His Name Is Ron (36 page)

And I answered: Not a chance.

The jury would begin deliberating on Monday. All weekend we kept asking one another, “How long do you think it will take?”

We decided that it would be at least two weeks before they could sift through the mountain of evidence and reach a decision.

I went to work as usual on Monday morning. Michael, Lauren, and Patti, too, all went to school. Kim manned the home front. A persistent New York reporter, who had been bugging Kim all morning, was camped outside the house.

Kim could not allow herself to expect a guilty verdict because she knew that if it did not happen, it would destroy her. As the jury began its deliberations, she refused to watch television. She was tired, to the point of meltdown, of listening to the pundits offering worthless opinions. Reporters who had never set foot inside the courtroom, law-school graduates who had never tried a case, news anchors who could not put a sentence together without the aid of a TelePrompTer, all espoused opinions as to what those twelve people should and would decide.

So Kim donned a black bathing suit, escaped to the backyard, and lay next to the pool, trying to relax in the sun.

It was around noon when two of her reporter friends called to say that the jury had requested that portions of limousine driver Allan Park's testimony be read back to them.

Kim called Patty Jo at the D.A.'s office and asked, What did this mean? Patty Jo reassured Kim that it was not unusual for a jury to make such a request.

Phone calls flew back and forth. Kim learned that Chris Darden and Bill Hodgman were headed for the courtroom, as was Defense Attorney Carl Douglas, for a 1:00
P.M
. session wherein the jury would revisit the testimony of Allan Park.

This was very encouraging because, during her closing statement, Marcia had declared that Park's testimony was “the defining moment of this trial. … Because when you understand that the defendant was out that night, when you understand that he lied to Allan Park about being asleep, when you understand that Bronco was moved and that he was out in that Bronco that night … then you understand how the defense falls apart. … The Bronco was not there. And neither was the defendant.”

About 3:00
P.M
. Patty Jo called Kim with the astounding news that a verdict had been reached. Kim was frantic, almost immobile. She asked herself: Who do I call? What do I do?

“Calm down,” Patty Jo cautioned. “Call your family.” She explained that the verdict was sealed and would be read in open court the following morning. Johnnie Cochran had been so certain of a lengthy deliberation that he had gone out of town and would not return until that night. “You won't have to come in till tomorrow morning,” Patty Jo said.

Kim's hands were shaking so badly that she had difficulty dialing, but she managed to reach Patti on one phone and me on another. “You guys,” she shouted, “they got a verdict!”

“Son of a bitch, they've nailed him,” I said. If they had reached a verdict in such an incredibly short period of time, there could be no question. I was one hundred percent certain that the jury had found him guilty. The evidence was overwhelming.

Patti thought: A verdict already? He's guilty, of course. We're going to get him! Twelve sane, thinking people simply could not ignore the evidence, even if it was Santa Claus who was on trial. Shaking nervously, she told everyone at school that the verdict was in. She shared a tight hug with Dolly, the school's owner, and left for home. The short drive seemed to take forever, and her mind twisted and turned. All along, we had been aware of the possibility of a hung jury, but never, in Patti's wildest imagination, did she consider the possibility of a not-guilty verdict. And if the deliberations were over so quickly, a hung jury was out of the question.

Kim knew that Michael had finished school for the day and would already be at work. She called Rob Duben and asked him to meet Michael. “He needs to be with someone,” she said. “He might need some moral support.” Then she called Scott, Michael's boss at the deli, and asked him to relay the message that the verdict was in, and that Rob would be there shortly to pick up Michael.

Michael thought that this was strange because he had driven himself to work. Why could he not drive himself home? This seemed ominous, and Michael did not feel good about the news. “They'll never get him,” he told Scott.

“Yes, they will,” Scott replied. “They'll get him. They called for Park's testimony. They're going to get him.”

Michael's hopes started to rise.

Cheerleading practice had ended early, and Lauren had arranged a ride home with April, one of the varsity cheerleaders. Her friends Teresa and Colleen rode with her. Soon after Kim finished speaking with Scott on the phone, April's Eagle Talon came to a stop in front of our house. Kim rushed out the front door, still wearing her bathing suit. She yelled, “Hurry, Lauren! Get inside now! The verdict is in!”

“Oh my God!” Lauren cried. Teresa called out something, but Lauren ignored her. She grabbed her books and ran up the driveway babbling, “Oh my God! What are we going to do? What does this mean?”

Lauren ran past Kim and into the house. Instinctively she fled up the staircase and into her room. What am I doing up here? she wondered. Quickly she ran back downstairs. “Let's go get dressed,” Lauren said to Kim.

“It's not till tomorrow morning,” Kim replied, trying to calm her sister. She wondered why she had told Lauren to hurry into the house.

Then Patti walked in, shouting, “They got him!” Patti, Kim, and Lauren shared a hug.

Michael arrived home to a scene of chaos. He was quickly included in the circle of hugs.

Lauren was certain of the verdict. She knew that the repulsive, contemptible man who sat at the defense table had brutally murdered her brother. She could not imagine how anyone in his right mind could think otherwise.

The same mayhem that we had experienced in the week following the murders descended upon us all over again. The phones rang off their hooks. Friends and neighbors—the Golds, the Zieglers, the Dubens, the Roses, the Berkes—poured into the house and assigned themselves tasks. Maralyn Gold screened our calls. Everyone expressed surprise over the speed of the decision. Everyone offered comfort and support.

Chris Darden called, asking us to be at the courthouse by 8:00
A.M
., two hours prior to the session. When we asked Chris about the speed of the verdict, he said, “Nothing about this trial surprises me.”

The familiar cadre of reporters and tape crews gathered outside our house, jamming the street, covering the sidewalks, hovering hungrily for any tidbit of information. But we declined to comment.

Jubilant cries echoed through the house: “We nailed him!” “We got him!” “He's guilty!” But Kim was worried about me, and she struck a note of caution. “You've got to be prepared,” she warned.

Then she went upstairs and hid.

We ordered pizza; it was the easiest thing to do.

We learned that, once again, there had been some kind of threat made against our family. So two police cars were assigned to watch our house overnight, although the presence of the news teams seemed to make this caution unnecessary.

Michael replayed the events of the day in his mind: Allan Park's testimony was very incriminating. He had no motive to lie. He never sold his story. He gained nothing from this case. It was good that the jury wanted to hear his testimony again.

Lauren called her father in Chicago because he is a retired lawyer. He agreed. “They probably got him.”

Once again the television lights glared in through Lauren's bedroom window. She did not sleep for more than an hour that night.

For all of us, sleep was an impossibility.

*   *   *

Patti was the first one up, worried about staggering the shower schedule in order to have enough hot water.

Even though they knew that they would not be allowed into the courtroom, about thirty of our friends decided to come with us. We all left the house together, and our friends clustered about us, hoping that the media would not be able to get much footage. Lauren heard the snapping sounds of camera shutters, but she just kept her eyes down and moved forward. We all ignored the shouted questions.

Our five-car caravan headed down Lindero Canyon Road, and we were wordless as we drove past Pierce Brothers Valley Oaks Memorial Park. Patti sent a thought out to Ron: We're going to get him!

As we rounded the cloverleaf to turn south on the Ventura Freeway, we saw a huge white sheet hanging over the rail of the Kanan Avenue overpass. A single word was emblazoned on it in big block letters:

GUILTY!

In the rearview mirror Michael noticed that the same letters had been written in reverse so that they could be read backward.

The long drive through the early rush-hour traffic seemed to take forever. Other than the muted sounds from the radio, we rode in complete silence.

Kim thought: All this time, all the pain, all this tension, and it's going to be over in a matter of minutes.

Patti thought: We're going to get him. This jury will do the right thing. There will be justice. There is no way he'll be acquitted. We will all have a chance to speak at the sentencing hearing. What will I say?

We piled out of our cars and went immediately to the D.A.'s office.

Kim was astounded when once again the Browns tried to lecture her on how to behave when the verdict was read. She became even angrier. She vowed to herself: I will react however I feel like reacting. Enough is enough.

Kim could not sit still. Mark walked with her as she paced around and around the floor. Bill Hodgman sat in his corner office with the door open. Each time Kim walked past she said, “Hi, Bill.” But she could not ask him what he thought was going to happen.

She posed that question only to one person, Ron Phillips, Mark Fuhrman's former partner. She asked, “Well, Puppy, what do you think?”

“Acquittal,” Ron answered tersely.

“Excuse me?” Kim said. “Ron, why do you think that?”

“I don't know. I just don't think they're going to get him.”

The exchange left Kim feeling so twisted that she fled to the hallway and began to cry. She could not bring herself to ask anyone else for their prediction of the verdict.

The hands on the clock almost seemed to move backward. It was a quarter to ten …

Fourteen to ten …

Thirteen to ten …

Finally, at 9:50, Patty Jo called us all together and launched into a lecture on verdict decorum.

Patti thought: They're treating us like children, as if we don't know how to act in public.

Tension crackled in the air like fireworks.

We huddled together and solemnly headed for the elevator. No one said a word.

The doors opened and we stepped out. A reporter approached Kim, wanting to talk. “Please, just leave me alone,” she pleaded.

“How are you feeling?” the reporter pushed.

“I think I'm going to throw up,” Kim admitted. “Go away!”

Michael stood next to Kim, adjacent to a water fountain. When the courtroom doors opened and people started piling in, Michael said, “Come on, Kim.”

“I'm not going,” Kim replied. She just stood in the doorway, staring into the courtroom, trying to stop shaking.

“Kim, you have to go,” Michael said.

Some of the investigators encouraged her to enter.

“No,” she said.

One of them put his hands on her shoulder and said, “You can do it. Be strong.” Gently he pushed her into the room.

Somehow Kim got to her seat. She shared a brief glance with Tom Lange and Phil Vannatter. Her silent tears continued to flow. Next to her, Dominick Dunne kept his eyes toward the front of the courtroom.

Judge Ito was already there.

Michael closed his eyes and prayed.

The killer came in through the side door, a bit more subdued than usual, but smirking and waving at his side of the audience. I put my arms around Kim. I was crying.

The jury filed in, never looking at us.

Michael grabbed Lauren's hand and started kissing it. He said, “Please, Ron, please.”

Lauren's heart was pounding. Her knees and hands were shaking. She looked at the killer and saw a blank face.

Michael and Lauren kept repeating the words “Please, please, please.”

Patti had her left arm around Michael and Lauren. Her right hand clutched mine. She did not want to look at either the defendant or the jury, so she stared straight ahead.

Judge Ito called for his clerk, Deidre Robertson, to read the verdict.

Patti took several deep breaths.

“Please, Ron, please, please,” Lauren whispered to her slain brother. She stared at each juror. None of them showed any expression whatsoever.

Mrs. Robertson began to read: “… We the jury find the defendant … Orenfal—”

Patti's mind instantly plunged into despair. Oh my God! she thought. Deidre can't even say his name correctly. She's in shock, too. She's horrified by this verdict and in shock, just like us. I can't believe this is really happening. He's going to walk!

Mrs. Robertson continued. “—Orenthal James Simpson not guilty of the crime of murder … upon Nicole Brown Simpson, a human being.”

A unanimous gasp echoed throughout the room. The killer mouthed the words “Thank you” in the direction of the jury.

“Murderer!” Lauren thought. She bent over, willing herself not to vomit on the floor.

“Breathe, Lauren, breathe,” Michael said.

Kim was sobbing uncontrollably, her head hidden in my shirt.

“Oh my God!” Patti said aloud. She felt her neck collapse and buried her head in her lap. Crying hysterically, she asked herself: Is this for real? What in the hell is wrong with this jury?

I was staring straight ahead with a blank, lifeless expression on my face. I was simply, totally, terrifyingly numb. I heard the word “murderer” slip out of my mouth.