The Search for Justice (59 page)

I suspected that we were going to get a hung jury and the case would go back to court for a second trial.

“What will you do if that happens?” Linell asked one evening. It was easy to read her face, to see that she was anxious, afraid
of what she might hear from me. I knew that if she didn ’t like what she heard, she was ready to put up a fight.

At first, I wasn ’t sure how to answer her.. For the past eighteen months, I had worked on nothing but this case. I went to
sleep thinking of it, woke up thinking of it, and often dreamed about it in between. Although I worked on one civil matter
that fortunately was settled without a trial, I hadn ’t accepted any new clients, nor had I appeared on any other case. I
hadn ’t read a book, other than judicial books or DNA books. I saw only three movies. Oh, sure, I ’d spent time with my wife
and kids and done things with them, but my mind was always someplace else, and they knew it. Unwittingly, I ’d become a kind
of silent member of my own family.

Had I been single, had it been earlier in my career, there was no question that I would have stuck around for the retrial
if O.J. had wanted me, and he ’d already said he did. But at this time in my life, things were not so cut and dry.

Linell, for one, had had enough. For her, the previous eighteen months had been alternately embarrassing, painful, or lonely.
My career had always been a matter of pride to her, something we planned and built together. The unprecedented demands of
this case, both public and private, had stretched us both to the breaking point. Ever since the trial itself had begun, she
had been focused on the
end
of it, and the resumption of our lives as a family.

The kids, however, couldn ’t imagine that I wouldn ’t readily go back for a second trial. As badly as they wanted it to be
over, they couldn ’t believe that I could ever quit without a final victory. Knowing my competitive nature, Brent just assumed
I ’d climb right back into the ring and start swinging again. And
Grant said, “You ’re his lawyer, Dad. You can ’t just leave in the middle of a case, can you?” Fortunately, I never had to
make that decision.

It seemed to me that the jury could have chosen one of two ways to begin. First, the foreperson could direct a very deliberate,
point-by-point discussion on all the witnesses, key areas of testimony, motive, intent, opportunity, review of the physical
evidence, or any combination of any of them. If that was the case, my guess was that they ’d want to resolve any credibility
questions of key prosecution witnesses. If there was any doubt after that, they ’d move on to the expert witnesses and look
at DNA issues last.

Or the jurors could, for the first time since they ’d been impaneled months before, simply look at one another and ask, “Well,
what do you think?” By taking an early straw vote, they could shortcut the process if most jurors were in agreement one way
or the other. This, we discovered later, was exactly what they did.

Once their first vote was taken, and ten jurors were found to be in agreement for acquittal and two for conviction, they quickly
moved to the next question. Just what was it that pointed to reasonable doubt for ten of them? And what pointed to a conviction
for the other two? They requested an immediate playback of Allan Park ’s testimony. In retrospect, they wanted to hear the
prosecution ’s most “damaging” witness to see how conclusive that testimony actually was.

On Monday, October 2, four hours after beginning their deliberations, the jury announced they had reached a verdict. A stunned
Judge Ito announced that the verdict would be delivered at ten the following morning.

Before court began on Tuesday, October 3, I spent an hour with O.J., who looked drawn and exhausted. “I slept at least
twenty minutes,” he said with a half-smile. “I kept telling myself it was in their hands now, there was nothing more I could
do.”

As the jury filed in, I tried to gauge the jurors ’ mood, tried to read their eyes. True to their history, they held their
poker faces to the last. None of them made eye contact with me, or with anyone else that I could tell. When the verdict was
passed to the clerk, and then to Ito, I again looked at their faces but still couldn ’t read anything there.

We all stood in preparation to hear the verdict. The judge ’s clerk, Deirdre Robertson, then read it. As she said the words
“We, the jury,” there was a collective inhalation of breath in the room. And then she said, twice in a row, “find the defendant,
Orenthal James Simpson, not guilty.” It was all anyone at the defense table could do to remain upright.

Instantly, it seemed as though the entire room behind me was in tears; on one side, the Goldmans and Browns in grief and anger;
on the other, the Simpsons in relief and gratitude.

Someone said later that in the moments after we received the verdict, I appeared to literally, physically, step back from
the table. And in fact, I did. To me, a trial is a sober, somber event, and a courtroom is second only to a church. There
may be wisecracks and insults at sidebars, and bad jokes in the judge ’s chamber, but it ’s serious business overall. And
no matter the outcome, no matter the verdict, I ’ve always tried to maintain some measure of dignity and decorum in the first
strange moments after a verdict is announced. Cheers and high fives are inappropriate; it ’s a courtroom, not the NBA playoffs.

I felt, and I still feel, that the jury had reached the right conclusion in this case. It was a victory, a legal victory,
and people could certainly congratulate each other for the long months of hard work and effort that had produced the result
we ’d hoped for. Nevertheless, two people were still dead. It wasn ’t the time for a celebration. It wasn ’t New Year ’s Eve.

At the courthouse press conference afterward, the mood was oddly jovial, almost giddy. Bailey introduced himself as Cochran,
and vice versa, as though we were at a celebrity roast.

I called Johnnie aside and told him I was going to do an interview with Barbara Walters immediately afterward, at the Century
Plaza Hotel near my office. It was the first of two onthe-record interviews I would give after the jury verdict. With the
exception of Peter Neufeld, I was the only lawyer on the defense side not to have given an interview during the entire case.
Now, although I ’d been given several opportunities, I chose two: one to be taped—the Walters interview—and the other live,
on Larry King ’s show.

For sixteen months I had promised Larry King that when the case was over his would be the first live interview I ’d do. Immediately
after the jury verdict I called him and told him I was ready to speak my mind. His response was, “You kept your word.”

The Walters interview would be taped and have to be edited for time constraints. On King ’s show, I would have the chance
to expand on my views, to express all the feelings that I couldn ’t address while the case was proceeding.

I told Cochran that I was going to be frank on these programs. “You ’ve got to know what my feelings are about this. It wasn
’t necessary, what you did, what you said. The Holocaust reference, the Nation of Islam guards, raising the issue of race
to ask for jury nullification.”

He just nodded as he listened to me. “Johnnie, it could have backfired,” I said. “We had reasonable doubt walking away, from
the very beginning. You didn ’t have to play that card.”

“I appreciate your candor, Bob,” he said. “And you ’re entitled to your opinions. It ’s just that I don ’t share them.”

Although I was hardly in a mood for a party, I did go to Rockingham to see O.J. and his mother and sisters. I had become especially
fond of Carmelita, who dearly loved Arnelle and Jason and had worried so much about them. I had great empathy for the positions
they had all been in throughout the
sixteen-month ordeal, positions that they ’d occupied with a certain grace, especially Arnelle.

As Keno turned the car up to Rockingham, it was, as Yogi Berra would ’ve said, déjà vu all over again. There were the throngs
of cameras on both sides of the street, making it nearly impossible to get in the driveway. Johnnie hadn ’t yet arrived, and
I didn ’t intend to stay long. That evening was the beginning of Yom Kippur, and I knew that Linell was waiting at home for
me so that we could go to temple.

Although things may have grown livelier later that night, while I was there the mood was not festive as much as it was quietly
happy, and relieved. I greeted the members of O.J. ’s family, some of whom were still in tears, and spent a few moments with
Arnelle, telling her that she had demonstrated incredible strength throughout her father ’s trial. In all likelihood, she
would continue to need that strength as the family began its transition into the next stage of a story I suspected wouldn
’t be over for a long time.

I joined O.J. and a few friends out on the balcony. He was wondering what the days ahead held in store for him. I told him
that I suspected that for some time, his life would be very difficult. “I ’ll manage,” he said, looking out at the garden.
“It ’s just so great to be home. And you were here from the very beginning, Bob. I ’m grateful for everything you did.”

I said that I ’d spoken with Johnnie about what was in my mind and heart about the race issue and his use of the Holocaust
image in his closing remarks to the jury. I also told O.J. that I had been equally candid with Barbara Walters, and that the
interview would be on that night. O.J. just shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I ’m not surprised. You always say what ’s
on your mind.”

Before I left, I called to thank Alan Dershowitz for all his work, for making his keen legal mind and diplomatic skills available
to us day or night throughout the entire sixteen months. In turn, he thanked me for bringing him aboard, reminding me that
as difficult and conflicted as the recent weeks
had been, he firmly believed that the groundwork for the verdict had been laid during the first two weeks of the case. “You
shut down a grand jury, Bob, and you wouldn ’t waive time,” he said. “They never recovered from that.”

More people were arriving as I left Rockingham, with even more reporters and cameras out on the street then there had been
when we drove in. There were news helicopters circling above, reminding me of the day of the Bronco chase. I wondered how
and when the people in the house behind me would ever return to anything approaching a normal life.