When The Movies Get It Right: Probable Cause and David Fincher's Zodiac

[Originally published June 1,  2013. Since today is the 10th Anniversary of the release of this classic crime film, I'm re-upping it. Enjoy!]

When Dirty Harry opened in 1971, it became a box office success and critical darling. It solidified Clint Eastwood's rising star and proved that gritty cop dramas like Bullitt, and The French Connection were legitimate sources of entertainment to a world that grew tired of psychedelic, experimental, 60s era musicals and comedies. The film was very loosely based on the real life (and in 1971, still ongoing) Zodiac murders; likewise, Eastwood's character was based on the police officer assigned to track down the Zodiac, San Francisco Police Inspector David Toschi. Dirty Harry ends with Harry Callahan getting the drop on the film's villain, Scorpio, in a San Francisco junkyard where Eastwood delivers his famous "do you feel lucky" speech. Then he blows Scorpio away with his .357 magnum revolver... a gun so powerful it can carve a hole in solid concrete. Of course the real Zodiac never got to be on the receiving end of such rough justice and Dave Toschi retired in 1983 having never arrested the most famous unknown serial killer in American history.

Dirty Harry has many charms: an iconic antihero, one of the great movie quotes of all time, topical relevancy, and a well-staged, taughtly paced finale. But it was a hit precisely because it allowed the American public to get closure on a national terror that would never resolve. For that same reason, the film left me cold. As you already know, I'm a big supporter of verisimilitude in film. I don't believe that filmmakers need to sacrifice reality on the alter of drama. And while I understand why the filmmakers of Dirty Harry killed off Scorpio, I don't have to tell you that gunning down the bad guy - even if he deserves it - is pretty shoddy police work.

That's why David Fincher's epic crime film Zodiac - a richly detailed chronicle of the Zodiac case - is one of my all-time favorite films. It understands to its very core what good police work is and how good policemen investigate crimes. About halfway through the film, Toschi (played in a career-making turn by Mark Ruffalo), exits a policeman's only screening of Dirty Harry, after years of being stymied in his investigation. Toschi is so torn up about his inability to catch the Zodiac and the movie's unabashed twisting of the truth that he can't watch the whole thing... he just paces and smokes in the lobby. When the movie lets out, the police commissioner approaches him and says, "Dave, that Harry Callahan did a hell of a job closing your case!"

Toschi's response: "Yeah, no need for due process, right?" Zing!

You see, everyone gets due process in this country. Everyone. Regardless of age, race, gender, sexual orientation, national origin, ethnicity, class, or any other category you can devise. Killers, rapists, thieves, and bad men all still get due process because it's written in the Constitution, the highest law of the land. Due process can mean a lot of things, but in the context of a criminal case, it means that you can't be punished without a fair trial and a proper investigation. And to conduct a proper investigation, police need to investigate clues, gather evidence, and then make arrests based on that evidence. That evidence, if properly gathered, catalogued, and analyzed, results in Probable Cause, a foundational element of criminal investigations that allows an officer to make an arrest based on that evidence. You can't make an arrest without Probable Cause and if you do, the suspect will be freed before you can say "kicked off the force."

To drive that point home, Zodiac shows Toschi and his partner Bill Armstrong investigating Arthur Leigh Allen, a very promising candidate for the Zodiac. Allen had been implicated by a former coworker for saying things that later showed up in the Zodiac letters. Allen had the same glove size, boot size, and general appearance as the Zodiac. He owned the same types of guns, had the same military training, lived nearby one of the Zodiac victims, and even owned a Zodiac brand watch with the infamous crosshairs insignia that the Zodiac killer signed his letters with. But despite eliciting high interest from the police, Allen was never arrested. How can that be, you might ask? Because even though there was an abundance of evidence, it was all circumstantial - in other words, the evidence was  highly inconclusive, no matter how suggestive it was of Allen's guilt. In order to justify a probable cause arrest that would stand up to judicial scrutiny (i.e. not get thrown out of court), they needed something much more concrete to tie Allen to the Zodiac killings. That's why the film kept harping on DNA and handwriting samples (the Zodiac hand wrote nearly all of his letters). And when they got both from Allen, they didn't match the Zodiac.  The film takes great pains to show us Toschi and Armstrong gathering evidence, going through the motions of getting a search warrant to Allen's house. They fail because, according to proper 4th Amendment procedures, the evidence to get a search warrant issued had to be based on probable cause, which the issuing judge didn't believe existed. They do finally get the warrant when Allen moves to a different jurisdiction with a judge who is willing to issue the warrant. The scene where they toss Allen's trailer is one of the creepiest scenes in the film.

Toschi and Armstrong believed in Allen's guilt to such a degree that when they're told that Allen's handwriting isn't a match for the Zodiac, they're visibly destroyed. Toschi's career takes a nosedive (at one point, he's suspended from the force after being implicated in the news as the writer of some of the Zodiac letters. He was later exonerated) and Armstrong transfers out of the department. Without the handwriting match, they don't have probable cause, and without probable cause, there's no arrest, and without the arrest, they can't investigate Allen further. The case hits a dead-end. And rightfully so. Allen may have been the killer, but there just wasn't enough evidence to get him in front of a judge.

Do you know what Toschi and Armstrong didn't do? They didn't follow Allen against their Captain's orders. They didn't bug his phone without a warrant. They didn't catch him in the act and gun him down after a dramatic chase.

One of the things that makes Zodiac a great film is that it eschews a lot of the easy choices that screenwriters make when adapting from real events. Often, screenwriters will eliminate, compress, or invent characters and events to suit the narrative structure rather than be truthful to reality. But that didn't happen with Zodiac. The film takes time to explain what probable cause is, why it's important, and why Toschi's and Armstrong's case against Allen dies on the vine without it. Later in the film, when cartoonist Robert Graysmith picks up the investigation on his own, he's instructed by various law enforcement officials, including Toschi, to stay away from the circumstantial evidence and stick with the DNA and handwriting samples because they're concrete and will hold up in court. The rest is just window dressing.

The film treats police procedure with respect, it treats cops and their investigative methods with respect. It doesn't take the easy way out, and it knows that you can still build drama and tension without twisting reality. More than that, it understands why due process is important and why, sometimes, you have to let the bad guy go if you want to honor the Constitution.

Don’t Accuse People of Being Murderers on TV

Ten years ago I was an associate producer on a Court TV show that was investigating wrongful conviction claims. Each episode would center on a man or woman serving life in prison for a murder they say they didn’t commit. During one particular episode, I felt we had really solid circumstantial evidence that the real killer had gotten away. I was so sure this other guy - I’ll call him “Dave” - was the real killer that I had written some voiceover accusing him of it. 

We sent the rough cut with my temp voiceover to our lawyer before passing it to the network for notes. A day later, the lawyer called me and told me to rewrite the voiceover. I didn’t understand. If we had the evidence why couldn’t we say we thought Dave was the guy? He told me that we could talk about the evidence, we could even discuss if other people thought Dave was the real killer, but we couldn’t directly accuse him since we didn’t want him to sue us for libel. I continued to push back and he very patiently told me that I was out of my fucking mind and hell would freeze over before he’d allow the voiceover as I'd written it to get sent to the network.

Of course now I totally get it. 

Last week, CBS aired a mini-series about the 1996 murder of JonBenet Ramsey. What’s shocking is that the investigators openly and brazenly stated their belief that the Ramsey’s son, Burke, 9-years old at the time, was responsible for the murder and that Burke’s parents staged a more elaborate crime scene to protect their son. According to one of the investigators:

“I think Burke was upset about circumstances or Christmas presents, he probably would have been upset about her trying to snag a piece of pineapple. Out of anger, he may have struck her with that flashlight. I think we all agree on that.”

What’s not so shocking is that Ramsey’s attorney, L. Lin Wood, is now threatening to sue CBS for its “lies, misrepresentations, distortions and omissions.” CBS’s response to the threat? “CBS stands by the broadcast and will do so in court.”

Why would CBS allow its on-camera talent to accuse someone of murder? I have a couple of theories.

  1. CBS ended the broadcast with a disclaimer that the opinions of the investigators were just opinions on one of a number of possible theories. Maybe they thought the disclaimer was sufficient to protect them.
  2. Maybe they felt the case was so well litigated in the public sphere that any accusations against Burke were old hat.
  3. Maybe CBS felt that its reputation as a news gathering organization was enough to shield them from liability since the standards for news are different than those for documentaries.
  4. Maybe CBS was tired of using hedging language (more on that below) and wanted to come up with something that gave closure to a 20-year old cold case.
  5. Maybe they got some bad legal advice.

Whatever the reason, CBS is now staring down the barrel of a defamation lawsuit. In order for the Ramseys to win on a defamation claim, they would have to prove that 1) the statements made against them in the doc were false (i.e. since Burke was never charged, there’s no factual basis for accusing him), that 2) the statements were made with some level of negligence, and 3) the statements caused some actual harm to their character or reputation.

All told, I don’t think this would be hard to prove. But CBS may have an ace up its sleeve, which could account for its confident posturing against Wood. The Ramseys may be private citizens, but they are publicly known for this case; accusations having swirled around them for the last 20 years. CBS is likely to make the argument that they aren’t merely private figures, but instead “limited purpose public figures.” A limited purpose public figure is someone who has become well-known because of a particular issue. It’s not hard to envision a judge or jury buying that argument. Which means if they are indeed limited purpose public figures, the standard for proving defamation is much higher. In that case, they would have to show that CBS allowed false statements about them to be broadcast with actual malice, not negligence, which is typically reserved for private figures only. That is, an actual intent and desire to harm the Ramseys’ reputations further. It’s not an easy bar to meet and if this case goes forward, my money is on CBS A) winning, or B) settling with the Ramseys for a moderate sum.

I’m not sure if I find the initial accusation against Burke or CBS’s stoic attitude more shocking. Is it reckless? Who can say? CBS has been around long enough that I find it hard to believe they'd make a rookie mistake like this. My guess is they know what they’re doing (or at least think they do) and are betting on it working out in their favor. 

But it’s worth pointing out that many lawyers, myself included, prefer hedging language that either couches accusations behind known facts or is so squishy that an accusation can’t be reasonably implied. It’s why all criminal suspects, no matter how guilty they clearly are, are always referred to as “alleged.”  It’s why after a conviction, they are referred to as “convicted.” You’re not accusing anyone of murder by stating that they’re “accused of an alleged crime.” That’s just telling the audience the legal status of a suspect. That’s why saying “X says Y is the killer” is much less likely to get you sued than “I think Y is the killer.” You’re not asserting anything other than the fact that someone else thinks Y is the killer. Yeah it’s a little weasely, but, well, lawyers are sometimes weasely. That’s why I ended up rewriting all that voiceover ten years ago.

I can tell you that I certainly wouldn’t have counseled the producers to end with such a bold proclamation of assumed guilt. I can also tell you that if you produced a true-crime doc and came to me for legal advice, you would have a hell of a time convincing me to allow you to let the show go to air. But CBS has a lot of lawyers. Maybe they know something I don’t. Or maybe they made a stupid mistake. Time will tell. Regardless of how this works out for CBS, my advice to you is pretty simple: even if you have the evidence to prove it, don’t accuse people of being murderers on TV. Leave that to the courts.

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