I. The Early Years..........................................1 II. The Setup................................................11 III. Lake Tahoe, Nevada "Fatal Day"...........................15 IV. The Investigations (1970 - 1973).........................27 V. "Zodiac" in Los Angeles..................................47 VI. The Aftermath............................................51 VII. Capt. William Cann.......................................55 VIII. The Later Years..........................................59 IX. The Final Investigations (2002-2008).....................63 X. Police Failure...........................................73 XI. "Zodiac" and Jack the Ripper.............................79 XII. The Final Chapter........................................81
The Early Years
Gravesite
As I stand here on a beautiful sunny day in 2008 at Mt. Vernon Memorial Cemetery in Fair Oaks, California, looking down at the two adjacent graves with tears streaming down my cheeks, I am wishing that I could go back in time. Knowing what I know now, I would have killed them both myself. Their names were Wayne Thomas Messier and his father, Wilfred Messier. Wayne was a member of the Church of Satan in San Francisco and a Charles Manson follower. Of course I never knew all this when I first met him. I must expose this killer, but all the people that were involved are dead. Who the hell is going to believe me! As I looked down at his headstone, I made a promise to all his victims and myself that someday I would let the world know who he really was!
My name is Ray Ottoboni. I was born in San Francisco and then raised in Colma, California. Colma is a small town just south of San Francisco, which is comprised mostly of cemeteries. Having grown up in Colma, I wasn't in the least bit uncomfortable being around gravesites. But one particular cemetery scares the hell out of me, because this is where he is buried. All the horrible memories come flooding back. Even though all those years have gone by, it still feels like yesterday. The guilt and memories haunt me again and again. It started with an act of friendship and led to the murder of an innocent woman and the assassination of a Chief of Police. How can I overcome these nightmares? Having grown up an only child of wealthy parents, I think it's fair to say that I had a somewhat sheltered childhood. I was in politics most of my life and was devoutly religious, and I naively believed that everyone was good. Boy, was I in for a rude awakening. Let me tell you about my famous father, Raymond Dominic Ottoboni. He was a nurseryman and owned six large greenhouses where he grew flowers, which he sold to florists in San Francisco. He had his own florist's shop in Colma. He sold flowers to the many people who visited the gravesites of their beloved ones. But he made his millions in real estate. He had inherited a large amount of land from his father in Colma. When interstate 80 was being built, my father bought houses at the auction held by the state of California. He moved all these houses to his properties in Colma, remodeled them and set them up as rental properties. He became very active in local politics and soon became one of the most powerful politicians in San Mateo County, which is south of San Francisco. He was a tyrant. He ruled his little kingdom with an iron fist.
When I said, "My father was a powerful politician in San Mateo County," I don't think the readers understand what I meant! In the late 1960's the small town of Colma, California, was in trouble. Daly City, Broadmoor (unincorporated Colma) and South San San Francisco wanted to take control of Colma. All of the people in Colma didn't want to live in another city! But they had no choice! The three cities I mention above had one major obstacle in their path! That obstacle was my father! He knew powerful people everywhere! If it weren't for my father, the town of Colma wouldn't be there today! I wonder if the people of Colma are aware of that today!! That's why he was the "King of Colma," and his legend will live on forever!
He knew and hung around with all the sheriffs, police chiefs and mayors in San Mateo County and the San Francisco area. There was a famous shooting range on Hillside Boulevard that he rented from Olivet Cemetery. He held monthly shooting tournaments that were attended by practically all of the higher echelon officers from many police departments in the bay area. There were also many famous celebrities that came to the shooting range to practice with their firearms. Among these celebrities were Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, football legend Bob St. Clair, (my father and Mr. St. Clair were close friends and often went deer hunting together), and the famous mayor of San Francisco, Joe Alioto. When my father needed a favor he always went to Mayor Alioto. Remember, there were rumors that Mayor Alioto was associated with the mob.
My father was violent at times when things didn't go the way he wanted. He could get anything he wanted, no matter what it cost. For example, in 1959, I got a letter from the draft board, but I never got drafted because my father knew Mr. Chase, who was head of the draft board. I don't know exactly how he had managed that. I only know that he did. My father was a dangerous man. Don't cross him or you would be sorry.
Let's go back in time. It was January of 1970; my father insisted that I take the job as police officer. I didn't want to be a cop. I was a spoiled rich kid, also I was worried that I might get killed, anyway I gave in and took the job. My father left me no choice in the matter. I went to the police academy in San Mateo, California, on Monday through Friday, and worked as a policeman on the weekends.
Each day that I was at the police academy it was like a prison sentence. I was the only policeman from Colma that had ever gone to the academy, and it was a living hell! The policemen ridiculed me that Colma had only two policemen, and they named me the "Cop of the Dead." Everyday I was made fun of. I got in a fight with an officer about what he said about my city! During the time that I went to the academy, I hated cops! My academy training lasted three months and I graduated in the first week of April 1970. Later in 1971 when I was Chief of Police, I went to the FBI school in San Bruno, California, for training in investigations.
In 1970 there were only two police officers in the small town of Colma, Dino Lagomarsino and myself. Dino was Chief of Police but he had no training in police work. It was an appointed position. He and I worked Monday through Friday on the day shift and Broadmoor Police Department was contracted by Colma to patrol in the evenings and on weekends. Broadmoor was not a city; it was unincorporated Colma. My job as a policeman was a nightmare. Everything I did was under constant scrutiny by my father's enemies of which he had many.
My duties as the Colma Police Officer were escorting funeral processions of course, writing speeding tickets (and there were lots of these, which produced much needed revenue for the town), and attending to the scenes of traffic accidents. At the accident scenes I would determine if anyone needed to be cited for causing the accident and if there was a need to call Mercy Ambulance to attend injuries.
One day in the spring of 1970 started a chain of events that would change my life forever. I was at the scene of a one-car accident on Mission Street. The car had gone off the side of the road and hit a telephone pole, sending the driver through the windshield (hardly anybody wore seatbelts in those days, even if their car was equipped with them). So, I got on the radio and called for the ambulance. The Mercy Ambulance Company had the contract for all the Colma/Daly City area. One paramedic and a driver who had no medical training manned the ambulances. That was the fateful day that I met Wayne Messier, who was the Mercy Ambulance driver that responded to the call.
Wayne stood about 5'8" or 5'9". He was a husky man with a nondescript face. He walked with a limp as a result of a birth defect. I have always been a gregarious person and had a talent for engaging people in conversation. He asked me about my gun, a Colt 357 Magnum with pearl grips. He was impressed with the fancy grips. He mentioned that he didn't have any place to go shooting so I told him about my father's shooting range and invited him to come check it out some day. We went to the range about three days later. He followed me there in a white Chevy Impala. When he got out of the car I couldn't believe my eyes. He was dressed in a military uniform head to toe, complete with helmet and shoes (wing walkers). He wore two guns, one on each hip, and a bayonet in a holster behind the right gun. I can never forget that bayonet. I could tell that Wayne was very proud of it. It had a wood handle, and as he showed it off to me, he told me that it was "hand-made!" I should have realized then that something was wrong. He handled his guns like a professional. He was ambidextrous and shot equally well with both hands. He was quite a showoff with his talent and he ribbed me about being a better shot than I was. Two weeks went by and then one day I was working as a Police Officer at the scene of an automobile accident. I got on the radio and called for an ambulance. That was the second time I met Wayne Messier. Wayne told me that he read about me in the newspaper. I was shocked that he knew a lot about me!
He called me "Junior", and I told him I hated that name (the newspaper gave me that nickname). I believe it was that day he told me he was an engineer. Naturally, I didn't believe him. That would be almost impossible for anyone to be an engineer and then become an ambulance driver!
During the months we knew each other, somehow he got the idea of setting me up as an accomplice in a murder.
One day Wayne showed up at the range with a friend that he introduced as Bruce Davis. Years later during my investigations after Tahoe, I found out that Bruce was a Charles Manson hit man. When I think back on my associations in those days, I can only shake my head with abject wonder at just how naive I really was. I also had a friend there that day that I had known for years before becoming a policeman. I'll call him Joey C. He had a black belt in karate and a very violent temper. He hated almost everybody he met, especially blacks and always wanted to "kick their ass." He had been arrested as a juvenile for killing a black man. In retrospect the four of us made an astounding group that day. A policeman, a hit man, and two psycho killers.
In the summer of 1970, Wayne and his father came to Colma Police Station to see me. They wanted to go pistol shooting at my father's range. I got in my police car and they followed me up to the shooting range. Both of them wore military outfits. Wayne had a bayonet in a holster, and one pistol on each hip. Wilfred was a sergeant in World War II, and he had all his medals on his coat. He had a 45 automatic pistol on his right hip. He looked like General Patton. Wayne also had a 45 automatic pistol and a 7mm Ruger pistol.
Wayne and Wilfred shot like they were in World War II. They had anger and hatred on their faces. I never knew why Wayne wore a bayonet on his hip! Later on I found out why!
Wayne and I started spending a fair amount of time together. When we were both off-duty we would go the range and go out to eat at Lyons Restaurant and Joe's of Westlake. He had a very domineering personality and talked to me like I was his slave.
When he demanded my full attention he would stare hard into my eyes and say, "I am speaking to you!"
This would unnerve me but I was an easygoing person and I would put up with it. Wayne was always saying things trying to shock and impress me. One day he told me that he belonged to the Church of Satan. I laughed, "Come on, get serious!"
He immediately turned very angry and told me he would prove it. He said he would take me to the church and introduce me to the "Master". I just looked at him sideways, disbelieving, and the subject was dropped for the time being.
In mid July, on a Saturday, we were at the shooting range and Wayne suggested that we go to the Church of Satan the next day. I had mixed feelings about going. Being devoutly religious, it gave me the creeps thinking about it, but I was curious, too. So I said, "OK, I'll go with you!"
The next day in my Chevy Malibu, I picked up Wayne at the Broadmoor house, and we went to San Francisco to visit the Church of Satan. I was scared to go, but I thought I was doing nothing wrong against God. I was only curious what the Satan Church was about! I knew Wayne's idea was to convert me to Satanism, but I was a devoted Catholic. In 1960 I went into the seminary to become a priest, but it didn't work out. I parked the car and we walked to the church. I got an eerie feeling about going in, but I went in anyway.
It was a long time ago, but I haven't forgotten the Church of Satan. It was painted black and was located on California Street in San Francisco. I was surprised when I saw that the church was packed full of worshippers. After the services we waited out in front of the church because Wayne wanted to introduce me to Anton LeVay. Mr. LeVay was the founder of the First Church of Satan. He was a powerful man and played the devil in "Rosemary's Baby." When he performed in church he wore a black robe, and a black mask (devil costume) with goat horns on his head. Around his neck he wore a necklace shaped like a star. The star was upside down. The symbol of Satan is the inverted pentagram with the head of a goat in it. (Two horns pointed defiantly toward heaven and three horns downward representing the trinity denied.) The number (5) is vital in the mark of Satan. In the Church the crucifix is hung upside down. The altar is covered in black and the candles are black. The satanic holy water contains a mixture of semen and urine. The mendes "goat" is a Satanist symbol of the devil. The mass is called the "Black Mass." Wayne Messier wore a necklace with a "goat" with horns. Now, let's get back to Anton LeVay. He wore a dark colored robe and he had an air of authority about him. He was tall and lean with a shaved head and a goatee that came to a very sharp point. When I met Mr. LeVay, Wayne introduced me as a friend of his who was visiting the church for the first time. Wayne told him that I had made history by being the youngest mayor ever in California. (Which was true, I was mayor of Colma in 1968, before I became a policeman.) He was very cordial as he shook my hand and he told me that he had read about me in the papers. I remember that he had a very penetrating gaze, and a shiver went up my spine when he looked at me. As other people started gathering around trying to get his attention he said that he was pleased to meet me and hoped that I would come again. I never did. It was a scary experience and having satisfied my curiosity about it, I had no reason or desire to go again. In 1975 the Church of Satan suffered a serious loss of members, the headquarters remained in San Francisco. Anton LaVey became inactive and then went into seclusion. LaVey suffered from heart problems for years, he died on October 30, 1997, at the age of 67. He was a legend of his time.
The next day I told my mother that I had gone there. I always told my mother everything. She told my father and he exploded with rage. He said to me, "How stupid can you be? If someone saw you there it would have been in all the papers that you're a Satan worshiper. You would have brought disgrace on our family name, you fucking bum." I told him I was sorry and I was never going back again.
When I went back to work, I was so confused about my life! Why am I associating with Wayne? He worships the devil and that could be dangerous for me. Bad thoughts were going through my mind. Wayne is all messed up, and he's going to make me that way. I am afraid of him, but I have to find out why he knows a lot about me. All that week I was thinking that probably he needed a friend. Wayne was a loner, like me. Wayne hated everybody, especially cops. But why is he friendly towards me? After that week passed I forgot all the bad thoughts, and I felt better about myself. The next time I saw Wayne was at the doughnut shop, which was located on El Camino Real in Broadmoor. Wayne and the ambulance driver were taking a break from the job. Everyday I stopped at the doughnut shop during work hours. Wayne approached me and asked if I wanted to go to lunch at Joe's of Westlake tomorrow? (Joe's of Westlake is located in Daly City, California.) Tomorrow, being Saturday, (I don't work on weekends and neither did Wayne.) I stated, "Where do I pick you up and what time?"
Wayne replied, "11 am at the Broadmoor house."
I smiled and replied, "I will be there."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from End of "Zodiac" by Gino Valentino Copyright © 2009 by Gino Valentino. Excerpted by permission.
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