The Search for Justice (4 page)

There ’s been much speculation about why O.J. gave his statement without a lawyer being present. It was clear to me from our
first meeting that he was a very strong-willed person, used to making his own decisions, running his own show, and his position
was that he was completely innocent, and so he had no reason to hide behind lawyers. In fact, he talked quite freely to the
police in the car on the way to the police station—they even took notes during the ride, about where he was in Chicago and
what he was doing there. At that point in time he was under great emotional and physical stress. The mother of his children
had been murdered; and he ’d made the Chicago round-trip in less than twelve hours, with little more than an hour ’s sleep.
Not only was he suffering from shock and grief but sleep deprivation as well. Even before he ’d gone to Chicago, he ’d been
up the previous morning at five to play his routine Saturday golf game. The man was in no condition to answer questions or
reconstruct his previous twenty-four hours to police or anybody else. And yet, he had insisted he was capable of doing it.

Once they got to the station, Detective Vannatter told Weitzman, “We want to talk to O.J., but we ’d really like to talk to
him alone. If he wants a lawyer present, we won ’t talk to him right now.”

Weitzman and Taft both insisted that they be present for O.J. ’s statement. But the police held to their position: If there
were lawyers, there would be no interview. And O.J. wanted to talk to them. So Weitzman reluctantly said, “Well, my client
is more than willing to cooperate. However, I must ask that you tape-record the conversation.” This the police agreed to do.

Although Weitzman was widely criticized for allowing the interview to happen—and I was among those being critical—I soon understood
that in order to prevent O.J. from doing or saying something he ’d set his mind on, he almost had to be physically tackled.
As a boxer—middleweight class, albeit an amateur—I would have tried.

“Gentlemen,” I would ’ve said to the police, “my client is exhausted and grieving. He ’s been up all night; today he has to
prepare to bury the mother of his children. He ’s more than willing to cooperate, but right now, under doctor ’s orders, he
’s going to bed.” And that, for at least a couple of days, would have been that.

O.J. ’s statement to the police about his whereabouts the previous twenty-four hours was exculpatory—that is, he accounted
for his whereabouts—and after they taped it, they told him he was allowed to go back home.

After I went over all of this with Taft and Kardashian, I said I wished to talk with Simpson alone. When they left the room,
I explained the attorney-client privilege of confidentiality to O.J. “I ’m not here to judge you,” I said. “You can tell Taft
one thing, Kardashian another, but if you want my help, what you need to tell me is the truth.” I stopped a moment, preparing
to ask the question that would decide where we went from here. “O.J., did you do this?”

Although his face was haggard, his eyes were steady when he looked directly at me and responded in a strong voice. “I did
not do this,” he said firmly. “Nicole and I were together for a long time, Bob. We had our problems, sure, but we shared two
beautiful children together, and she was a great mother.” He paused, and then said, “Besides, I have such a good life. Four
great kids. Fame, fortune, and wonderful friends. How
could anyone think I would destroy all of it? I wouldn ’t. I couldn ’t do this. I didn ’t do this.” It struck me then that
this man had, until this week, led a charmed life, repeatedly overcoming obstacles that would have daunted others—and he was
completely able, he believed, to overcome this one as well.

It was time to get down to serious business. Once suspicion is focused on someone, a client must prepare for the prosecution
to come at him with everything they ’ve got. And the hardest thing to come to grips with is that once the system locks in,
a client ’s innocence will have nothing to do with the outcome of a case.

Even as we spoke, the district attorney ’s office was gearing for battle as if it were mounting a military invasion, complete
with heavy artillery. I knew that they would have the best lawyers, the best investigators. Indeed, what we later learned
was that it was the largest effort ever expended by a prosecuting agency. There ’s been a lot of talk about the “Dream Team”—how
many lawyers there were on it, how much it cost. Given what was coming at O.J. from the prosecution, we might ’ve been forgiven
for believing that we were outgunned. There are eight to nine thousand members of the Los Angeles Police Department and nine
hundred deputy district attorneys. It is the largest prosecutorial agency in the world. In an ordinary murder case, two deputy
district attorneys would ’ve been assigned; in this case, there would be forty-five working full-time, not to mention the
rest of the L.A.P.D. resources, as well as the assistance of the Chicago police department, the FBI, and Interpol.

Reaching for a sports analogy, I thought about my own experience and training as an amateur boxer. Boxing and trial law have
a great deal in common. The contest is not about mass or weight; it ’s about speed, agility, quick thought, and footwork.
You have to think on your feet, and can never show any fear, no matter how badly you ’ve been slowed or hurt by the opposition.
Not only must you know what the other side is thinking, you must think it before them, and think quicker. There is an axiom
in boxing: A good big man will beat a good
small man. We had to be better than good. In short, we had to start thinking like the prosecution—how they were building their
case and how we were to counter it. It was ironic to discover later that while we began to think like the prosecution, the
district attorney ’s office hadn ’t yet started thinking strategically at all, and the police, in their rush to judgment,
their “sure thing,” were running around making mistakes.

To find out exactly what the police knew and what evidence, or lack of it, they had would require getting expert witnesses
of our own, putting together a parallel investigation of our own, and moving quickly to get our own people in the field before
any more time passed. There was no time to lose. Time was of the essence and we were already two days behind.

There was no way to know for certain if O.J. was the primary suspect, the only suspect, or if in fact he would be charged
at all. At this point, it appeared to me that he believed the whole matter would be dealt with and cleared up simply and quickly.
I didn ’t want to dampen his natural optimism; I knew he would need to draw on it as events unfolded. However, as his advocate,
it was my job to be pragmatic and prepare for the worst. First, there was the matter of Taft and Kardashian and their roles.

Taft, as O.J. ’s business attorney, was certainly covered by the attorney-client privilege and had separated himself because
of his professional representation. However, Kardashian ’s status, because he knew all the important players intimately, was
crucial to us. Kardashian ’s ex-wife, Kris, now married to former Olympian Bruce Jenner, had been Nicole ’s close friend;
they shared the same circle of girlfriends and their children played together. Kardashian, as a lawyer O.J. had been relying
upon for advice, had and would continue to have access to information that would be difficult for me to get; conversely, this
information would be invaluable to the prosecution. Although he hadn ’t practiced law in years, his knowledge of the case
and people involved were essential. I wanted his help.

It was then decided that Howard Weitzman, whose firm specialized
in civil cases and who had been primarily doing civil litigation, would be asked to step aside. Skip immediately met with
Weitzman to tell him that I ’d been retained by O.J. I then talked to Weitzman, who was extraordinarily gracious. We discussed
the transition, and he subsequently issued a public statement that in the interests of his client, given both their close
personal relationship and his own professional commitments, he thought it was best to withdraw. There were rumors at the time
that the reason Weitzman left the case was that O.J. had made a confession to him. That is categorically not true.

There were also rumors (which continue to this day) that at one point we were prepared to enter a plea bargain. This, too,
is categorically untrue. Since my client steadfastly maintained his innocence from the beginning and never once wavered, there
was never a plea bargain considered, by anyone.

The words “plea bargain” are right up there with “legal loophole” and “technicalities” in their negative connotation; they
make it sound like the courts are helping criminals get away with something. Prosecutors, on the other hand, refer to the
process as “case resolution” or “case disposition.” These terms more correctly reflect the role of lawyers, which is to resolve
a case to everyone ’s satisfaction. Nobody holds it against either party when a settlement is negotiated in a civil case,
but when you try negotiation in a criminal case, the media takes it to the street. However, plea bargaining is
not
detrimental to the justice system; in fact, the system would completely founder without it. Ninety percent of cases are resolved
by pleas. Imagine if they all went instead to trial. The court system would bog down almost instantly, and cases would be
systematically dismissed, one after the other.

That said, it doesn ’t mean that prosecutors give away cases. Each case has a certain value in terms of what can be proven,
what the real offense is, and what the fair sentence should be based on the individual, the individual ’s record, and the
likelihood of recurrence. When a case comes up, judges, defense, and prosecuting lawyers ask what the logical end result of
the
case will be—and if we can get there without a trial. First of all, is the defendant willing to plead guilty and admit responsibility
to something? And if so, to what? These are the questions we faced on Christian Brando ’s case, for instance, and I had dealt
with them as well on behalf of other clients. But in this case, suffice it to say that O.J. Simpson wouldn ’t have considered
pleading guilty to any charge, let alone first-degree murder. And the district attorney wouldn ’t have offered anything less.

Speed is essential in criminal cases. Memories fade, evidence dissipates. Since we had few facts to go on, the people who
had seen or been with O.J. throughout the day of the crime were clearly going to be key witnesses, and there were two in particular
who were key to establishing his innocence. Brian “Kato” Kaelin had spent much of the evening of the murder with O.J., and
Allan Park was the limo driver who had picked him up and taken him to the airport. I wanted to talk to both of them immediately.

I wished to talk to them both that very night, before their stories eroded from repetition, before anyone had a chance to
interrogate them at length with techniques that might favor a particular point of view. And I wanted to tape-record the interviews
so that no one could dispute later what questions were asked and answered, or suggest that the questions were improper, or
that undue pressure was put on either man.

From Skip Taft ’s office I called Allan Park, and with Skip present and his secretary coming in and out, we talked over the
speaker phone. Park was a conscientious young man who had just begun working part-time for Town and Country Limousine, the
company that O.J. used regularly. The company ’s owner, Dale St. John, happened to live across the street from Park, and was
O.J. ’s normal driver, but on this night he was unavailable and had sent Park in his place.

Park told us that he had arrived at O.J. ’s about 10:25
P.M
.
(twenty minutes early, he said), parked outside the gate, got out of the car and had a cigarette, and then had gone up to
the gate at 10:40 and rung the buzzer. When no one replied after several attempts, Park got back into the car and called his
boss, who told him that O.J. always ran late and that he should wait until at least 11:15. As they were talking, Park saw
Kato Kaelin coming around the side of the house with a flashlight. Almost simultaneously (at around 10:57, he estimated),
he also saw someone go into the house. When Park saw the lights go on in the house, he then buzzed the intercom again. O.J.
answered it and, according to Park, told him he ’d overslept and been in the shower and that he would be down in just a few
minutes.

It was Kaelin who opened the gate so that Park could drive the limo up to the front door. He ’d felt or heard thumping sounds
near the back of the house, Kaelin told him, and that ’s why he had the flashlight. He wondered if perhaps it had been an
earthquake, or perhaps a prowler.

O.J. showed up about five minutes later, in a hurry because he knew it would be a race to the airport. As he would later tell
the police, “I was doing my little crazy what I do…. 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.”

After his luggage was loaded into the limo, O.J. went into the kitchen to get a better flashlight in order to check the grounds
with Kato. When he looked at the kitchen clock, he knew he didn ’t have enough time, and he headed back to the limo. At 11:15,
he and Park took off for the airport.