Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders (37 page)

Coincidence? Anticipating that this was probably what the Manson defense would argue, I jotted down some ideas for my rebuttal.

C
harles Manson was not without a sense of humor. While in the County Jail he had somehow managed to obtain an application for a Union Oil Company credit card. He filled it in, giving his correct name and the jail address. He listed “Spahn’s Movie Ranch” as his previous residence, and gave George Spahn as a reference. As for his occupation, he put “Evangelist”; type of business, “Religious”; length of employment, “20 years.” He also wrote, in the blank for wife’s first name, “None,” and gave as his number of dependents “16.”

The card was smuggled out of jail and mailed from Pasadena. Someone at Union Oil—obviously not a computer—recognized the name, and Charles Manson didn’t get the two credit cards he’d requested.

Another characteristic I’d noticed while observing Manson in court was his cockiness. One possible reason for this was his new notoriety. At the beginning of December 1969 few had ever heard of Charles Manson. By the end of that month the killer had already upstaged his famous victims. An enthusiastic Family member was heard to brag, “Charlie made the cover of
Life!
”

But it was something more. You got the feeling that, despite his verbal utterances, Manson was convinced that he was going to beat the rap.

He wasn’t the only one to feel this. Leslie Van Houten wrote her parents that even if convicted she’d be out in seven years (in California a person given life imprisonment is eligible for parole in seven years), while Bobby Beausoleil wrote several of his girl friends that he expected to be acquitted in his new trial, after which he was going to start his own Family.

The problem, at year’s end, was that there was a very good chance that at least Manson would be right.

“W
hat if Manson demands an immediate trial?”

Aaron and I discussed this at length. A defendant has a constitutional right to a speedy trial and a statutory right to go to trial within sixty days after the return of the indictment. If Manson insisted on this, we were in deep trouble.

We needed more time, for two reasons. We still desperately lacked evidence to corroborate the testimony of Susan Atkins, presuming—and it was a very big presumption—that she agreed to testify. And two of the defendants, Watson and Krenwinkel, were still out of state. They just happened to be the only two defendants against whom there was scientific evidence of guilt, i.e., the fingerprints at the Tate residence. If there was to be a joint trial, which we wanted, we needed at least one of the two sitting behind that defense table.

I suggested we bluff. Every time we were in court, we should indicate that we wanted to go to trial as quickly as possible. Our hope was that Manson would think this was bad, and start stalling himself.

It was a gamble. There was a very real possibility that Charlie might call our bluff, saying, with his strange little grin, “O.K., let’s go to trial right now.”

Confidential Memo. From: Deputy DA Vincent Bugliosi. To: District Attorney Evelle Younger. Subject: Status of Tate & LaBianca cases.

The memo ran to thirteen pages, but the heart of it consisted of a single paragraph:

“Without Susan Atkins’ testimony on the Tate case, the evidence against two out of the five defendants [Manson and Kasabian] is rather anemic. Without her testimony on the LaBianca case, the evidence against five out of the six defendants [everyone except Van Houten] is non-existent.”

That was it. Without Sadie, we still didn’t have a case.

O
n January 2, I called a meeting of the Tate and LaBianca detectives, giving them a list of forty-two things that had to be done.

Many were repeat requests: Go to the areas where the clothing and the gun were found and search for knives. Has Granado been able to “make” the boots we picked up in November with the bloody boot-heel print on the Tate walkway? SID must have something by now on the wire cutters, also the clothing the TV crew found. Where is the tape Inyo County Deputy Sheriff Ward made with the two miners, Crockett and Poston? Where are the reports on the Tate, LaBianca, and Spahn Ranch toll calls? Telephone company destroys its records after six months; hurry on this.

Many of the requests were elementary follow-up steps that I felt the detectives should have already done on their own, without our prompting: Get Atkins printing exemplar and compare it with
PIG
on the front door at Tate. Get same on defendants Van Houten, Krenwinkel, and Watson and compare with printing at the LaBianca residence. Submit a complete report on the stolen credit cards involved in this case (we were hoping to find a sales slip on the rope or the Buck knives). DeCarlo said he was along when Manson purchased the three-strand nylon rope at the Jack Frost store in Santa Monica in June 1969: ask Frost employees if they sold such a rope; also show them the “Family album” to see if they can recall Manson and/or DeCarlo. Also show photos of Manson, Atkins, Kasabian, and the others to employees of the Standard station in Sylmar where Rosemary LaBianca’s wallet was found.

After giving the detectives the list, I asked, “I presume that, above and beyond what I’ve given you, you guys are also conducting your own independent investigations?” The long silence that followed was in itself the answer. Then Calkins complained, “How are we supposed to know to do these things? We’re policemen, not lawyers.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “These forty-two things have nothing to do with the law. Each and every one pertains to securing evidence and strengthening our case against these people.”

“But that isn’t our job,” Calkins continued to protest.

His remark was so astonishing I came close to losing my temper. “
Investigating a case, gathering evidence, connecting defendants with the corpus delicti of the crime—that isn’t a police job?
Come on, Bob. You’re the detectives. Aaron and I are the lawyers. Each of us has his own job to do. And if either of us falls down on the job, Manson is going to walk. Think about that.”

I could understand if the detectives had other duties, but they were assigned full time to the case.

Unlike Calkins, Mike McGann rarely complained, but he rarely came through either. To a man, the LaBianca detectives were far more conscientious. In the weeks ahead I began giving them assignments that related specifically to the Tate, as well as the LaBianca, murders, knowing they’d do their best. I did this only after checking with Lieutenant Helder, who candidly agreed that Calkins and McGann simply weren’t getting the job done.

If it was any consolation to the police—and I’m sure it wasn’t—my own list was much longer than theirs. It ranged from such simple items as a reminder to get the Beatles’ album that contained the song “Helter Skelter” to more than fifty names of potential witnesses I needed to interview. It also included such detailed specifics as: Obtain exact measurements of all LaBianca wounds—original officers failed to ask Deputy Medical Examiner Katsuyama for this—in order to determine dimensions of knives used.

The measurements of the LaBianca wounds were extremely important. If the wound patterns were consistent with those made by the LaBianca kitchen knives, then the logical inference was that the defendants had entered the residence unarmed, then killed the LaBiancas with their own knives. If Manson had intended to kill these people, the defense would surely ask, would he have sent in unarmed people to do the job?

Of even greater importance was another item which appeared on all the assignment lists: Get incidents—and witnesses who can testify to same—where Manson ordered or instructed
anyone
to do
anything
.

Put yourself in the jury box. Would you believe the prosecutor if he told you that a little runt out at Spahn Ranch sent some half dozen people, the majority of them young girls, out to murder for him, their victims not persons they knew and had a grudge against but complete strangers, including a pregnant woman, and that without argument they did it?

To convince a jury of this, I would have first to convince them of Manson’s domination over the Family, and particularly over his co-defendants. A domination so total, so complete, that they would do anything he told them to do. Including murder.

Each time I interviewed anyone connected with the Family, I would ask for an example of Manson’s control. Often the witness would be unable to recall specific examples, and I’d have to dig to bring them out: Why did Manson beat Dianne Lake; was it because she failed to do something he told her to do? Who assigned the chores at the ranch? Who put out the guards and lookouts? Can you recall a single instance where Tex ever talked back to Charlie?

Getting this evidence was especially difficult because Manson rarely gave direct orders. Usually he’d suggest, rather than command, though his suggestions had the force of commands.

Domination.
Unless we could prove this, beyond all reasonable doubt, we’d never obtain a conviction against Manson.

A
s the defense attorneys requested discovery, I’d take them to my office and let them go through our files on the case. Since Manson was now acting as his own attorney, the files were also made available to him, the only difference being that they were carted over to the County Jail and he examined them there. Eventually, by a court order, secretaries in our office photostated everything in our files, with a copy for each defense counsel.

Only two things were held back. I argued to the court, “We would vehemently resist furnishing Mr. Manson with addresses, and particularly telephone numbers, of prospective witnesses, Your Honor.” I also strongly opposed providing the defense with copies of the death photos. We had heard that a German magazine had a standing offer of $100,000 for them. I did not want the families of the victims to open a magazine and see the terrible butchery inflicted on their loved ones.

With only these two exceptions—the court ruling in our favor on both—the prosecution, by law, gave the defense anything they wanted and, discovery being a one-way street, they in turn gave us
nothing
. We couldn’t even get a list of the witnesses they intended to call. I was still reading newspaper and magazine articles to pick up leads.

Even this wasn’t as simple as it sounds. Many former associates of the Family were in fear of their lives. Several, including Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys, had received death threats. Since few sources wished to be quoted by name, pseudonyms were often used in the articles. In several instances, I tracked down someone only to find a person I’d already interviewed. And, in more than a few cases, I found fiction posing as fact.

One article claimed that Manson and various other Family members had been present at a party Roman and Sharon gave at 10050 Cielo in early 1969. Once located, the writer told me his source was Alan Warnecke, a close friend of Terry Melcher’s. When I talked to Warnecke, he denied saying any such thing. Eventually I assembled a list of persons who had attended the party, and as many as could be located were interviewed. None had seen Manson or the others at 10050 Cielo Drive, either on the night in question or any other time.

Peter Maas, author of
The Valachi Papers
, wrote an article entitled “The Sharon Tate Murders,” which appeared in the
Ladies’ Home Journal
. In it was the following paragraph:

“‘How are you going to get the establishment? You can’t sing to them. I tried that. I tried to save them, but they wouldn’t listen. Now we got to destroy them.’—Charlie Manson to a friend in the summer of 1969.”

This was powerful evidence, if true, and I was anxious to learn the source of Maas’ quotation.

After easily a dozen calls, I located Maas in New York City. Asked the source of several other statements, he quickly supplied them. But when it came to the key quote mentioned above, which the
Journal
had seen fit to highlight with italics on the first page of the article, Maas said he couldn’t remember who had told him that.

Cross off another seemingly promising lead.

O
n August 9, 1968—exactly a year before the Tate murders—Gregg Jakobson had arranged a recording session for Manson at a studio in Van Nuys. I went there to listen to the tapes, which were now in the possession of Herb Weiser, a Hollywood attorney representing the studio.

My own admittedly unprofessional appraisal was that Manson was no worse than many performers in current vogue.
*
However, Charlie’s musical ability was not my major concern. Both Atkins and DeCarlo had said that the words “helter skelter” appeared in at least one of Manson’s own songs. I’d asked both, “Are you sure he wasn’t just playing the Beatles’ song “Helter Skelter”? No, each had replied; this was Charlie’s own composition. If anywhere in his lyrics I could find “helter skelter,” “pig,” “death to pigs,” or “rise,” it would be strong circumstantial evidence.

No luck.

I
t looked, for a time, as if we’d have better luck with the Watson extradition. On January 5, following a hearing in Austin, Texas Secretary of State Martin Dies, Jr., ordered Watson returned to California. Boyd returned to McKinney and filed a writ of habeas corpus, asking that Dies’ order be vacated. The writ was filed with Judge Brown. On January 16, Brown granted a thirty-day continuance on Boyd’s request. Tex remained in Texas.

In Los Angeles, Linda Kasabian was arraigned on the sixth and pleaded “not guilty.” That same day attorney Marvin Part requested that a court-appointed psychiatrist examine his client, Leslie Van Houten. Judge Keene appointed Dr. Blake Skrdla, who was to make a confidential report to Part. Earlier Part had requested and received permission to interview Leslie on tape. Though the prosecution would neither hear the tape nor see the report, it was a fairly safe assumption that Part, like his predecessor Barnett, was considering an insanity plea.

We didn’t have to wait very long for Manson’s reaction.

On the nineteenth Leslie requested that Part be relieved as her attorney and Ira Reiner appointed instead.

Owing to the possibly sensitive nature of the testimony, Judge George M. Dell decided to hear the matter in chambers, outside the presence of the public and press.
*

Part opposed the substitution, arguing that Leslie Van Houten was mentally incapable of making a rational decision. “This girl will do anything that Charles Manson or any member of this so-called Manson Family says…This girl has no will of her own left…Because of this hold that Charles Manson and the Family has over her, she doesn’t care whether she is tried together and gets the gas chamber, she just wants to be with the Family.”

The appointment of Reiner, Part claimed, would constitute a conflict of interest, one that would definitely hurt Miss Van Houten.

Part told the court how the switch had come about. A week or so ago Squeaky had visited Leslie. Although Part was also present, Squeaky had told her, “
We
think you ought to have another lawyer,” and had shown her Reiner’s card. Leslie had replied, “I’ll do anything that Charlie wants me to do.” A few days later Leslie (1) refused to be examined by the psychiatrist, and (2) informed Part that he was no longer her attorney and that Reiner was.

Part wanted Judge Dell to listen to the tape he had made with Leslie. He was sure that, having heard it, the Court would realize that Leslie Van Houten was incapable of acting in her own best interests.

It was now obvious that Part felt a joint trial and an “umbrella” defense would hurt his client. The other defendants were charged with seven murders, Leslie with only two. And the evidence against her was slight. “To the best of my knowledge,” Part said, referring to the Dianne Lake statement which he had received through discovery, “all she did was perhaps stab somebody who was already dead.”

Judge Dell then questioned Ira Reiner, who admitted that he had talked to Manson “roughly a dozen times.” He also admitted that Manson was one of several people who had suggested he represent Leslie. He had never actually represented Manson, however, and he had only gone to see Miss Van Houten after receiving a written request from her.

Judge Dell questioned Leslie outside the presence of the two attorneys. She remained firm in her resolve: she wanted Reiner.

Part, literally, begged Judge Dell to listen to the tape he had made with Leslie. Part said, “That girl is insane in a way that is almost science fiction.”

Judge Dell said he would rather not hear the tape. He was concerned with one issue only: whether Miss Van Houten’s mental state was such that she could intelligently make a substitution of counsel. To determine this, he appointed three psychiatrists to listen to the tape and examine Leslie, their confidential report, on that single issue, to be made directly to him.