Authors: Kim Goldman
The forty-eight-hour weekend seemed endless. Kim's anxiety level skyrocketed. “I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't think straight,” she said. “I don't know if I can get through this.”
She speculated that, since the jury had been ordered to disregard its previous deliberations and go back to square one, it would take at least as much time as before. The original jury had deliberated for two and a half days. By Kim's calculations, therefore, this new group would not reach a verdict until Tuesday, at the earliest.
On Monday, Baker was at it again, filing a formal, written request for a mistrial. He claimed that research over the weekend revealed that the dismissed juror had scratched out an answer on her questionnaire that would have divulged her daughter's ties to the prosecutor's office. Baker railed, “This is a direct, deliberate attempt to mislead, and I think it's an outrage. It's not inadvertent, and we are entitled to a mistrial. This is misconduct.”
Dan insisted that the juror was an honest and conscientious woman who had simply overlooked a question. He noted that, elsewhere on her form, she had disclosed that her daughter was a legal secretary. “They'll do anything, Your Honor, to get a mistrial,' Dan warned. “They'll do anything.”
Judge Fujisaki once again denied the motion.
We had spent more than two and one half years watching the machinations of these defense lawyers, and we had reached the saturation point. Kim was terrified. She said, “I feel like someone is screwing with us. Majorly.”
Tuesday, February 4, 1997. I drove downtown to meet with Jim Wooten, the president of Safe Streets, to plan my schedule for the coming months, when I could finally devote my energies to my new job. Patti had some shopping to do and had clients scheduled. Lauren was at school.
Michael was at his fraternity house in Tucson. Kim, at her office, was covering the phone.
Throughout the day the jury listened again to various portions of testimony that it had requested: Allan Park, A. C. Cowlings, and the killer himself. All of the testimony seemed to pertain to the killer's credibility. We tried not to analyze the message, reminding ourselves that the criminal trial jury had listened to Park's testimony shortly before it set a double murderer free.
As the day wore on, we resigned ourselves to a continuation of the tension. After all the read-backs in court today, we did not expect a verdict. Our best guess was tomorrow. It was about 4
P.M
. when, finished with our meetings, Jim and I drove back to his room at, of course, the Doubletree in Santa Monica. On the way, I placed a call to Kim. She was not answering, so I left a message.
At that very moment Kim was on another call. Dan's assistant Carolyn Walker shouted, “Kim, we have a verdict! Dan wants everybody here now!”
Kim's mind spun. Judge Fujisaki had apparently changed his plans to give us four hours' notice. All Kim could think was: Now? Now? NOW!!!
Our careful plans to help one another remain calm evaporated in an instant. Several hours of chaos ensued. Kim checked her messages and heard my voice saying, “Hi, honey, how's it going? Just checking in.”
Kim called me immediately and screamed, “There's a verdict. Go now!”
The words did not register in my consciousness; she might as well have been speaking a foreign language. How could this be?
Kim repeated, “They have a verdict. We have to get there now!”
Finally I managed to babble, “I'm almost there. I'm five minutes away.”
Nearing the end of her workday, Patti was exhausted. She munched on a small chocolate and peanut butter candy bar, hoping for instant energy. Suddenly, her phone rang. “They have a verdict,” Kim shouted, “and we have to get there ASAP! They're going to read it at five o'clock.”
Patti immediately called Lauren at home and told her to meet her at a parking lot near an entrance ramp to the Ventura Freeway. Then she gathered her appointment book and water bottle and shoved them into her purse. She called Maralyn Gold to put our phone chain in motion.
“Do you want me to drive you to the courthouse?” Maralyn asked.
Patti told her no, but said that if she wanted to come with her, to meet at the parking lot.
Just as Patti was leaving work, her pager alerted her to a message from her friend Fern Rosenberg, in Chicago. Jumping into her car with the RUNGODO license plates, she grabbed her car phone. As she drove, she returned
Fern's call. Then she tried to call Michael but could not reach him at the moment. She also called her mother and father, Brian, her sister Joyce, and several other close friends.
Kim's hands were shaking as she tried to pump enough gas into her car to get her to Santa Monica, and she realized that our plan to keep everyone calm was out the window.
Meanwhile, I arrived at the Doubletree to find it surrounded by police. The street was closed off and so was the hotel. Security guards would admit no one without a room key or a special pass.
I hurried into Room 205 and joined Dan and the other attorneys.
When Patti pulled into the parking lot where Maralyn and Lauren waited, she noticed that Barb Duben had driven in behind her. It was mere coincidence. Barb had not heard that there was a verdict, but when Patti told her, she, too, jumped into the car.
“What would we do without car phones?” Patti said as she answered a call from Kim.
In the backseat of Patti's car, Lauren was tearful and nauseous. Patti had one hand on the wheel, while the other continually punched in numbers on her car phone. Every time she spoke to someone, she started to cry. The tension and anticipation in the car were overwhelming. She tried to call Michael repeatedly. When she finally reached him and told him that the verdict was in, he said, “I want to come home.”
“There's no time; it's impossible,” Patti said.
Although he did not verbalize it, Patti could tell from his voice that he was deeply disappointed that he could not be here with us.
Minutes later, Patti called Kim for directions. She had missed her regular ramp to the Pacific Coast Highway and was frantic about being late.
I was worried about Patti and Kim having to negotiate through the crowds outside. I called them both and suggested, “When you get five minutes away, call me and I'll come downstairs.”
They both said no, I should stay where I was.
When Kim ran into Room 205, she found the mood somber. Conflicting reports flew about. We were told that Judge Fujisaki had delayed the proceedings until 5:30 to give the Browns time to arrive from their home in Orange County. Someone else said that the killer had not yet left home. Apparently, he was determined to be fashionably late.
Lauren continued to shake and cry. She felt as if she were jumping out of her skin. Patti tried to embrace her several times, but she pushed her away; she did not want to be babied or fussed over. Finally, she allowed Patti to place her hands on her face, pull her close, and comfort her with a kiss.
The moment was caught by television cameras, peering in through the hotel windows. Patti's friend Fern called from Chicago. “I saw you kiss Lauren,” she said. “I could tell you were saying, âI love you.' ”
Several times police officers came to our room to talk about how we would get across the street. At first the plan was to put us into cars and actually drive us across, but we finally concluded that the police protection was sufficient for us to make the walk.
It was 5:15
P.M
. when we left the hotel. As we stepped outside the lobby, cameras were shoved in our faces, but the police were out in full force. Cruisers blocked traffic. Rows of motorcycles kept the crowd back and, for good measure, the sirens wailed. I had my arms around Patti and Kim, holding tight. Dan walked in front of us, holding Lauren's hand. Out of one corner of my eye I saw someone from a camera crew, attempting to follow our progress, lose his balance and fall into a shrub.
“My heart is beating so fast,” Patti said. “I cannot believe this day is finally here.”
Gradually, as we moved forward, we became aware of a glorious reality. The crowd of spectators was cheering us with shouts of encouragement. A few of the killer's “fans” were in evidence, but their catcalls were drowned in a warm, wonderful wave of support.
Inside the courthouse we paced the halls, shared numerous hugs, and waited.
“How far away are the Browns?” someone asked.
No one was sure, but we heard yet another report that the killer was still at his house. Dan said, “I don't think he's going to be in the courtroom when the verdict is read.” Then someone else reported that he was definitely not coming.
Coward! I thought.
Kim was incensed. She did not want to hear the verdict if
he
was not there. “He was laughing at me when he was acquitted,” she said. “Now it's my turn.”
We literally sweated it out. Since it was after normal business hours, the air conditioning was turned off, and the interior of the building gradually became more oppressive; before long the temperature felt as if it was nearing one hundred degrees.
Three times a sheriff allowed Patti, Kim, and Lauren to use the men's room. They did not want to go out into the adjacent hallway where the ladies' room was located, and where a crowd of reporters waited.
By 6
P.M.
we were informed that Judge Fujisaki wanted to wait just a bit longer for the Brown family to arrive.
By 6:30 we heard that the killer was coming after all.
And at 6:55 a deputy told us to go inside the courtroom. The Dubens, Zieglers, and Goldsâas well as Jim Wooten and our Victim-Witness advocate, Mark Arenasâall managed to get in with us, although the men had to stand in the back. I took my seat at the second tier of the plaintiffs' table, next to Peter Gelblum. Patti, Kim, and Lauren sat behind me.
The killer arrived. His sister Shirley, her husband, and a niece were the only other members of his family in attendance.
Lauren muttered “murderer” under her breath until Patti warned her to be quiet.
The entire Brown family arrived.
This is really weird, Kim thought. Her body felt numb. Events seemed to move in slow motion; sights and sounds came at her as if from the far end of a tunnel.
The bailiff called out, “Jury is walking.”
Patti, Kim, and Lauren were visibly shaking. Tears streamed down their faces. Patti glanced down at her hands. They were absolutely white and her fingernails were digging into Lauren's jeans so deeply that she thought she might tear them. They kept looking at one another, silently begging for support.
The jurors filed in with expressionless faces. What did that mean? I wondered.
As we waited for Judge Fujisaki to appear, I reached my left arm over the railing behind me. Instantly my fingers were entwined with those of Patti, Kim, and Lauren.
Finally the judge came in. He expressed his appreciation to the jury for its work and asked the foreman, “Have you reached a verdict?”
“Yes.”
The bailiff took a large manila envelope over to the jury foreman and asked him to verify that these were, indeed, the proper verdict forms. The foreman removed numerous pages from the envelope and read them one by one. The soft rustle of the turning pages could be heard throughout the otherwise silent courtroom. A few reporters craned their necks, trying to read.
Please, please, please, Kim thought. Just do it.
The jury foreman verified the verdict forms, returned them to the manila envelope, and handed it to the bailiff. The bailiff then gave the envelope to Judge Fujisaki, who also read the pages slowly, silently, meticulously. We searched his face for clues, but he remained expressionless.
Finally the papers were given to the clerk and, after a legal preamble, she intoned:
“Question number one, do you find by a preponderance of the evidence that defendant Simpson willfully and wrongly caused the death of Ronald Goldman, write the answer yes or no below.”
The clerk continued, “Answer: Yes.”
Spectators issued a collective gasp of excitement.
Behind me, Kim shouted, “Yes!”
Next to me, Peter also shouted, “Yes!” He turned and hugged me.
Judge Fujisaki said, “Excuse me. Hold it. If there's any display, I am going to clear the courtroom. Everybody understand that?”
The courtroom once again turned utterly, eerily silent.
The clerk continued reading the sometimes ponderously worded verdict forms. The process took some time, but we now knew what the remaining answers would be.
Did the defendant commit battery against Ronald Goldman? Did he commit oppression against Ronald Goldman? Did he commit battery against Nicole Brown Simpson? Did he commit oppression against Nicole Brown Simpson? Did he commit malice against Nicole Brown Simpson? To each question the clerk intoned, “Answer: Yes.”
Kim thought: It's right. It's just right.
Dan, seated in front of me, turned slightly. Keeping his arm low, so that the judge could not see, he gave me a clenched fist signal of victory.
When the final question was answered, Kim looked at the killer. He was staring at the ceiling, expressionless.
Throughout the reading of the verdicts, Robert Baker had his chin in his hands. Now, he said, “Poll the jury.”
Judge Fujisaki said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to poll you. The clerk will instruct you how to answer.”
The clerk explained, “I'm going to ask each of you individually as to each question whether this is your personal verdict. If you agreed with the answer to the question, answer yes. If you disagreed with it, answer no.” She repeated question number one and the answer, “Yes.” Then, using the official jury panel numbers, she asked, “Is this also your verdict, Juror 199?”
Juror 199 replied, “Yes.”
“Juror 341? Is this your verdict?”
“Yes.”
Kim let go of my hand so that she could count on her fingers.
“Juror 186?”