Fatal Vision (76 page)

"Well, we are trying to consider all the possibilities—"

"You're not trying to do anything."

"—and hoping you could be helpful to us—"

"No, you're doing the same thing."

Woerheide paused. He allowed thirty seconds to pass. The room was silent. Then he said, "I'm told some fibers were found under Kris's fingernails. Can you tell us how that happened?"

"No."

"You have no idea?" "I have no idea."

"I'm told that when they recovered the sheet and the bedspread they found some fibers and threads and hairs and I'm told that among these was a hair from Colette's head that was twisted around a thread from your pajama top. Do you have any idea how that happened?"

"No, I don't. Was this before or after I was dragged across the floor and everyone was in and out of the house?"

"These were found when the things were examined."

"You mean after twenty people ran in and out of the house a couple of times and everyone moved everyone and this is the critical evidence?"

"Doctor MacDonald, I'm also told that on the top sheet of the bed in Kris's room they found a large amount of Colette's blood which indicated massive direct bleeding by Colette in that area. Do you have any idea how Colette's blood got in that location?"

"Nope. Unless it was from my hands."

"I am also told that the footprint going out of the room was in Colette's blood."

"I'm sure I had bloody feet," MacDonald said.

"How did they get bloody?"

"From blood on the floor."

"Well, I'm told there was none of Colette's blood on the floor there. The blood was Kristy's blood."

"Well, I had been in the master bedroom first, Mr. Woerheide."

"So you think you picked up Colette's blood in the master bedroom and you tracked that footprint on the floor going
out
of Kris's bedroom as a result of having blood from the master bedroom on your foot? Is that correct?"

"I don't know. You're asking me for explanations that I can't give. I don't know. Maybe it was a lab error. Maybe they mistyped the blood. With their record, I wouldn't see that as an unlikely possibility."

"Okay, where would you say you were when you started bleeding as a result of the injuries that you sustained, Doctor MacDonald?"

"I never noticed much blood on myself. I don't know." "Well, you had all these injuries when you were lying on the floor in the hallway there, did you not?" "Yes."

"Were you bleeding at that time?"

"I don't remember seeing any. I suppose I was."

"How heavily were you bleeding?"

"I just told you. Apparently you are not listening. I didn't see any blood. How can I then say I was bleeding heavily?"

"Well, at one point you went in the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror and saw that you had blood on you. Did you observe then that you were, in fact, bleeding?"

"No. I've told you that ten times."

"Well, I'm also told that splinters from the club were found in the master bedroom and in each of the children's bedrooms but none were found in the living room. Now, do you have any explanations as to that?"

"First of all, Mr. Woerheide, there's a lot of traffic up and down that hall, including a stretcher. The second, I have no idea. I can't answer that. Seems to me the club was used in the other rooms after it was used on me,"

"Well, what would that signify now? Colette and Kimberly were screaming when you awoke. That's what woke you up. And yet, at the time they were screaming these four people were in the living room with the club striking at you. And yet it is the club that they were striking at you with whose splinters are found in all three bedrooms. Now do you have any theory that explains this?"

"Only that it sounds to me like the club went from where I was into the other rooms."

"When you were in the master bedroom, did you notice the word on the headboard—
pig?"

"No, I didn't."

"How close did you get to the headboard?"

"I don't specifically remember. The only thing I remember is being next to Colette."

"Well, the fibers from your pajama top were found behind the headboard, in the area where a person would be standing if he wrote the word
pig
on the headboard."

"Hmmm. Maybe one of the assailants did it. Did you ever think of that?"

Unruffled by MacDonald's sarcasm, Woerheide proceeded. "Now in the area of the living room by the couch," he said, "a very close examination revealed no fibers or threads from your pajama top, but there are so many scattered across the master bedroom that you can still go into the house and check the rug and pick up almost as many as you want. Now, can you explain that?"

"No, except that when I took off my top, there's where I took it off. Picked it up and moved it a couple of times. The doctor who examined my wife testified that he moved it. Just seems to me that that's an explanation."

"Doctor MacDonald, when you were here before, I showed you a couple of knives and an icepick, and as I recall you said you didn't have an icepick and you didn't recall either one of those knives as being in your house."

"That's right."

"Witnesses have testified before the grand jury that they observed items that appeared to be the same as these in your house prior to February 17th."

"Uh-huh. Witnesses now, four years later. That's good. That's good police work. How much did you pay them? More than you paid the grave robbers?"

"Doctor MacDonald, in the master bedroom of your house fragments of a rubber glove were found and these fragments were found to be identical, so far as the material from which they were made, to the rubber surgical gloves that were kept under your kitchen sink. And your blood type was found in the area where the rubber gloves were kept. Can you tell us about that?"

"No. I have already testified that I may have gone to that sink. I have already testified that we had gloves in the house." "Did you put on the gloves?" "That night?" "Yes."

"Not unless I put on gloves when I was doing the dishes."

"Well, there was blood on these fragments of rubber gloves I'm talking about."

"I didn't scatter fragments of rubber gloves around the master bedroom."

"Well, if you had the rubber gloves on while you were doing the dishes, how come some fingerprints were found on the dishes."

"I have no idea."

"Your fingerprints."

"I didn't say I had them on. You keep asking me if I had them on. I said I don't know. But it's logical I may have put them on."

"Wouldn't it surprise you if by—"

"Nothing would surprise me, Mr. Woerheide."

"Would it surprise you if I told you that by chemical process your print could be found on those rubber glove fragments?" (In this instance, Woerheide apparently was attempting to goad MacDonald into an intemperate reply—no such chemical process had been performed, nor, indeed, did such a process even exist.)

"Nothing would surprise me," MacDonald said. "I'm sure, at this date, you can do anything you want. That is why the whole thing is ridiculous."

Victor Woerheide removed from an envelope a photograph of Jeffrey MacDonald's blue pajama top. "Here are a number of icepick holes," he said. "One, two, three, four, five—it goes right up to seventeen in the back. You weren't stabbed in. the back. You weren't injured in the back. Can you tell me how those icepick holes got there?"

"I presume it was around my arms."

"I see. While it was around your arms, they were stabbing at your arms? Is that it? They got in there then?"

"Yeah. We've talked about it at length, Mr. Woerheide."

Victor Woerheide removed the Hilton bathmat from a plastic bag. "Doctor MacDonald," he said, "this is a bathmat. I want to show you, when you take the Old Hickory knife and lay it down here it is a perfect match with the outline of this bloodstain. And this stain here is a perfect match for the icepick. Now, you said this bathmat may be one of the things you put over Colette's body. Is it possible that when you were handling this you also had a knife and an icepick in your hands?"

"No, I didn't."

"Well, where was it you found this bathmat?"

"I never said I found it, Mr. Woerheide. You made me reconstruct a story in which I may have pulled this from the green chair in the bedroom and put it over her. Why don't you stick to the facts for a change, Mr. Woerheide?"

Victor Worheide held up a photograph of the blue sheet that had been found rumpled on the floor of the master bedroom. "This," he said, "shows the pattern of the blood on the sheet. There is a small amount of Kris's blood in one area and the rest of the sheet basically was soaked with Colette's blood. They didn't find any of your blood on the sheet." Woerheide's deep voice began to rise, like a strong wind preceding a storm.

"Now I am going to ask you again: did you handle that sheet that night? Did you touch it? Did you have anything to do with it?"

"Not that I remember."

Woerheide removed more photographs from an envelope. "Doctor MacDonald," he said more quietly, "I want to show you a few pictures. On the bottom here is a picture of the sheet and above it is a picture of a part of Colette's pajama top.

"An expert in making examinations of this type has testified before this grand jury that the pattern of Colette's pajama top and the bloodstains from Colette's pajama top were transferred from Colette's body to the sheet, and he was able to tell how this sheet was laid over Colette—the position she was in when the blood was transferred from her pajama top to the sheet.

"The same man has testified that your pajama top had blood on it; that it was blood of Colette's type, and that the pajama top was torn, and that the design of your pajama top, the textile design, the creases, the beading, and the design of the bloodstain on your pajama top were transferred to the same sheet.

"He's also testified it was your pajama top that was torn on the left side, leaving your left shoulder bare. And that there were marks indicating where your left shoulder transferred blood to the sheet. And this was Colette's blood."

Woerheide's voice had again been steadily rising, filling the grand jury room. Now, he was approaching a crescendo.

"Tell us!" he demanded, his face a deep crimson, his scowl severe, his words spaced evenly, like fence posts enclosing the territory that Jeffrey MacDonald had been occupying for five years: "Tell us—how—that—blood—from—your—body—and— from—Colette's—body—got—on—that—sheet!''

"I have no idea! I have no idea!" MacDonald shouted in response. "I don't even know what crap you're trying to feed me!"

"Doctor MacDonald: did you take Colette off the bed in Kris's room, lay her on top of the bedspread on the floor in Kris's room, cover, her with this sheet, then pick her up and carry her out of the room?"

"No, I did not do that," MacDonald spat back.

"And lay her on the floor of the master bedroom?"

"No, I did not do that!"

"Your pajama top, Doctor MacDonald, transferred blood to that sheet at the same time that Colette's pajamas and Colette's body transferred blood to that sheet. And your footprint indicates that you were carrying something out of that room. And the footprint.is in Colette's blood."

"None of that happened, to my—Jesus. Oh, would you—the answer to the question is no."

"All right. I have another question," Woerheide said. He held up another photograph. "This is Colette's chest. It shows a total of twenty-one icepick stabbings that penetrated deep inside of her body, went straight in."

He held up three other pictures. "These show how Colette was covered by your pajama top when they found her. Mr. Stombaugh, of the FBI, by careful examination of these photographs was able to reconstruct the manner in which the pajama top was folded.

"He did reconstruct it. He found there were forty-eight icepick penetration marks on your pajama top. And when the pajama top was folded the same way it was folded on top of Colette's body, these icepick holes went through your pajama top and into her body.
Now—can—you—tell—us—how—that—happened?!''