carr committed suicide, and he's ticked off badly." 

"That's between him, Gardner and Sheriff Schwan. Gardner said Gietzen didn't give a damn after a week of interviews  following Carr's death and said it was New York's problem. Gardner and Knoop did most of the work. So Gietzen's opened a vineyard full of sour grapes. He didn't even inventory all of Carr's possessions before sending them to the Eugene Gold crematorium in Brooklyn. He's the last one to bitch about anything." 

"O.K.," Jeff said. "But he might go to a TV or radio re- porter out here and let it out that the investigation's going on." 

"Wonderful," I answered, and got off the phone. 

Ward County police politics was about to become the least of our worries. At 4 A.M. on October 4, Michael Vail Carr III, a prime suspect, was racing toward a rendezvous with infinity. As he sped north on Manhattan's rickety, ancient West Side Highway at 70th Street, something happened. His pale green Buick plowed headlong into a streetlight stanchion at nearly seventy-five miles per hour. The impact dislodged the steering wheel and ripped the engine out of the car. 

At twenty-seven, Michael Carr was finished. 

Dave Hartley of the Yonkers Herald Statesman called me at 8:30 A.M. "I've got a photographer down there now. Maybe the pictures will tell us something." 

"Why, Dave?" I asked. "Aren't we sure that this is merely a coincidence?" Actually, I was dazed by the news. 

"Too many coincidences," Hartley replied. 

Hank Cinotti was on the scene by 10 A.M. He reported no skid marks, indicating Carr never hit the brakes, but said he saw a small crease, which appeared fresh, on the car's rear, passenger-side fender. 

"It was there," Hank stated. "Whether or not he got it just then I can't say. But it wasn't there long." 

Wheat Carr, Michael's sister, said she talked to him "after ten and before one" that night. She said he was going into Manhattan to meet a friend and "relax and party." Wheat also remarked that Michael "had worked since seven o'clock in the morning" in the Yonkers home. That may somehow have been so, but a receipt found in the demolished auto showed that it had been parked for eight hours that day—until 6 P.M. October 3—at Cousin's Garage on 58th Street in Manhattan. It left the lot at 6:03, ten hours before Carr's death. 

What actually happened to Michael Carr may never be known. Both his sister and Linda O'Connor in Minot said he wasn't a "fast driver," yet the car was traveling at a very high rate of speed on a section of decaying, cobblestoned roadway that required considerable caution. Carr, who was a frequent visitor to Manhattan, knew the highway's contours well. 

Wheat Carr maintained that Michael, as a member of the Church of Scientology at 10th Street and Sixth Avenue in Greenwich Village, hadn't touched alcohol "in three years." Yet his blood alcohol content was reported to be .15, and a reading of .10 is considered intoxicated under New York State law. 

Did Michael Carr violate his Scientology credo, or did someone spike his favored orange-juice drink? Or was he chased and then forced off the road, or did someone shoot out a tire or tamper with his car in some other manner? Or did Michael Carr, who knew for the past three weeks that he was under scrutiny in the Son of Sam case, commit suicide? Or was it only a curiously timed accident? 

One thing was bluntly clear: both real-life sons of Sam, named by Berkowitz as cult members, were now dead; and both died violently within weeks of their names being handed to authorities as suspects in the .44 case. 

Dave Hartley was right: there were too many coincidences. 

Wheat Carr initially said that she believed Michael's death had nothing to do with the Berkowitz investigation. But Yonkers Lieutenant Mike Novotny stated that she later approached law enforcement officials in both Manhattan and Westchester in an attempt to have his demise probed as a murder. 

Meanwhile, just where Michael Carr spent his final hours remained a mystery. 

Michael Carr was educated in Yonkers schools and graduated from the Rochester Institute of Technology and Photography in upstate New York in 1973. Reportedly married for a brief period, he earned his living as a photographer and graphics illustrator, in addition to duties with the family answering service business. 

Michael liked to bounce around the glittery Manhattan disco circuit. He counted among his friends a number of professional photographers, and sources close to Berkowitz state that Michael also socialized with the kinky homosexual set: uptown, near Columbia University; and elsewhere downtown. Both at work and play, Michael occasionally wore high boots and an earring, according to an attorney whose name is known to Queens investigators. 

A Westchester tavern employee, whose name is also known to investigators, stated that at about 1:30 A.M. on October 16, 1976, he threw David Berkowitz, Michael Carr and a companion named Bobby out of a favorite Carr watering hole in Greenburgh: the Candlelight Inn at 519 Central Avenue. The employee knew Michael Carr and said he likewise recognized Berkowitz and Bobby. 

Shortly after the rowdy trio were shown the exit, two shots snuffed the Candlelight. One hit the front of the building and embedded in the wall. But the other crashed inside and wounded a young woman in the ankle. Not satisfied, the unknown snipers pegged two more shots into an office building at nearby 455 Central Avenue. 

We would consider this incident when analyzing other sniper attacks in Westchester, several of which were mentioned earlier. One of those, which involved the wounding of a young girl, happened within a mile of the Candlelight Inn. 

The Candlelight endured a few hard times. Witnesses said a woman connected to the Son of Sam investigation once shot out the tavern's clock. 

The ballistics report from the Candlelight and 455 Central Avenue incidents stipulated that all the bullets were fired from "a revolver, possibly of Smith & Wesson manufacture; either .38 special or .357 Magnum." 

The following handguns were registered to other members of the Carr household at the time of Michael Carr's death: two Smith & Wesson .357 Magnums, two Colt .38s, a Smith & Wesson .32, a Bower .25, a Colt .25 and a Colt .22. 

Besides his Candlelight capers, Michael Carr had the insidious inclination of obtaining credit cards under fraudulent names, some scented with illusions of royalty. For instance, this upstanding Scientology counselor held charge cards from both Gimbels department stores and European Health Spas in the name of "Baron De Czarnkowski." At J. C. Penney he registered as M. V. "DeCzarnkowski"; and at Bloomingdale's he purchased his fragrances under the moniker "M. Deccarnowski." Michael Carr fancied himself an exiled Russian nobleman, even to the point of creating his own coat of arms. 

When I saw his "Baron" credit listings, and also noticed that the word "czar" was hidden in two of the last names, I was reasonably certain that another of the Breslin letter's aliases was deciphered: "The Duke of Death." I suspected the remaining alias, "The Wicked King Wicker," belonged to a certain other party. We already knew who "John Wheaties" was; and we believed "The Twenty-two Disciples of Hell" referred to the cult itself. 

Regarding Michael Carr's pronounced Russian interests and the information that he associated with people at Columbia University: it is interesting to note that Son of Sam victim Virginia Voskerichian was herself a Russian-language student at Columbia, and was even dating her twenty-seven-year-old Russian instructor at the time of her death. It is also known that the killer(s), after being observed in the neighborhood for quite some time before the attack, shot Virginia—who was late —on what was her regular homeward route from Columbia. The link may or may not be substantive, but it has never been checked by any law enforcement agency. 

The shock waves generated by Michael Carr's death jolted everyone involved in the investigation. In Minot, the word spread like wildfire among John Carr's associates after Gard- ner and Knoop phoned several of them with the report. In New York, my own phone rang all day: Tom Bartley, Dave Hartley and Joe Ungaro of Gannett wanted to release the story of the NYPD's investigation as soon as possible. Mitteager, and now Jeff Nies, chimed in. Cinotti, Gardner and Knoop pleaded patience. "Don't do anything now, there's going to be surveillance at the wake," Cinotti explained. 

Despite that request, I was leaning toward publication. More importantly, so was Gannett, and they were paying the bills. The broadcast media were reporting the death, and the next day's newspapers would also do so. The Post, in fact, would banner it across page one. But since no one knew of the probe and Carr's links to it, the reportage would be superficial. 

For their part, the Gannett papers would deliberately play the story modestly. But the publishing dilemma would evaporate that same night, less than twenty-four hours after Carr's demise, when the issue dramatically decided itself. It is impossible to arrive at a reasonable conclusion as to what really happened to Michael Carr without considering his death in the context of what happened next. 

Wheat Carr, in her own words, "eloped" with a Yonkers policeman named John McCabe several months after the death of her brother John. McCabe spent October 4 in Manhattan, gathering Michael Carr's effects and identifying the body. That night, he phoned in sick for his scheduled midnight shift and a substitute patrolman, Carmine D'Ambrosio, took the wheel of McCabe's sector car. 

At 2 A.M., while driving McCabe's regular route, on McCabe's scheduled shift and in McCabe's marked radio car, D'Ambrosio headed north on Warburton Avenue on a course that would take him below the darkened woodlands of Untermyer Park, scene of noteworthy cult activity. 

At one point, the police car rounded a curve and drove down a straightaway. To D'Ambrosio's right, Untermyer Park was a murky blur rising above him. 

But someone was lurking in those shadows. And then that someone blasted out the passenger-side window of McCabe's sector car with a rifle shot fired broadside from some twenty yards inside the silent recesses of Untermyer. The police car swerved and came to a screeching halt. D'Ambrosio wasn't hit, but the bullet, which ultimately lodged in the molding of the driver's door, barely missed him. Looking toward the sound, the officer saw the outline of a man disappearing into the woods and gave chase, firing two shots in the direction of the fleeing assailant. But Untermyer Park swallowed up the gunman in its gloom. 

Yonkers police, responding immediately to the radio call, searched the area. The shooter was long gone, but they did find something else. There were cigarette butts and coffee containers near the spot where the gunman stood—and waited. Waited until he could fire broadside into the passing police car. 

That McCabe was supposed to have been driving that vehicle has not been revealed until now. 

But this night wasn't over; it was destined to be a long one. At about this same time, 1,800 miles to the northwest in Minot, John Carr's friends Tom Taylor and Darlene Christiansen, who had cooperated with the investigation, were driving home from a night out. It was approximately 1 A.M. On County Road 12, Darlene was behind the wheel while Taylor dozed next to her in the passenger's seat. 

Suddenly, a red Chevrolet Camaro appeared behind them, speeded up and forced them off the road and into a shallow ditch. Neither Taylor nor Christiansen was hurt, and Darlene said the red Camaro kept right on going.

Several days later, Taylor attempted suicide, overdosing on Quaaludes. He was comatose when Darlene found him in their shared apartment. Beside him was a note in which he apologized for his act and closed with the words "Believe in God." 

But Taylor was still alive, and he was rushed to a local hospital. He survived. 

"He was scared out of his wits," Gardner said. "He knew more about what was going on than he ever told us. I don't think he was guilty of complicity, but I'm convinced he had some knowledge that frightened him. He had no money, yet he somehow came up with over a thousand dollars to fly to New York with Darlene for John Carr's funeral. He never gave a consistent answer as to why he went or where the money came from. I think he was a mule of some sort, taking something to New York then or bringing something back without knowing what it was. But we can't prove it." 

Within months of the suicide attempt, Taylor and Christiansen left Minot and didn't return. 

We ourselves had departed Minot on September 3. And in the course of a ten-day span beginning less than a month later, Gardner was shot at; Michael Carr died; his brother-in-law's sector car was shot up; and two friends of John Carr reported they were run off the road in Minot. That incident was followed by a suicide attempt with a curiously worded note, considering the investigation's probe of satanism. 

It was time to act. With input from Mitteager, and editorial guidance from Bartley, Sherman Bodner, and Tom McNamara, the story was bannered across the Gannett Westchester- Rockland papers' front pages on Friday, October 12, which happened to have been John Carr's birthday. The headline read: "NYC POLICE REOPEN SON OF SAM PROBE." The byline was shared by myself, Mitteager and Jeff Nies. By arrangement, the Minot Daily News broke the story at the same time, and our bylines appeared there as well. 

To protect Cinotti, the lengthy article didn't mention that I'd been in Minot, and used Ward County sheriff Leon Schwan as the confirming source of the investigation. "We and the city of Minot police are assisting the investigation New York has begun," Schwan said. "There are some things out here they're very interested in." 

With the not-unexpected demurral of the New York Daily News, the story received considerable attention. Four days later it was followed by another stating that John Carr was afraid a person from New York (Rockman) was out to kill him and that Carr said if he'd remained in New York, "the state would have fried me in the electric chair." 

Neither Rockman's name nor that of Darlene Christiansen, the source of the "electric chair" comment, was published. 

Hints about suspected satanic cult activity appeared in both articles, but the evidence supporting a murder scenario in John Carr's death wasn't discussed. Michael Carr's connection also remained secret. 

The New York Post; as it is prone to do on occasion, rewrote our first story, got an additional quote from Gardner and published it as if the information was its own. Reporter George Carpozi's byline appeared on the article. 

In Attica prison in upstate New York, David Berkowitz received a copy of the Post before the original story reached him. Commenting on the allegations of satanism, his relationship with John Carr and Carr's suspected complicity in the .44 case, Berkowitz wrote to a friend: 

"Everything is here. One neat package. Carpozi has done it. . . . But he doesn't realize it." Berkowitz went on to say the allegations were "absolute facts." He also wrote that he knew John Carr had attended Minot State College. This was true, as he took some night courses there. Berkowitz even knew the name of the school. It was another confirmation of his association with John Carr. 

The New York City Police Department, caught with its hand in the proverbial cookie jar, was suddenly thrust into the limelight as conducting a new investigation of its biggest case —the case on which it slammed the door two years earlier. Captain Plansker had by this time sent two comprehensive reports on the probe to Deputy Chief Dreher since August 31, and Dreher had forwarded them to Chief of Detectives James Sullivan. 

On October 17, according to Plansker's next report (dated the eighteenth), Detective Hank Cinotti was, at Dreher's request, asked to reveal how he first learned of Rockman and of Rockman's acquaintance with John Carr. Plansker conveyed that information to Dreher, and wrote that Cinotti "contacted police officials in Minot, N.D, and discovered that the name of Rockman had appeared in police records during the investigation of the death of John Carr. It was at this time [August 10] Inside the Biggest Case 351 that Detective Cinotti approached the undersigned for the purpose of conducting an investigation." 

While Cinotti's rendering of the scenario to Plansker was true, he omitted two points. He didn't reveal Lueken's name and, still protected in print, he didn't say that he first learned of Carr's involvement with Berkowitz, and allegedly with Rockman, from me. 

While the NYPD was bobbing and weaving from the press on October 17, Queens district attorney John Santucci sat with a number of Gannett newspaper articles on his desk. The dark haired, forty eight-year-old prosecutor began his career as an assistant in the very office he now headed. He was later a member of New York's City Council and a state senator before assuming the district attorney's chair on January 1, 1977. There were more than one hundred assistant prosecutors and a large number of other employees reporting to him. 

Five Son of Sam attacks occurred in Santucci's jurisdiction (as compared to two in the Bronx and one in Brooklyn), and he perused the conspiracy articles with considerable interest— as he'd done since the first one appeared in March. 

Santucci had never been comfortable with the original resolution of the .44 case. After hearing of Berkowitz's arrest, he and his close aide and press spokesman, Thomas McCarthy, were driven to One Police Plaza in a hair-raising ride on the potholed Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. 

While at Police Plaza, Santucci sat in on some of the questioning of Berkowitz and formed the opinion that Berkowitz was lucid and not demon-possessed, as he then claimed, and that the .44 case might well go deeper than it was presented to be. His own evaluation of the evidence left him with nagging doubts concerning Berkowitz's alleged sole responsibility. 

Santucci then pressed for a Berkowitz trial, but was persuaded by Eugene Gold in Brooklyn and the Bronx's Mario Merola to allow Berkowitz to plead guilty without any dissidence. Santucci's reluctance to yield to the pressure reached the media, where he was criticized by "sources" for his stance. 

But for the past week, since the "John Carr-NYPD Reopens" article appeared, Santucci's office had been quietly compiling data about the case. After the story was published, some people called us with information; others contacted the police or Santucci's office. The details in our newspaper re- ports, buttressed by other data he accumulated that week, convinced Santucci that the nearly two million residents of his borough would be best served if he, as its top law enforcement official, probed further into the Berkowitz matter. 

From his own contacts, WPIX-TV reporter Jeff Kamen caught wind of Santucci's activities. WPIX, Channel 11 in New York, was also the flagship station for INN, the Independent News, which reached a considerable number of U.S. markets. Ironically, WPIX and the Daily News were owned by the same parent company; and WPIX was even headquartered in the large Daily News building in midtown Manhattan. But regarding the .44 conspiracy, the attitudes of the two media outlets were as divergent as night and day. 

While the Daily News had all but ignored the story and would continue to do so, WPIX-TV had followed our investigation in Westchester since the Moskowitz article was published in mid-July. Kamen, an aggressive, quality reporter, was denied access to Eugene Gold's office while trying to follow up on that investigative report. The lockout was filmed and re- ported on the station's news broadcast. 

In the late afternoon of Wednesday, October 17, Jeff Kamen called Santucci's press spokesman, Tom McCarthy. Kamen told McCarthy he heard Santucci reopened the Son of Sam case. 

"What kind of funny cigarettes are you smoking, Jeff?" McCarthy asked. "The Son of Sam case? You must be hallucinating." 

Kamen was insistent, and McCarthy, who planned to watch a World Series game that night, wanted to go home. But he agreed to walk down the hall to ask Santucci about it. 

"You'd better sit down, Tom," the DA said. "And I don't think you'll be seeing the ball game tonight." 

As McCarthy later explained: "In this office, I am sometimes deliberately in the dark on sensitive cases, and none was —and is—more sensitive than Son of Sam. This practice is in effect for two reasons. First, I don't want to be put in the position of having to deceive the press to protect matters of extreme confidentiality; and secondly, if I'm not familiar with certain details, I can't inadvertently let them slip out in conversations with journalists. That's why I didn't know what was happening to that point." 

But from that moment on, McCarthy knew much of what there was to know about the .44 investigation. 

"We were about to begin receiving a deluge of calls from  reporters all over the country. It would be an ongoing thing. Some offered tips they heard or other information they thought might be helpful. Because of the scope of it all, I had to learn the case well in order to evaluate the information as it poured in from the press before passing it on." 

At home in White Plains that evening, I received a call from WPIX's Monica Rosenschein, with whom I'd spoken the week before about the NYPD story. "John Santucci is reopening the Son of Sam case. Now you've got him and the PD in on it. They've confirmed off the record. We're breaking it tonight. We knew you'd want to know so you could get it in the morning's edition." 

To say I was overjoyed would be an understatement. Monica pledged me to secrecy and hung up. I called the Gannett office and said I'd be in to write the story. Five minutes later, Neysa Moskowitz, mother of Stacy, was on the line. She'd been a frequent caller and supporter since March, and we'd spoken several times during the previous week. "Steve Dunleavy just called me," she said. "He wants to know if you heard anything about Santucci opening up the case. He said he heard a rumor about it." 

"Why doesn't Steve call me himself?" 

"I think he feels you might be annoyed that the Post redid your story." 

"No, but they might have given it a one-line credit. Actually, I'm glad they ran with it. This message has to get out." 

"Steve says he was involved with you on the John Carr thing at the beginning." 

"That he was. But things got screwed up." 

"I've got a three-way gizmo here," Neysa said. 

"Why don't we set up a conference call." 

A few minutes later, I heard Dunleavy's unmistakable accent. "How's it going, mate? Long time, no talk. I see you've been busy." 

"Yeah, and I see you guys have been reading." 

"Ask him about Santucci, Steve," Neysa cut in. 

"We got a rumor today, but no one can flesh it out yet. You've been close to this—did you hear anything?" 

I couldn't violate Monica's confidence, but I didn't want to deceive Dunleavy either. He would, after all, read the morning issue of Today and immediately know if I misled him. 

"Well, I heard that rumor, too. I wouldn't be surprised if there was something to it, but who knows?" I said. 

I was also dying to tell Dunleavy that his old nemesis, Veronica Lueken, had provided information that was part of the NYPD's probe, but resisted the temptation. 

"So you heard it, too," Dunleavy said. "I'm going to call their night number over there, the hot line, and see what we can get. I'll get back to you." 

In a few minutes, my phone rang again. "They're reopening, too," Dunleavy gushed. "It's going to be a circus now. They're confirming off the record. If we go with it, they won't deny it, but they're not making formal statements." 

"See you on the front page tomorrow, Steve," I remarked, and we said goodbye. It was going to be a busy night for both of us. I called Jim Mitteager and told him I was driving to the paper to write the story. Jim volunteered to phone Queens to learn anything else he could. 

At Gannett's offices, I wrote the article and phoned Jeff Nies in Minot so he'd have the wording, too. The papers were cooperating all the way on this case. What Nies didn't know was that some of Carr's friends, who saw him at the interviews, thought he was an undercover narcotics cop posing as a reporter. Gardner was somewhat concerned for Nies's safety, but didn't tell him, so as not to rattle him unnecessarily. 

Mitteager then called from his Staten Island home to say he'd received the confirmation from McCarthy, too. "He said it was a serious matter and they don't want to exploit the case. They were attempting to do this quietly, but it leaked. It had to, eventually. We print, and they won't deny." 

At 10 P.M., with several other staffers and the article's editors, Alex Poletsky and Tom McNamara, I took time out to watch Channel 11's news broadcast. A muffled cheer went up from the group gathered at the small TV in the newsroom as the story, WPIX's lead item, was aired. The Gannett papers had themselves walked a precarious limb. They touched the untouchable Son of Sam case, and now, along with the earlier news of the NYPD's probe, they were vindicated. 

"I wonder if Eugene Gold is watching this," McNamara exclaimed. "He thought he'd made fools of us in July. Let him absorb this for a while. Santucci had five shootings out there and he's in our corner." 

"There was never a doubt," I deadpanned. "All we needed was a little time to pull it all together." 

Although I tried to maintain a stoic posture, my emotions were strong. As I watched WPIX and heard the words "The Queens district attorney's office has reopened the Son of Sam case," I shook hands with the others and said a quiet "Thank God." The job was done. More than two years of work—of constant challenge and occasional derision and ridicule—had finally paid off in one of the biggest and most notorious criminal cases in U.S. history. At last, the unmovable mountain had been shaken. 

Like Tom McNamara, I too thought of Brooklyn DA Eugene Gold, and of the many others who tried to block the investigation and disclosures. Gold had publicly charged us— me—with "wild speculation" in my reporting, with Jim, of the Moskowitz scenario. Gannett took it on the chin with that one, too. But we kept going. 

The press dogs had finally had their day. 

The Associated Press and United Press International monitored the WPIX broadcast. Their reports were on the wires in short order, and were promptly picked up by other TV and radio outlets. But no other New York newspapers got the word in time for their deadlines. So it was Gannett and the Post which scooped the print media the next morning. 

The Gannett headline, which stretched across the front page in large type, said: "QUEENS D.A. ENTERS SON OF SAM PROBE." Jim and I shared the byline. The article stated that Santucci was adding his own resources to those of the NYPD, and summed up earlier information. 

The Posts front page blared: "SON OF SAM SHOCKER, QUEENS D.A. REOPENS THE CASE." The next day, the New York Times reported the investigation in a detailed article by police reporter Len Buder, and other area papers highlighted the story. However, the Daily News carried but a brief item on an inside page. 

The NYPD was caught off guard by Santucci's action, and Deputy Chief Dreher and Chief of Detectives Sullivan were less than delighted to learn that the DA was now involved. There was embarrassment aplenty. First, the top-secret investigation went public and now Santucci was poking around, too. 

At 5 P.M. on October 19, Jane Jacklin's husband, a now retired NYPD uniformed officer, was interviewed by Dreher, Inspector Charles Rorke and Captain John Plansker at the 48th Precinct in the Bronx. Jane Jacklin was supposed to have approached Veronica Leuken about Rockman and then later to have been cut up and thrown into Little Neck Bay. I had already determined that the woman who allegedly talked to Lueken was not the real Jane Jacklin, whom Mitteager and I met in early 1978. 

According to Plansker's report, dated October 22, when John Jacklin* was asked if he knew anyone by the name of Rockman, "there was an apparent nervous reaction, but he stated he did not know anybody by that name. He was presented with a photo of Rockman and first stated it resembled someone he knew a long time ago who was involved with drugs. He then stated it might resemble a reporter who had questioned his wife regarding the Son of Sam killings. He indicated that several reporters had questioned his wife regarding her connections with a group of people who were allegedly associated with Berkowitz." Jacklin then called Jane. 

"Jane states she was interviewed by a Maury Terry and a man named Mitteager who represented themselves as reporters and asked if she ever used drugs, ever visited the Blue Dolphin diner or if she knew Reeve Rockman. They also asked if she knew Veronica Lueken and showed her a letter allegedly written by Lueken which described how Jane's body was cut up and thrown into [Little Neck Bay]. . . . 

"The interviews of Jane and John Jacklin lead to the presumption that Veronica Lueken is the informant referred to in Detective Cinotti's original report and is the individual who allegedly observed Berkowitz and Rockman together in Jacklin's auto. Veronica Lueken is known to this Department because of her unorthodox religious practices in Queens. Her reliability as a witness or informant is seriously in question and the possibility of independently establishing an association between Rockman and Berkowitz in Queens County during 1977 is doubtful." 

This is all the top brass in the NYPD needed to hear. Lueken was bonkers and this embarrassing investigation could be closed down immediately. Santucci could twist in the wind by himself. But Plansker didn't agree: 

"Despite this reversal, we have developed information and circumstances that almost demand resolution. I believe that this investigation should be continued, if only for the sake of being able to say that this Department has never ignored or overlooked any information connected with the Son of Sam shootings. Some of the questions and information generated by this investigation are listed below: 

A. We have statements that John Carr knew Berkowitz [from Minot]. 

B. We have statements that John Carr mentioned Berkowitz and Son of Sam before Berkowitz's arrest. 

C. We have statements that Rockman was an associate of John Carr. 

D. We have statements that Rockman was involved in witchcraft. 

E. The Berkowitz letters and writings seem to contain references to witchcraft. 

F. We have a statement that John Carr knew some of the victims. [This may have been so despite the fact that the original informant turned out to be unreliable.] 

G. Rockman lived near two of the shootings in For- est Hills and worked in the same building as one of the victims. 

H. The second Forest Hills shooting [Virginia Vos- kerichian's] is not consistent with the other shootings in terms of time and type of location." 

Rockman was interviewed by Dreher, Plansker and Rorke a few days later and, not surprisingly, denied everything. However, Plansker still wasn't satisfied—but he was overruled. The NYPD dropped out of the probe after two months and prepared to bring up Cinotti on a smattering of charges related to his failure to identify and produce Lueken and his traveling to Minot with me. He would also be charged with providing me with confidential information. 

The fact that I uncovered the Carr-Rockman information first and lined up the interviews and that Cinotti joined me in Minot—not the other way around—was irrelevant to Dreher and Chief of Detectives James Sullivan. They were out to portray Cinotti as a rogue, unbalanced cop with an unreliable informant—Lueken. It was their way out of a situation they never wanted to reach the public in the first place. 

And they'd see to it that Santucci received little cooperation either. 

This same night, October 22, retired homicide detective Joe Basteri called me. For years, Basteri had been friendly with NYPD Lieutenant Remo Franceschini, who currently was in charge of the squad of NYPD detectives assigned to Santucci's office. These detectives assisted the district attorney's investigations but reported through the NYPD chain of command, not directly to the DA. This structuring would soon acquire a special significance. Santucci also had a contingent of Queens County detectives, who did report directly to him. 

Franceschini advised Basteri that Cinotti had just been suspended by the Police Department. He added that Santucci sent homicide bureau chief Herb Leifer and Queens County detective George Byrd to interview Cinotti at the 48th Precinct. While there, Dreher refused to allow the Queens representatives to question Cinotti. 

Franceschini asked Basteri to locate Cinotti, since Santucci wanted to speak with him immediately. I told Basteri I'd try to track down the elusive Henry Cinotti, and within an hour I got word to him. 

"They sent me to a department shrink," Hank said. "And he asks me why don't I give up the name of my informant. Some shrink. I see what's going on. They're going to try to destroy me. I'm not suspended, but I am on modified assignment. Desk duty, no gun, psychiatric evaluation. I saw that Leifer at the Four-Eight—I was there but he wasn't allowed to see me." 

"Santucci's people want to talk to you," I said. "They asked to see me, too. Joe is going out with me Wednesday [the twenty-fourth]—why don't you show up yourself?" 

"I don't know," Hank said. "I gotta think about it. If I see you, I see you. But don't approach me—I can't be seen with you." 

Cinotti turned down my offer to speak with Plansker about the genesis of the Minot trip and my conclusion that Lueken had spoken with a Jane Jacklin impostor. I also told Hank that Michael and John Carr and the cult were getting lost in the shuffle. 

"They could care less," Cinotti said. "And if you go to them it will only make my situation worse." 

If I couldn't help the beleaguered detective directly, there were other things I could do. It was time to publish the Untermyer Park cult's connection to the Son of Sam letters. I worked that night and the next on the story, consulting frequently with Jim Mitteager. Jack Graham of the Minot Daily News located a Michigan college professor who was an occult expert, and he was interviewed for the article. Requesting anonymity because of his job, the academic said he believed the  Son of Sam symbol was borrowed from the original Eliphas Levi rendering and that the German shepherd ears were a unique emblem. He added something that would soon cause a bit of a stir: 

"I believe you are dealing with a sadomasochistic group with strong undertones of latent homosexuality. This is an evil group that turned to ritualistic killing, using the occult as an excuse for their own latent homosexuality. They borrowed from satanism, from magic and from whatever they saw and liked." 

The story was ready to go, and would appear on Wednesday, October 24. 

In the newsroom the night before, I got the opportunity to return Monica Rosenschein's recent favor. I called WPIX and, speaking alternately with her and another WPIX employee, Felix Martinez, filled them in on what we were publishing in the morning. The Gannett editors approved the arrangement, since WPIX consented to credit us with breaking the story. Our discussions with Channel 11 ended not five minutes before airtime, and once again we surrounded the TV to watch the broadcast. WPIX was true to its word, and the cult story led off the newscast. 

On the twenty-fourth, the article itself hit the newsstands under the front-page headline "SATANIC CULT TIED TO 'SAM' KILLINGS." A large photo of the so-called Devil's Cave accompanied the piece. Channel 11, and others, sent camera crews to Untermyer Park to film follow-ups for the nightly TV news. I was asked to meet the WPIX crew at Untermyer, but was forced to demur. I was due at the district attorney's office in Queens. 

As Joe Basteri and I approached the Queens County office complex, we spied Hank Cinotti entering a side door. He ignored us and went to speak with Herb Leifer, the homicide bureau chief. Meanwhile, Basteri and I talked with Lieutenant Remo Franceschini and Tom McCarthy until Leifer and George Byrd arrived. 

Santucci was about to dispatch assistant district attorney Michael Armienti and county detective Tom Mulderig to Minot, and his staff wanted to learn about our trip. 

"Yes, I was there," I said. "And I didn't try to to hide that  fact from anyone in Minot—just the NYPD to protect Cinotti. He didn't leak a thing to me; it was the other way around." 

I briefed the DA's staff on the findings thus far, and agreed to cooperate with their investigation. "We all want the same thing. Within reason, I'll do what I can. But certain sources will have to be protected." 

Leifer didn't go for that idea. But McCarthy, as press liaison, explained my position. Leifer still wasn't pleased, but nodded his reluctant assent. While there, I learned that Santucci had tried to question Berkowitz, but the confessed Son of Sam sent back a message saying he wouldn't cooperate with the DA's new probe. 

"That says something, doesn't it?" I asked. "If it was nonsense he'd be the first one to stand up and take sole credit again." I wrote the story of Berkowitz's refusal to cooperate two days later. 

The makings of another uneasy situation with Mitteager were hatched that day, as the DA's representatives said they couldn't deal with him because of his imminent trial. "We're not passing judgment—it just wouldn't be appropriate for us under the circumstances," one said. Mitteager said he understood the decision, but was nonetheless unhappy about it. He was isolated from the Minot officials, and now the Queens DA placed him on a shelf as well. 

"It's becoming your case," he told me. "I understand why; and you're the one who had John Carr, Moskowitz and the cult in the first place. I'm forty miles away out here and I'm going on trial. So work with Queens as you see fit." 

Jim's byline continued to appear on every story we published during the next several months, and his input was helpful. But he and the case were divorcing, mostly due to circumstances and bad timing. 

As for Santucci, his office would soon need all the cooperation it could muster. The DA endured a lot of official heat for reopening the Son of Sam case. Eugene Gold lined up against him, and the NYPD was incensed that he dared to challenge its position. Sergeant Joe Coffey, for example, had been a supervisor on the Omega task force. He walked into Santucci's office and pointedly told him: "You're not going to get a thing." He bet Santucci a dinner that the inquiry would fail and stalked out of the room. 

Coffey knew that the deck was being stacked. The New York City Police Department withdrew its support and refused  to cooperate with Santucci's probe. Because of this major rift, the DA decided not to utilize his own squad of NYPD detectives in the .44 investigation, so as not to compromise their standing in the Police Department. He would instead conduct the inquiry with his assistant district attorneys and county detectives. 

There were numerous NYPD detectives who disagreed with the department's position. Some quietly assisted the investigation anyway, and worked clandestinely with me, if not the DA, over the years. But the department's official posture, cast in concrete by those at the top, was that Berkowitz committed all the .44 shootings by himself. 

There was to be precious little middle ground on this case. One was either a friend or a foe. Reporter Howard Blum of the New York Times, and others, called to warn me that Deputy Chief Edwin Dreher was waging a smear campaign against me and Cinotti. 

"It's pretty pathetic," Blum said. "From the story I heard, Cinotti is supposed to be an insane religious fanatic and a homosexual Nazi. And you and Cinotti are supposed to be homosexual lovers." 

"That son of a bitch," I said. "He can't shoot down the case, so he tries this crap. A deputy chief of the NYPD. Maybe my fiancee would be interested in hearing that I'm a fag." (I was soon to be married to Georgiana, the woman I talked with at the Suriani-Esau murder scene in April 1978.) 

"He's hurting the PD's position and himself, not you," Blum said. "Nobody believes him—they're appalled. I just wanted you to know." 

Dreher didn't stop. In March 1981, WOR-TV aired the first of several syndicated television specials about the case. I served as reporter and host for the segments. Dreher, reading that the initial report was due to air, asked for a preview. According to the executive producer of the newsmagazine series What's Happening, America, Dreher previewed the show and "obviously didn't like what he was seeing. As soon as it was over he started calling you a fag and Cinotti's lover. And he said Cinotti was insane and a neo-Nazi. We told him to screw off," the producer said. "He was trying to get us to kill the show." 

That time, I didn't ignore Dreher. I immediately called the NYPD's deputy commissioner for public information and told her that if Dreher persisted with his slurs, I was going to file a written complaint against him. Whether Dreher stopped his attacks or not, I don't know. But I heard nothing more about him from reporters after that incident. 

Using that approach to attempt to discredit me, and others to impede John Santucci's office, the NYPD brass rolled through the Son of Sam case. Mayor Ed Koch, who would sleep through more corruption scandals than Rip Van Winkle, blissfully ignored the turmoil. 

Throughout the probe, I appeared on a number of radio and TV programs. On several occasions, NYPD officials were invited to debate the case with me. Each time, the department declined the offers. It seems as if the power elite was more comfortable with whispered slander than public discussion, which in itself says something. 

The Queens investigation built momentum despite the Police Department's maneuverings. Detectives delved deeply into Berkowitz's life, and interviewed friends and members of his family. The original Minot informants were questioned again by Michael Armienti and Tom Mulderig. 

Other investigators talked to the Cassaras, the Carrs, former police auxiliary associates of Berkowitz, surviving Son of Sam victims in Queens and numerous others. 

Herb Leifer and Detective George Byrd spent considerable time in Yonkers, and piles of Yonkers Police Department reports, and those of the NYPD, were scrutinized. Investigators even crossed jurisdictional boundaries when they questioned star Brooklyn witness Cacilia Davis in depth. Mrs. Davis simply retold the story as I'd already published it. 

"She was on target as far as we're concerned," Leifer re- ported. Santucci said: "It's apparent Berkowitz wasn't alone that night in Brooklyn." 

The investigators also sought out photos of John Carr. As Leifer and Byrd left Wheat Carr's new residence in Hastings-on-Hudson, she called out to them: "You want to know what John looked like?" 

Byrd and Leifer turned around, and Wheat grabbed her shoulder-length hair and pulled it tightly above her neck. "Here's what he looked like," she yelled to the startled investigators. 

Detectives also acquired data on .44 purchases and other aspects of the case from Texas, Florida, New Jersey and California. Bit by bit a picture was developing—a group picture. In it were Berkowitz—and some accomplices. At one point Santucci observed: "Whoever said Berkowitz was a friendless loner was dead wrong. This guy had a lot of contacts and connections." 

The Queens probers also looked into the Reeve Rockman matter. Their assessment, independent of my own, was that while Rockman was identified in North Dakota, corroboration beyond that provided by Veronica Lueken was necessary in New York. Until then, Rockman was guilty of association with John Carr and perhaps Berkowitz. But it was necessary to fit him into a smaller circle—that of the people directly responsible for the .44 killings. 

Lueken, whose story was supported by her husband, said she had three informants who alleged Rockman was involved in satanic cult activity. One of those was the Jane Jacklin impostor. Of the others, Nicki had disappeared in Haiti and Wendy Smith—whose last name was a common one—proved extremely difficult to track down. 

Linda O'Connor in North Dakota said that Michael Carr received drug therapy at a large rehabilitation center in New York—a location where, curiously enough, Rockman was once employed as an accountant. But investigators weren't able to confirm Michael Carr's presence there, at least not under his real name. 

So the Rockman connection was put on a back burner. 

In Westchester, our own probe continued. Sometimes the path crossed that of the DA's investigators. We continued publishing the results throughout the remainder of 1979 and into mid-1980. The public was supportive, and numerous tips were phoned to Gannett and the district attorney's office. Some people, wanting to ensure that their leads weren't bypassed, forwarded them to both places. Members of the press also offered information to Santucci's staff. 

An example of a valuable lead given both to me and to Santucci was one which originated with two members of a sheet-metal workers' union to which Berkowitz belonged in late 1976 and early 1977, before he joined the Postal Service. These sources said that Berkowitz showed a .38-caliber revolver to several co-workers while in an apprentice class in Westchester. 

At the same time, they reported that Berkowitz was very friendly with a young man named Phil Kahn,* and that Berkowitz and Kahn left the job one day in January 1977 telling co-workers they were driving to an animal shelter to adopt a German shepherd. 
*Not real name
No .38 revolver was found in Berkowitz's apartment, but the informants insisted he possessed it at the time. As for Kahn, he admitted his friendship with Berkowitz to the Queens probers, but denied the German shepherd excursion. Again, his fellow workers reported Kahn was lying. Kahn remains under scrutiny. 

In time, a list of suspects, including Kahn, emerged. Among the others were ex-Yonkers police officer Peter Shane, of the Howard Weiss-Berkowitz connection; Weiss himself; Michael and John Carr; and Bobby, the man who was ejected from the Candlelight Inn with Berkowitz and Michael Carr. There were other candidates, too. 

As for the .44 shootings themselves, my own evaluation at that time was that Berkowitz most likely pulled the trigger in the attacks on Donna Lauria and Jody Valente and on Valentina Sudani and Alexander Esau. These shootings accounted for three murders and one wounding in the Bronx. Mitteager and I were convinced he didn't shoot Stacy Moskowitz and Robert Violante in Brooklyn, Joanne Lomino and Donna DeMasi in Queens, or Virginia Voskerichian in Queens. Three attacks remained questionable: the murder of Christine Freund, the Elephas woundings of Judy Placido and Sal Lupo and the wounding of Carl Denaro. We believed that Berkowitz probably didn't shoot Denaro, because of the assailant's obvious difficulty controlling the weapon, and because three shell casings reportedly were found at that scene. The .44 revolver doesn't eject shells and no casings were found at other sites. This, too, suggested a different shooter and a weapon other than Berkowitz's Bulldog. 

But at no incident did we think the shooter acted without support of some type. 

In early November, another cult-related incident occurred near Untermyer Park in Yonkers. This time, the witness was a Westchester County police officer who stumbled onto a ritual being held at the old Stillwell Estate on North Broadway, barely a half mile from Untermyer. The Sheriff's Department tried to keep the incident from reaching the public, but Gannett reporter Ed Trapasso uncovered the details anyway. 

The estate was county property, and at dusk on Saturday, November 10, the officer walked through the woods and saw a group of at least five people standing in a circle. One man, dressed in a red cape, was leading the others in a series of chants. The caped "high priest" was also holding two German shepherds on chains. 

Seeing the cop, the group scattered and escaped. 

Subsequent investigation by the police revealed satanic writings on the interior walls of a decaying carriage house nearby. The phrases said: "Demon," "Welcome to Hell" and "Entering Hell." 

The red cape, I told Trapasso, likely indicated that the group was engaged in a fertility or sex-magic ritual at the time. 

Sheriff's officials blustered that there was no evidence linking the ritual to the Son of Sam cult meetings up the block at Untermyer. Apparently, North Broadway was becoming Satan Street, U.S.A. 

"They have no evidence to say it wasn't connected either," I told Trapasso. "These are the people who eighty-six reports and don't know how to investigate a return address on a threatening letter." 

"They called it doublespeak in the Watergate days," Trapasso joked. 

Our own evaluation was that with the German shepherds in tow and with the incident occurring so proximate to Untermyer it was indeed possible the ceremony was linked to the .44 case. 

While the work progressed in Queens and Westchester, someone was watching from a distance, reading the Gannett reports and those written by the AP and the Post. 

David Berkowitz, incarcerated in Attica prison near upstate Buffalo, had refused to help Santucci. But that didn't mean he was staying out of the fray. Berkowitz had been wrestling with his conscience since we met at Marcy a year before. He decided the time had come. He was going to aid the investigation. But he was going to do it his way—not the way of John Santucci. 

An incredible, behind-the-scenes drama was about to unfold. 

Its opening act would stretch the Son of Sam conspiracy from coast to coast. 

XVI 

The Most Unlikely Ally 

The public and almost all the media were unaware of the backstage story that was developing. The New York City Police Department was ignorant of it, while the Queens district attorney, who did know what was going on, was forced to view the events from the sidelines. 

It is appropriate to let Berkowitz himself introduce the players. As he wrote to Lee Chase,* his self-appointed Christian counselor in a western state: "The following people are involved and working on this: 

Gilroy, from Staten Island 
Pienciak, from the A.P. 
West Coast—you know who! 
D.A. Santucci 
Middle of Silence Gallery 
Sheriff, Minot, N.D. 
Maury Terry & Mitteager, the authors of those stories. 

"I'm just warning you to be careful, here," Berkowitz continued. "As I say, all of these above mentioned are somehow related, if you know what I mean. Let's use tact and caution and let us remember how fragile the situation is for someone like my father. Oh, yes, something else, the D.A. obtained a copy of my mailing list here. So this is how they will contact you." 

Lee Chase would move to another state before Santucci could reach her, but others, including myself, knew where she was. 

Felix Gilroy, of course, was Mitteager's attorney and my companion at Marcy. Berkowitz didn't know he no longer represented Mitteager. Gilroy's participation would be pivotal, but brief. 

Rick Pienciak was the Associated Press's Son of Sam reporter. He covered the original case, later interviewed Mitteager after his arrest and spoke with me several times by phone. He knew the angle we were pursuing before it was made public. Pienciak, a brown-haired man of twenty-nine, attended a January 1979 press conference at which Berkowitz termed his 1977 "demon" story a hoax. Pienciak then managed to get onto Berkowitz's mailing list—an important consideration since only correspondence from approved parties got through. 

Lee Chase, an intelligent, dark-haired woman of forty-one, was an expert in the study of "demonology" who began writing Berkowitz shortly after his arrest, when his mail wasn't screened at Kings County Hospital. Her goal was to convert him to Christianity. She and Berkowitz exchanged letters frequently—sometimes more than once a day. Berkowitz trusted Chase and regarded her as a close confidante. 

The "sheriff " in Minot was Lieutenant Terry Gardner, and the Middle of Silence Gallery was a commune or association of artists and poets who literally believed in demonic possession. Before Berkowitz's arrest, MOS sent out press releases saying that Son of Sam was controlled by his demon-familiar, "Sam the Terrible"—which they picked up from the Breslin letter. The Gallery also offered mundane theories about the killer, a number of which were very reasonable. After Mitteager was arrested, a group of MOS people, who were gentle, sensitive throwbacks to the late sixties, rode a bus to Jim's Staten Island home to ask him if any of the letters Berkowitz wrote them from Kings County Hospital were snatched by guard Herb Clarke. The answer was "no." 

Berkowitz wanted to see the Son of Sam case solved—to have arrests made, the truth brought out. But he didn't want to make formal statements in a courtroom. He was pledged to secrecy and feared for the life of his adoptive father, Nat, and other relatives in the New York area. So Berkowitz came up with a plan. Using Lee Chase as an assistant, he would send clues and leads to the different people mentioned above. With luck and some guidance from him, he thought the case could be broken wide open without his having to turn state's evidence in a courtroom. 

Even operating in the shadows, Berkowitz was taking a risk. He had only to touch his throat to know what already happened to him. But he was angry. Angry that he had taken a fall for others; angry that they were still on the loose. He was also stricken by guilt. He wanted to pay back something for the havoc he helped create. 

Since the Marcy meeting a year before, Berkowitz had pondered the case. Until that day, he didn't know that anyone was looking into the conspiracy. He had believed the case was shut down. After Marcy, he waited and watched. In July, after his throat was cut, he heard rumblings about the Moskowitz article we wrote. He didn't have the piece yet, but when he finally received it from a Westchester relative, his reaction, I was told, was one of extreme joy and satisfaction. He sent the clipping to Lee Chase and told her it was right on target. Pienciak also said that Berkowitz "especially liked the Moskowitz article." 

When Michael Carr died, Berkowitz clipped a New York Times story on the death and mailed it out to Chase with the words "Occultists, the same sad end" written on it. 

In mid-October, Berkowitz caught wind of the new NYPD investigation. On October 15, before Santucci's probe was publicized, Berkowitz wrote to Lee Chase: "Gee, you picked the most god awful time to move. All this time we've been just goofing off when now it's very important. Look, this is very, very important and I think you know what it's about. Now listen to me—I want you to get all the clippings you've got which deal with animal sacrifices, especially dogs and cats (if possible) but any will do. Next, everything you've got on Druids (modern day Druids). Please do this. Also, remember those materials you had on Bundy? I mean about those 'Ted' slayings possibly being related to the occult. And of course any clips or papers you've got on a satanically linked professor. Now, make one copy of each article. 

"What I must get ahold of are clippings or stories on cult groups or just plain satanic occult groups who sacrifice. [Berkowitz was writing this letter nine days before we broke the story about the cult, the dead dogs and Untermyer Park.] 

"Look, remember what you said about Ted' [killer Ted Bundy] being with the occult (sacrificing)? I know you do. Okay, it's a long story. Damn, Lee, this is what my phone call was going to be about. We've got work to do now, kid." 

Berkowitz went on to say that he'd soon have Felix Gilroy's address and that he wanted material sent there. He asked Lee to find out the address of the Ward County Sheriff's Department in Minot. "Will you help me now, or what?" he asked. "If you don't take action now, then it may as well be never. Just prepare the materials and I'll be in touch." 

Lee Chase was surprised, but only mildly. Berkowitz had been hinting about his cult involvement for more than a year, but would back away from confirming it. Now the die was finally cast. No sooner was the Chase letter in an envelope than Berkowitz wrote another one. This note, sent to a California preacher, was a flat-out confession: 

"I really don't know how to begin this letter, but at one time I was a member of an occult group. Being sworn to secrecy or face death I cannot reveal the name of the group, nor do I wish to. This group contained a mixture of satanic practices which included the teachings of Aleister Crowley and Eliphaz Levi. It was (still is) totally blood oriented and I am certain you know just what I mean. The Coven's doctrines are a blend of ancient Druidism, the teachings of the Secret Order of the Golden Dawn, Black Magick and a host of other unlawful and obnoxious practices. 

"As I said, I have no interest in revealing the Coven, especially because I have almost met sudden death on several occasions (once by half an inch) and several others have already perished under mysterious circumstances. These people will stop at nothing, including murder. They have no fear of man- made laws or the Ten Commandments." 

Berkowitz then asked the preacher to send him booklets or articles on satanic killer cults. "I think it is imperative that I educate certain people—the people whose job it is to clean up after this coven. Of course I am talking about the authorities. Actually it is my duty as a citizen of this planet to do so. But it would be up to those concerned people to do their own investigating. Knowing the fearlessness and dedication this group possesses, I fear greatly for my family." 

Several days later, Berkowitz would send a similar letter to another minister. In it, he added: "To break away completely is impossible because of a Pact each new member signs in his own blood. Also, each new and carefully screened recruit supplies a picture or pictures of all his or her family members, plus their addresses. These items are used, if necessary, as tools for blackmail, coercion and eventually physical harm should one attempt to betray the group. 

"I guess you could say that I mellowed with time and as a result of being away from direct influence. However, I do want to leave it completely and QUIETLY. A woman who lives on the west coast has been counseling me. She is a Christian. To be honest, I'm not." 

Berkowitz, who would later add that influences of the Basque witches of Portugal and Spain were absorbed by his group with the other practices he mentioned, then told the reverend: "You also seem trustworthy and reliable. Of course, I could be wrong. If I am, then my family could be harmed." He pledged the pastor to secrecy, and asked for occult-related materials he could send to the authorities on the sly. 

That night, before going to sleep, Berkowitz typed out another note to Lee Chase. "Tonight I feel so haunted. Why? Don't you remember when, quite awhile back, I asked you about Arliss [sic] Perry. Lee, who killed Arliss Perry? Did you ever wonder? You were surprised and you asked me how I knew of this case. How did I? When you figure out the rest of the riddle, then . . . ? Just do what I asked you to do. Wishing you well. P.S., don't worry. It wasn't me. However, why do you suppose I asked you about this case long ago?"

He signed it: "Love, David." 

Two days later, on October 17, Berkowitz again wrote Chase to urge her to expedite the job at hand. He added: "I know a great many things which few would ever believe as it stands now. Of course, and very importantly, many do NOT WISH TO KNOW!" Then, still not telling Chase he heard the case was reopened, Berkowitz said: "The Son of Scratch [Sam Carr and the devil] case is 'closed.' It is closed in the eyes of the public and the authorities. Good! So let it be. It's best this way. . . . 

"It is the job of police departments .. . to catch criminals. It ain't my job. Whatever leads and clues they develop [on Son of Sam]—they develop. It ain't my job to do this, either. What I'm trying to say is that in time other criminals will slip up somewhere. Someone will come forward with corroborating information to help solve a given crime. Someone will get caught in the act. Then, it's off to jail." 

Still speaking about the Sam cult, Berkowitz added: "The time will come, and it does seem soon, that many cases across the U.S.A. will be marked 'solved.' The more crimes you commit, the greater the likelihood of capture. The more people you include in a group that engages in criminal activity, the greater the chances of someone 'ratting' you out. Things are hot now for some. So I'll just sit back and wait."

Several days later, in Minot, Lieutenant Terry Gardner received a book, The Anatomy of Witchcraft, which Berkowitz spirited out of prison to a friend. The book was mailed anonymously to Gardner from a zip code we traced to a particular post office in lower Manhattan. On the dedication page, in Berkowitz's unmistakable printing, was a message: "The Book of the Black Curse and those not fearful to administer it. Never to be caught! The evil which has permeated one's soul." 

On the title page, Berkowitz wrote: "You wouldn't believe who this book belonged to." He then listed thirty-two pages he wanted Gardner to study. On each of those, Berkowitz high- lighted what was, in effect, his story and that of the cult. 

He underscored a reference to Dr. Stephen Ward, who died in an apparent suicide in England in the aftermath of the Keeler-Profumo scandal in the early 1960s. "For Ward himself was a dabbler in the occult and on his death there was a great deal of scurrying around among certain London practitioners to cover their traces." (Ward was a close friend of socialite Claus Von Bulow, who was living in England at that time. Von Bulow, who later relocated to Manhattan and Newport, Rhode Island, would be charged with attempting to murder his wife, Sunny, via insulin injections.) 

On another page, Berkowitz clearly underlined a passage in which the author, Peter Haining, related that much of his own occult knowledge was derived from the novels of Dennis Wheatley. Berkowitz underscored only "Den Wheat-ey"—the home of John Wheaties Carr. He was saying that much of his occult knowledge came from that source. 

On another page, Berkowitz underlined an additional passage concerning satanic cults in Britain: "I have good reason for estimating the membership of the cult to run into several thousand men and women." This is precisely what Berkowitz alluded to at Marcy a year earlier. Now the pieces were falling into place. 

He also highlighted a reference to a restaurant in Houston, Texas—which would later prove significant, as would a sentence about "bell-ringing" in a satanic service. He was giving us a "church" clue, although we didn't know it then. 

It was Berkowitz's highlighting of a chapter called "Evil on the Coast" which set off the rockets, however. There, he underlined a sentence in a section about the Process: "Thou shalt kill. They say they are dedicated to bringing about the end of the world by murder, violence and chaos—but they, the chosen, will survive to build a new world of Satanic glory." 

On the same page, with a specially marked asterisk and brackets, Berkowitz zeroed in on a section about the Chingons —which research had shown was a Process offshoot based in California. And in another letter to Chase, he'd written: "California is the home of Chingon and other foul groups." 

We had the cult I had suspected for nearly two years. 

But Berkowitz wasn't finished yet. On facing pages in that same chapter, he underlined passages about Charlie Manson's authority over his followers—including the assertion that Manson was a "Christ/Devil"—another Process link. He then underlined just two words, that Manson's disciples acted "under orders." What, we asked, was so important about those two words? 

Berkowitz also underscored: "Sunset Strip"—where the Process hawked its wares. Further down, he underlined: "The shade of Aleister Crowley looms large in the area [L.A.], but his excesses pale into insignificance compared to today's devil worshippers." 

At the bottom of the page, Berkowitz had written a note but then erased it. We were certain it concerned Manson and the cult, however, considering the context of the pages. 

But in the margin, there was another note he didn't erase. In his own hand, he wrote one of the most chilling messages I have ever read: "ARLISS PERRY, HUNTED, STALKED AND SLAIN. FOLLOWED TO CALIFORNIA. STANFORD UNIV." 

The book was in Terry Gardner's hands less than an hour when he called me. "Who the fuck is Arlis Perry?" he demanded. 

"Goddamn, I don't know. I never heard of her. And what's with this stuff linking her, Manson and all? We've got the group, Terry. It's the Chingons, son of Process. He's tying Manson into it, and connecting it all to this Arlis Perry." 

"You mean he's saying that his group was the Chingons, that it was tied to the Process and that Manson was in it, too?" 

Gardner was awed, as was I. "It seems like that's just what he's saying. As unreal as this sounds, it fits with what we've been working on. He led us to believe a long time ago that the group in Yonkers was part of a bigger picture, and we already had the Process or one of its children under suspicion. Now, out of the blue, he gives it to us," I said. 

I repeated the Process's history to Gardner, emphasizing that the group set up cells in a number of U.S. cities in the late sixties and early seventies. I told him how the California group went underground and how the Chingons and Four P movements came to be. 

"Bugliosi, who prosecuted Manson, believed Manson was in the Process," I said. "So did Ed Sanders, who wrote The Family. Rather than being that far-out, what Berkowitz is saying makes sense." 

"I'll be goddamned if I don't need some time to absorb this. Hey, this is the Ward County, North Dakota, Sheriff's Department—not the FBI. How the hell can we do anything about this?" 

"I think we first better find out who this Arlis Perry person is," I suggested. "From what he's saying, she's dead. You're a cop. Why don't you call around out there and see what's what." 

With a resounding "click," Gardner was gone. In two hours, he was back on the line. "Hey, boy, you'd better lie down—not sit down." 

"What do you have?" 

"Arlis Perry was nineteen years old. Around midnight on October 12-13, 1974 . . ." 

"John Carr's birthday, and Aleister Crowley's birthday, too. That fits with what he underlined on that page," I said. 

"O.K., but wait a minute. She was murdered—butchered— in the church at Stanford University." 

"In a church?" 

"More than that," Gardner said. "She'd only been out there for a few weeks." 

"Terry, you're busting my horns. What do you mean, 'only out there for a few weeks'?" 

"She'd just been married. Her husband was a student at Stanford. She just got there from right down the road here— Bismarck, North Dakota." 

"Holy shit." I must have repeated that expletive a dozen times. 

"There's more," Gardner said. "The Santa Clara cops just got some newspaper clips in the mail, anonymous. Sent from New Orleans. One of your articles about Carr and Berkowitz was in there, along with a tiny clip from the time about Arlis. They didn't know what the hell it meant." 

"We all do now," I whispered. "He said she was 'hunted, stalked and slain' and 'followed' to the Coast. He's saying the killer or killers were from North Dakota! No wonder they couldn't solve the case out there. They were probably looking for some local wacko." 

"That's right," Gardner said. "They thought it was some local nut job. Now it's all turned right back east to North Dakota, Carr's group here and Son of Sam in New York." 

"Surprise, surprise." 

"They can't figure out how Berkowitz ever heard of this case," Gardner said. "But it seems pretty obvious, what with John and the boys here in Minot. If they followed a Bismarck girl to Stanford and iced her, you'd bet your ass David would know." 

"I don't think there's any question about it. Now we've got to go like hell to develop more and try to firm this up." 

On October 25, two days after Gardner received the book, Berkowitz sat in his cell and typed another letter. He didn't know that Lee Chase had sent the clips to a relative in New Orleans, who then mailed them to the Santa Clara Sheriff's Department. He didn't want that step taken. He would be upset when he learned what she'd done. 

Berkowitz would have two reasons for being annoyed with Chase. First, he wanted to deal only with his select contacts, whom he knew were intimately familiar with the Son of Sam, John Carr cult case. Second, he was approaching this endeavor very seriously, and he didn't want to lose credibility. He was afraid that would happen if anonymous clips showed up at an alien sheriff's department. If his own sources made inquiries, that was one thing, because they could explain the situation to Santa Clara. But not the other way. Berkowitz would soon write Chase to chastise her, but first he had this other letter to get out. 

Berkowitz remembered Marcy very well. He had thought about that day for a year now. Until that misty morning, he thought no one was looking into the conspiracy angle since guard Herb Clarke disappeared and Mitteager was arrested. He then waited and watched, and finally put two and two together. He reasoned, correctly, that the people he met at Marcy had to be the ones behind Gardner and Santucci's new  investigation. He didn't know that it was me, by name, who was with Felix Gilroy that day and who had supplied Gilroy with the conspiracy questions. But through his friend Denise* in New York City, he'd now obtained Gilroy's Staten Island address. On the twenty-fifth, he sent an astonishing letter to the attorney. 
*fake name
A long time ago we met in the Central New York Psychiatric Center because of a court order which required you to question me. I was evasive then and I still am. I always will be. 

To be honest, you did shock me with how much information you had. You didn't do too bad of a job. However, you still have a long way to go. 

Another thing which you said to me continues to haunt me until this day. I don't remember it word for word, but it was in reference to helping society— protecting others who might be harmed. 

I could tell you honestly that a great many people are suffering because of their evil indulgences. There are certain powerful persons who are able to gain entrance into other people's minds and souls. 

You asked about Satanists. I'm not talking of thrill seekers who hang onto and join every anti-establishment group which comes along. I'm not talking about those who remain on the fringe of such groups. My letter is in reference to the elite and dedicated hardcore members of Occult groups. 


You see, these people cannot be taken lightly. Please try to understand their philosophy of life and society. They have no fear of man-made laws nor the laws of God. To them, murder comes easy. Being anti-God, they love nothing better than a good kill. 

These people will stop at nothing in order to fulfill their desires. They have the complete ability to elude the police and to cover their tracks completely. 

Many members of these hidden and secret groups are participating of their own free wills. Others aren't. Yet, they are there to obey every command and complete every task without question—lost souls, half-mad zombies they are. 

Mr. Gilroy, there is a very important key that cannot be overlooked—it ALL ends in tragedy! So many people who have followed the Left Handed Path [black magic] have met either sudden death via accident, suicide or murder. Or they have suffered financial loss, the ruination of their reputations, or they just ended up totally insane. It is the same sad story! 

John and Michael are dead. My life is ruined, too. And I also came close to death several months ago. 

Personally, I think it is best if you leave all this alone—you or whoever else started this investigation. Just drop it! It's for your own good. It is you who started all this, right? 

Look, there are people out there who are animals. There are people who are a fearless lot. They HATE God! I'm not talking about common criminals. You know who I am talking about. 

There are people who will follow a "Chosen Lamb" throughout the ends of the earth. If they feel that this person is the "next one"—well, they have money. They have brains and hate. 

They will even kill in a church. Do you think I'm joking? Do you think I'm just bending your ear? Well, do this—do this quickly (I'm serious): 

Call the Santa Clara Sheriff's office (California). This is by Santa Clara University and close to Stanford University. Please ask one of the sheriffs who have been there since late '74 what happened to ARLISS PERRY. Remember this name: Arliss Perry! 

Please don't let them give you the "Psychopathic Homicidal Maniac" line or something similar. They know how she was murdered. They cannot tell you who did it or why. It was NO sex crime, NO random murder. 

Ask them where she was killed. Ask them how. Ask them how often she wandered into that building of gold, purple and scarlet. 

Please ask them for the autopsy report. Let the police provide you with everything—every little detail. Make them tell you what she went through. Don't let them skip one single perverted atrocity that was committed on her tiny, slender, little body. Let the Santa Clara police tell you all . . . 

Oh, yeah, lastly (and this is important), make sure you ask them where she lived—I mean where she came from. Doing this will solve the whole case. Back in little, tiny B . This is where the answer lies. The place (state) with the lowest crime rate of anywhere! 

Some areas are accessible only by horseback and four-wheel drive. Plenty of open land and fresh, clean air. No crime. No death penalty. Rugged terrain. Buffalo. Grizzly bear. Rattlesnakes. Badlands. Tiny cities. Big lakes, etc. Few police are ever visible —rarely to be seen. Open plains. All wheat and oats. 

I'm serious about all this. There is no reason why I shouldn't be. Sir, Satanists (genuine ones) are peculiar people. They aren't ignorant peasants or semi- illiterate natives. Rather, their ranks are filled with doctors, lawyers, businessmen, and basically highly responsible citizens. They are normal on the outside, at least. They are not a careless group who are apt to make mistakes. But they are secretive and bonded together by a common need and a desire to mete out havoc on society. It was Aleister Crowley who said, "I want blasphemy, murder, rape, revolution, anything bad." Surely you will agree that death literally followed Crowley's footsteps. 

Do you still doubt me? Well, listen to this because I'm not through yet. Someone said that I and an- other individual went to a dog pound shortly before my arrest. Well, to be honest, I didn't go there. Obviously, someone used my name. Yes, I will agree with this. 

At one time, I think around late 1976 or early '77, I was supposed to get a job at the Yonkers Animal Shelter. With regards to this alleged visit by me with someone else, I don't know which dog pound or shelter this was. There is a place on Saw Mill River Road that sells guard dogs. Was this the one? Anyway, the shelter I was at was the one near the Motor Vehicles Bureau in Yonkers. 

To show you how much I know, this place is a small, one story building. There is a yard attached and north of the main building in which the dogs are exercised in. Some dogs are left out there all day long, but their [sic] few in number. There are very few parking spaces in front of the building. Most of the people who drive to the shelter have to park their cars haphazardly along the front of the building because of only few spaces. Usually, the dogs are let out in the morning for exercise. 

Across the street (and this spoiled everything) there is a truck yard. Well, it was some type of yard with vehicles in it. The problem was the guard who was there. A guard was present every twenty-four hours around the clock. Often, he sat in a chair right by the fence. When I went to the shelter the guard who was there was an older man (probably retired from other work) who wore glasses. I believe they were dark black-rimmed glasses. Let me make it clear, this guard didn't work for the shelter but across the street. 

The street on which the pound is located is a dead end street. I can't remember the name of it for anything. Am I correct in saying that it begins with an "F"? [Yes, he was: Fullerton Avenue.] I can't be certain. Facing north it is on the right-hand side of the street and the last building on the block—right at the end. 

Inside the building, as soon as you walk in, you can see the individual cages. They are housed one on top of the other like an apartment building. Make it more like a prison. Several dogs have been taken on as pets by the staff. These dogs roam free on the inside of the place. There were two dogs which I became friendly with when I first came there. One was a small, shaggy dog, sort of a terrier. He was grey in color. He sat on the boss's desk. This is the main desk where all the paper work is done. The other dog, a fat german shepherd, was sleeping in the corner of the main office. It was a she. But the keepers wouldn't let me pet her because they said she was very temperamental. 

The staff of the shelter was mainly made up of young people (men). One of the guys gave me a tour. He showed me the machine in which they put the dogs to sleep. It looks almost like a washing machine. I believe he told me that they use it everyday. Surprisingly, the machine wasn't too far from the main entrance, but it was in sort of a cubicle. 

Just about as soon as you enter the building, you turn right to get to the main office. The main office was almost barren. The desk was by the window. There were some file cabinets. The female german shepherd slept in the corner. But the boss was out on a call when I got there. He had a truck and with him went a young helper. They go out on calls often, it seemed. His helper was young, he had black hair, and he was thin. If I'm not mistaken, he also wore glasses. Both of them, the boss and the helper (I might be wrong). 

The inside was ugly and dirty. It stank and it was noisy. 

To explain all this, my job was going to be cleaning out the cages in the morning and letting the dogs out, feeding them, etc. It wasn't going to pay well. Not more than an amount slightly more than the mini- mum wage. But I believe that every six months or year you earn a raise. Certainly I wasn't going to be able to pay my rent and bills with it. But there was another way in which I was going to get paid, somebody needed dogs! I guess you understand what I'm trying to say. This whole letter isn't to bend your ear or waste your time. I'm only trying to show you how much of certain facts I know. To prove authenticity I must show you that I possess some knowledge of certain things. 

Without providing you with names (I'll never do this) I can safely tell you that I was going to provide the dogs for obnoxious religious purposes. But you were going in that direction beforehand, weren't you? 

I filled out the application for the job providing them with former employers, and all the other information they asked for on the form, which was kept in a file cabinet by the desk in the main office. This is where the blank forms were kept. However, despite the application, someone from the inside was sup- posed to vouch for me. It was all set up for me to get the job. Perhaps they chose someone else. You see, being that I was older than most of the other workers, the idea was that I was quickly going to advance in responsibility and seniority. Then I would have possessed many of the main and important keys. This was to let a few dogs out at night. I mean take them out. Of course this wasn't going to happen during business hours. This is where the problem was. That guard across the street sitting on his silly wooden black chair. The area, consisting of factories and warehouses, was too desolate and remote for this operation. That guard would have busted us easy. In fact, the possibility of abducting the guard was also considered. But at night the fence was closed. The guard was on the other side of the fence, a telephone must have been close by for him, and perhaps he was armed. Anyhow, it never went through. Plans were changed. 

Since this was about three years ago, obviously things have changed. Perhaps there is now a new guard for one or all the shifts. These were uniformed guards. I believe their uniforms were blue. But I can't claim 100% accuracy on any of this. The passing of time has blurred my memory. But you'll find all this extremely close. I can guarantee this at least. There is a slight chance that my application form is lying around somewhere. I don't know how long the shelter keeps this stuff. But getting back to this report that I was seen at a dog pound shortly before my capture, well, it isn't quite true. But . . . ! You figure out the rest. 

This letter is coming via certified mail. However, let me make it clear that this communicating will not become a habit. Your [s/c] on your own. Whatever you find out, then it's yours. But truthfully, I wouldn't recommend probing. Don't forget what I told you earlier in this letter. 

Yours truly, 

David Berkowitz 

Six months before Berkowitz wrote this letter, Tony Catalano, manager of the Yonkers Animal Shelter, told me that at the time of Berkowitz's arrest he and two co-workers believed they had seen him at the shelter. They indeed had. Said Catalano: "Everything he talks about is true. From the guard to the layout to the pay scale to me—I was the assistant then. And one of those 'pets' he talks about was mine; the other was the boss's. He knows this place better than I do—and I'm in charge of it. He was here day and night," Catalano said. 

Berkowitz, by this admission, tied himself and the Sam cult to die dead German shepherds. It blended with his neighbor's report of him walking a dog on Pine Street and the other information we'd accumulated. It also cast new light on the call to Florence Larsen from the Berkowitz impostor seeking a German shepherd. That is, Berkowitz, who was to confess to sole responsibility for the .44 shootings, could also be blamed for the dog killings in the area—as originally did happen. The police routinely placed those incidents at his doorstep. Months later, when more dogs were found, no one paid attention— except us.  

A later check with other animal shelters in lower Westchester revealed that three German shepherds were stolen—at night—from the Mount Vernon Animal Shelter on different occasions between October and December 1980—a year after this unpublished letter was written. There were no signs of forced entry and officials labeled the incidents an inside job. The plan was identical to that Berkowitz described as having been formulated nearly four years earlier by the Sam group. 
  
With regard to the rest of the letter, Berkowitz's words were self-explanatory. We took his warning seriously, and became more cautious than we already were. 

In addition to the Arlis Perry specifics which weren't included in the book sent to Gardner, several items particularly stood out. First, the cult's membership, according to the letter, included successful, prominent citizens. Second, Berkowitz's pointed reference to a "Chosen Lamb" was a clear-cut reference to the Process. The Process, as noted earlier, preached the alliance of the lamb of Christ and the goat of Satan. Illustrations of the lamb and goat joined together appeared in their magazines. 

Finally, the dog shelter job plan graphically demonstrated Berkowitz's ranking in the cult. He wasn't a leader; not by a long shot. Would someone with authority in the group be cho-sen to clean out dog cages? And, by extension, would someone picked to do that work be capable of devising the plans which would successfully frustrate the biggest manhunt in NYPD history for so long? And could he, by himself, compose the Breslin letter—as renowned handwriting expert Charles Hamilton insisted he didn't?  

In Attica prison, the clue-dissemination effort continued. Unaware that we were scrambling frantically in New York and Minot on the Arlis Perry matter, Berkowitz wrote to Lee Chase on October 26 asking her again to send out material on "Operation Photo," which was the code name the clue program was given. Berkowitz told her: "Remain anonymous. Leave my name out of it. All this material is, are helpmates for someone doing a very important investigation. Here's your chance to help. But leave out anything you've got on the 'Admiral's Daughter' [Arlis Perry]. By the way, I know who did it. Not me, but someone from the past whom I had the privilege of meeting. If you want to call it a privilege. I'm not certain that it was." 

Turning from Chase, Berkowitz mailed a packet of occult-related material to Gardner in Minot. The pamphlets, explaining the dangers of satanism, were those he'd just received back from one of the preachers to whom he'd written. 

In a note to Gardner, Berkowitz asked: "Sir, are you making any progress? I doubt if you are. I doubt if you can." He added: "This is all just to let you know what you are up against. Forget it. It's a losing battle."  

Attached to the satanic material was something that just didn't fit in. It was a newspaper clipping about the 1979 crash of an Air Force F-106 jet in Montana.  

"I couldn't understand it," Gardner said. "And then I checked with the Air Force. We learned that when John Carr was stationed in Minot he was a mechanic who worked exclusively on the F-106." Gardner and I were convinced Berkowitz was providing more proof of his association with John Carr.  

Gardner sent the confessed Son of Sam a note asking if the F-106 analysis was correct. Berkowitz didn't respond, but he wrote Lee Chase: "I gave him the best of clues and I did it in my own roundabout way. I feel like I've accomplished some-thing. By the few clippings I sent him, I feel that I helped humanity. The newsclipping on an air crash in Montana said it all. He's very clever."  

On October 27, Berkowitz sent Chase a clipping from the Post which reported the Queens investigation was branching out to several states across the country.

Obviously, this investigation is serious. . . . The article is pretty clear. You know damn well that these Satanists cover their tracks pretty good. You are aware of their intelligence (businessmen, doctors, military personnel, professors, etc.) . . . Cults, as you know, flourish around college campuses. They flourish around military bases, too. Drugs flow all over these two places (universities and bases). Young servicemen and young college students are involved in sexual relations. So mix the two of them up. Put them near each other and what do you have? You've got a pretty wild, dedicated and nasty bunch of young, zealous, anti-establishment devil-worshippers. And what a deadly mixture it is. My, my. Didn't Miss Perry wander around the Stanford cam-pus frequently? Well, start adding, kid. What have we got here? [Arlis Perry did frequently wander the Stanford campus—but that fact was never made public.]  

There is an attorney in Staten Island, N.Y., who was ordered by the court to interview me when I was in Marcy. Of course, I could have refused to talk. But something inside me was beckoning me to talk. I beat around the bush and dropped little hints here and there. But he knew too much.  

It is in the court record that I was in a Holiday Inn. I was staying there when I was in Houston. Houston is a huge, spread-out city. There must be a thousand-some odd motels in this city. Guess what he found out? Guess who was registered in another room at the same Holiday Inn? [Here he named a woman linked to the case.] She was down in Houston when I was. This is why I only stayed at my friend Dan's [Billy Dan Parker] for a few days. I couldn't stay longer because I had other plans. . . . There was my attempt to get a job with the Yonkers Animal Shelter. This guy knew about the cigarettes in my car. Not my pack of butts. [We didn't know.]  

Oh, so many things. I can't go into it all. All this is unpublished. Truly it is a major coverup. All of this, all that went on in Marcy, has been forgotten by the detectives. But they knew of the numerous inconsistencies, the numerous unanswered questions, etc.God, there is so much! Honestly, I could probably type ten full pages detailing every inconsistency, every known fact that I wasn't alone. That it wasn't me. That gun in my possession is all they've got. But if they only knew the real motive. All this would have driven Sherlock Holmes to drink. This will be another Martin Luther King and Kennedy thing. Lee, I know it ALL! The others are gone. Dead. Took off to the prairies. 

Lee, all this takes is common sense. You've got common sense. Unfortunately, not everyone else does. Let's go back for a moment to when I was first arrested. Remember the hysterics? Not me, the citi-zens of New York. Remember the demands for my execution? "Kill him." "Die Berkowitz, Die." Re-member the district attorneys and their pledges to convict at any cost? You must not forget the pres-sures, the terror, the madness, the publicity, the pressure on the police to wrap the case up and catch their man, the digusting press, etc. Keeping all this in mind, it's easy for me to see how they missed so much. Small questions that would gnaw away at an investigator's mind. These little but peculiar stories that began to filter in. Those strange occurrences, etc. ALL OF IT WAS COVERED UP AND DUMPED. It couldn't be explained. There weren't any answers. So they IGNORED it. 

But, time is passing. The pressure is off. The wounds are beginning to heal and the hysterical ter-ror is gone. People are "normal" again. ... So now it is time to recheck everything. It's now time to re-organize and review all the information and evidence that has come in. And NOW the discrepancies can no longer be ignored. Thus, they've discovered that they lacked so very, very, very much. I'm in prison, yet the cops in New York are back where they started from. It's not my fault. Actually, it isn't theirs, either. Nobody was level-headed enough back then to grasp all the evidence. 

Well, here we go. Let's see what happens. Guess what? I've just heard over the radio that the detective whose [sic] been investigating the case has been placed under psychiatric care. The [NYPD] has announced a standstill in the investigation because of "this officer's mental state." I swear. I just heard this. Now, I'll have to wait for the newspapers to elaborate. These thirty-second news/radio items don't reveal much detail. More tomorrow.  

And so ended the month of October 1979.  

As November dawned, Detective Hank Cinotti was on the blocks, the NYPD was out of the case and Santucci's probe surged forward. Gilroy and I made the DA aware of the Arlis Perry matter, which Santucci's office left in the hands of Gardner, Mike Knoop and me. The Santa Clara Sheriff's Depart-ment was briefed on the entire investigation. There, Detective Sergeants Ken Kahn and Tom Beck agreed to sit tight. In a conversation with Kahn, I said that Berkowitz was talking somewhat, providing assistance, and recommended that they let matters be. "We don't want to spook him," Gardner chimed in.  

The entire backstage effort was conducted out of the public eye. But in early November, I encouraged Gardner to let it be known publicly that Berkowitz sent him the packet of satanic materials. 

"That's all we'll let out," I promised. "But it will at least let people know that Berkowitz is aware of what's going on and hasn't denied anything."  

Gardner consented, and on Monday, November 5, Gannett and the Minot Daily News broke the story. In North Dakota, which now had the Son of Sam case in its backyard, the article was bannered in a huge front-page headline "BERKOWITZ TO GARDNER: YOU FIGHT SATAN'S FORCES." The lieutenant's picture and that of Berkowitz accompanied the piece. In Westchester, we played the story on the bottom of page one.  

Once again, the New York Post picked up the article, phoned Gardner and rewrote its own version for Tuesday, November 6. In its headline the Post said that Berkowitz was sending "taunting mail" to Gardner and that he'd attached a note in "childish" handwriting. I knew why the Post used that terminology, to differentiate Berkowitz's writing from the neatly printed Breslin letter—but Berkowitz was doubly miffed.  

He told Chase that he wasn't "taunting" anybody; that he was trying to help. "That childish scrawl just so happens to be the way I write. Sorry." Berkowitz was also annoyed that his correspondence with Gardner reached the public. Chase called Gardner, who wrote and assured Berkowitz it wouldn't happen again. 

Berkowitz also wryly commented on writing expert Charles Hamilton's evaluation of his penmanship and spelling ability that appeared in our articles: "The Bum! The nerve of him stating that I'm not intelligent enough and that sensible writing is above me. Ha. He's got some nerve. Truly, I was kind of insulted. I'm not that dumn, I mean dum, am I?" 

Chase, reluctant to photocopy extensive material for Berkowitz, wrote and told him so. He wasn't thrilled. "Okay, I get the hint. So forget about photocopying. This wasn't going to be another 'nothing' venture. These two, one from New York and one from North Dakota, are trying to uncover a Satanic coven. It isn't a wild goose chase. It's for real. Since they really don't know what they're looking for, your stuff would have helped. But, okay, pass it up. 

"One of the guys who is trying to uncover this occult group is a man who was investigating this 'satanic angle' . . . just after my capture. If you could only know ALL that he's un-covered, I'm certain you'd flee immediately to help him here in N.Y." 

Berkowitz was referring to Gilroy. He still hadn't connected me to the Marcy questions.

Several days later, Berkowitz had a problem he wanted to share with Chase. "Obviously, my father is following this new investigation closely. He is concerned and is continually asking questions. He wants answers. I'm trying to dodge him, but he's persistent. Naturally, he wants me to talk. 'David, tell the truth.' Well, it's not that easy. You understand why. You know the dangers. So forget about operation photo. I could talk tomorrow. But it isn't easy to substantiate what I say, there's the question of what district attorney is willing. None are! Santucci bit off more than he could chew. It's obvious he real-izes this now. The evidence is so overwhelming that only an idiot could ignore it, deny it, and leave it. The evidence is there. But who is the guilty party? Who else besides Berk? They need names, dates, places and other witnesses to acknowledge and agree with each other as to the facts."

⛯   ⛯   ⛯   ⛯   ⛯   ⛯   ⛯

John Santucci may not have "bitten off more than he could chew," but he was rapidly discovering that the case was a maze of complexities and subplots. Still, the DA's probe moved onward. Herb Leifer, George Byrd, Tom Mulderig, Michael Armienti, Tom McCarthy and other assistants toiled well into the nights.  

McCarthy phoned one November morning to tell me that investigators were about to call Berkowitz's friend Denise to question her. I explained that it would be wiser to leave her alone for the time being. "She's very close to him," I said. "And he thinks she's panicky. It could hurt rather than help." 

McCarthy turned the phone over to Mike Armienti, and we discussed the matter for ten minutes. In the end, Armienti agreed to let Denise be for the present.   

Santucci's probers weren't as compliant on another subject, however. Aware that Berkowitz was writing Chase with specific details, they'd tried to find her—only to learn she'd moved and left no forwarding address—purposely. Berkowitz had tipped her off that Santucci would be looking for her. 

Santucci's investigators had unearthed a considerable amount of information about the Carr brothers and others. But more evidence linking those still living to the .44 killings themselves was needed. Accordingly, they wanted to get their hands on copies of Chase's correspondence with Berkowitz.  

As a reporter, I was in a minor bind. I knew where Chase was but couldn't reveal her location. However, I also knew there was evidence in the Berkowitz letters and wanted to make them available to Queens if I could. A solution presented itself in North Dakota.  
In November, Chase phoned Gardner several times. The North Dakota lieutenant persuaded her to mail him some of Berkowitz's letters. He also encouraged her to get in touch with me, saying that it was I who'd broken the case open in the first place. Chase called me, and we spoke for more than an hour.  

"David wants the case solved," she said. "He's tired of being known as the Son of Sam—because he's not. There were a bunch of them. But he's petrified about going into a court-room, and he's afraid the cult will kill his family if he comes forward. That's why he's doing it this way."  

Chase urged me to find a way to get on Berkowitz's mailing list, and agreed to send me copies of all her pertinent correspondence with him. "It's yours. Use it as you need to. This has got to be brought out. But don't give up my name or number to anyone there."  

Herb Leifer knew Chase's name from Berkowitz's mailing list, and he was disappointed that I wouldn't put him in touch with her. But, with her permission, I supplied him with edited copies of the most relevant letters, omitting all personal details from them. So the DA's office finally had Berkowitz's own frank admissions to ponder and add to the evidence file.  

"It's all here," said Leifer. "But who the hell do we arrest? The Carrs and Howard Weiss are dead, and we don't have enough yet on these other people. This is going to be a long, difficult haul. 

"We could sure use David's confirmations about them," he added. "And then we could go for independent corroboration. Under New York law, we'd need more than David's statement, since he's a co-conspirator. You can't convict on just the testimony of an accomplice. We've got to put some of these people at the crime scenes or into this group via other evidence, too." 

"I see what you mean," I answered. "He's given us John and Michael but he says he won't testify. So, in more ways than one, this independent evidence is crucial."  

"Knowing something to be true and being able to prove it in court are two different things," Leifer lamented. "So we just keep working." 

Leifer then went through the list of suspects, which had expanded because the public provided some solid leads after the publication of the newspaper articles. "Too many candidates," he said. "If we've got this cult, there are over twenty people involved in one way or another. But who are the shooters, who are the lookouts and wheelmen, and who planned it all?"  

"Well," I said, "Berkowitz was a shooter; John Carr; maybe Michael. We don't know who shot Stacy Moskowitz, except the evidence and sketches say it wasn't any of them. We've got Ski Cap at the Voskerichian scene, too, and that wasn't any of them." 

"I think Ski Cap might have been a woman," Leifer said. 

"Me, too. It was warm that night and yet this hat was worn, and none was worn at any other shootings that we know of. The hat would hide longer hair. And the witness said the per-son looked to be sixteen to eighteen years old. That could be because of the softer features a woman would have. Berkowitz was there—the other sketch clearly shows that—and yet he confessed to being Ski Cap. Impossible." 

"Yes, it is," Leifer agreed. "He was protecting Ski Cap. If only David would come forward."

"Herb, you're starting to call him David," I teased.  

"With all the people I've talked to, I feel like I know his life almost as well as my own. How he got away with that demon-dog nonsense is beyond me. They just wanted it to be over. To drink their champagne, take their bows and go home as heroes." 

In Attica prison, Berkowitz wasn't concerned about Leifer. He was still immersed in his clue campaign. He then received a letter from his friend Denise in New York City. "On the news they say that D.A. Gold knew all about the idea of an occult group in the beginning when you were first arrested but didn't use any of the stuff in court," Denise wrote. "And imagine, Carr, his daughter, Cassara and that woman in Brooklyn who saw you got a reward. It's very funny, don't you think?" 

Berkowitz immediately wrote to Chase, telling her: "Lee, Gold knew all the long." 

Berkowitz went on to say that he'd written to the preachers requesting occult material. "I had quite a bit to say and I do want to be cautious because I never told anyone (even you) the things I told [them]. Hopefully, [they] can remain trustworthy and concerned. One day you will know the truth. It's difficult to say. Not that I can't find the words, it's my father I'm concerned about—his safety. Regardless, things are moving quickly, yet, I've had nothing to do with it. I'm NOT talking, but the wrong people could possibly think that I am. Either the authorities or someone will learn the truth. If they can't develop anything, then tuff turds. I'm staying buried right here." 

Berkowitz also said: "Immediately after I was arrested, Mr. Borrelli, the homicide chief [captain] second to Dowd, person-ally asked me who else was involved. This is true. He asked me about a certain person because this person called up the police headquarters after I was caught. The telephone conversation bothered Borrelli. This was obvious. He sensed something but was unable to put his finger on it. If you doubt me, then call him. I'm sure the police headquarters and Rockefeller Plaza [Associated Press] would have his new assignment and precinct he works out of."

On November 8, Berkowitz received our October 24 article on the cult in Untermyer Park and its links to the Son of Sam letters. He quickly sent it to Chase. "I've enclosed a very important piece of newsprint. I want this back without delay," he wrote. 

On the twelfth, the first sign of trouble appeared on the horizon. Berkowitz had rethought his feelings about his clues to Gardner ending up in print. He castigated the Post for distorting his intent, and then told Chase: "I am quite upset with this stuff turning up in the papers. I thought the Sheriff would keep silent. Apparently, he got so excited when he discovered the major clue [about John Carr and the F-106] in that seemingly insignificant article that he just had to tell somebody about it. No doubt, the Minot Daily News is bucking for a Pulitzer Prize/Journalism award. Well, it would be the first one in the newspaper's history and certainly the last. Nothing ever happens in Minot!" 

But he added: "Fine work was done by the Sheriff because he finally figured it all out—but I left him thinking for awhile before he solved the riddle." Berkowitz then talked about the puzzle in "the first sentence of the Breslin letter" and its "hidden clues" [the Black Mass elements and link to Untermyer Park]. 

A few days later, Berkowitz opened a note from Denise. Santucci's office reversed its agreement with me and phoned her, as Gardner did earlier when he thought an anonymous call from Chase had been made by Denise. Denise, as I knew well, was reacting nervously. 

"Dave, I'm getting frightened. Everybody knows my name and number. . . . Please don't write to anyone about the case. The Queens D.A. called the Gallery [MOS] and asked to see the letters you write them. They don't know what to do and I said not to show them anything." 

Berkowitz then told Chase: "Why must she always panic? The District Attorney from Queens tried to contact her. So what did she do? She got hysterical and called the Middle of Silence Gallery and told them not to give the D.A. any of my letters. Too bad, because in it I explained the meaning of the symbol—you know what I mean [the Son of Sam symbol]. I mean, too, that I have been writing the Gallery from time to time and I really wouldn't mind if the D.A. peeked at some of  them [the letters]. Of course, Denise told them to hide the letters and not to cooperate." 

Berkowitz's mild disappointment with Gardner and his realization that Denise was upset were minute considerations compared with what would happen next. 

Serious trouble was waiting in the wings. 

NEXT
"Sam" Speaks