by Kim Goldman
Suddenly everyone scrambled upstairs. Reporters and spectators pushed and shoved. Elbows flew about and curse words were hurled indiscriminately. Patti and Kim had the luxury of an escort to the courtroom of Superior Court Judge James Basque, presiding judge of the county criminal courts. Judge Basque quickly assigned the case to Superior Court Judge John H. Reid, and the mad dash was on to yet another courtroom.
Judge Reid made it clear that he would not allow Cochran to take control of his courtroom. With dispatch, he announced that he would receive the tapes that afternoon and begin to review them. He would meet with the lawyers on Friday. Just like that, the hearing was over, and everyone returned to Judge Ito’s courtroom. We were sure that Cochran was delighted to return to the environment that he controlled.
The “Scheme Team” gloated on the courthouse steps after the day’s turbulent session. They accused the prosecution of an unethical and cynical attempt to remove Judge Ito from the case because they knew that they were losing and were desperate to regain momentum. Cochran said, “Today, the wheels came off the wagon of their case. And all America saw it.”
Marcia had her own view. “The defense has brought this to a head,” she said. “They have played the race card. … They have opened Pandora’s box.”
In other words, all hell was about to break loose.
* * *
The three of us, Patti, Kim, and I, were all in court the following day. Everyone’s nerves were stretched to the limit. We spent the morning listening to the lawyers wrangle. Marcia backed off from her suggestion that Judge Ito should remove himself from the case. Thus, Judge Reid did not have to make a ruling.
But Shapiro would not let the issue drop. He accused Marcia and her colleagues of resorting to “prosecutorial extortion” in an attempt to pay back Judge Ito for unfavorable rulings.
Then it was Chris’s turn to throw a tantrum. Refusing to speak from the same podium that Shapiro used, he raged at the defense team for turning the trial into an extended, ludicrous joke.
Amid all the wrangling, the issue of the Fuhrman tapes smoldered. Would Judge Ito allow them into evidence? Would he surrender to the assault and allow Cochran and Company to turn a straightforward double-murder trial into a referendum on racial issues?
Watching all this, hearing all this, we felt a fire burning inside. Did anyone here—anyone at all—remember the names Ron and Nicole?
When we went upstairs to the seventeenth floor for the lunch break, Mark Arenas said that one of the reporters wanted to know if we were going to say anything. At first I said no, but the more I thought about it, the more agitated I became and the more I realized that it was time to do so. Patti tried desperately to dissuade me, but I knew that if I did not speak out, I would explode. I do not believe I have ever been so angry in my life. I could not let them get away with it.
It never made Kim feel good to vent frustrations to the press, because it did not change anything and it did not make any difference. But we had been pushed, prodded, and tested for months. Both Kim and I felt that if we remained quiet now, it might appear that we were not offended by what was going on. From Day One of this trial, Judge Ito should have put a gag order on everyone. But he had not, and we were tired of seeing the self-righteous members of the defense team pontificating on talk shows.
“Mark,” I said, “let the press know we’re going to speak.”
Things happened very quickly. Reporters, many holding walkie-talkies, started running, pushing one another out of the way. Pens flew out of pockets, and there was a general stampede to the courthouse steps.
You could see the fear and the worry on Patti’s face. She was terrified that I would have a heart attack or stroke, and she begged me to calm down but knew there was no way she could stop me.
Her fears for my health were compounded by other issues. She worried about the safety of the entire family. Images of riots, burnings, and beatings flew through her head like snapshots. If I spoke out, would it just fuel the flames of hatred that the defense team had ignited?
With her heart racing, Kim spoke through her tears: “We usually don’t speak just for the sake of speaking, so obviously something has to happen for us to feel enraged enough to get out there and talk. So excuse me if I ramble, but—I’m fed up.”
Waving a hand above her head, she said, “My emotions are up to here. Over and above the loss of my brother I have all this other crap to deal with. These last few days have pushed me to the edge. I have never been more offended by the actions on behalf of the defense. …
“Shapiro … said that he would never play the race card in this case. Call it whatever you want, race card, perjury card—I don’t care what you call it—the issue is still the same. The attorneys are trying to divert the attention from the facts in this case, and the fact is their client is accused of murdering my brother and Nicole Brown, and the evidence against him is overwhelming. They have no other choice but to play the race card, the perjury card. This is called the Fuhrman trial now, and this is ridiculous. They don’t have a defense. They don’t have any evidence to disprove what the prosecution has so far. The only defense now is to blame it on somebody else, and to be able to say the N-word in open court.
“Cochran said, back in jury selection, that all he needed was one black on this case. How offensive to the human race. To not give them the benefit of the doubt that they would be able to try this case according to the facts and according to the evidence and not have to put in the crap of the racial bias. That’s insulting to people’s intelligence. I don’t care what color you are, what race you are, what religion you practice, that’s insulting. They don’t think that they could just be able to try this case according to the facts and according to the evidence? I don’t even think there is a word to describe what that does to me.
“And to stand up there and say how unethical the prosecution is. Excuse me. When has the prosecution stood out here and slammed the defense and all of their tactics? How ethical, how moral is that? The defense has been doing that from Day One in this case. Chris said it this morning. This is a circus. They created a circus atmosphere.
“And I am sick, sick to my stomach. Okay? And this is embarrassing. This is embarrassing to the judicial system. I’ve never been a part of this before. This is repulsive to me. …
“Try your case according to the evidence, okay? You don’t have to bring in all this other crap. You don’t have to say that everybody is a racist, and everybody is a liar. If your client is so innocent, the evidence should prove that. You shouldn’t have to pull in all this other baloney.”
Kim turned away, sobbing.
Now it was my turn. It was difficult to talk because I could not catch my breath. My heart raced and my palms were cold and wet.
I began: “Needless to say, Kim and each of our family is angered, upset. What is so incredibly outrageous is that from Day One, Day One!, we all remember Mr. Shapiro making the comment that race would not be an issue in this trial. They have wanted to introduce other issues into this trial from Day One. They have been doing it in bits and pieces, and what is horrendously unfortunate is that one of the witnesses in this case may have said some rather disturbing things. That’s not what this trial is about. There is not one scintilla of proof that has come from the defense, not one iota of evidence from the defense to indicate that there has been planting of evidence or conspiracy. But they have been playing that bull from Day One.
“They now see an opportunity to enrage everyone. Do you honestly believe what their interests are is to prove perjury? Are we all fools? Do they take us all for morons? We all know what they want is to inflame the emotions of the jury, and to inflame … the public’s mind with issues that don’t relate to this trial.”
All the color had drained from Patti’s face. Her eyes begged me to stop. She placed a comforting arm on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.
My voice cracked as I continued. “Ron and Nicole were butchered by their client. Do any of you believe
otherwise? You have seen the evidence in this trial. It is overwhelming. This is not now the Fuhrman trial. This is a trial about the man that murdered my son.”
By now, Patti was crying, pulling on me, whispering, “Let’s go, let’s go,” but I would not leave. I could not leave. I had to get it out.
I could see nothing through my tears, but I raged, “How dare they take the position that all they want to do is prove perjury? They are liars!”
When Michael walked into work at the Oak Tree Deli, the television was on, as usual.
This day the room was strangely quiet. Scott, Michael’s boss, beckoned Michael over to him and said, “Fred is speaking.” Michael looked up and saw my face filling the screen; Patti and Kim were in the background. Whoa, what’s going on? Michael wondered.
He said later, “When it was over, I walked around the room and heard customers commenting on what an amazing man Fred Goldman was. They were all so impressed with his courage and his passion. It felt good to hear all the positive reactions in the room. It filled me with pride. Fred and Kim have done such a remarkable job of keeping Ron’s memory alive. It’s nice to hear that other people admire them as much as I do.”
That evening, the adrenaline still pumped through all of us but we were exhausted. Patti’s eyes looked like a deer’s caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. “Do you realize,” she said, “that we will never, ever, be able to leave our home again without being recognized, approached, and looked at like we are some kind of bugs under a microscope? I want my life back.”
Someone from LAPD reported that a gang member had threatened, “We’ve got to shut that Goldman up.” Local police were notified and our house was put under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Fortunately, nothing happened.
All the next day D.A. investigators stayed especially close. They told us not to smile at them, so that they could remain inconspicuous.
Patti and Kim were very shaken. They cautioned me to keep quiet in the future, but I refused to be intimidated. I grumbled, “I’m not about to roll over for that kind of trash.”
Despite the fiery rage that I had exhibited in front of the cameras, I had still mentally edited my words. I had not allowed myself the freedom to scream the obscenities that were begging to come out. My choice was to try and stay in control and maintain civility at a time when nothing seemed civil.
In truth, there are probably no expletives strong enough to describe how I view the killer and his swarm of morally decayed attorneys.
TWENTY-THREE
Judge Ito warned the jury that there would be “substantial dark time” as the court grappled with difficult issues. But some testimony was heard, in and around the contentious hearings concerning the relevancy of the Fuhrman tapes.
The most significant of these defense witnesses was the celebrated criminalist Henry Lee, director of the Connecticut State Forensics Science Laboratory, who was touted as perhaps the nation’s premier guru on the analysis of physical evidence. His testimony covered several days. Lee began with a recitation of his background, numerous awards, and expertise. Although Lee said he almost always testifies for prosecutors, he seemed to enjoy an easy rapport with defense lawyer Barry Scheck. Scheck made one gaffe when he described one of Lee’s awards for his work as a “distinguished criminal.”
Lee smiled and corrected, “Distinguished criminalist.”
In fact, he appeared to be just that. And, although much of his testimony seemed to raise questions about the evidence gathering and testing procedures, he was very careful to couch his conclusions with qualifying words, such as “could have” or “might have.”
He criticized LAPD criminalists for placing one of Ron’s blood-smeared boots into a brown paper bag while the blood was still wet, declaring that such careless handling could cause “cross-contamination” of blood samples. And, indeed, DNA tests had disclosed that one of those stains was consistent with a mixture of Ron’s blood and that of the defendant. Lee did not explain how that could have happened if the defendant was home chipping golf balls, or taking a nap, or in the shower.
Scheck turned Lee’s attention to a single drop of evidence, a bloodstain found on a walkway outside Nicole’s condominium. DNA tests had pegged the defendant as the likely source of the Bundy blood drops, but Scheck suggested that LAPD investigators had tampered with the blood swatches before sending them to labs for testing. Lee testified that his close examination of four small patches of blood showed that some had leaked onto the paper packet wrapped around the evidence. The blood swatches could have leaked onto the paper only if they were packaged while wet, he said, yet LAPD technicians had testified that they left the swatches to dry over night.
Scheck wanted to know how Lee accounted for the stains on the packaging.
“The only explanation I can give under these circumstances is, something’s wrong,” Lee answered.
Patti’s assessment of Dr. Lee echoed mine. “This guy certainly has a high opinion of himself,” she said.
Hank Goldberg was brilliant on cross-examination. He got Lee to acknowledge that evidence handling was a less-than-perfect science that did not necessarily reflect a grand, department-wide conspiracy. Lee admitted that during the early years of his work, he and his analysts occasionally used paper towels to dry samples, rather than special blotters. Once, he said, when he was drying a scrap of evidence in his backyard, a dog ran off with it.
“And despite these kinds of problems,” Hank asked, “would it be fair to say that you and your laboratory people … have still been doing very high-quality work?”
“We try our best,” Lee responded.
The prosecutors had argued passionately that the Mark Fuhrman/Laura McKinny tapes should not be played in open court; to do so would only inflame the jury and serve no other purpose. They acknowledged that Fuhrman had lied when he denied under oath that he had used the racial slur during the past ten years, but they still fiercely contended that there was no evidence that the detective could have planted evidence. Without such evidence, the tapes were irrelevant.
However, Judge Ito’s initial ruling favored the defense. He would allow the tapes to be played in court, outside the presence of the jury, before he determined what was admissible.
On August 29, the voice of Mark Fuhrman filled the silent courtroom. “You’ve got two hundred niggers who are trying to take you prisoner,” he said in one interview with the screenwriter ten years earlier. “You just chase this guy, and you beat the shit out of him.” In another excerpt, McKinny asked whether he had probable cause to arrest black suspects.
“Probable cause?” Fuhrman responded. “You’re God.”
In other tapes Fuhrman boasted of fabricating evidence and expressed amazement about the racial makeup of the LAPD’s Wilshire Division. “All niggers,” he said, “nigger training officers, niggers.”
The sickening epithets bounced off the walls, reverberating with hatred. We sat in disbelief at what we were hearing and what the jury might hear. Tears streamed down Kim’s face as she cried silently. Patti fought a wave of nausea. She felt nothing but disgust for Detective Fuhrman, but also realized the absurdity of this smoke screen the defense was throwing in front of the world.
During the lunch break I spoke to reporters, complaining angrily, “This is now the Fuhrman trial. … I don’t understand why the hell we had to listen to two hours of this hate. It’s disgusting. My son, Nicole, our families, have a right to a fair trial. And this is not fair.”
We were still reeling when Defense Attorney Gerald Uelman began arguing why the jury should be allowed to hear the tapes. In an impassioned voice he said, “After we’ve read all of these transcripts and listened to all of these tapes and come to the sickening realization of who Mark Fuhrman really is: Los Angeles’ worst nightmare, probably the greatest liar since Ananias. But the jury has only seen a very polished and professional performance that was carefully orchestrated, in which Detective Fuhrman sounded more like a choirboy.”
Marcia rose slowly and approached the podium. “This may well be the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do as a prosecutor,” she said. “I don’t think that there is anyone in this courtroom … who could possibly envy me.”
She had one hand placed across her chest as she addressed Judge Ito. “I am Marcia Clark, the prosecutor. And I stand before you today, Your Honor, not in defense of Mark Fuhrman but in defense of a case of such overwhelming magnitude in terms of the strength of the proof of the defendant’s guilt that it would be a travesty to allow such a case to be derailed with a very serious and important but very inflammatory social issue.”
The prosecution offered to stipulate that Fuhrman had lied under oath—a move that would allow the defendant’s lawyers to suggest that the jury disregard all of his testimony.
Marcia continued, listing all the facts that argued against Fuhrman’s ability to plant evidence: Other officers had arrived at the crime scene before Fuhrman and saw only one glove; Kato Kaelin reported hearing three thumps on his wall near where the glove was found, thumps that he heard before police knew of the murders; Fuhrman had no way of knowing whether the defendant would have an alibi for the time the murders occurred; Fuhrman did not even know if eyewitnesses might emerge to testify that they saw the crimes committed by someone else.
Judge Ito interrupted her to add another point bolstering that line of argument: He noted that fibers in the glove were later found to be consistent with those from the inside of Simpson’s Bronco—a fact that Fuhrman could not have predicted when he reported finding the glove.
“This is not something I can rule on from the seat of my pants,” the judge said finally. “I need to sit down and look at each one of these individual situations and make the appropriate ruling.”
We were hopeful. There was simply no legal or plausible reason why the jury should be confronted with these inflammatory, wretched tapes.
