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If we’d made the film,
there would’ve been a car here

probably in that
spot on the left

and it would’ve been a
California Highway Patrol car

but era-appropriate

so like a 1960s...

black cruiser with a white door

and a kind of...

badge on the side.

This would’ve all been
reenactment, obviously

which is how all these things
tend to start now.

Like, everything’s got to have
that rhythm of drama...

even when it's documentary.

So inside the cruiser, we'd
have an actor playing Lyndon,

the cop at the center
of the story,

and he's just sitting there
minding his own business

when in pulls this other car.

And of all the spots in
the parking lot,

this car pulls up
right next to Lyndon’s.

And so at first, Lyndon doesn't
necessarily think much of it.

but eventually he
looks over at the guy

and he sees

that the guy is
staring right at him.

And we’d have heard Lyndon's
inner monologue throughout this

which would’ve been
taken from the book.

I’ll just read a
little bit of that now.

So he says:

‘He did not drop his
eyes or turn away.’

‘With his face
quivering in spasms,’

‘and an unflinching
stare of hate,’

‘I knew I was looking
into the eyes of death.’

So he describes it
in these almost...

biblical terms.

And obviously we'd have had
a close-up of these eyes...

if we could find an actor

with eyes menacing enough
to match that description

and probably cross-cutting
between that

and Lyndon's eyes,
and it's this kind of...

face-off situation

between these two men
in silence in this parking lot.

This feeling of
a growing tension

that has to break in some way.

And finally,
just when you think

that the worst could happen,
that this could…

rupture into violence...

Lyndon leaps into action.

I had it so clear in my mind:
this shot of Lyndon’s hand,

lurching for the gearstick,

pulling it into reverse and
then he’s out of there

and the hills are whirling
through the windows

as the car reverses out
of the parking lot

and guns it onto the highway.

And the tension breaks

but there's also this
sense of high drama

that has erupted
from this confrontation,

even if we don't necessarily
know what any of it

signifies...

yet.

So we would’ve followed
Lyndon down the highway,

until he finds a place to
pull over and get his bearings

and then he would have
lowered his... sun visor

and pinned to the back of it
is the famous police sketch

of the Zodiac Killer.

Fuck... it would’ve been good.

And from there we'd have
gone straight into

the title sequence,

which kind of
would’ve made itself.

All these things are basically
built to the same model now.

It's lots of layered imagery,

so you can never quite tell
what you're looking at...

bodies and landscapes,
all intermingled,

but in a very meaningful way.

What are we,
but products of the landscape?

But with a kind of disjointed,
scratchy aesthetic,

as though it’s been made by
the serial killer themselves.

The same sorts of images
pop up again and again:

you got like...
you know...

birds taking flight

and a shadowy man...
walking away

and kind of
country-inflected music

but with a dark edge.

And everything's
vague and fluid,

like it's being viewed through
the fog of a dream.

Lots of tiny text...

that's almost
too small for human eyes,

I guess to make
it look cinematic.

And over the top of all this,

audio that starts to
tell the story of the case.

‘You can see that this
does not look like grief...’

‘... does not read as grief.’

And typically by the end,
it gets weirdly talky,

It is almost like you’re
watching a trailer

for the film you're
already watching.

‘It was the case that goes
to the heart of our democracy.’

‘This is a murder which, unless
solved, won't be forgotten.’

It kind of sets up
everything and nothing.

All the soundbites are just
people saying things like:

‘The things that went on...
were beyond the imagination.’

Or whatever.

Like, it doesn’t really
tell you anything...

but at the same time,
it gives you the general vibe

in case you’ve got one
eye on your phone.

So then we'd have
gone back to Lyndon

coming back down
the highway after this...

unsettling confrontation.

Maybe still stealing the
odd glance at the sketch.

And obviously, he's realizing

that he may have
just come into contact

with the most
wanted man in America.

But for all the adrenaline
of that moment,

he also managed to take down
the guy's license plate.

So right from the off, we're
getting this sense of Lyndon

as someone who's
calm in a crisis.

I should probably give some
general background on Lyndon.

So Lyndon was a California
Highway Patrol cop

for, I think, 30 years,
maybe longer.

And towards the end of his
life, he published this book,

about his lifelong quest

to bring the
Zodiac Killer to justice,

starting that day
up at the rest stop.

It's called...

‘The Zodiac Killer Cover-Up’

a.k.a. ‘The Silenced Badge’.

And it's got this
very distinctive cover

with this bright red
spider's web

with a little crosshair symbol
at the center

because that was the
Zodiac Killer's trademark.

And I remember
seeing that cover

in thumbnail form on Amazon,

presumably after
the algorithm had

exhausted every other
true crime book on the market,

and just being
very drawn to it.

So I bought the book,

read it kind of
absentmindedly at first,

but I remember
being struck by how

incredibly cinematic
a lot of it was.

It feels like it's been
written in the mold

of a true crime documentary.

And so even though I’d
never really imagined

making a true crime doc,

working in documentary these
days, true crime’s got this...

gravitational pull.

Eventually, you just...
give in to it.

So I started trying to get
the rights to the book,

from Lyndon’s family.

And it all seemed
to be going well.

We were deep into
contract negotiations

and starting pre-production.

I even went out to Vallejo

in the Bay Area, where it
all took place, and started...

scouting around for locations,

speaking to people I thought
might make good interviewees.

So I was actually out there,
working on it,

when I got the email to say

that Lyndon’s family
had pulled out

and that we weren’t
getting the rights to the book.

And I still don't know
entirely why...

whether it was a case of them
wanting more money or more...

control over the
finished product, or just...

someone else swooping in

promising to make it the next
Tiger King, or whatever.

But it was honestly kind of
devastating, by that point,

because I really had
figured the whole thing out,

right down to the locations
for the re-enactments.

The way I was picturing it

the majority of the
investigation was going to be

based in Lyndon’s home

or what we would’ve been
passing off as Lyndon’s home,

where, unable to put this

confrontation at the rest
stop out of his mind,

he starts to mount this kind of
freelance investigation.

And at first, he's just
laying it all out,

and I think we could have had
him literally laying it all out

across the table

and seeing if
the pieces fit together.

But as time goes on
and he becomes

more and more
immersed in this case,

we'd have filled the space
with more and more stuff:

pin boards and photocopies,
library books.

Anyway, he's got the
license plate number

so the first thing he does
is run a check on that

and comes back with the name:

George Russell Tucker.

Classic serial killer name.

Three names.

Apparently that's because
the media always uses

people's middle names after
they become serial killers,

so they don't get confused with
anyone else with the same name,

the same first and second name.

But as a result, the second
you say someone's middle name,

they sound like
a serial killer.

It works both ways.

And then, along with the name,

he gets a photograph
of the guy.

We'd have had, inevitably,
the moment where

the envelope arrives from the
DMV and he pulls out

the photocopy of
the driving license,

slides it alongside
the police sketch,

and needless to say,

the similarities are striking.

And again, we'd be hearing
Lyndon’s words from the book,

which capture that sense
that he's kind of

approaching this
with a degree of skepticism

and it's only actually the
sheer weight of the evidence

that means he's duty bound
to look further.

So he says:

‘The horn-rimmed glasses
were very prominent.’

‘The shape of his hair...

‘was nearly a perfect match.’

‘A mad dog killer
was on the loose’

‘and apparently living nearby.’

‘Very close indeed.’

It wouldn’t have been me
reading all of this, obviously.

We'd have hired an actor with a
voice more similar to Lyndon’s.

But actually, we probably would
have left it kind of ambiguous

as to whether it was an actor,
or Lyndon himself.

If you show a tape player the
first time you hear the voice,

you can kind of just let people
draw their own conclusions.

Apparently in the industry,
they call those shots...

‘evocative B-roll’

You know, like those
standalone images

that sort of evoke a scene

without actually
showing much of it.

Like sometimes
they'll have people in them,

but they're always
just at the edge of frame

or kind of falling out of focus

in some improbable way.

‘Bactors’.

That's what someone
told me they’re called.

Because you can only
ever see their backs.

But I see why they do it:
it is almost like the more...

generic the image...

the more effective it is
as visual shorthand.

Like there was this other bit
of evidence against Tucker,

related to a boot print

that was found at one
of the Zodiac crime scenes,

and if that's the
only relevant detail,

you don't really need
the whole crime scene.

You just need that one shot
of the boot print...

in the mud.

Maybe even like a flashbulb...

like it's a crime scene
photograph being taken.

Did they use flashbulbs...

in the 60s?

We'd have gone with it anyway,
it’s very dramatic.

Like, the big flash
of the bulb,

we see the boot print,

and maybe the bulb
falls to the ground

and smashes next
to the boot print.

You can see it, can’t you?

And then the next scene
would have been Lyndon

bringing his findings
to his superiors

or to the team leading the
Zodiac investigation in Vallejo

and they agree to
call Tucker in for questioning.

This is actually a library,

not a police station.

It’s much easier to
film at a library

so we were gonna do
the exteriors

and some of the interiors here.

And the way this works in
the book is a little convoluted

because obviously this wasn't
Lyndon's jurisdiction.

I don't think he was
actually present

when Tucker was brought in
for questioning.

But dramatically,
we would have wanted him there.

So I think we would have at
least implied that he was there

without going so far
as to actually state it.

In fact, I always
imagined Lyndon

behind a two-way mirror

and that he would be
monitoring this interrogation

from the relative security
of the next room.

So they bring Tucker in

and they ask him for a series
of basic personal details:

full name, address...

But for our purposes, this
is just an excuse for Lyndon

to finally get like a real
close up look at the guy,

not in a moment of heightened
tension like at the rest area,

but now in a cool and collected
way, where he can actually

scrutinize the man who's
physically sat in front of him.

And at the same time,
we'd have tried to

fill in some of who
Tucker actually was.

As far as I could tell, there's
no actual footage of him,

unfortunately,

but

there's those 4 or 5 bits
of home movie footage

of American families
in suburbia of that era

that you see in
every documentary

because they can
stand in for...

the whole idea
of American childhood.

So that would have
done the job.

But the point here is that
Lyndon’s actually getting

a real sense of the guy

and asking,

could this actually
be the Zodiac Killer?

And of course, the answer
would have been yes

because we would’ve

staged this entirely to
confirm those suspicions

so all the classic
interrogative signifiers:

cigarette perched
on an ashtray,

reel-to-reel tape recorder,

ticking clock on the wall,

the interrogation lamp.

Do you picture an
interrogation lamp

like a desk lamp
or a hanging lamp?

A hanging lamp.

And they're always swinging.

Why are they swinging?

Is the implication
that it's got tense?

Someone's knocked the lamp.

The bad cop stood to his feet

and knocked the lamp
and it's gone swinging.

See, I'm not saying that having
seen a lot of these things

is all the training I would
have needed to make one,

but I do think it would have
got me pretty far.

What happened next would
have taken things up a notch,

dramatically speaking.

But actually, it's kind of...

hard to know what I can

and can't talk about here.

Legally.

A lot of what I've
described thus far,

there's multiple sources for.

So like, the scene at the
beginning in the rest area...

Lyndon filed a police report

so some of the details of
that are in there.

He gave interviews

over the course of his life,
where he talked about it.

So there's these
various sources

diluting the extent to which
we're drawing from...

Lyndon’s book

which obviously,
we don't have the rights to.

The tricky thing is when
you get to sections like this

where the book really
is the only source.

And so there's kind of a limit

to what I can say.

But without getting
into it too much,

essentially, Lyndon alleges

a kind of conspiracy

in which Tucker was able

to exert influence within the
Solano County Sheriff's Office

and basically get the
investigation shut down.

So this would have been a
kind of montage

where word is making its way
through the corridors of power.

You know, like...

phone call begets
phone call begets phone call

until it reaches
the highest authority,

the sheriff of the county.

And we'd throw in
a few interview moments

where people are like,
‘oh, power in Vallejo...’

‘it's all about...’

‘who you know.’

Finally, Lyndon hears that word
has come down from the sheriff,

and obviously it's
not what he wants to hear.

I'll read the actual quote
from the book...

because it gives
you a sense of the

conspiratorial tone
of the thing.

The sheriff's message is:

‘Belay all such orders’

‘and forget about
George Tucker completely.’

‘I don't care who he is.’

‘I am telling you to
destroy your notes’

‘and burn your files.’

‘I never want to hear
the man's name again.’

‘Ever.’

So that’s good...
dramatic stuff, right?

I presume the ‘burn your files’
thing was not literal

but obviously we'd have
had to make it literal.

That’s too good to pass up on.

I'm imagining all this stuff
that we've seen earlier,

like the printout of Tucker's
name

or the Zodiac police sketch,

all of this stuff,
all of this key evidence

being swallowed up by flames

as we see the scale of the
perversion of justice at hand.

And through it all,
there’s this sense that

you know

not only was Lyndon
on to something,

but he actually got
too close to the truth.

Alright, end of act one.

So the next sequence would
have been a kind of...

dust-settling moment.

Lyndon’s off the case

and so by default,
he's back to the daily grind:

routine traffic stops,

seeing the normality - the
banality - of life in Vallejo.

Oh, wait, this is amazing.

But for him it's instilled with
a real sense of of anti-climax.

He's gone from being the cop
who's going to solve

the most high-profile murder
case in the world

to being the cop who
hands out parking tickets.

But the point would have been,

and maybe we'd have had some of
our interviewees spell it out:

that that banality is
really just a veneer,

masking something
more sinister.

And actually, getting people
to say that, doesn’t really

take much work.

There’s two things
people ever say about

the places where these
sorts of crimes happened.

Like, oh, it was idyllic.

‘Waterloo was a great place.’

Kids played out in the street.
You didn't lock your doors.

‘Kids rode their bikes.’

‘It's just a very
quiet neighborhood.’

‘It's a very isolated
little community.’

‘It's a beautiful place...’

‘but...’

But it had a dark side.

‘... there's a dark side.’

And so that shift
would have led us

inexorably towards...

Tucker's house.

I think we would have had it so
the first time he drives by,

it's almost by accident.

Like he’s...

He is driving by on
one of these routine calls

and happens to see Tucker...

maybe like...

emptying his trash or...

parking his car.

And is reminded,
like, oh...

as long as I do nothing,

this guy is still
out in the world

potentially committing
further crimes.

But what’s more, the way he
describes the house is like

this perfect villain's lair.

He says its...

‘surrounded by an unusual
grove of whispering pines’

and that...

‘no stranger’s eye can pierce
its foreboding veil’.

And the sense would’ve been
that his suspicions were

really starting to
solidify here,

really just based
on seeing this...

fucking creepy house.

It's intuition more
than anything else.

This isn't the actual
house, incidentally.

The actual house isn’t
anywhere near spooky enough.

Anyway, I don't know if we
would’ve needed some moment

that it crossed into...
actually sinister.

Oh, in fact I tell you what
it would have been...

After a few days of staking
the place out,

Lyndon discovered these...

bits of graffiti
around the house.

Let me read
from the book again.

‘One day, I noticed
something very strange.’

‘Someone had taken white paint’

‘and painted an inverted
cross with arrows’

‘on the telephone pole on
the right side of the house.’

‘Then lo and behold,’

‘on a concrete water cistern
to the left of the house,’

‘was painted a large hatchet.’

And because he describes
finding these symbols

as though he's unearthing
some dark, occult mystery,

I always imagined them hidden
behind reeds, or something,

like Lyndon had to
pull back something

to see these ominous symbols

painted around
this creepy house.

Um...

I mean, there is a third one,
that we would have had to lose,

because the
third one depicts...

‘two nude males engaged in
explicit homosexual activity’

and the photograph of this
in the book is...

to Lyndon, I think,
very sinister.

To a contemporary viewer,
I think, slightly less ominous

than the hatchet.

We probably would have
taken it out, in the interest

of trying to make
the theory convincing.

You can still deploy

someone just having a bad vibe

and living in a creepy house

but today's Netflix viewers

don’t get as worked up about
someone being gay, potentially.

Or bi, actually.
He doesn't say he was gay.

He says that Tucker was bi.

Although adorably, he actually
says that he was ‘AC/DC’,

which is a wonderfully 1950s
way of putting it.

So next Lyndon
starts to build this...

crack team

assembled from across
Vallejo society

in order to aid his
investigation into Tucker

which is kind of amazing
for our purposes,

because that’s already like
something out of a film.

And this group consists
of him, obviously,

and a few of his friends
from law enforcement,

from the California Highway
Patrol and other agencies,

as well as various people
from local government,

and then, weirdly,
Lyndon's minister...

a guy called Ernie,

who was the minister at the
local United Methodist Church.

And in my head, I pictured
them meeting in a diner,

somewhere unremarkable,
somewhere everyday,

where they can slowly
start to build

this case against Tucker.

And a few of them
are still alive,

so I was imagining

getting them down to the diner
and filming them...

getting out of their cars,

their boots coming
down on the tarmac,

sitting them down in a booth
and getting them to

play the role of
the hot-shot detective.

You know what I mean?

I feel like all these
figures of authority,

the second you point
a camera at them,

they just know what to do.

You know, they
know the image of a cop

in a true crime show.

And so without prompting,
they walk in the right way

and they talk about themselves
in the right way.

‘What I figured out at an
early age in the Bureau is...’

‘you push it, and then...
you keep pushing.’

Even just the nicknames!

They all have these
clearly self-anointed nicknames

and about half of them
seem to be ‘the bulldog’.

‘What was your nickname?’

‘The Bulldog’

‘Bulldog’

‘The Bulldogs’

It’s like there's
no direction required.

And I was imagining these
interviews as a springboard

for discussing each of the
killings in more detail.

You know, someone ominously
references one of the crimes,

and we cut to the microfiche in
the archive, whizzing back to

‘July 4th, 1969’.

I think that actually is...

the date of one of
the Zodiac crimes.

This is how embedded
it is in my head.

And then they discuss
the facts of the crime

and how Tucker
might be implicated.

And meanwhile,

our ‘evocative B-roll’
is going into overdrive.

All the classic staples:

the gun...

rising up towards the camera,

shell casings
clattering to the ground,

crime scene tape...

stretching out into
the distance,

Or...

blood,

pooling on the ground.

Maybe a hand
reaching in to touch it,

as though to check
it's actually blood.

Plus all the actual police
photographs of the crime scene.

Which now

I feel like, even recently,
you could just show those,

and now everything's so jazzy.

Like, at the very least,
now they have to be placed

in a kind of 3D environment

or be falling in and
out of focus

with a bit of dust
dancing across their surface,

and the thing I increasingly
see now is

they've taken the crime
scene photograph and they've...

created a three-dimensional
image from it.

You know, it'll be like
a layered thing.

It's like you're moving
through the space

so you can be not just

at the place where a horrific,
brutal murder took place,

but actually traveling through
it, like on Google Street View.

It's probably good work

for some graphic
artist somewhere,

someone who knows
After Effects.

You must just...

forget what you're looking at.

And so between
all of that, we'd...

fill in the general
contours of the case.

Do you wanna
fill in some of that now?

Uh...

No.

Okay.

No, not at all.

I feel like that's...

the only saving grace of not
getting to make the film,

is that we don't have to...

re-tell the story
of the Zodiac Killer

for the thousandth time.

Anyway, they're
doing all this work

to link Tucker to
each of the crimes

but obviously, this is
all off the books

because Lyndon’s been told
not to pursue the case.

So next, him and his team

have to take their theory
and get it in front of someone

higher up the chain of command.

He puts together a dossier

of his and
his colleagues’ findings,

and then together
they go into these

centers of investigative power,

slam down the dossier,

and they think that's
all they need to show,

but instead, these agencies
just don't seem to care.

They have their own suspect,
their own theories of the case,

and they don’t want
some outsider

telling them how
to do their job.

So the main challenge
for Lyndon becomes

getting anyone to hear him out.

But then at the same time,
he kind of doesn't

want too many people
to hear him out,

because if you get too
many people on board,

it kind of ceases to be
your suspect anymore,

ceases to be your theory.

So much of what's making it
possible for me to talk about

Lyndon and his suspect
without the rights to the book,

is the fact that he wasn't
terribly discreet.

Like, he went on the radio
and talked about his suspect.

He gave interviews
to newspapers.

Like, in one sense, he really
would have been better

just keeping it to himself.

Like, it's not just the
quality of the evidence.

It's the...

exclusivity.

Like, did you watch The Jinx

when it went out?

No.

The final episode of that
is unbelievable.

So for six episodes or
whatever, they've been pursuing

this guy called Robert Durst,

who is this eccentric heir

to a real estate fortune,

who's suspected
of murdering three people.

And he's interviewed in this
show and always kind of

dodges their questions

and skillfully evades
incriminating himself

right up until
this final episode,

where, at the end
of his final interview,

with the filmmakers

he goes to the bathroom
and unknowingly,

still wearing his microphone,
confesses to himself...

It's unbelievably chilling.

Just incredible television.

And the timing was just unreal.

I think Durst was arrested
the day before the airing,

and then in the finale,

you see exactly how and
why he was caught,

but it did beg the question:
how did this ever line up?

Because obviously
that interview was conducted

I think years before the
broadcast of the show,

and so whatever
the legality of it,

it would seem quite ethically
dubious if the filmmakers had

left this murderer
to be walking the streets

for two years,
just in the interest of

holding back a big reveal
for their final episode.

And the story that they told

was that they hadn't
actually known

that they had
captured the confession.

That that tape
went unlistened to

for months or years
after it was recorded,

and that they realized
like a week before

the final episode was gonna
air, just in time to edit it in

and the fact that he was
therefore arrested

the day of the airing
or the day before or whatever,

is just a happy accident,

slash…

the greatest thing that’s
ever happened to them

in their filmmaking lives.

But anyway,
in Lyndon's telling,

any secrecy is very
much foisted upon him

by the incompetence of
these various agencies,

and from that, he concludes
that if he’s ever going to

bring Tucker to justice,

he's gonna have to
go it alone.

And there's a great...

caustic line about this
in the book.

Let me just find it.

He says:

‘Do you think
I’m going to trust…’

‘a bunch of
badge-toting clowns...’

‘with additional information?’

‘Not me.’

‘Never again.’

I'm trying to keep
all these quotes brief

because I have to justify
each one to our lawyer,

but there’s 400 pages of this.

Anyway, under cover of night,

they begin pursuing Tucker,

tailing his car
wherever he goes,

arranging a series of shadowy
meetings with witnesses,

informants, people who know him
in one way or another.

They go through
his trash at one point

and try and find incriminating
evidence in there.

And ultimately,
they stage this...

show-stopping sting operation.

Basically, they found out
Tucker was in AA,

and I'm not entirely
sure how, actually,

but the way I always imagined
it playing out was

they’re tailing Tucker

around Northern California
one evening.

Eventually they see his car

pull up outside a church.

Not this church,

but a church,

and this one would have done.

And so Lyndon's
maybe across the street,

watching Tucker as he
gets out of his car

and makes his way
into this church.

Um...

Eventually, maybe,
he sneaks in and realizes

that it's an AA meeting.

And so this is like
hitting paydirt,

because what do people do
at an AA meeting?

They confess.

And so immediately, Lyndon and
his team start discussing

how to get someone inside,

but also who to get inside,

because obviously
a lot of them are...

too high-profile, in one
way or another,

would be too easily
recognized by Tucker.

And so eventually,
all eyes fall on Ernie...

the minister.

And maybe we'd have set up
earlier in the film that

Ernie is a bit of a redundant
member of the group,

like it's nice to have him,
but he's not the big guns

of this investigative team.

But lo and behold,
now it falls to Ernie

to do what the others cannot.

So Ernie begins driving up
to the church every week,

takes his collar off...

I’m imagining the
dramatic scene of him

putting the collar
on the bedside table

to go out and deceive a man
he doesn’t even know,

in a church.

And then at the end
of each meeting,

Ernie would record these tapes

reciting back everything
that Tucker had said.

And apparently
the tapes still exist,

so we would have played
them over this sequence.

Here's a quote from it.

This is Ernie on one
of these tapes, saying:

‘I felt like he was
trying to say,’

‘I am a rotten S.O.B.’

‘but I can't tell you
what I have done.’

‘I've done things I'm not proud
of, and would never tell you.’

‘Terrible things.’

‘If only you knew.’

‘But you will never know,’

‘and I don't care anymore.’

‘It's in the past now.’

Imagine going
to an AA meeting...

... and then what you say
being published in a book.

Well, yeah.

Not great.

Um...

You know, invading

the sanctity of an AA meeting

to listen in on
someone's confessions,

hoping they admit to
committing the Zodiac killings.

That's the thing, though.

If he did...

it's fine.

Right? If he did,
it's absolutely fine.

You could go much further.

It's only if he didn't, that
you start to feel a bit...

sweaty about it.

And I feel like that's what

we would have been
trading on with this.

You need people
to be fully convinced

going into this sequence, or it
just seems way beyond the pale.

I always think back
to that scene in...

Paradise Lost.

I think it's the second
Paradise Lost film, where...

It’s like...
Have you seen Paradise Lost?

No.

It was a trilogy of
documentaries about this...

miscarriage of justice where
these teenage boys were...

sent to prison for
the murders of some children

that they clearly
hadn't committed.

And in the second
of the three films,

they start sniffing
around the possibility

that the dad of
one of the dead kids

could have been responsible
for these deaths.

And in the interests of
exploring this idea,

they film him out in the woods

performing some sort of
commemorative ritual,

um...

which is admittedly...

incredibly weird and creepy

and the takeaway
of the scene is clearly:

oh my God,
this guy is guilty as sin.

And he wasn’t.
He had nothing to do with it.

And I think even at the time,
they got a bit of stick for...

having kind of...

exploiting his grief
in this way,

um...

but if it had been him,

no one would have cared
about exploiting the grief.

If you're convinced it's
for the greater good,

there are very few
ethical lines

as far as...

HBO execs are concerned.

So Tucker is saying all this
creepy stuff in these meetings,

but obviously he’s
not about to confess

to being the Zodiac Killer.

And so they realize they
need to go one step further.

They need something undeniable.

And what he
arrives at is...

this palm print.

Basically, after
one of the crimes,

the Zodiac Killer himself
called the police

to report what he had done,

and they managed to get to
the phone booth that he used

quite quickly

and so they found on it,
a palm print

that was considered
to be definitively his.

And so Lyndon seizes upon this

as the ultimate test
of Tucker's guilt.

And so, from here, we'd have
been straight into our scheme,

and I think we'd have done it
a little bit like a heist film,

showing it step by step
and piece by piece,

before people have a chance to
make sense of what the plan is.

You feel it coming together
like this jigsaw puzzle,

until at the end,

the picture reveals itself.

So the first step is that
a friend of Lyndon's

bandaged Ernie's arm
into a cast,

and he wore this cast

every week at this AA meeting
where he was undercover,

getting Tucker used to the idea
of him in an arm cast.

And then Lyndon...

gives Ernie a gun.

He arms him, with a revolver.

And I could just imagine
the inserts of all of this:

the gun tucked into
the ceremonial robes...

Does a Methodist
minister wear robes?

We would’ve had him wear robes.

Just, that image of...

the gun going into
the religious garb

and then maybe
the bandaged arm…

swinging back in front
to hide the gun

and then the...

In fact, I have to hand this
one over to Lyndon

because the way he describes it
is so perfectly understated.

Let me find it.

He says:

‘As March 1st, 1977,
approached,’

‘our plan was
right on schedule.’

‘I bought the
fishbowl required.’

I mean, as a cliffhanger...
just incredible.

If this was a series,

that's where you’d
put the episode break,

and then there's no way
people are stopping watching.

And so Lyndon
gives Ernie this fishbowl,

and he drives up the highway

to this fateful AA meeting.

He’s sitting outside,

thinking about whether his
grand plan is going to work.

Eventually, he
sees Tucker arrive,

and so he gets out of the car,

walks to his trunk, pops
it open, and there it is:

the fishbowl.

So he says,

could you carry this
into the meeting for me?

Because of my broken arm.

And I guess he explained
that he was gonna

give a presentation
to the group

and use the fishbowl as a prop.

And so this is our
make or break moment.

Is Tucker gonna reach
his hands into the trunk,

plant them on the sides
of this fishbowl,

leaving, presumably...

the platonic ideal
of two handprints

on the side of this glass bowl.

And lo and behold,

that's exactly what happens.

And I can only
imagine the triumph

of that moment, as this bowl
is carried into the meeting,

and we’re caught up
on this wave of energy,

thrust into the building,

albeit obviously, that momentum
immediately interrupted

by a two-hour AA meeting

and whatever Ernie's
presentation was.

My assumption is it would've
been some kind of metaphor,

like, take life
one day at a time,

like a goldfish.

Because of the short memory.

Maybe? I don't know.

Uh...

So, at the end of the meeting,

Ernie has Tucker carry the
fishbowl back to the car,

pops the trunk...

I'm imagining this...

this empty trunk of
this car opened up,

the little interior light
just perfectly illuminating

the spot where this
bowl is gonna go,

and presumably from there,
be whisked...

straight to whatever
expert is gonna

painstakingly extract
these palm prints,

which can then
be matched to the...

file print of the Zodiac Killer

and the whole thing is
gonna be wrapped up

in this perfect, neat bow,

as soon as Tucker
places this bowl

back down into
the trunk of the car.

But then...

Actually, let me read
the version in the book,

because Lyndon describes it in
such exquisitely tragic terms.

‘But then, for
some strange reason,’

‘our suspect did
something totally bizarre.’

‘After the bowl
was set securely...’

‘in the trunk of Ernie's car,’

‘Tucker slapped the bowl
with his palms’

‘several times’

‘and then rubbed the bowl’

‘several times as well.’

‘Ernie said,’

‘I could not believe
my eyes, Lyndon.’

‘It was like he knew.’

Pretty good, right?

And I think we would’ve
tried to play it

right down the middle of either
an intentional act of sabotage,

or just about plausibly,

an innocent action.

That's a fun knife edge.

Either it's like the wily
behavior of a serial killer,

or it's like your dad,

kind of

patting the sides of something
to show you how robust it is.

And I think by
shooting it slow motion,

we would have really extracted

every agonizing clap of
the hands against the bowl

and then that terrible,
dreadful rubbing of the sides.

Like this...

I could just imagine...

Oh god, I was so excited
about shooting this sequence.

The feeling of agonizing loss

in that moment.

And so it's
that feeling of loss

that would’ve set the stage

for the final third
of the film,

which begins with
a real error of judgment

on Lyndon's part,

and that's that he agrees
to meet with another man

who's been on his own parallel
hunt for the Zodiac:

Robert Graysmith.

Will that land, do you think?
Or should I explain who he is?

So, Graysmith is the author

of the most successful book
about the Zodiac Killer,

so successful, in fact,
that in Zodiac circles,

it's often just called
‘the Yellow Book,’

like it's Macbeth or something,

because it's got this very
distinctive yellow cover

with ‘Zodiac’ written
down the center.

But at this point,

he's still chasing
the story down

and so him and Lyndon have been

speaking to the same sources,
following up on the same leads,

but it's only now,
at this low ebb,

that Lyndon agrees to meet,

figuring, I guess,

what do I have to lose?

And pretty soon
he gets his answer.

I think we could have gone

pretty swiftly from that to...

Well, what I was imagining
was Lyndon wandering innocently

around his local bookstore

and then spying

in the new releases
or the bestsellers section,

this bright yellow...

Actually, I think the first
edition was black, but...

it's got that
crosshair symbol on it

and ‘Zodiac’
in massive writing,

and so I was imagining him

feverishly searching
through the pages

to see if it
favors his suspect,

and instead, not only
does it present

an entirely different suspect,
but it also includes

some of the juiciest details
from Lyndon’s story

almost as this, kind of,
funny aside.

And one of the main reasons
I was able to describe

the fishbowl story in such
detail a minute ago

is that the story got out

20 years before Lyndon
wrote his book,

which must have been...

annoying.

But then he can't
really make it about that

because that seems
sort of vain,

so the version in Lyndon’s book
is all about how this was...

You know,

a threat to
his family's safety,

and how this was putting lives
in jeopardy and all this stuff.

Let me find the thing.

He says:

‘Graysmith, a complete novice,’

‘went on to disseminate...’

‘sensitive investigative
findings to the entire world,’

‘things which could place
my family members...’

‘in a great deal of danger.’

So he frames it as an
ethical concern, essentially,

and we would have run
with that in the film, but...

but I think the real
violation was that...

not only was this book
hugely successful,

and made Graysmith
a very wealthy man,

it also made him...

the de facto authority.

It’s very hard to be the
second true crime book,

or the second true crime film
about any given subject,

because as soon as
one is a hit,

that kind of sets
the terms by which

the thing is understood.

It assigns the guilt,

I think, more powerfully
really than even the...

law enforcement agencies
directly working on the case.

Anyway, my plan
had been to bounce

straight from
the Graysmith stuff

into some of Lyndon's more
out-there detective work,

as he becomes
increasingly desperate

to get his own investigation
moving again.

I imagined it like that
classic cop movie thing

where they go back
to the drawing board,

start re-examining all the old
evidence to see if they can...

shake something loose.

So he'd be re-reading
interview transcripts,

going back and meeting
with witnesses again,

trying to see if there's
something that he missed

first time around.

There's an ice cream truck

just out of shot here.

But as Lyndon looks
closer and closer,

and obsesses over
every little detail,

we would’ve been trying
to build this sense of

kind of...

growing paranoia.

Like, maybe the leads start
off fairly reasonable,

like there was this thing about
him buying Tucker's old car,

the one that he'd been driving
that day at the rest stop.

Lyndon buys it, and he
searches through it,

looking for any old discarded
items that might...

have evidentiary value.

But as he starts to look
at each of these things closer,

there's kind of a
mania that sets in,

you know,

and in particular,

there was this whole thing
where he found a button,

in the car

and became convinced
that this button

had some sort of massive
significance to the case.

And so I think we could’ve
taken little things like that,

and used them to create
this sense that we’re…

delving deeper and deeper
into Lyndon's...

psyche.

Like...

We're falling down the
rabbit hole with him,

not knowing how deep it goes.

But because Lyndon was such
a lone wolf by this point,

almost by definition,
this is where we have...

the fewest sources

outside of his book.

So people just have to...

take my word for it
that there would’ve been...

you know...

some great
twists and turns here.

Like, have I even...
I haven't even mentioned...

the building yet, have I?

Basically, there would’ve been
a key scene here,

where there's an explosion,

uh...

with narrative significance.

But the purpose of all
this would’ve been

getting Lyndon to a more
reckless state of mind,

where he’s ready to make
the kinds of rash decisions

that he wouldn't
have made a few years earlier,

or half an hour earlier,

for our purposes.

And again I can't get
into the intricate...

plot mechanics of this,

but basically in a bizarre
twist of fate,

Lyndon finds himself presented
with the opportunity...

for him and his wife…

to go to dinner with
Tucker and his wife

as friends.

Like, they’ve fallen into
the same social circle

through this very strange
series of events

and now, the situation is such

that it could make
sense for them to…

essentially double date.

So Lyndon writes in the book
about them preparing

to go to dinner
with Tucker and his wife,

and he writes about it
like they're preparing

for a military operation.

So he says:

‘The evening before
this arranged dinner,’

‘I retrieved my
.38 five-shot...’

‘Centennial Smith and
Wesson hammerless,’

‘cleaned and lubricated it,’

‘and loaded it
with high-velocity,’

‘light-grain hollow points.’

‘Next, I checked my small...'

‘palm-sized .22
Magnum Derringer,’

‘the dynamite stick,
which holds two bullets.’

‘I called my wife into
the kitchen and asked her,’

‘do you remember how to load
and shoot the Derringer?’

And so, with the guns
tucked into the...

the pocket of Lyndon's
jeans and his wife's purse,

they set out...

for a date with justice.

I think
‘double date with justice’.

A double date with justice.

See, this is why it's a bit...

bittersweet doing this.

Like, this is the fun
of this genre, right?

Getting to that point where
things that would have seemed

impossibly outlandish
at the outset

now start to seem
perfectly reasonable.

Like, you watched
Making a Murderer, right?

That first season, even
though it was built around this

very dramatic story of this...

possible miscarriage
of justice,

the actual content of the show

was pretty restrained.

Most of what you were
looking at was just...

grainy interrogation footage

and shots of people
standing about in courtrooms.

But then they made
a second season,

and you can just feel
this inevitable slide

into sensationalism,

from the off-from episode
one of season two,

they are taking a mannequin,
putting a wig on it,

and covering it in red paint
to simulate blood splatter.

‘I wanted to re-enact it.’

And you look back
at the previous season

where it was all basically
men in dusty suits

sitting around discussing
legal precedent,

and you think,

how did we get here?

Like, the bounds of
rational behavior

are just ever-expanding.

So if you accepted
Lyndon and his team

searching through
Tucker's trash,

then why wouldn't
you accept them...

eavesdropping on
the AA meeting?

And if you accept them
eavesdropping on the AA meeting

then why wouldn't you
accept the whole...

fishbowl caper?

And yeah, here we are,
at a steakhouse,

with the Zodiac Killer.

So this is
the actual steakhouse

that they went to,
up in Winters, California,

and I think from the moment
they would’ve met,

we would have had this
question of recognition.

Like, does Tucker remember
Lyndon from the rest stop?

Or did he somehow
sense his presence...

at the police interrogation?

To what extent
does this man know

that this meeting
is not a first encounter,

it's the culmination

of years of police work.

So in the book, Lyndon writes:

‘The next hour…’

‘was one of the most
bizarre in my entire life.’

‘Staring straight out
at about a 30-degree angle,’

‘Tucker appeared to be
in another dimension,’

‘some kind of Twilight Zone.’

And in the context
of all of the suspicions

that we would have built up
by this point in the film,

I think Tucker just
seeming kind of detached

would have become a kind of

absorbent surface,

for anything we wanted
to throw at it.

And that's even before the...

the drive home.

So they’re driving back along
the I-80, down to Vallejo,

and I was imagining this as
already a tense scenario:

the road stretching out
before them,

and we're packed
into this tight space

with our hero

and our villain.

And then that tension

would have ratcheted up
even higher

once Tucker takes
an unexpected turn

off the highway and onto
this little side road called

Cherry Glen Road.

And I think if we’d charted
that rising tension effectively

it would have
all felt inevitable.

We would’ve felt Lyndon’s hand
reaching into his pocket

to grab the gun
before he even did it.

We'd have seen the Derringer
coming out of the purse

a split second
before it's on screen.

And the audience is becoming
convinced that this is it.

This is the moment

where all of the latent threat
and violence of the film

is about to
suddenly burst forth.

And we're pushing the tension

as far as it will go,

but we know it can only sustain

for so long before it has to...

break....

somehow.

But instead...

nothing happens.

They return home.

They're dropped off.

The air clears.

But now there's no mistaking

who has the upper hand.

You know, like

Like so many Zodiac
victims before them,

he’s showing them
that they're at his mercy.

By driving home.

Yeah, but on an
unconventional route!

See, if we'd
done it right, though,

you wouldn't be
thinking like that.

You haven't seen enough
of these things,

but when they work,
you just kind of go with it.

The internal logic of the film
just pulls you through.

And I think we'd have got the
audience there by this point

and then we would’ve been
on the home straight.

We’re at an hour and 15 now.

So next, we
would have gone to...

the letter.

Basically, as a
sort of last resort,

Lyndon wrote a letter
to the president,

and it's quite somber,
quite serious,

all about duty and honor.

He says:

'Mr. President,'

'after a devoted and dedicated
32 years of investigation,'

'into the infamous
Zodiac Killer case,'

'I am in fact writing
my last letter of appeal.'

'My request is
not really about me.'

So he does that maneuver you
see in a lot of these things,

which is that he reframes it...

as being...
really about the victims,

and their families.

About seeking closure for them.

And, you know...

Sure.

But…

as true crime's got bigger and
bigger and people have got...

like maybe...

10% more squeamish about it,

that little disclaimer
has become

even more ubiquitous.

Like, did you watch that
Netflix Dahmer show?

I've never seen anything
with such an outsized

sense of its own
moral righteousness.

It's like ten episodes long,

and the first nine
episodes are just...

Jeffrey Dahmer drilling
into people's skulls,

and then the tenth episode
is this lecture, about how...

we shouldn't really focus on...

Jeffrey Dahmer drilling
into people's skulls…

'Just when you thought folks
couldn't stoop any lower.'

'It's sick.'

Obviously they do
the final grid.

That's when you know these
shows really care, right?

When they end with a
photo grid of all the victims.

Eight and a half cumulative
hours of violent gore,

and now a single passport photo
of each of the victims

to remind us
what really matters.

You watched it though.

Yeah, it was good.

Evan Peters.

So Lyndon sent his letter,

and then it would have been
a case of waiting

to see if it's going to lead
to anything at all.

And so I figured we'd have him

drive out to the
outskirts of town,

where he finally
has time to reflect

on everything he's
given over to this,

on all the years lost

to the pursuit of Tucker,

that could all be for naught
if nothing comes of it.

It's just so beautiful.

Uh...

We would've shot a less...

distractingly beautiful sunset
for the actual thing, but...

good job,

nonetheless,

camera team.

And then finally,
the word comes back

from the FBI

that they're not going
to take up the case.

And Lyndon writes quite

strikingly about it
in the book,

as almost like,
the end of hope,

where he says:

'So now I tell the world
there is no justice,'

'there is no integrity,'

'and there are no existing laws
that morality can supersede.'

'There is no agency
and not one individual'

'who will step forward
to intervene'

'in this noble
cause of justice.'

I definitely haven't quite...

made my peace...

with this.

With not getting
to make the film.

Like, obviously, I'm happy
with what we've done instead,

but how many people
are ever going to watch this?

Realistically.

So in this final stretch,

the question would have become,

what is the closure

that the audience now needs?

Once it becomes clear that

Lyndon isn't going
to definitively prove

that Tucker was
the Zodiac Killer.

Not least because
he wasn't, obviously.

But, that's...

parenthetical.

Like, he definitely wasn't?

I mean...

no?

I mean, maybe.

But no, probably not.

But yeah, either way...

we know now that Lyndon isn’t
gonna get it over the line,

at least in a legal sense.

And so the stakes
become much more about

the internal drama of the film

and the ending that
the film demands.

And, the book
doesn't necessarily

offer an obvious one, but
I think that the closest one

I found in it, and how I was
planning to end the film...

was with this party
at Tucker's house.

Basically, Tucker threw
a summer barbecue

and invited Lyndon
and his wife.

And so they drive up
there, they go inside,

and he describes Tucker...

at the bar, mixing cocktails,

which is a wonderfully...
innocent action.

I don't know if we'd

try and like...

make that seem more
sinister in some way.

Maybe he's mixing
blood red cocktails.

The book's description of this
encounter is fairly minimal.

He says:

'He looked at my wife
and said, thank you,'

'but never made the slightest
eye contact with me.'

'It was very awkward,'

'but I extended my arm
for a handshake...'

‘and felt like
a complete idiot.'

So in Lyndon's own telling,
it's an emasculating moment,

but I think it could've been
made into the moment we needed

of Lyndon finally holding
his own against Tucker.

And in particular, the thing he
says about eye contact...

that he never made
the slightest eye contact,

even when they're
shaking hands,

because eye contact was
how we began down this road...

They were in these adjoining
cars, they locked eyes...

and then Lyndon feels
that he lost face

by letting himself be
stared down by this stranger...

I think this could've
been the moment

where he reverses the dynamic:

Where he goes in for
the handshake with Tucker,

realizes he doesn't want
to meet his eyeline,

but he just holds him there.

Maybe he won't let his hand go,

until Tucker...

raises his eyes to Lyndon's,

in acknowledgment,

and there's a sense
that even if

he knows he's never going
to see Tucker put away,

he's forced Tucker to recognize

that he is a worthy match.

That's actually quite
good, isn't it?

And I think it would have been
a good cue for us to

swerve towards
a larger takeaway.

You know, what is it in all
of us that makes us want to...

revisit these terrible crimes?

Why can't we let the past
be in the past?

And I think we'd be building
a rhythm up by this point.

It's almost becoming
like a montage

as we revisit these
little moments from the film.

We'd have little snapshots of
each crime scene,

and interviewees coming
back to the fore to...

give their final thought.

We'd re-run our
'evocative B-roll' of...

bullet casings,

dropping to the floor and...

the paperwork consumed by fire.

And the sense you get
is that there's something

tying all of this together,
as though...

everything we've
seen thus far was...

speaking ultimately
to the same idea,

something sort of universal...

something profound
and open-ended.

And you can kind of...

you know, at that point,
re-wrap...

this lack of a conclusion
as almost a moral virtue.

That actually, it would be
simplistic to have an ending,

to give an easy answer,

because, what is life,

if not accepting
the chaos of reality,

and the mysteries

at the heart
of human existence?

It's funny, you
build up the rhythm...

and the feel of closure...

and you almost just get it.

Captions by Eleanor McDowall
and Charlie Shackleton