August 9, 1969 - Tate End (Sorta)

Charlie purposely drove past the Cielo Drive turn off, to see if there was any activity up the hill — police cars and/or ambulance flashing lights, or strangers milling about in gawking repose. But the drive up to 10050 was quiet, too quiet, really just too dead quiet.

A shiver went down even old Charlie's spine. He was a bad ass by anyone's standards. But the scene unnerved him. The idea of witnessing a mass murder, one he had so ordered, was a witchy thing apart.

Charlie, like Tex, thought better of parking on Cielo. Instead, he parked the Ford on Benedict Canyon Drive and he and his partner walked to the Tate gate. They made the same jump over the chain-link fence, careful not to touch any surface.

The first point of interest on this self-guided tour was the Rambler Tex had described as Job One. Yep, there it was. Charlie was all ears, straining to hear if anyone stirred about the place. Silence. Charlie assumed no one did. Assumptions are tricky things.

Tex was right. The kid was inside the car, shot to Hell, his eyes still open.

Charlie spied the clock radio sitting on the front passenger seat. But the concept of time was an Establishment crutch. He had no use for the gadget. Charlie removed his faded jean shirt and carefully wiped down the Rambler for any errant prints. He left the driver's side door open. Whether that was Charlie's doing, or Tex's, is not clearly known.

The pair continued on. They passed Gibby's Camero and Jay's Porsche, Charlie half wishing he could scoop out the engines to put them into his dune buggies. Those would be rad dune buggies! On they went up the walkway, passing a hideous wishing well. The first blood spots appeared, even in the dim light of a waning crescent moon.

Crouched, Charlie and his partner tip-toed forward, alert for any signs of life. They didn't stop to examine the bodies splayed out on the lawn. Whether they didn't see them or had other priorities is unknown. Charlie's concerns centered on Sadie's lost Buck knife, which he knew was lost in the main house, and on any other evidence inadvertently left at the scene.

The front porch lanterns were still blazing, giving off a ghoulish hue to the "PIG" blood writing on the lower front door panel. He smiled at Sadie's handiwork, but wished she had copied the blood writing Bobby had done at the Hinman scene. Charlie knew Sadie was a willing girl, but a few bulbs short of Candice Bergen's Christmas lights.

If you want something done right, man, you gotta do it yourself.

By now, Charlie had some bad images in his head. He regretted not coming with the kids, making sure things were done right. But, like spilled milk, what was done was done.

The pair sidled past the threshold, careful not to step in the mass of congealed blood. Charlie carefully shouldered the door to have it swing open. Maybe it creaked. Did the sound make them jump? Had it creaked when Tex opened it? If it had, obviously not enough to wake Voytek snoozing on the couch mere hours ago.

The light from the desk lamp told them to veer left, again careful not to touch any of the blood spatter. They made their way around the two steamer trunks. Their askew angle told Charlie there had been panic alright, a fight for life, as Tex said.

Past the trunks, past the loft ladder, a body came into view. It was the man Tex had told him about, the insolent one who spoke out of turn. By now, Jay's face was swollen, his nose bloodied. To the pair, the man looked grotesque. Charlie knew he'd have to do something about that scene later.

The two made leaned over the couch and saw Sharon.

"Wow!"

That would have been the whispered word. I'm sure of it. I'm less sure if it would denote approval or disapproval, or a mere expression of shock and awe. Doubtful, Charlie connected the blood-smeared corpse on the floor with the striking honey-blond he saw on March 23rd.

The scene was worse than Tex said. Had Charlie trained his kids that well? To unleash such mayhem in the murder? Charlie shook his head and returned to Now.

"Take that towel there and wipe everything down."

Charlie and his partner went around the house erasing finger prints. In doing so, Charlie better surveyed the scene. He noticed where Tex had tried to hang the victims. Charlie momentarily thought of finishing the job. But he and his partner weighed less than the dead bodies on the floor. The idea was soon abandoned.

The pair looked everywhere for Sadie's lost knife, but they had no luck. Time was ticking by. The search had to be dropped. So, Sadie's knife remained where it lay, blade side up, peeking out from under Jay's black leather jacket, silently mocking them as they passed by.

Once the scene was cleaned of prints, Charlie laid the towel over Jay's head, like the hood it was not.

Before they left, Charlie had his partner fish out the pair of horn-rimmed eyeglasses the Family used as a magnifying glass or to start fires. He wiped them for prints and placed them upside-down next to one of the blue steamer trunks as a red herring, to divert the cops in their investigation that would come with the dawn. The owner of those eye glasses would never be found. My guess: they had been left at Spahn Ranch by some wayward passing hippie or once owned and soon discarded by one of the Family members as Charlie forbade his kids wearing eyeglasses.

Sharon's trunks delivered that day

Charlie grinned. He admired the Family handiwork like a painter admired a masterpiece.

***

It's unclear how far the two ventured into the house. Regardless, they missed Katie's bloody print on the master bedroom French door and Tex's on the front door frame. There was just too much blood, way too much, and the stench from it mixing with the hot air made even these two devils want to leave. Also, in leaving the scene, it would make the reality disappear.

Whether they saw the bodies on the lawn entering or leaving is moot. Charlie never approached. Maybe careful not to leave tracks on the grass. Who knows? The “outside people" to the pair would have looked as dead as the "inside people." No need to check. Tex had done a thorough job.

The two never investigated the guest house, as the dogs never barked again until the police arrived. Bill Garretson would have never known Charlie had returned, and Charlie never knew a person remained alive. Charlie knew of the guest house. Whether it was a lack of time or a lack of will to check is anyone's guess. Lucky for Bill, Charlie was in a hurry.

***

The two skulked back the way they had come, not noticing or caring that the Rambler door was still ajar. They climbed over the hill jut out, over the fence, and walked back to the Ford, an all-too-overused vehicle on that sultry night, silently waiting for their return.

Nothing was said on the drive back. What could be said? The deed was done. It was messy. There was no replacing spilled milk, or in this case, blood.

August 9, 1969 was over for Steven, Jay, Voytek, Gibby, Sharon and little Paul Richard, the latter having died in utero.

It was around 4 a.m. And although the dawn had yet shone, the night was well and truly over for Charlie and his Family. Everyone was tired and wanted to sleep before all hell broke loose in the City of Angels.