Get the Truth: Former CIA Officers Teach You How to Persuade Anyone to Tell All (17 page)

Simpson:
Well, at this point in time I’m going to stick with what I said unless you know something different that can refresh my memory.

Michael:
What else should I know about your trip to Nicole’s last night?

Simpson:
That’s about it, I think.

Michael:
Let’s revisit the rest of your activities between nine and eleven
P.M.
Besides your trip to Nicole’s, you said you did some leisurely packing, chipped golf balls in your backyard, took a nap, and showered. What else did you do?

Simpson:
That’s it, as far as I can remember.

Michael:
Did you ever leave your Rockingham estate for any reason after nine-thirty last night, except for when you left in the limo around eleven?

Simpson:
No.

Michael:
Is it possible you left your house after nine-thirty for Nicole’s, and you could be mistaken?

Simpson:
I’m going to have to say no. Things were crazy last night. Nicole was up to her old tricks at the recital. Her family was acting weird. I was having some problems with Paula. I had my trip to Chicago to get ready for. You know how it is.

Michael:
Tell me, O.J., how did you get those injuries on your left hand?

Simpson:
I don’t know. The first time, when I was in Chicago and all, but at the house I was just running around. In Chicago I broke a glass. One of you guys had just called me and I was in the bathroom, and I just went bonkers for a little bit. Last night when I was … I don’t know, getting my junk out of the car. I was in the house throwing hangers and stuff in my suitcase. I was doing my little crazy what I do, I mean, I do it everywhere. Anybody who has ever picked me up says that O.J.’s a whirlwind. He’s running, he’s grabbing things, and that’s what I was doing. Getting junk out of the car.

Michael:
To be clear, are you telling me you don’t know exactly how you got those injuries on your hand that caused you to bleed so much?

Simpson:
I really don’t.

Michael:
Do you see the scar on my forehead?

Simpson:
Yeah.

Michael:
In 1953, I was sledding down a snow-covered street in Plattsmouth, Nebraska, and went head-first into the bumper of a car parked at the bottom of the hill. This little scar on my calf—barbed wire fence, David City, Nebraska, Public Golf Course, 1963. This little scar below my right eye—Rick Warner elbowed me during basketball practice, 1967. This little scar on my right ankle—number seventy-seven, Grand Island, Nebraska, defensive lineman stomped on me with his steel-tipped cleats when the ref wasn’t looking, 1968. This little scar on my right thumb—broken beer bottle, 1981, Northern Virginia. I could go on, but I think you get my point. Your hand injuries—and they look pretty nasty—happened less than twenty-four hours ago, and you cannot give me a coherent explanation for how you sustained them.

[At this point, Michael has very little doubt that Simpson committed the murders. The case facts, the evidence that has been gathered, and the large volume of deceptive behaviors exhibited by Simpson during the interview make it clear that it’s time to transition to interrogation mode. Though his level of certainty of Simpson’s guilt is high, Michael makes sure that his transition statement covers the entire best-case/worst-case continuum.]

Michael:
O.J., quite frankly, I have some real concerns here. I think it’s only fair that I bring you up to speed on the investigation to date. Here is what I know with certainty, and I ask you to indulge me without interruption until you hear me out. I think what I have to say will be of great interest to you. When I’m done, I’ll turn the floor over to you, and you can comment. Is that fair? Do I have your commitment on that?

Simpson:
Yeah.

Michael:
Great, O.J. I have so much to share with you, I almost don’t know where to begin. Let me begin with the blood. There is a bloody trail leading directly from Nicole’s to your house, and the blood was found both outside and inside your house. The white Bronco you admit to driving last night is covered in blood, and we know your Bronco is clearly how the blood was transported from Nicole’s to your house. The interesting thing will be confirming whose blood is where, and that won’t take us long. There are bloody footprints along Nicole’s walkway leading to the alley where you park the Bronco. To the left of the footprints are drops of blood. I’d bet my house that it was your blood dripping from your injured left hand as you returned to your Bronco after the struggle. We found a fresh bloody fingerprint on the knob of the gate leading to the alley where your Bronco is typically parked. Again, I’d bet my house that that fingerprint is yours when you opened the gate with your bloody left hand. There was blood everywhere at Bundy. There is no doubt in my mind that because of the mess, both Nicole’s and Ron’s blood became commingled with yours and will not only be found in your Bronco, but also at your house. One of our detectives found a bloody glove at Nicole’s lying on the ground. Interestingly, it is a left-handed glove that would have left the attacker’s left hand exposed to injury. A detective also found a dark-colored knit cap, most likely pulled from the head of the attacker during the struggle, just like the left glove was most likely pulled from the hand of the attacker during the struggle. Hairs were found in the cap, and we will soon know with scientific certainty who those hairs belong to. Kato heard a loud thump on the outside wall behind his bungalow at Rockingham around ten-forty-five last night, and it scared the shit out of him. He thought it was an earthquake at first. He was too afraid to investigate the small walkway behind his bungalow in the dark. You, interestingly, told him before you left not to call your security company or the police. I think I know why you left him with those instructions now. One of our detectives went behind the bungalow to investigate, and guess what he found: The right-handed mate to the left-handed glove found at Nicole’s. The glove found on your property is also covered in blood. No doubt, it will be Nicole’s and Ron’s blood. We even have a witness, a woman driving a Volkswagen, who says she nearly collided with you last night around ten-forty-five when you ran the red light at the intersection of Bundy and San Vicente on your way back to Rockingham. She said your Bronco rode up onto the center median of San Vicente. Another car, a gray Nissan, also stopped to avoid the collision. The woman said you began honking your horn and shouting at her, “Move your damn car! Move it! Move it!” She lives in the neighborhood and recognized you as the driver. She even took down your license plate number. Detectives found dark clothing in your washing machine and a pair of dark socks on the floor of your bedroom, and those are being blood-typed as we speak. We found an empty Swiss Army knife box next to your tub. My hunch is the forensics lab will come back and say there is a match between the Swiss Army knife and the wounds that were inflicted on Nicole and Ron. Your limo driver got to your house twenty minutes early and rang your buzzer, but of course you didn’t answer, because you weren’t there.

Simpson:
[Complete silence, staring straight ahead, motionless]

Michael:
The driver saw you come back to the house and saw your lights come on in the house around ten-fifty. Look, what happened at Nicole’s last night is not the O.J. I know, or the world knows.

Simpson:
If you think I did it, you don’t know me at all.

[It so happens that there are several actual connections between Michael’s background and Simpson’s. Michael chooses to introduce them here.]

Michael:
I’m glad you said that, O.J., because I do know you a little bit. You sure as hell won’t remember this, but in 1977, a good friend of yours, Sam Denoff, arranged for you to crown my sister, Stephanie, Homecoming Queen at her thirty-first birthday party in the Hollywood Hills, up on Queens Road. There were over a hundred people there, and from what she told me, you were a big hit. She later rented Sam’s house at Victoria Beach in Laguna Beach, the house right next door to yours. She spent time with your kids, Arnelle and Jason. She always enjoyed her time with them. My good friend, Don Burpee, played pickup basketball with you at USC every week for two years. He said you were always accessible, and that you always acknowledged him by name around campus. I also have a high school buddy from Nebraska, Denny Hoyle, who was one of your business partners in California Way, the racquetball club up in Pasadena. He always had good things to say about you, too. Heck, you even grew up in the same housing projects on Potrero Hill that my wife did, so I know a little bit about what you had to overcome. Her older sister was Ms. Bronze California, and is just a couple of years younger than you, and my wife’s a doctor now. I even think Danny Glover grew up there. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother-in-law knew your mother, Eunice. It’s a small, small world, O.J. My point is, I know firsthand the positive impact you’ve had on people, and that at your core you’ve always tried to do the right thing by people. What that tells me is that it wasn’t your character that caused you to do this—it was the situation you found yourself in. You measure a person not by a singular act, but by the totality of his life. Don’t let this singular act define who you are, O.J. Any coward can lie. The real test of a man is whether he’s able to stand up and tell the truth in a difficult situation. You’re thinking emotionally right now, rather than rationally, and I can understand that. I understand that you’re in a very tough spot right now. I think I understand you a little bit, and I’m here to work with you so we can make some sense out of the craziness of last night. I am absolutely positive that I know the
who
and the
what
that happened. Now all I need to understand is the most important thing, and that is the
why
this thing happened. I know there is an explanation that makes sense, and that’s what I want to talk to you about now.

Simpson:
Why would I kill Nicole? She’s the mother of my children. I loved Nicole. And that other guy, I didn’t even know him. Why would I want to kill him?

Michael:
I understand, O.J. From what I know about you, this whole thing is as surreal as it gets. I’m not going to get into all of that domestic violence bullshit between you and Nicole over the years, because I really don’t care about that. Husbands and wives know what buttons to push, and things get a little nuts with all of us from time to time when emotions run high. I’m sure there were two sides to all of those stories. What I do care about, though, is last night. I’m not buying the theory that this is the classic “If I can’t have you, nobody can” situation. I don’t think you were pining to win her back. You both knew it was over.

Let’s face it, Nicole had a real temper on her. I’ve been told if something set her off, she tended to come at you with fists and feet flying, and you had to hold her down sometimes until she could get herself under control. I know you tried like hell to make it work. A couple of years ago, when you guys split, I guess she settled into her new place with the kids. It must have been real tough watching her move forward without you, and knowing she was with other guys in front of your children. I heard she had some questionable friends who were into drugs, and she was becoming more moody and erratic. There was the good Nicole, and the bad Nicole, and it looked like the bad Nicole won. I suspect you were beginning to think she was putting your kids at risk. You had your kids to think about. There’s no way you could let her take you down, and the kids with her. She was an accident waiting to happen, and you owed it to your kids to take some action.

I think you went over to her place last night to read her the riot act, and to shake her up a little bit. It sounds like she really needed a wake-up call. This shit was eating you up inside, and it had to stop. You had to get this under control for the kids’ sake, and to get on with your own life.

The dark clothes you wore, the knit cap, the gloves, the knife—that was all theater. I know you didn’t plan on killing anybody, for two reasons. First, you would never have planned to do this where your kids would find their dead mother. You’re far too devoted to them to even consider such a scenario. Second, no one leaves this much evidence lying around Brentwood if they had planned the thing out. You are a very smart guy—too smart for the mistakes that were made. All of this leaves me with only one explanation that makes any sense: It was spur-of-the-moment.

When you get to Nicole’s, you park near her back gate. You walk up the path and see candles burning inside, and hear soft music. It’s obvious to you that she is expecting company for a romantic encounter. You’re pissed because she is doing it again in front of your kids, but you can deal with that. Just then Ron Goldman appears on the scene, while at the same time Nicole hears you drive up, and she’s at the front door. Nicole doesn’t want to see you, because her lover is there, and she lets you have it. You and Nicole get into it, and now Goldman decides to be a hero and come to Nicole’s aid, when in your mind she was in no physical danger whatsoever. Before you can count to three, you’re being attacked by two people who overreacted and completely misjudged your intentions. To say this is a bad dream is an understatement. At that moment, your survival instincts kick in, and you’re now in the heat of the battle—two against one.

O.J., there are lots of reasons why people do what they do. This isn’t the movies; there was no script last night, there was no plan. Sometimes people just can’t take the pressure anymore. It just builds and builds. For the most part, you were very good to Nicole. But how did she repay you? By embarrassing you in public, humiliating you, taunting you, trying to make you mad, bad-mouthing you to your children. You simply couldn’t let her take down your children with her. Even the strongest person finally just snaps. The next thing you know, it’s just happened—your worst nightmare. Last night, what you walked into on Bundy was the perfect storm. In hindsight, I don’t see how it could have played out any differently. I don’t think there is a person in the world who would not understand how this thing played out.