Tearing Down the Wall of Sound (55 page)

“I have been blessed to work in an extremely difficult industry,” she wrote in September 2002, “but in my opinion I have not even begun to reach my full potential. I have been pounding my head against a Plexiglas ceiling trying to break through to a completely new level for a while now. God willing, this year it will happen. Keep your eye out for a new quality of work from Ms. Clarkson!”

A month later, she was talking of reading for a new TV show, playing the part of a prison warden. It did not materialize.

“I have been around and working continually,” she wrote in November. “I just haven't booked myself a series. Then you would hear about me all the time. Unfortunately, that's how my industry is. You're hot when they decide you are! I am working on several new ventures and God willing, I'll finally make that huge breakthru I've been working toward this next year.”

But in the absence of acting roles, she needed something else.

         

Toward the end of December, she applied for the job as hostess in the Foundation Room at the House of Blues. Built in the studiedly ramshackle style of a Mississippi juke joint, the HOB stands on the Sunset Strip, across from the Chateau Marmont hotel. The Foundation Room, or VIP lounge, is frequented mostly by high rollers from the rock and film worlds. Decorated in the style of a maharajah's palace, with ornately carved wooden panels and plush velvet couches, it offers panoramic views across Los Angeles and what the promotional literature describes as “sacred prayer rooms.” Membership costs $1,000 a year; champagne, $250 a bottle. Spector was a member and had often attended events there, such as the celebration for Ray Charles's seventieth birthday in 2000.

It wasn't Clarkson's first choice for a job, but friends say she was determined to make the best of it, a way of tiding things over until her acting career picked up. Bill Craig provided a reference. “She was very proud of getting the job,” he remembers, “because it was the VIP room, it was associating with people at the top.”

A. J. Benza puts it another way. “Taking that job showed a lot of nerve. In this town, if you have a bit of fame, and the fame starts to trickle away, you can hear the people talking and whispering about you. And at forty years old, for Lana to go back to work as a hostess, in a town where she made herself more or less a star, knowing that she would be seeing the same people who knew that her star had faded…To me, that's a real strong character.”

Clarkson told friends that she enjoyed the work, and she was optimistic it could lead to better things. “I am going to meet people,” she told one friend. “They will remember that I am here and it might get me another job.”

She would drive in from her home near the beach in Venice, arriving at the HOB at six each evening, and work until 2:00 a.m. The days she had to herself. On February 1, 2003, she made a personal appearance at the Creation Comic Book Convention in Pasadena, signing autographs for fans and posing for pictures. She spoke to her lawyer, who was reviewing contracts for an infomercial that she had been lined up to appear in. Things were looking up. She spent February 2 shopping for shoes with her mother and e-mailing friends, including a reply to a birthday party invitation. “Can't wait,” she wrote. “XOXO Lana.” That afternoon, shopping with her mother at Nordstrom in the Grove shopping center, she bumped into a friend, Dianne Bennett, a former columnist for the
Hollywood Reporter
who was now running a dating service, Beautiful Women–Successful Men. Bennett had long been pressing Clarkson to send in her picture, but Clarkson had always replied that she wanted to concentrate on her acting. But now, she told Bennett, “I'm finally ready to get married and have a family.”

Bennett replied, “I have the perfect man for you,” and told Clarkson about a good-looking, successful forty-year-old entrepreneur who lived in Malibu. Bennett promised that she would get in touch the following week. “Be sure and give me a call,” Clarkson said as she waved goodbye.

That evening she reported for work as usual at the HOB. At around 1:30 a.m., just as her night was winding down, Phil Spector walked through the door.

         

The details of what occurred on the evening of February 2, and the early hours of February 3, would emerge over the next two years, from a combination of police evidence, the coroner's report and testimony to the grand jury that would ultimately decide that Spector should stand trial, accused of the murder of Lana Clarkson.

At a few minutes before 7:00 p.m. on February 2, Adriano De Souza drove into the grounds of the Alhambra castle, parked his car in the courtyard at the back of the house, and pulled Phil Spector's new black Mercedes limousine up to the back door.

Spector's regular driver, Dylan, had been given the evening off. De Souza, a Brazilian, was the “relief driver,” a position he had held for the past two months. (In fact, his first job had been collecting me from my hotel on the Sunset Strip in Spector's Rolls. We were delayed outside when the car stalled, necessitating a taxi jump-starting us with a pair of leads. I remember De Souza anxiously calling on his cell phone to explain that we would be late. He told me it was his first day working for Spector, and he was keen to make a good impression.)

         

At 7:00 p.m. Spector walked out of the back door. He was wearing a black shirt and trousers and a white jacket, and carrying a briefcase, which he threw onto the backseat of the car before climbing in himself. Spector had a dinner date with a woman friend, Romy Davis. Romy had been a prom queen at Fairfax—the sort of girl Spector could only gaze on wistfully from afar as a schoolboy. But in recent years they had become friends. De Souza and Spector set off to collect Davis and they drove to the Grill on the Alley, a Beverly Hills restaurant, where Spector and Davis had dinner. Two hours later, Spector dropped off Davis at her home and instructed De Souza to return to the Grill. He had made another assignation: a waitress, Kathy Sullivan, was waiting for him outside. De Souza drove them first to Trader Vic's bar, and then to Dan Tana's restaurant, one of Spector's regular haunts. By now, Kathy was complaining that she was tired and wanted to go home. But Spector evidently did not want the evening to end and insisted they should go on to the House of Blues, where they arrived at 1:30 a.m. According to the police Spector had been drinking alcohol at each stop along the way, consuming three, possibly four daiquiri cocktails, as well as two Navy Grog cocktails, each containing three shots of different kinds of rum. De Souza said he was “slurring his words.”

         

Spector and Kathy went inside. Lana Clarkson was waiting at her post at the entrance of the Foundation Room to greet new arrivals. There was a moment's confusion; Clarkson did not know or recognize Spector, and initially refused to let him in to the members-only area. Spector began to complain loudly, and another House of Blues employee, Euphrates Lalondriz, came to smooth things over, telling Clarkson who Spector was and that he was to be treated “like Dan Aykroyd—like gold.” (Aykroyd has a share in the club.) Clarkson apologized to Spector, introduced herself, and then led him and Kathy to a seating area within the Foundation Room known as the Buddha Room.

Spector ordered a shot of Bacardi 151 rum “straight up” from waitress Sophia Holguin. When Kathy ordered only water, Spector grew angry, telling her to “get a fucking drink.” Kathy refused, and while Holguin was fetching the order, Spector told Kathy, “That's it—you're going home.”

Spector called for Lana Clarkson and told her to walk Kathy to his car and tell De Souza to take her home, then return to collect Spector. Meanwhile, Holguin returned with the order. Spector told her he didn't want “the fucking water” and called for his tab. He had purchased an $8.50 alcoholic drink and a $5.00 water and left a tip of $450. After settling the bill, Spector tried to order another drink, but Holguin told him the bar was closed.

At around 2:00 a.m., Euphrates Lalondriz overheard Clarkson over his headset asking if she could accept an invitation from Spector to have a drink. Lalondriz heard the club manager tell her that she could not drink, but could sit down with Spector. Holguin saw Clarkson walk into the Buddha Room and talk to Spector for a few minutes. She then saw them walk out of the room together. House of Blues employee records show that Clarkson clocked out at 2:21 a.m.

Two minutes later De Souza, who was waiting outside, saw Spector emerge from the club. He seemed to be having difficulty walking, and was being helped by Clarkson. As De Souza opened the car door for him, Spector invited Clarkson to go home with him. She declined. Spector then offered her a lift to her car, which Clarkson accepted. During the drive, Spector continued to press his invitation, “More than once. Two, three times,” according to De Souza. Finally, Clarkson relented.

At the House of Blues employee parking lot, Clarkson got into her car. Spector got out of the Mercedes, stumbled over to a stairwell to relieve himself, and then stumbled back to his car. De Souza could smell the strong odor of alcohol coming from the backseat. De Souza and Spector now followed Clarkson to a side street off La Cienega Boulevard where she parked her car.

As Clarkson got into the Mercedes, she leaned forward to De Souza and told him, “This will be quick. Only one drink.” Spector turned to her. “You don't need to talk to the driver.”

         

At around 3:00 a.m., the Mercedes drove through the gates of the castle, and pulled to a halt. Spector and Clarkson got out and set off up the eighty-eight steps toward the house. According to De Souza, Spector had some difficulty walking, and Clarkson was “like, grabbing his arm and shoulder and helping him up the stairs.” De Souza continued up the drive, parked at the rear of the house, and settled down to wait. Around fifteen minutes later, Spector came out of the back door. According to De Souza “he looks mad” and disoriented. De Souza asked him whether he wanted to collect his briefcase and a portable DVD player that he had left in the car. “No, no, no,” said Spector—but then changed his mind and took the DVD player. De Souza followed him into the house and placed the briefcase inside the hall. There was no sign of Lana Clarkson.

         

For the next ninety minutes or so De Souza waited in the car. Then, shortly before 5:00 a.m., he heard what he would later describe as a soft popping sound. De Souza, who had served in the Brazilian military, thought he recognized it as a gunshot. He got out of the car, but could see nothing amiss and returned to the Mercedes. It was then that Spector emerged from the back door. De Souza again got out of the car. Spector was still dressed in the clothes he had worn that evening—white jacket, black trousers and shirt; in his right hand was a revolver, which he was holding across his body. De Souza could see blood on the back of Spector's hand. It was at that point, according to De Souza, that Spector said, “I think I killed somebody.” Looking past him into the hallway, De Souza could see Lana Clarkson, slumped in a chair with blood on her face.

He asked, “What happened, sir?” Spector shrugged and said, “I don't know.” He then turned back toward the house. De Souza tried to call 911 on his cell phone, but was so shaken he was unable to make the call. He climbed back into the car and set off back down the drive. Part-way down, he stopped and telephoned Spector's assistant Michelle Blaine, leaving a message on her voice mail: “You have to come here. I think Mr. Spector killed somebody.” He then continued down the driveway to the entrance and dialed 911.

         

Spector would later assert that it was he who had called the police—“I called the police”—but according to police evidence the emergency services logged only one 911 call relating to the incident, De Souza's.

De Souza's call, logged at 5:00 a.m. at the California Highway Patrol, Los Angeles Communications Center, quickly became a black comedy of misunderstandings.

A
LHAMBRA POLICE
: Okay. And your name, sir?

D
E
S
OUZA
: Adriano.

A
LHAMBRA
: Okay. And your boss's name?

D
E
S
OUZA
: It's, uh, Phil Spector.

A
LHAMBRA
: I'm sorry?

D
E
S
OUZA
: Phil Spector.

A
LHAMBRA
: Seal?

D
E
S
OUZA
: Spector.

A
LHAMBRA
: Seal Inspector?

D
E
S
OUZA
: Yeah. Phil Spector.

A
LHAMBRA
: That's his name?

D
E
S
OUZA
: Yes.

A
LHAMBRA
: S-e-a-l?

D
E
S
OUZA
: P-h-i-l.

A
LHAMBRA
: C-h—

D
E
S
OUZA
: Spector.

A
LHAMBRA
:—i-l. Is he Asian or white or—

D
E
S
OUZA
: Sorry?

A
LHAMBRA
: Is he male white or Asian. Is he an Asian person, a Hispanic person, or a white person?

D
E
S
OUZA
: No, it's a white person.

A
LHAMBRA
: And his name is Chil—C-h-i-l?

D
E
S
OUZA
: Yeah, P-h-i-l.

A
LHAMBRA
: Oh, Phil.

D
E
S
OUZA
: Phil, yeah.

A
LHAMBRA
: Phil Spector? Okay…

The first police car arrived at the gate of Spector's house, where Adriano De Souza was waiting, shortly after 5:00 a.m., but it would be a further twenty or so minutes before a group of five officers had made a careful approach up the drive and assembled outside the back door of the house. Spector could be seen on the first floor but made his way down the stairs and appeared at the back door. He was no longer wearing the white jacket and his hands were in his pockets. According to Officer Michael Page, he appeared “mildly agitated.” An officer told him to raise his hands above his head. Spector did so, then put his hands back into his pockets again and turned to go into the house saying, “You got to come see this.” He was again warned to take his hands out of his pockets, and when he refused, Officer Page deployed a Taser dart at him. “It had no effect,” said Page. Spector now backed further into the house, pursued by another officer, Brandon Cardella, who knocked Spector against the stairwell. Page, who had followed Cardella into the house, fired another Taser dart, again with no effect, and then wrestled Spector to the ground. (Page would later testify that he had used a Taser four times in his career, and “I am yet to have one work.”) After a brief struggle, Page and Officer Jim Hammond managed to handcuff Spector as he lay facedown on the floor.