The Search for Justice (8 page)

In a high-profile case, the job of a defense attorney expands beyond advocate to include manager and, when appropriate, spokesman
on behalf of the client. And from June 1, to the morning of June 17, my job certainly did expand. I was managing a growing
team of law professionals, and struggling to manage the information as well. The reporters and TV cameras were everywhere,
of course, but O.J. was no stranger to publicity, and with many athletes, entertainers, and public figures as clients, I had
dealt with publicity before. I knew that I wasn ’t the celebrity here, O.J. was. They couldn ’t get to him, so they came after
me and anyone having to do with the case. However, the sheer number of cameras, reporters, and interview requests
amazed us all. Wasn ’t anything else happening in the country? And then came Friday, June 17.

At 8:30 that morning I was on the phone with Michael Nasatir, a noted criminal defense attorney and old college friend, who
naturally wanted to know what was going on with the case. What were the police going to do? Was there going to be an arrest?

“I have very little information at this point,” I told him. “The unofficial word is that nothing ’s going to happen for a
while.” At that point, I had to put him on hold and pick up the other line, to hear the voice of L.A.P.D. Detective Tom Lange.

“We are going to charge O.J. Simpson with two counts of first-degree murder,” Lange said. “We want you to surrender him here
by ten o ’clock.”

I took a deep breath. Here it comes, I thought. “I ’ll contact him immediately and make the arrangements,” I said, “and we
’ll be bringing him in to turn himself in voluntarily.” I hung up and switched back to Nasatir.

“Well, I can answer your question right now,” I told him. “They ’re charging him, and I ’ve got to go over and get him ready
to surrender immediately.” I started to think, This is happening way too fast. What have they got that they should be moving
so fast?

Although they could ’ve filed charges at any time, the information we had been getting from the police department and the
district attorney was that the investigation was proceeding, they would probably need more time, and they were prepared to
take as much as they needed. I thought, in turn, that this would give
us
more time—to prepare with O.J. and to conduct our own investigation. Now that time had run out.

After the funeral the previous day, O.J. had gone into seclusion at Bob Kardashian ’s. I had never been there before, and
so I called Bob to tell him what was going on and to get directions, asking that in the meantime he not tell O.J. anything
until I got there.

The directions to Kardashian ’s were complicated. On the
face of it, he lives only minutes from my neighborhood, but with the hills and the side streets, it was difficult to find.
It ’s a beautifully situated two-story home in the Encino hills, constructed of marble and granite, and when we finally found
it, Bob met me at the door, telling me O.J. was still asleep upstairs. He was on some medication, antianxiety or antidepressant,
something prescribed by Dr. Faerstein.

Kardashian ’s house is enormous, perhaps ten thousand square feet, with many rooms and long hallways. He led me to the guest
room where O.J. had been staying. When I woke him up, O.J. was groggy and somewhat confused as to why I was there. When he
learned the reason, he was stunned. I immediately called Dr. Faerstein and phoned Dr. Huizenga as well. There had been no
time to deal with O.J. ’s swollen lymph node, which could have been a precursor to cancer, and it was imperative also that
Huizenga take our own set of forensic samples—skin, blood, hair—for our own analysis and comparison. I knew that once O.J.
was actually in jail we probably wouldn ’t have the opportunity to do it. I also wanted Faerstein and Huizenga available for
O.J. ’s support when he surrendered. In addition, I wanted him reexamined by Baden and Lee, with more photographs. These photographs
wouldn ’t be for public consumption; they ’d be offered as defense evidence.

As everyone converged on Bob Kardashian ’s house, the day began to take on a tone of controlled chaos. Not frantic or hysterical—there
was too much to do, and too much at stake, for hysteria. Rather, it was tense but controlled, like a war room might have been,
or a hostage negotiation.

Kardashian, of course, was there, as was Kardashian ’s girlfriend, Denice Shakarian Halicki, Cathy Randa, Paula Barbieri,
and A.C. Cowlings, O.J. ’s old friend. I had known Paula for some time; she had once dated another client of mine. A sweet-natured
and quite beautiful young woman, whose emotional support was invaluable to O.J., she was primarily concerned that those around
him were doing what was necessary to protect him. I had known A.C. as well, running into him over the
years. He had grown up with O.J. in the Portrero Hill Housing projects in San Francisco and played football with him at both
USC and Buffalo. He was his oldest, closest, and most loyal friend. It seemed to be the kind of fierce, wordless friendship
in which one man knows what the other is about to say or do before he says or does it.

Los Angeles, for all its sprawl and speed, can often seem like any other town: a series of neighborhoods in which the same
people can run into each other for years and in which people ’s lives overlap, in joy and tragedy, just as they do all across
the country. On Friday, June 17, many of those lives were colliding under Bob Kardashian ’s roof. And each person thought
that what he or she had to do was the most important.

O.J. made endless phone calls; he needed to put his affairs in order, he wanted to talk to his kids, to his mother. By 9:30,
Huizenga and his nurses were taking blood from both of O.J. ’s arms simultaneously. Henry Lee, who needed body samples that
would address his investigation, was pulling out O.J. ’s hair and scraping his skin. Michael Baden, in the process of a painstaking
pathological examination, was taking pictures of his body. Paula was in and out of the room, talking quietly to O.J., trying
to comfort him.

I called Marcia Clark. “We ’re not going to make it to the Parker Center by ten.”

She said, “Bob, you ’ve got to make it by ten.”

“Look,” I said, “we know you ’re going to lock the man up. I thought we ’d have another couple of days before this would happen.
He ’s talking to his personal attorney, there ’s the matter of his two small children. He has to get his affairs in order,
talk with the rest of his family, Jason and Arnelle, and his mother. There are doctors here examining him. Marcia, let me
call Parker Center and see if we can stretch this a little.”

She agreed that I could call the police and ask for some leeway. They gave us until eleven o ’clock. By eleven, although we
were getting close, we still weren ’t ready to leave, and everyone ’s nerves were getting a little raw. At the center of it
all was O.J. He had written and sealed some letters, addressed to family and friends. Now he was sitting in his underwear,
methodically arranging custody of his children and power of attorney over his personal and business affairs while nurses drew
blood out of his arms and scientists pulled hairs out of his head.

And then, as we came down to the wire, he walked into another room with A.C. to talk privately. All through the previous days,
A.C. had been a constant presence, solid as a rock. We didn ’t worry about O.J. as long as he was with his friend, who seemed
to have grown bigger and stronger as O.J. became quieter and more passive.

After they ’d gone, Michael Baden and I spoke quietly to Dr. Faerstein, who was very concerned about O.J. ’s state of mind.
I was genuinely concerned about the potential for suicide. For a man who defined himself in physical expression and motion,
there was a curious stillness to O.J., a leaden presence. His skin was ashen and his eyes seemed somehow flattened out in
his head. Michael Baden had observed all through the week that although O.J. ’s weight had remained the same, his body seemed
to have shrunk somehow. Perhaps it would be a good idea, Baden suggested, if Faerstein called the doctor at the jail, to let
him know what was going on and make sure that O.J. was put on suicide watch once he got there.

I made another call to the police and the district attorney ’s office, trying to negotiate more time for O.J. ’s surrender.
But finally, when it was close to one o ’clock, Detective Lange announced, “No more time. We ’re coming to arrest him.”

I said, “Look, we ’re all driving down to Parker Center together, in two cars—his doctors, me, A.C., my driver, Bob Kardashian.
Just give us a little more time.”

“No go,” he said. “We ’re on our way to you now.”

“Wait, wait, just talk to his doctor,” I said. I put Dr. Faerstein on the line, and he tried to talk to them about O.J. ’s
condition and his professional concerns about a possible suicide attempt. But Faerstein had no success. “The commander said
this has gone past the deadline,” Lange told him. “We have a warrant. What ’s your location?”

Defeated, Faerstein just looked at me. “They want to know where we are,” he said. “They have a warrant.”

I passed the phone to Kardashian. “We don ’t have a choice, there ’s a warrant for his arrest. We have to give him up, now,”
I told him. “Tell them where we are.”

In order not to panic O.J., we decided among ourselves not to go downstairs and tell him and A.C. that the police were on
their way. We would wait, we decided, until they got here. Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes. It was grim.

When the two police cars finally arrived, Kardashian went down and opened the front door to let the four officers in, showing
them where O.J. was waiting for them. Only he wasn ’t. And neither was A.C. My heart just fell. O.J., I thought, what have
you done?

Kardashian mentioned the letters O.J. had written. We quickly found them and opened the one addressed “To my friends.” It
was handwritten, and quite long. We read it over each other ’s shoulders.

To whom it may concern: First, everyone understand, I have nothing to do with Nicole ’s murder. I loved her. I always have
and I always will. If we had a problem, it ’s because I loved her so much
.

Recently we came to the understanding that for now we were not right for each other, at least for now. Despite our love we
were different and that ’s why we mutually agreed to go our separate ways. It was tough splitting for a second time but we
both knew it was for the best
.

Inside I had no doubt that in the future we would be close friends or more. Unlike what has been written in the press, Nicole
and I had a great relationship for most of our lives together. Like all long-term relationships, we had a few downs and ups.
I took the heat New Year ’s 1989 because that ’s what I was supposed to do. I did not plead no contest for any other reason
but to protect our privacy and was advised it would end the press hype
.

I don ’t want to belabor knocking the press, but I can ’t believe
what is being said. Most of it is totally made up. I know you have a job to do, but as a last wish, please, please, please,
leave my children in peace. Their lives will be tough enough
.

I want to send my love and thanks to all my friends. I ’m sorry I can ’t name every one of you. Especially A.C., man thanks
for being in my life. The support and friendship I received from so many, Wayne Hughes, Louis Marks, Frank Olsen, Mark Packer,
Bender, Bobby Kardashian
.

I wish we had spent more time together in recent years. My golfing buddies, Haas, Alan Austin, Mike, Craig, Bender, Wiler,
Sandy, Jay, Donnie, thanks for all the fun. All my teammates over the years. Reggie, you were the soul of my pro career; Ahmad,
I never stopped being proud of you; Marcus, you got a great lady in Catherine, don ’t mess it up. Bobby Chandler, thanks for
always being there. Skip and Cathy, I love you guys, without you I never would have made it through this far. Marguerite,
thanks for the early years. We had some fun. Paula, what can I say? You are special. I ’m sorry I ’m not going to—we ’re not
going to have our chance. God brought you to me, I now see as I leave you ’ll be in my thoughts
.

I think of my life and feel I ’ve done most of the right things, so why do I end up like this. I can ’t go on. No matter what
the outcome people will look and point. I can ’t take that. I can ’t subject my children to that. This way they can move on
and go on with their lives. Please, if I ’ve done anything worthwhile in my life, let my kids live in peace from you, the
press
.

I ’ve had a good life. I ’m proud of how I lived. My mama taught me to do unto others. I treated people the way I wanted to
be treated. I ’ve always tried to be up and helpful. So why is this happening? I ’m sorry for the Goldman family. I know how
much it hurts
.

Nicole and I had a good life together. All this press talk about a rocky relationship was no more than what every long-term
relationship experiences. All her friends will confirm that I have been totally loving and understanding of what she ’s been
going through. At times I have felt like a battered husband or boyfriend but I loved her. And I would take whatever it took
to make it work
.

Don ’t feel sorry for me. I ’ve had a great life, great friends. Please think of the real O.J. and not this lost person
.

Thanks for making my life special. I hope I helped yours
.

Peace and love, O.J
.

In a gesture that seemed oddly childlike, he had drawn a smiley face inside the
O
. Stunned, I looked at Dr. Faerstein. “What do you think this means?” I asked, almost not wanting to hear his answer. He just
shook his head. I don ’t think there was anyone in that room who didn ’t believe, at that moment, that O.J. had gone off to
kill himself.

It was now nearly two—and the police declared the Kardashian house a crime scene. They detained all of us under house arrest
and took a statement from every person. As the long afternoon wore on, the tension and fear factor increased.