A 1991 hidden-camera tape shows a woman walking up to a thin man in a gray T-shirt and asking if he remembers her. He was in the car with her sister the night the Zodiac Killer shot them both.
The man was Mike Mageau. Around midnight on the Fourth of July, 1969, he and Darlene Ferrin, 22, were parked at Blue Rock Springs Park in Vallejo, California. A car pulled up behind them. A man walked over with a flashlight and opened fire without a word.
Mageau, 19, was hit and lived. Darlene was dead by the time she reached the hospital.
At 12:40 a.m. a man called Vallejo police. "I also killed those kids last year," he said.
In the video below, you see Mageau 22 years later, and Darlene's sister Pam Huckaby, filmed through a fence as she asks him for one name.
"There was a man that Darlene was very afraid of," she tells him. "I believe you know who he is."
He says he doesn't remember a lot of names from back then.
"You can't tell me you can't, Mike. I know you know who did it."
A retired Vallejo detective tells the camera he never thought Mageau was telling the truth, whether out of some bigger involvement or just plain fear.
That same year Mageau picked a photo out of a police lineup. "That's him! It's the man who shot me!" It was Arthur Leigh Allen, the only man police ever named as a suspect. Mageau admitted he never got a good look.
"I'm not the Zodiac," Allen says on the tape. In 2002, DNA from the Zodiac's envelopes did not match him.
The case is still open. Darlene's family never got a name.
Did Mike Mageau know more than he ever said, or did he just never see the face that night?
An AP news tape dated February 3, 1998, the day Texas was set to execute her, shows a 38-year-old woman on death row, calm, sometimes smiling. Fourteen years earlier she had killed two people with a pickaxe.
The woman was Karla Faye Tucker. On June 13, 1983, high on drugs, she and a friend broke into a Houston apartment and killed Jerry Dean and Deborah Thornton. The next morning, according to the Texas attorney general's office, she told people she had felt sexual gratification with every swing. Years later she took it back.
In jail she became a Christian. Pope John Paul II and Pat Robertson asked Texas to spare her. The parole board voted unanimously against it.
In the video below, you see her talking about her own execution date, her voice even.
"If I go home February 3rd," she says, "don't take that as God not answering our prayers."
Asked if there is a place for mercy the way Texas law is written today, she says, "I don't think so."
At the end, she says, she will be thinking about heaven and her family, and wishing she could give everybody a hug.
Deborah's brother, Ron Carlson, was raised by his sister after their mother died. He wanted revenge for years, then forgave Tucker. "If there's only going to be one person in heaven," he says, "it'll be her." He watched the execution as one of her invited witnesses.
Doug Wead, a Bush family friend, says Governor George W. Bush told him, "You're not going to like my decision," and, when Wead hoped he was sleeping, answered: "I never have a problem sleeping." Bush refused a 30-day stay.
At 6:45 p.m. on February 3 she became the first woman executed in Texas since 1863. Her last words included an apology to both families.
That night Deborah's husband, Richard Thornton, told reporters that justice was complete, that his wife would deal with Tucker on the other side, and "I promise you, it won't be pretty."
Years later Carlson told a rally he had prayed for closure at that execution, and found out there is no such thing.
Deborah's husband and her brother watched the same woman die, so who got it right: the man who called it justice, or the man who forgave her?
An AP news tape dated February 3, 1998, the day Texas was set to execute her, shows a 38-year-old woman on death row, calm, sometimes smiling. Fourteen years earlier she had killed two people with a pickaxe.
The woman was Karla Faye Tucker. On June 13, 1983, high on drugs, she and a friend broke into a Houston apartment and killed Jerry Dean and Deborah Thornton. The next morning, according to the Texas attorney general's office, she told people she had felt sexual gratification with every swing. Years later she took it back.
In jail she became a Christian. Pope John Paul II and Pat Robertson asked Texas to spare her. The parole board voted unanimously against it.
In the video below, you see her talking about her own execution date, her voice even.
"If I go home February 3rd," she says, "don't take that as God not answering our prayers."
Asked if there is a place for mercy the way Texas law is written today, she says, "I don't think so."
At the end, she says, she will be thinking about heaven and her family, and wishing she could give everybody a hug.
Deborah's brother, Ron Carlson, was raised by his sister after their mother died. He wanted revenge for years, then forgave Tucker. "If there's only going to be one person in heaven," he says, "it'll be her." He watched the execution as one of her invited witnesses.
Doug Wead, a Bush family friend, says Governor George W. Bush told him, "You're not going to like my decision," and, when Wead hoped he was sleeping, answered: "I never have a problem sleeping." Bush refused a 30-day stay.
At 6:45 p.m. on February 3 she became the first woman executed in Texas since 1863. Her last words included an apology to both families.
That night Deborah's husband, Richard Thornton, told reporters that justice was complete, that his wife would deal with Tucker on the other side, and "I promise you, it won't be pretty."
Years later Carlson told a rally he had prayed for closure at that execution, and found out there is no such thing.
Deborah's husband and her brother watched the same woman die, so who got it right: the man who called it justice, or the man who forgave her?
A San Francisco news tape from October 1969 shows a 20-year-old student on hospital pillows in Napa, in thick black glasses. A week earlier a man in an executioner's hood had tied him up beside a lake and left him for dead.
The man in the hood was the Zodiac Killer. On September 27 he walked up to Bryan Hartnell and Cecelia Shepard, two Pacific Union College students sitting above Lake Berryessa. He had a gun and a white circle and cross on his chest. He said he wanted their money and their car. He made Hartnell tie Cecelia up, then tied Hartnell, then took out a knife.
Cecelia Shepard died two days later, in the same hospital. Hartnell is one of only two people known to have survived the Zodiac.
In the video below, you see him a week after the attack, still flat on his back, his voice steady.
Asked whether he bears the man a grudge, Hartnell says, "Well, of course not."
"You can't hold this against them," he says. "But the real concern that I have is that he doesn't do this again."
He says that when he was being tied up he took the man for a robber and wanted to help him. The man never took the money. A park ranger tells the camera that when Hartnell offered it, the man said, "I don't want the money. All I want to do is kill you."
Hartnell describes lying there sure he was going to die, and forcing his mind onto the next thing he had to do: stay alive long enough to get free and get help.
On the evening of the attack, at 7:40, the man had called the Napa police from a payphone, reported "a double murder," said "I did it," and left the receiver hanging. Before leaving the lake he drew the circle and cross on the door of Hartnell's car, with the dates of his earlier attacks.
The Zodiac kept writing letters to newspapers for years after that night. He was never identified. The case is still open, and Cecelia Shepard's family never got a name.
A week after he lost his friend, Hartnell's only request was that the man never do this again. Could you have asked for that?
A San Francisco news tape from October 1969 shows a 20-year-old student on hospital pillows in Napa, in thick black glasses. A week earlier a man in an executioner's hood had tied him up beside a lake and left him for dead.
The man in the hood was the Zodiac Killer. On September 27 he walked up to Bryan Hartnell and Cecelia Shepard, two Pacific Union College students sitting above Lake Berryessa. He had a gun and a white circle and cross on his chest. He said he wanted their money and their car. He made Hartnell tie Cecelia up, then tied Hartnell, then took out a knife.
Cecelia Shepard died two days later, in the same hospital. Hartnell is one of only two people known to have survived the Zodiac.
In the video below, you see him a week after the attack, still flat on his back, his voice steady.
Asked whether he bears the man a grudge, Hartnell says, "Well, of course not."
"You can't hold this against them," he says. "But the real concern that I have is that he doesn't do this again."
He says that when he was being tied up he took the man for a robber and wanted to help him. The man never took the money. A park ranger tells the camera that when Hartnell offered it, the man said, "I don't want the money. All I want to do is kill you."
Hartnell describes lying there sure he was going to die, and forcing his mind onto the next thing he had to do: stay alive long enough to get free and get help.
On the evening of the attack, at 7:40, the man had called the Napa police from a payphone, reported "a double murder," said "I did it," and left the receiver hanging. Before leaving the lake he drew the circle and cross on the door of Hartnell's car, with the dates of his earlier attacks.
The Zodiac kept writing letters to newspapers for years after that night. He was never identified. The case is still open, and Cecelia Shepard's family never got a name.
A week after he lost his friend, Hartnell's only request was that the man never do this again. Could you have asked for that?
In 1969 President Nixon wanted to cut public television's money from 20 million dollars to 10. Fred Rogers went to the Senate to stop it with one number: his show's 6,000 dollar budget would not pay for two minutes of cartoons.
In the video below, Rogers puts aside the speech he wrote, and the senator running the hearing admits what the next six minutes did to him.
The chairman, John Pastore of Rhode Island, gave him the floor in one sentence. Rogers used it to talk about money. His first children's program, he said, had a budget of 30 dollars. Fifteen years later it was 6,000, and he still did all the puppets, the music and the scripts himself.
His show ran half an hour a day. Every episode ended the same way, with Rogers telling the child at home, "I like you just the way you are."
Pastore closed with "Looks like you just earned the 20 million dollars."
5 million dollars. 23 million dollars. That was federal money for public broadcasting the year Rogers testified, and two years later.
He never read the speech. The cut to 10 million did not happen.
If you had six minutes to save 20 million dollars, would you read the speech you wrote?
"Someone I made the godfather of my child, I think, betrayed me grievously." That is Billy Joel in 1993, about the manager he had sued for 90 million dollars. The manager was also his ex-wife's brother.
In the video below, the manager sits by his fireplace and explains why the lawsuit left him in shock, and his wife names the one person she blames for all of it.
Frank Weber came in through Elizabeth, Joel's first wife, who had managed him. When the marriage ended in 1982, her brother stayed. For nine years he ran the money. Joel gave him power of attorney and left the rest to him.
In the summer of 1989 Joel's accountants went through the books. His suit says Weber lent himself Joel's money interest free, put millions into horse breeding partnerships he controlled, and mortgaged Joel's song copyrights to borrow more. Weber was fired in August. The suit came in September: 30 million in losses, 60 million on top as punishment.
Weber denied all of it and filed for bankruptcy.
In March 1990 a New York judge awarded Joel 2 million dollars on one part of the case. The rest was settled, the terms never made public.
90 million dollars claimed. 2 million dollars awarded.
Joel was 40. He went back on the road for a year and a half, 172 shows, to fill the hole. Decades later he said he had owed the IRS 5 million dollars at the time and did not have the money he thought he had.
The godfather of his daughter had been signing his name for nine years. Joel found out from an audit.
Did Frank Weber believe he was building his brother-in-law a fortune, or did he simply count on Billy Joel never checking?