His Name Is Ron (20 page)

Unlike many of the other reporters covering the case, Dominick was not required to be impartial or neutral. In fact, he was quite outspoken about the way he felt. One morning later in the trial, as the door to our left opened, he wrote us a note: “Here comes the ‘killer.'”

The term worked for us. So did “murderer.”

After establishing the killer's penchant for beating up his wife, prosecutors began to document the events of June 12, 1994.

Marcia Clark asked Kim to bring in the clothes that Ron had worn to work on the last day of his life. Kim did not understand the reason for the request, but she complied.

The morning of February 7, Kim grabbed a brown grocery bag from a kitchen cupboard and went through Ron's personal effects, which we had stored, untouched, in our garage. The fact that she was finally able to
do
something gave her a positive feeling. Thus far, none of us had been able to provide any help whatsoever to the prosecution. But as she looked through the items in the boxes and realized once again that this was all that was left of her brother, an overwhelming melancholy took over. Her hand rested on a pen that was still in the pocket of the vest he had worn to work, and she drifted into a kind of dreamlike state, picturing Ron as she had last seen him, laughing and very much alive. She had to will herself back to the present.

She took the requested items to court. When she handed over the paper bag, she was surprised that Marcia asked her to testify as to where she had found the slacks and shirt in Ron's apartment. Kim agreed, and theorized that Marcia either wanted to humanize Ron to the jury or perhaps show that he had changed clothes quickly that evening, leaving his work clothes hanging haphazardly on the bathroom door.

Kim knew that all she had to do was tell the truth. She was nervous but happy to contribute, and was especially pleased when she learned that Cochran did not want her to testify. Perhaps he was worried that she would play upon the jury's sympathies.

We were sure that Kim's testimony would be little more than a footnote to the trial. Nevertheless, nothing was simple in this case.

First, we heard the testimony of the other witnesses describing the events of the evening of June 12. Karen Crawford, the former Mezzaluna
manager, said that she saw Ron leave the restaurant about 9:50
P.M.
Reaching into the paper bag, now marked “People's 30,” Marcia displayed Ron's slacks and shirt, and asked if they appeared to be what Ron had worn to work that night. The witness broke into tears.

Ron's friend and co-worker Stewart Tanner testified that he and Ron had had plans to go to a Mexican restaurant in Marina del Rey later that night.

After a break, Kim was called. But as she walked toward the witness stand, a bailiff suddenly held up his hand and commanded, “Hold up.” She realized that she was standing directly behind the defense table. She was only inches away from the defendant. F. Lee Bailey brushed against her as he took his seat. Gross, Kim thought. Where's the bug spray?

Marcia conducted a simple, straightforward direct examination. Exhibiting the bag, the white shirt, and black pants, she asked Kim, “Can you tell us where you found them?”

Kim answered, “They were draped over his bedroom door, the shirt and the pants … He obviously had taken them off and just swung them over the door.”

“Not on hangers?”

“No. My father and I put them on the hangers.”

Marcia asked, “Did you see any other white dress shirt or black pants like that in the apartment?”

“No, I did not.”

That was all the information that Marcia wanted to get into the record.

Judge Ito turned to the defense table and said, “Mr. Cochran.”

Johnnie Cochran replied, as usual, “Just a second, Your Honor.”

What would come next? Thus far the defense had found some reason to cross-examine every witness. Often the attacks were lengthy, vigorous, and vicious.

Kim hoped that Cochran would find some picayune reason to doubt her simple story. She did not know how she would respond. She might say something unreasonable and counterproductive, but she just wanted to “let him have it.”

Perhaps Cochran sensed this. Perhaps he read the message in Kim's eyes or body language. After a brief pause, Cochran declared, “No questions of this witness, Your Honor.”

Before leaving the stand, Kim stared directly at the killer. He turned his head away quickly, refusing to return her gaze.

FOURTEEN

Nicole's sister Tanya had purchased several small angel pins and distributed them to us and members of the prosecution team to wear in remembrance of the victims. Kim wore hers when she testified, but her long hair covered it from the jury's view.

Now Cochran complained about Marcia wearing hers in open court because it showed obvious sympathy with the victims' families. “She shouldn't have it on,” he said. “And she knows she shouldn't have it on.”

Judge Ito commented, “Jewelry is not my forte, as one who wears plastic watches.” However, he ordered Marcia not to wear the pin anymore. We were livid. Isn't Marcia supposed to be on the side of the victims? we asked ourselves. We were incensed that the same logic did not apply to Cochran and the rest of the “Scheme Team” sporting their ties, pocket handkerchiefs, and pins with African motifs. Also, members of the defendant's family had their own pins demonstrating their support of him.

Bill Hodgman finally returned to work. He would remain part of the prosecution team, but he would generally stay out of the courtroom. Bill said to Patti, “The thing that upsets me most is that I feel I have let you down.”

Patti was deeply touched by his sincerity. “Don't be ridiculous, Bill,” she said, “your health is more important than this case. Just worry about
taking care of yourself. We know you're here for us, working behind the scenes.”

Patti and Kim were still in the D.A.'s office, waiting for court to convene, when Chris Darden entered. We had not met him yet. Patti walked over, reached up, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi,” she said, “I'm Patti and this is Kim.” Patti told him that we desperately wanted to be involved in whatever way we could.

Chris seemed quite shy. He nodded his head slightly, smiled, mumbled, “Nice to meet you,” and quickly left the room.

Patti and Kim wondered if they had offended him or if there were some other problem. Later we learned why he had appeared a bit standoffish. Kim found out that she made Chris uncomfortable because she looked so much like Ron.

After hearing from a succession of brief witnesses who testified about the “plaintive” wailing of Nicole's Akita about 10:15 the night of the murders, and the dramatic testimony of Sukru Boztepe, who found the bodies, the prosecution called Officer Robert Riske, the first police officer on the scene.

I was able to come to court with Patti and Kim that day. We were accompanied by Erika Johnson. She had been one of Kim's closest friends when we lived in Chicago, and Ron had always thought of her as a little sister.

Officer Riske would provide necessary testimony, but we knew that it would be extremely difficult to listen to. What's more, the prosecution team warned us that several crime scene photographs would be displayed. We had seen two photos during Marcia Clark's opening statement; they were brutal. We had discussed this at length and came to the conclusion that if Ron had gone through this terrifying experience, the very least we could do was to be there for him now. As we took our seats in the front row of the spectators section, we placed a small box of Kleenex on the railing in front of us, knowing that we would need it. Very shortly one of the bailiffs came over and said, “Excuse me, Judge Ito wants you to take the box of Kleenex off the railing—the camera is picking it up.” Unbelievable, I thought. With all that is happening, Ito is concerned that the courtroom ambience would be ruined by a box of Kleenex? How bizarre. The judge is supposed to be tuned in to the testimony, and he's looking around the courtroom to make sure that everything is in order. God forbid the TV camera should reveal a Kleenex package in front of us.

However, we had no choice, and pulled the offending tissues out of camera range.

Officer Riske testified that at 12:09
A.M
. on June 13, 1994, he responded to an emergency call and discovered Ron's and Nicole's bodies. The most important part of his testimony was his description of the evidence that he found—a bloody glove, a watch cap, shoe prints, and a row of blood drops. He had noted all of this long before Detective Mark Fuhrman appeared on the scene. This was meaningful because the defense had already accused Fuhrman of being a racist. From this starting point they had taken a giant leap, suggesting that there were two gloves at the crime scene and that Fuhrman—acting out of dastardly and bigoted motives—had planted one of them at the killer's Brentwood estate. But Riske held firm; he asserted that there was only one glove at the crime scene.

During Riske's testimony the horrible crime scene photographs were projected on a screen above the witness box. When the first photo of Nicole appeared, Juditha Brown walked out of the room. Lou Brown stayed a bit longer, with his head bowed; then he left also.

We forced ourselves to remain as photos of Ron were displayed. Kim kept her eyes downcast. She opened her purse and focused her eyes on an photo of Ron, alive and smiling. Erika, who is usually stoic, broke down completely. Patti and I clung to one another and dabbed our eyes with the forbidden Kleenex.

It was a gross oversimplification to refer to what had happened to Ron as his “death.” He was the victim of a brutally vicious murder.

Kim called a friend who lives in Brentwood. The young woman complained, “Kim, the streets are all closed off, helicopters are everywhere. I can't even get to work.” It was Sunday, February 12, eight months to the day after the murders, and the jury was being treated to a field trip. We were not allowed to go along, and we had no desire to.

Motorcycle police closed down freeway ramps as a caravan of fourteen vehicles made its way to Brentwood. The twelve jurors and nine remaining alternates rode in a sheriff's department bus. They were casually dressed; one of the men was wearing a San Francisco 49ers cap. The murderer, who played most of his career with the Buffalo Bills but finished as a 49er, rode in an unmarked car with darkly tinted windows.

A security force of some 250 police officers had already scoured the Brentwood area with bomb-sniffing dogs.

The caravan stopped first at Ron's apartment, pausing briefly outside,
then drove on to Mezzaluna. Hundreds of sightseers lined the grassy median strip of San Vicente Boulevard. Others watched, sipping coffee and eating a light brunch in front of a nearby Mrs. Fields cookie store.

Next, the jurors toured Nicole's condominium, which was empty and up for sale. Marcia and Chris hoped to impress upon the jury how tiny the area was where the bodies were found, making it plausible that one person could have committed these murders. As Chris put it, “I think that Ronald Goldman, having confronted a suspect with a knife, was essentially caged.”

The jurors toured the crime scene in groups of four or five, flanked by deputies and attorneys. They took notes, but were not allowed to ask questions or make comments. The killer himself waived his right to enter Nicole's condo. News reports indicated that he remained outside in a car, crying. But we had seen that act before, and knew that it was feigned.

Finally the group wound up at the Rockingham estate. For about two hours the jurors toured in small groups, taking a break to return to the bus to eat boxed lunches. Watching and listening to the news coverage, Kim grew furious. Although they were not supposed to alter the scene, the killer's minions had set up a tableau of pious domesticity. There was a Bible on the table. Pictures of children and mementos of family bliss abounded. Kim thought that she could almost smell the chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven and the apple cider simmering on the stove. It was disgusting and deceptive. And it was a dramatic contrast to Nicole's now stark and barren condominium.

The defendant stood outside beneath a clump of trees, chatting animatedly with his lawyers and others, acting as if he were the host of some kind of perverse garden party.

“What's going on here?” Kim raged. “He's charged with double homicide, he's a prisoner, he should be treated like one and look like one. He should be in handcuffs and leg irons.” We half expected Robin Leach to pop out of the bushes and introduce a special segment of
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

The
Los Angeles Times
reported, “As he [Simpson] and others stood near a children's play area … he looked wistfully about an estate that, if convicted, he might never see again.”

I ached to tell him the true meaning of the words “never see again.”

Events had reached the point where nothing surprised us anymore.

By now it was abundantly clear that the “Scheme Team,” despite its many earlier denials, planned to play the so-called race card with a vengeance,
seeking to portray the killer as a victim of a huge conspiracy on the part of dozens of investigators. This, of course, was pulp fiction.