His Name Is Ron (55 page)

“You know why he didn't tell you?

“Because he knows how damning that is. He knows that if you believe he's the kind of man who could hit his wife in anger, who could lash out and strike her, then you can understand that he did the same thing on the evening of June 12, except this time he had a knife in his hand.”

Dan had specific rebuttal points to cover. “You know,” he said, “I got a kick when Mr. Baker … said that this Bronco was a white elephant. He
called it a white elephant. He said, Why would Mr. Simpson go commit a murder in a white elephant?

“You know what Mr. Simpson's other choices were: a Bentley and … a Testa Rosa Ferrari, a red one, no less, a fire-engine red.”

Dan continued. “Mr. Simpson says he is an innocent man because he didn't act like a guilty man after the murders. … An innocent man doesn't put a gun to his head, forty-seven years old, four children, two small, their having just lost their mother—an innocent man doesn't do that….”

Dan effectively used sarcasm to mock the grand conspiracy theory. He referred to the chart that he had presented during the earlier phase of his argument, the chart entitled:

Either: Simpson Is Lying

Or: All of These Witnesses and Documents

Are Lying, Mistaken, or Faked

Dan said, “I did this list before I heard Mr. Baker's argument and Mr. Blasier's and Mr. Leonard's arguments. And frankly, I left a lot of names off. … I should have put on all the FBI agents, because he says they're all … out to get Mr. Simpson. So I've got to put Bill Bodziak's name and Gerry Richards's name and Doug Deedrick's name on there.”

The defense had accused the plaintiffs' team of intimidating its witnesses to testify properly. “You know, we call that fondly, the Doubletree Defense,” Dan said.

“I guess we have the ability to pick up the phone and call people up, and hey, you know, we don't know each other, but I'd like you to testify in this case. Meet me at the Doubletree Hotel; meet me in my room, and I'm going to try to get you to commit perjury, a felony, risk your life, maybe go to jail for many, many years, just to help me out.

“Maybe I should—my name should go up there as a criminal. I'm suborning perjury. That's against the law. That's what they say we're doing. I would go to jail for many years, suborning perjury. All my partners, too. Put their names up there.

“We're all begging people to commit perjury.

“I guess we may even have to put Mr. Baker's name up there, because Mr. Simpson says he has a different opinion than Mr. Baker on some very important facts. I guess Mr. Baker's wrong, too.

“I don't know.

“Did I leave anybody off?”

Dan was through with humor now. His jaw tightened. His eyes glared.
As he turned to the most distasteful portions of the defense team's closing argument, his temper burst forth. He said, “And Mr. Baker got up here—in one of the lowest moments of this trial—he mocked this young man who lies in his grave.

“Now what I want you to think about this is: If O. J. Simpson were innocent, truly innocent, would he let his lawyer mock this young man? This young man tried to save the life of the mother of his children. He is a hero to O. J. Simpson.

“… And Mr. Baker has the nerve to tell you it only cost $200 to file a lawsuit. Can you imagine that?

“And in their zeal to get your verdict, have they become so insensitive to the greatest of human tragedies, the loss of life, that they want to speak about these two dead people in terms of $200?

“My stomach turned when I heard that.”

Dan pulled a wad of twenty-dollar bills out of his pocket and shook them in the direction of the killer. He raged, “You know, Mr. Simpson, here's $200. You want it? Give me back my client's son.”

Baker yelled out, “Give it up.”

But Dan would not be silenced. In one, final burst he roared, “They want this verdict that bad, take it. Give my client back his son, and we will march out of here in a heartbeat.”

Court recessed for lunch. As we rose and turned, we saw five uniformed officers lined up at the back of the courtroom, waiting for us. They were standing, rigid, hands behind their backs. Seeing the crowds in the morning, Dan had called the Santa Monica Police Department and requested protection for us all.

And we needed it. Once we stepped outside, throngs of people surged toward us, yelling, pushing, threatening. This was the worst it had ever been. Cameras and microphones were everywhere. The short walk across the street seemed endless. I had my arms around Patti and Kim, trying to shield them. “Get out of our face,” I yelled. “Let us go!”

After lunch, Judge Fujisaki, reading in a monotone, gave the jury its instructions. Then, at about 2:30
P.M.
, the jury left to deliberate.

Leaving the courthouse after the jury instructions was, again, unbelievably scary. Our initial contingent of police officers was augmented by several more on motorcycles. They formed a line and tried to keep the media and
the crowd—swarming like killer bees—away from us. Two police cars were positioned to stop traffic as we crossed the street. Sirens wailed in the distance.

Patti could only imagine what it would be like when the verdict came in. “I am dreading that day,” she said, “and at the same time, I can't wait for this to be over.”

I was somewhat morose, because I realized that even if we got a verdict of “liable,” the killer would still be a free man. He would still be able to get up in the morning, have breakfast, play golf, visit with his family and what few friends he may have left. He would still breathe the fresh air and feel the sunshine. There would still be no justice. He belonged in a cell, awaiting the day he is hauled into a chamber and put to death.

In the war room at the Doubletree, Dan checked his watch. The jury had been deliberating for fifteen minutes. He quipped nervously, “You mean they haven't reached a verdict yet?”

“I don't want an instant verdict,” I said. “And I don't want 9–3, 10–2, 11–1. I want a 12–0 ruling. I want there to be no hint of racial division. I want twelve people to say, based on the evidence, they all agree that this man killed two people.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

The wait began.

Michael prepared to fly home on a moment's notice. Our house was a bizarre mixture of fevered anticipation and somber reflections on the devastation we had experienced after the criminal verdict. We knew that truth was on our side, but we could not allow ourselves to count on that to carry us through. We all tried to protect ourselves from expecting a favorable decision from the jury. We had been sucked in before, and we could not allow that to happen again, but it was difficult.

Kim told Dan how proud and grateful Ron would have been for everything he and our other attorneys had done on his behalf. “Thank you,” Dan said. “I needed to hear that right now.”

Dan was optimistic, but, as Patti said, “He has to be; he can't allow himself to get down.”

We drove one another crazy with our analyses of what had happened and what might occur at any moment.

“Regardless of the outcome,” Patti said, “everything that could have been done was done. It's out of our hands, now.” I agreed, but it did not make the waiting any easier.

I said to Patti, “As of now the criminal trial was 225 percent longer than the civil case. It is amazing to me. We had all the same evidence as before, plus we had the killer's testimony, new witnesses who contradicted his testimony, the Bronco chase, the disguise, the suicide note, the Bruno Magli photographs, new experts, and still Dan was able to condense it all
into a concise, understandable, logical package. It's been almost four months to the day. The criminal trial dragged on for nine.”

“We also had Judge Fujisaki instead of Judge Ito,” Patti reminded me. “This time the defense was not permitted to put the LAPD on trial and to sidetrack the jury with racial issues.”

Kim said, “You know, it drives me nuts when people ask me to compare the two trials and insinuate that Marcia and Chris were not up to the job. I'm not taking anything away from Dan—he was incredible, all our attorneys were—but the criminal trial lawyers had their hands tied behind their backs, thanks to Judge Ito. It's not fair to compare them.”

Words were inadequate to express the appreciation I felt for what Dan, Ed, Tom, Peter, and Yvette had done. If, for some incomprehensible reason, this jury had not been convinced of the killer's culpability, I would never be able to understand it.

People constantly asked, “How long do you think the jury will be out?”

Patti's answer was always the same. “More than four hours.” We were all sure that this jury would take more time than the criminal trial jury. They would surely want to avoid criticism that they had not examined the evidence thoroughly.

Some people also asked, crassly, “How much do you think you'll get?”

Our response was: “It doesn't matter. It's never been about money.”

Kim said, “All I want is to hear them say he's liable, so I can go to the cemetery and tell my brother.”

The jurors had been deliberating for six hours when, on Wednesday, they requested a magnifier and a photograph of a purple top test tube, similar to the one used for the reference sample of the killer's blood. Judge Fujisaki provided them with a magnifying glass but not the photograph, reminding them that they had an actual test tube available to them in the jury room. Like everyone else, we asked ourselves, What does this mean? There was no way to know, and we did not want to torture ourselves with unanswerable questions.

We tried to maintain some sense of order, some structure in our lives. Patti and Kim went to work. Lauren went to school. We talked to Michael and Brian frequently. I tended to some business responsibilities for Safe Streets, but my main task was to stay close to the telephone. Each of us pledged to help the others keep calm once the verdict came in. We knew that we would have four hours to reach the courtroom, and we vowed to maintain our self-control.

Our attorneys called frequently to keep us informed. Each time the phone rang, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled and my throat tightened, making me wonder whether I could keep my composure once the moment arrived.

Some harasser managed to obtain our phone number and programmed a computer to dial at five-minute intervals and then hang up, causing additional stress on our already crackling nerves.

On Thursday, Judge Fujisaki ordered an investigation regarding the incident that had disrupted court two mornings earlier. We now knew that two of the civil case jurors had received letters from two of the criminal trial jurors, ostensibly offering moral support but, at the same time, making reference to an agent who might help them peddle their story once the trial was over.

Kim saw news coverage of the police storming into the home of Brenda Moran, one of the two criminal jurors who had signed the letters. She was an employee of the court system and was suspected of providing the names and addresses of the civil trial jurors. Police seized a computer and other possible evidence. “This is unreal,” Kim said. “This is totally tripping me out. This stuff happens in drug busts, jewel heists, kidnappings—but it doesn't happen to ex-jurors!”

Then on Friday, Juror 7, Rosemary Caraway, was dismissed at the defense's request when it was learned that her daughter worked in the District Attorney's office. She had failed to disclose this fact on her original questionnaire.

Rumors flew that the trial was in danger of unraveling.

Judge Fujisaki called the remaining jurors into court and said, “A juror has been excused for legal cause. You are not to speculate as to the reason why.” He added that he was relying on their integrity to bring the case to a close. He told them that they must not let themselves be tainted by the relentless publicity churning around the trial. He ordered them to stop watching television, listening to the radio, or reading newspapers—entirely. He asked that they have someone screen their calls and open their mail to guard against unexpected pressure.

“It's unfortunate we have come to this pass,” the judge said, “but sometimes in a long trial, because it's so long and because of the inordinate amount of interest that apparently exists, things unravel. I am trusting you to make sure this case does not unravel and we reach, if we can, a completion.”

We hoped that he might sequester the jurors for the remainder of their deliberations, but that did not happen.

The defense, of course, argued for a mistrial. Baker claimed that the dismissed juror may already have done his client irreparable damage, but Judge Fujisaki denied his request.

A new juror was chosen by lot from the four remaining alternates. He was an Asian man, a computer specialist in his mid-thirties who, throughout the trial, was one of the most conscientious note takers. Judge Fujisaki ordered the jury to begin deliberations anew.