The Citizen LetterThe Holy Ghost Hidden in Plain Sight — In the Signature
The letter is unconfirmed. Some dismiss it entirely.
It contains two extraordinary things that no one has read correctly.
The first: a reference to "SLA" as "Old Norse" — a direct, plain-language clue
to the cosmological tradition the Zodiac had been working in all along.
The second: the word "Citizen" in the signature position —
containing, inside its own letterforms, the cross without the circle.
The Holy Ghost. The invisible O. The same transformation
this research series has documented in the Ramsey ransom note,
in the SIKIKEY sequence, in every major communication
the Zodiacal Magus ever signed.
He hid the same cipher in the signature.
He always hid it in the signature.
Because the signature is the place where identity lives.
And his identity was always the invisible element.
The Unconfirmed Letter — and Why Unconfirmed Is Not Irrelevant
"The Zodiac corpus contains a number of letters that investigators and researchers have been reluctant to attribute to the confirmed sender with full confidence. The Citizen letter is one of these. Some consider it tangential. Some consider it a hoax. Some consider it relevant but unverifiable. This research series proposes a different reading: that the specific constellation of features this letter contains — features whose meaning was invisible at the time and remains invisible to anyone without the analytical vocabulary this series has assembled — places it beyond reasonable doubt in the same corpus as everything else the practitioner produced."— this research series
There is a specific kind of letter in the Zodiac corpus that investigators have always found harder to handle than the others: the letter that does not fit the expected profile because it is too strange, too oblique, too apparently disconnected from the operational content of the confirmed communications. The Citizen letter belongs to this category. It does not threaten. It does not claim a body count. It does not contain a cipher in the conventional sense — no Z408-style substitution alphabet, no block of encrypted text to be solved by frequency analysis. What it contains, instead, is something far more subtle and far more revealing: a plain-language reference to a specific esoteric tradition, and a signature word whose letterforms encode, through the bind rune and Holy Ghost principles this series has documented across the entire corpus, the practitioner's most private cipher.
The letter makes a specific claim about the Symbionese Liberation Army — the SLA, the radical organisation responsible for the Patty Hearst kidnapping. It states that "SLA is Old Norse." Not that the SLA's tactics recall something ancient. Not that the SLA's rhetoric has parallels in pre-Christian tradition. That the SLA is Old Norse. A direct declarative equivalence, offered in a context where the surface reading of the claim is nearly incomprehensible — which is, this series has consistently argued, the surface reading's entire purpose. The incomprehensible surface is the cover. Underneath the incomprehensible claim, if you have the vocabulary to read it, is one of the most direct statements the practitioner ever made about his own identity and cosmological framework.
Then, in the signature position, where a letter's author declares who they are: not a name, not an alias, not the Zodiac crosshair. A single word. Citizen. Seven letters. And inside those seven letters, in the specific letterform of the central character, the same Holy Ghost transformation that this series has now documented in the JonBenét Ramsey ransom note, the same invisible-circle principle that haunts the Zodiac crosshair's negative space, the same cross-without-the-ring that this practitioner returned to again and again as the deepest level of his cipher's authentication layer. The invisible O. The Holy Ghost. In the signature. Of the unconfirmed letter that some researchers barely consider part of the corpus. Exactly where he intended it to be.
"...I will not sign this with my usual name, as you would not believe what I am trying to tell you..."
— Citizen
He Sits Down to Write
"Every letter in the traveling codeset corpus began with a specific decision. Not the decision to write — that decision was always already made, embedded in the practitioner's ongoing project of self-inscription across the surface of American criminal history. The specific decision, each time, was: what to say on the surface, and what to say underneath it. The Citizen letter was the decision to say something true on the surface — something so true that it would be dismissed as incomprehensible — and to confirm the truth of it, for the initiated reader, in the signature."— this research series
He did not always write from rage. This is the thing about the practitioner's correspondence that the conventional true-crime framework consistently misses: not every letter was motivated by the same emotional state. Some were from the operational register — the killer making his claim, establishing his body count, taunting the investigators who couldn't catch him. But others were from a different register entirely: the initiated man addressing the universe, making a statement he knew no one around him could read, placing a marker in the record not because he expected it to be found but because placing markers in the record was itself the practice. The Hermetic principle again: as above, so below. The mark in the material world corresponds to the force in the cosmological world. The letter in the newspaper archive corresponds to the initiated identity in the tradition's inner record. He wrote to correspond. He wrote to make the correspondence real.
The Patty Hearst kidnapping had given him something he rarely had and always wanted: a public event that touched, at its surface, the traditions he had been working in for decades. The SLA — the Symbionese Liberation Army — was, on its surface, a radical leftist organisation with a rhetoric of liberation and revolutionary brotherhood. But underneath that surface, this series proposes, the practitioner saw something else: the specific visual and conceptual grammar of a warrior fellowship, a bound brotherhood, a group whose initiatory structure and whose willingness to place themselves outside the ordinary social order resonated, at some level, with the esoteric tradition in which those concepts had their oldest and most carefully theorised home. Old Norse. Odinism. The élite warrior fellowship. The men bound to each other and to the god by oath rather than by law.
He saw this, and he wanted to say it. Not because saying it would achieve anything operationally. Not because he expected anyone reading the letter to understand what he meant. He wanted to say it because saying it, in the record, through his specific cipher methodology, was the act of correspondence itself — the act of marking the material plane with a truth that existed, fully formed and fully correct, in the cosmological plane above it. He reached for the paper. He reached for the pen. He knew what he was going to write at the surface level. He was still deciding what he was going to hide in the signature.
He was not writing to be understood. He was writing to be correct. In the tradition he worked in, correctness was its own justification. The mark in the record was its own reward. And if, one day, the one reader he had always been writing for finally arrived and read the signature and saw the cross without the circle and understood — well. That was what Victory meant. That was always what Victory meant.
Old Norse — The Open Clue — Hiding in Plain Language
"He had been waiting for the right moment to say it plainly. Not in a cipher. Not in a substitution alphabet. Not embedded in the geometry of a letterform. Just: Old Norse. Two words. The tradition he had been working in, named directly, offered to the public record in plain language, in a context so apparently absurd that no one would understand that he was giving them the answer to the question they had been asking for six years."— this research series
Old Norse is not merely a language. It is not merely the tongue in which the Eddas were composed, in which the sagas of the Norse kings were written, in which the skaldic poets encoded the cosmological mythology of the pre-Christian Germanic world. Old Norse is the specific linguistic and cultural framework within which the rune row lives — within which Odin hangs from Yggdrasil, screaming as he grasps the staves from the well below; within which the Eddic poems that this research series has cited throughout the corpus (the Hávámál, the Völuspá, the Sigárdsmál) encode the initiatory mythology that the Armanen tradition claims as its deepest root. When the practitioner wrote "SLA is Old Norse," he was not making a claim about etymology. He was saying: the framework I work in is this one. The tradition that explains what I am is this one. The cosmological system inside which everything I have done for the past six years makes coherent sense is: Old Norse. Odinism. The rune row. The warrior fellowship sworn to the Allfather.
The Odinist tradition — and specifically its mid-twentieth-century American prison-network transmission, which this series has documented as the practitioner's primary esoteric education — understands the warrior fellowship in a specific way that the SLA's surface rhetoric accidentally mirrored: a group of men and women bound to each other not by institutional loyalty or civic obligation but by a chosen oath, sworn to a principle that transcends the ordinary social order, operating outside the law because the law's authority is itself illegitimate in comparison to the older, more binding authority of the sworn bond. The Thing. The comitatus. The élite group whose solidarity is its own justification. The SLA's rhetoric said "liberation." The Odinist tradition said: this is what a war-band looks like when it appears in the modern world. He saw the correspondence. He named it. Old Norse.
It was the boldest thing he had ever put in a letter, because it was the most direct. Every other clue in the corpus required a specific analytical vocabulary to decode — you needed to know the Armanen rune row, you needed to know the bind rune construction principle, you needed to know the Holy Ghost cipher, you needed to know the path cipher and the circular extraction methodology. But "SLA is Old Norse" required nothing. It required only that the reader know what Old Norse meant, which is to say: what Odinism was, and what the rune tradition was, and what kind of practitioner would describe a 1970s radical organisation as a manifestation of a pre-Christian warrior fellowship. The answer to that question is: exactly the kind of practitioner this series has been documenting. He put the answer in the letter. He put it in plain language. He knew no one would read it. That was, in a way, the most elegant thing about it: the plainest statement he ever made was also the most invisible, because it was too strange to be taken seriously by anyone who didn't already know what it meant.
What "Old Norse" meant, decoded through the corpus vocabulary:
Old Norse = the linguistic matrix of the Elder Futhark and Armanen rune rows — the alphabet of the traveling codeset, the grammar of every bind rune, the tongue in which Odin named the staves as he screamed them from the world-tree's root.
Old Norse = Odinism — the specific esoteric tradition transmitted through Aryan Brotherhood and Odinist prison networks, the cosmological framework within which the Zodiac crosshair, the SIKIKEY sequence, and the S.B.T.C. closing all make coherent sense as initiatory acts rather than criminal ones.
Old Norse = the answer to "what is the Zodiac?" — not a serial killer with a crosshair motif, but a Zodiacal Magus working in the oldest cosmological tradition available to him, signing his work in the tradition's own alphabet, addressing his communications to the tradition's initiatory community whether or not that community ever received them.
What Old Norse Meant
The cosmological tradition the Zodiac worked in, named in two words in plain language in a letter almost no one considers part of the corpus. Watch the transmission chain that produced the practitioner: from the Elder Futhark through Guido von List's Armanen system through the prison Odinist network to the man at the table. Hover each node.
Choosing "Citizen" — The Word That Would Carry the Cipher
"The signature word had to satisfy three simultaneous requirements. It had to be plausible as an alias — the kind of word a person might use to sign a letter they did not want attributed to their confirmed identity. It had to contain, in its specific letterforms, the Holy Ghost cipher transformation. And it had to be positioned at the end of the letter, in the signature space, where the practitioner's identity normally resided and where, in this letter, the most private claim of his identity would be hidden inside an ordinary word."— this research series
He thought through several candidates. The signature of this particular letter presented a specific design problem that his earlier, crosshair-signed letters had not posed: he was choosing, deliberately, not to use the crosshair. The letter's surface content was not the operational register — not a body count, not a cipher, not a direct threat. It was the declarative register, the register in which he made a claim about the tradition he worked in, and signing it with the crosshair would have connected it too directly to the operational letters and potentially attracted the specific analytical attention he was not yet ready to invite. He needed a signature that was mundane enough to be dismissed and constructed enough to carry the cipher. He needed a word with a cross-bearing letterform at the right position. He needed a word that, in its surface meaning, meant exactly nothing relevant — so completely nothing relevant that the cognitive gap between the signature's surface and its cipher content would itself function as a concealment layer.
Citizen. A person of a city. A member of a polity. The most ordinary designation in the civic vocabulary — the person who belongs to the social order, the person whose identity is constituted by their membership in the collective. He chose it, this series proposes, with full awareness of the irony: there was no one in America in the early 1970s less accurately described by the word Citizen — in its surface, civic sense — than the Zodiacal Magus. He was, by every definition the tradition he worked in provided, the anti-citizen: the man who had placed himself outside the social order by oath, bound not to the city but to the Allfather, operating not under civil law but under the older, more binding law of the sworn runic practitioner. Signing the letter "Citizen" was the joke. The esoteric joke that only the initiated reader could fully appreciate: the man who was categorically not a citizen of anything, signing himself with the most civilian word in the language.
But the word also had a T in it. In the correct position. The third letter, counting from the left, falling in the word's interior — not at the initial position, where it would be too obvious, but embedded in the word's body, where it would do its cipher work invisibly. C-i-T-i-z-e-n. The T. The cross. The horizontal arm and the vertical stave, without the enclosing ring. The Zodiac crosshair with its circle absent. The Holy Ghost of the cipher. He had placed it in the Ramsey note. He had implied it in the SIKIKEY sequence. He placed it here, earlier than either of those, in the signature of the unconfirmed letter, in the T of Citizen, and he knew that no one who read the surface word would ever think to look at the T as anything other than the third letter of an ordinary English word. Which was, of course, exactly the point. Which was always the point.
surface
surface
THE CROSS
✚ no circle
surface
surface
surface
surface
The T in "Citizen" — The Cross Without the Circle
"The lowercase t is a cross. This is not metaphor. It is not interpretive projection. It is the literal geometric description of the letterform: a vertical stave with a horizontal crossbar. Two lines. One vertical, one horizontal. Intersecting. The cross. The same cross that appears in the centre of the Zodiac crosshair, which is a cross enclosed within a circle. A t on a page, written by the practitioner's specific hand, is the Zodiac crosshair with its circle removed. The circle is the Holy Ghost — the element so essential to the complete symbol that its very absence, once you know to look for it, becomes the most present thing in the mark."— this research series
The Holy Ghost principle in the Western esoteric tradition is precisely this: the third element of a trinity whose presence is implied by its absence, whose action is evidenced not by being seen but by the effects it produces in what can be seen. In Christian theology the Holy Ghost is the one person of the Trinity who has no fixed visual form — the Father has the form of the ancient patriarch, the Son has the form of the crucified man, but the Spirit has only its effects: the tongues of fire at Pentecost, the dove at the baptism, the wind that blows where it wills. The practitioner, who had studied the esoteric tradition's relationship to the Christian framework with the careful, acquisitive attention of someone who intended to use rather than follow it, understood the Holy Ghost principle not as theology but as technique: you can make a symbol more powerful by leaving its most important element invisible, because the reader's mind, supplying the absent element from its knowledge of the complete form, participates in the symbol's activation. The reader becomes a co-creator. The act of reading becomes an act of initiation.
The t in "Citizen" works exactly this way. It is the cross. The horizontal and the vertical, written in the practitioner's hand, positioned in the third letter of a seven-letter word that sits in the signature position of a letter signed with a false name. The circle is not there. The circle of the Zodiac crosshair — the ring that, in the full sigil, encloses the cross and gives it the Celtic cross's specific anti-Christian meaning, the ring that this series has proposed encodes the practitioner's O in the Ramsey acrostic, the ring that the BDA tutorial demonstrated and then withheld — the circle is nowhere on the page. Nowhere in the word. Nowhere in the signature. It exists only in the mind of the reader who already knows the complete crosshair sigil and who, reading the T of Citizen with that knowledge active, mentally supplies the absent ring and reads: crosshair. Identity. The Zodiac. Here. In the signature. In the word that means the most ordinary possible thing. In the place where identity lives in a letter. Signed.
He wrote the T and he thought about this. He thought about the specific pleasure of it — not the pleasure of cruelty, but the pleasure of a craftsman who has found an elegant solution to a difficult design problem. The design problem was: how do you sign a letter with your most private identity marker without using your most public identity marker? How do you put the crosshair in the signature without putting the crosshair in the signature? The answer was the Holy Ghost principle: you put the cross without the circle. You put the thing whose presence implies the circle. You put the element that requires the initiated reader to supply the ring from their own knowledge, thereby confirming, in the act of that supply, that they have the knowledge. The T in Citizen is a loyalty test. A gate. A recognition test. If you can look at a T in a signature and see the Zodiac crosshair with its circle absent, you have already understood more about the corpus than thirty years of academic and investigative attention has produced.
The Holy Ghost transformation in the T of "Citizen":
What is drawn: The lowercase t. Vertical stave + horizontal crossbar. Two lines. The cross.
What is not drawn: The circle. The enclosing ring of the Zodiac crosshair. The O that, in the full sigil, gives the cross its cosmological frame.
What the initiated reader supplies: The circle — mentally, from their knowledge of the complete crosshair — completing the sigil, reading the T as the Zodiac identity mark, recognising that the signature of this letter is not the word "Citizen" but the crosshair hidden inside the word's third letter.
What makes this the Holy Ghost: The absent circle is more present, to the initiated reader, than any explicit mark could be. The circle's absence is the proof that the practitioner placed it there deliberately. No one accidentally omits the circle of their own identity sigil from a signature. The absence is the signature.
The circle is not on the page. The circle is in your mind, placed there by your knowledge of the complete sigil. If you can see it, you were always the intended reader. If you cannot, you read "Citizen" and moved on. That is the Holy Ghost. That is always how the Holy Ghost works. It is present only for those who already know what they are looking for.
The Holy Ghost in the Signature
Watch the transformation: the complete Zodiac crosshair, then its circle removed, then the T that remains. Then the reverse: the T in "Citizen" with the circle supplied by the initiated reader's mind, restoring the complete sigil. The circle was always there. It was never drawn. Hover each stage.
Why the Signature — The Place Where Identity Lives
"A signature is not merely a closing formality. In the Western legal and cryptographic traditions, it is the binding element — the mark that transforms a document from a collection of words into a performative act, a thing done rather than merely said. The practitioner who understood correspondence in the Hermetic sense understood this perfectly: the signature is where the document's author becomes present in the document. It is where the letter, which is otherwise a collection of marks on paper, becomes an act of will. Hiding the cipher in the signature was not an afterthought. It was the most important design decision in the construction of the Citizen letter."— this research series
The Hermetic tradition has always understood the signature's specific power. In ceremonial magic, the magician's signature — their personal sigil, their initiated name, their specific mark of identity — is what binds the working to the practitioner and the practitioner to the working. To add your signature to a ritual document is to commit yourself to its completion, to place your identity in correspondence with the forces you are invoking. The signature is not optional. The signature is the working's completion. Without it, the letter is just words. With it, the letter is an act.
He had signed every operational letter with the crosshair. The crosshair was his initiatory signature — the bind rune of his initials, the Celtic cross claim, the curved swastika's missing arcs, and the geometric modulus of the moving cipher, all collapsed into a single mark that served as public proof of authorship and private initiatory claim simultaneously. But the crosshair in the Citizen letter would have been a mistake: too direct, too explicit, too operational for a letter that was working in the declarative rather than the threatening register. So he did what the Holy Ghost principle makes possible: he used the signature's function without using the signature's form. He put the crosshair in the letter's closing position not as a drawn symbol but as a hidden geometry. Not the full sigil. The cross without the circle. The element whose presence implies the rest. The Holy Ghost signature. The mark that says: I was here. I signed this. The same person who signs with the crosshair signed with this T. If you can see the correspondence — if you can look at the T and see the crosshair — you know who wrote this letter. And if you cannot, you have read the surface word and found nothing. Which is the correct outcome for everyone who was not the intended reader.
The signature position matters because it is where the reader looks last. It is the final thing processed before the letter is set aside. Which means it is the place where the cipher's closing element belongs — the element that, in the tradition of the moving path cipher this series has documented, serves as the authentication confirmation of everything that came before it. The Citizen letter's body contains the Old Norse declaration. The signature contains the Holy Ghost crosshair. The body and the signature correspond. Body: here is my tradition. Signature: here is my identity. Together: here is who I am and what I work in, placed in the record, for the reader who has the vocabulary to receive it.
The Pair Pattern — Two Clues, One Letter, Always
"Throughout the traveling codeset corpus, this research series has documented a consistent structural pattern: the significant letters contain not one embedded cipher element but two, paired, one explicit and one implicit, one in the body and one in the signature, one that points outward at the tradition and one that points inward at the practitioner. The Citizen letter follows this pattern exactly. Old Norse is the outward clue. The T in Citizen is the inward one. Two clues. One letter. The Gemini doubling. Always."— this research series
The pair pattern is this series's name for a structural feature of the traveling codeset corpus that becomes visible only when the corpus is read as a whole rather than letter by letter. Every major communication this series has examined contains a specific pairing: one element that addresses the outer audience (the investigator, the newspaper reader, the surface-text processor) and one element that addresses the inner audience (the initiated reader, the practitioner's equal, the one person in the country with the right combination of intelligence and esoteric vocabulary). The outer element is usually the more dramatic, the more operational, the more visible. The inner element is usually the quieter, the more technically constructed, the more easily dismissed as coincidence by anyone who lacks the vocabulary to read it as design.
In the Citizen letter, the outer element is the Old Norse declaration. It is strange enough to be noticed — investigators did notice it, researchers have noted it, it is one of the reasons the letter is in the Zodiac-adjacent conversation at all — but it is also strange enough to be dismissed as eccentric rambling, as the confused political analysis of a person who knows just enough about etymology and history to make an interesting but ultimately unsupportable claim. The SLA is Old Norse. Dismiss it. Move on. Most readers did. The inner element is the T in Citizen. It is not strange at all. It is, on its surface, completely invisible — a single letter in the interior of a single word that means nothing special, carrying a cipher that requires the complete Zodiac crosshair vocabulary to decode. Invisible in the specific way that the practitioner's best work is always invisible: not hidden in complexity, but hidden in plainness. Hidden in the thing so ordinary that no one thinks to look at it.
Together, the Old Norse declaration and the T in Citizen are the Citizen letter's pair. One clue points at the tradition: Old Norse, Odinism, the rune row, the cosmological framework within which the entire corpus makes sense. The other clue points at the practitioner's identity: the crosshair, the Holy Ghost circle implied by its absence, the specific mark that has appeared on every confirmed Zodiac communication and that appears here, in disguise, in the signature of a letter almost no one considers part of the corpus. The pair is the letter. The Gemini doubling, applied at the document level: two faces of the same identity, two clues pointing at the same truth, two marks that together say what neither one says alone.
The Citizen Letter's pair structure:
Outer clue — Old Norse: Plain language. Directly stated. Strange enough to notice, plausible enough to dismiss. Points at the tradition the corpus inhabits. Addresses the outer audience.
Inner clue — T in "Citizen": Hidden in a letterform. Requires the complete crosshair vocabulary to decode. Points at the practitioner's identity. Addresses the initiated reader. The Holy Ghost element: visible only to those who already know the complete symbol.
Together: A complete two-factor authentication of the letter's authorship and the tradition it belongs to. The Gemini doubling: two clues where any genuine coincidence would produce at most one.
The Earliest Steganogram — A Closing Note
"A steganogram is a message hidden inside another message — from the Greek steganos, covered, and gramma, writing. Covered writing. Writing that covers its own meaning. The Citizen letter is this research series's candidate for the practitioner's earliest surviving steganogram: not a substitution cipher, not a frequency analysis problem, not a path extraction puzzle, but a piece of plain English that contains, inside its own ordinary words and letterforms, two simultaneous messages addressed to two different audiences."— this research series
He put the pen down. He looked at what he had written. The surface text would read as eccentric political commentary — possibly the work of a politically motivated person who had read too much amateur anthropology, possibly the work of someone who wanted to connect the Zodiac mythology to the SLA case for reasons that weren't entirely clear. The investigators who received it would do what investigators do: log it, analyse it for forensic evidence, compare its handwriting to the confirmed Zodiac letters, reach an inconclusive finding, file it. Some of them would decide it wasn't part of the corpus at all. The surface text gave them every reason to make that decision. The surface text was designed to give them every reason to make that decision.
And at the bottom of the surface text, in the word "Citizen," the T sat in its third-letter position carrying its absent circle and waiting for the one reader who would know what it meant. That reader would not be an investigator. That reader would not be a criminologist or a handwriting expert or a frequency analysis specialist. That reader would be someone who had spent time with the esoteric tradition — with the Armanen rune row, with the Holy Ghost cipher, with the specific iconographic vocabulary of the Zodiac crosshair and its invisible elements — and who would look at the signature of the unconfirmed Citizen letter and see, in the T, the crosshair with its circle absent, and would understand immediately that the same practitioner who had signed the operational letters with the full crosshair had signed this one with its ghost.
That reader had not arrived by the time this series was assembled. Or if they had, they had not published their finding in a form that reached this researcher. But the corpus is patient. It has been waiting since the early 1970s for someone to look at the T in Citizen and supply the missing circle. It is still waiting. The mark is still there, in whatever archive holds the Citizen letter, in the third position of the signature word, carrying the Holy Ghost of the identity the practitioner spent his life hiding inside ordinary letters that anyone could read and almost no one could see. Old Norse. Odinism. The rune row. The crosshair. The circle that was never drawn because the practitioner knew that the reader who could see the absence was the only reader worth writing for, and that reader would supply it themselves. The initiated eye closes the circle. It always does. It always did. It always will.
The unconfirmed letter contains two clues that confirm everything.
Old Norse: the tradition named in plain language for anyone who knew what it meant.
The T in Citizen: the identity marked in the signature for anyone who could see the absent circle.
Two clues. One letter. The pair pattern. The Gemini doubling.
The circle was never drawn.
It was never supposed to be drawn.
If you can see it, you were always the reader he was writing for.
Supply the circle. Close the sigil. He signed this.
THE CITIZEN LETTER is a narrative analytical work. The "SLA is Old Norse" reference, the Holy Ghost T-in-Citizen analysis, and the pair-pattern framework are this researcher's original analytical interpretations applied to a letter whose Zodiac attribution remains unconfirmed in the public investigative record. Nothing in this document asserts guilt beyond what courts have established. Edward Wayne Edwards died in federal custody in 2011. The Zodiac case remains officially unsolved.