Ever notice how the most fascinating killers are the ones who want to be caught? (But like, not really caught—just enough to make the front page.) The Zodiac Killer—Northern California’s most infamous pen pal—played this game better than anyone.
For decades, this shadowy figure has lived rent-free in America’s collective nightmares, not just because of his brutal murders, but because of his twisted little hobby: sending cryptic ciphers to newspapers that were about as easy to crack as my work laptop after three failed password attempts.
The Cipher That Took 51 Years to Crack
The Zodiac sent his first cipher (Z408) in 1969, and a teacher couple solved it within a week. (Show-offs.) But his second cipher—the infamous Z340—remained unsolved for FIFTY-ONE YEARS. That’s longer than most marriages in Hollywood.
When it was finally decoded in 2020, I was deep in a pandemic true crime binge, refreshing Twitter obsessively between episodes of Tiger King. The message was as disturbing as you’d expect from someone who signs their letters with a crosshair symbol:
“I HOPE YOU ARE HAVING LOTS OF FUN IN TRYING TO CATCH ME… I AM NOT AFRAID OF THE GAS CHAMBER.”
(Cool cool cool, totally normal correspondence.)
The complex cryptographic techniques used in these ciphers show this wasn’t just some random killer. This was a man who spent hours crafting puzzles, probably giggling to himself while imagining detectives pulling their hair out. It’s like he was auditioning for the world’s most twisted escape room designer.
Media: The Zodiac’s Favorite Accomplice
The Zodiac understood something crucial: media attention is like oxygen for serial killers. Every front-page headline was basically a standing ovation for his “work.”
He’d mail his letters to the San Francisco Chronicle, knowing they’d print them (because journalism in the 60s was apparently just “print whatever the serial killer sends you”). Each published letter amplified his legend and, I’m convinced, gave him the satisfaction my husband Ryan gets when someone likes his mediocre Instagram photos.
The killer’s strategy was brilliant in its simplicity: create a persona so intriguing that people would be talking about you decades later. (Mission accomplished, you terrifying psychopath.)
Law Enforcement: Always One Step Behind
The police response to Zodiac was about as coordinated as my attempt to follow a TikTok dance tutorial—chaotic and ultimately embarrassing.
Different jurisdictions refused to share information, evidence got contaminated, and leads went cold faster than my coffee on a Monday morning. It’s like they were playing checkers while the Zodiac was playing 4D chess.
When the latest developments in the case emerged, I spent three hours in a Reddit rabbit hole, convinced I was about to solve the case from my couch. (Spoiler alert: I did not.)
Modern Tech vs. Cold Cases: A New Hope
What fascinates me most is how modern technology is breathing new life into cold cases like the Zodiac’s. The Z340 cipher was finally cracked using advanced software and algorithms that didn’t exist when it was written.
Today’s investigators are using everything from artificial intelligence systems to DNA genealogy (the same tech that caught the Golden State Killer—another nightmare-inducing case that kept me up for approximately 37 nights straight).
I sometimes wonder what the Zodiac would think about these technological advances. Would he be impressed? Terrified? Would he start sending encrypted Tweets instead of handwritten letters?
The Psychological Game
The Zodiac’s ciphers weren’t just puzzles—they were psychological warfare. Each one said: “I’m smarter than you. I’m always watching. I’m in control.”
It’s the same reason he called police after his murders, wore that creepy executioner’s hood, and created his own supervillain symbol. The man understood branding better than most marketing executives I’ve worked with.
His communications reveal a person desperate for recognition but terrified of being caught—a contradiction that makes him both fascinating and utterly terrifying.
Why We Can’t Look Away
Fifty years later, we’re still obsessed with the Zodiac. We’ve made movies, podcasts, books, and Reddit threads dissecting every detail of his case. (I may or may not have a corkboard with red string in my home office that Ryan pretends not to see.)
The unsolved nature of the case scratches an itch in our collective psyche. We need resolution. We need to know who this monster was. We need to believe that, eventually, the bad guys get caught.
Until then, the Zodiac remains what he always wanted to be: an enigma, a bogeyman, a cipher himself—one that we may never fully decode.
Would I have survived a Zodiac encounter? Absolutely not. I scream when the toaster pops unexpectedly. But I’ll keep reading about him anyway, triple-checking my locks before bed.