Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders (29 page)

A.
(nearly screaming)
“I haven’t done anything! I don’t know anything about it!”

 

Then, later:

Q.
“How old are you?”

 

A.
“Eighteen.”

 

Q.
“That’s old enough to go to the gas chamber.”

 

There was also no evidence linking her to any of the homicides, but Gutierrez told her, “Fourteen murders, and you’re involved in each one!” He also promised her complete immunity (“You’re either going to go up for murder or you are going to go free”), and added, “Also, there is a $25,000 reward.”

Manon Minette, aka Gypsy, t/n Catherine Share, who at twenty-seven was the oldest female member of the Family, gave the detectives nothing of value. Nor did Brenda McCann, t/n Nancy Pitman, age eighteen.

It was otherwise, however, with twenty-year-old Leslie Sankston.

L
eslie, whose true name, Van Houten, was not known to us at this time, was interviewed by Mike McGann. McGann tried using her parents, conscience, the hideousness of the murders, the implication that others had talked and involved her—none worked. What did work was Leslie’s little-girl cuteness, her I-know-something-you-don’t game playing. Repeatedly she trapped herself.

Q.
“What did you hear about the Tate murders up there?”

 

A.
“I’m deaf. I didn’t hear nothing.” [Laughs]

 

Q.
“Five people were killed up there, on the hill. And I know three for sure that went up there. I think I know the fourth. And I don’t know the fifth. But I suspect you do. Why are you holding back? You know what happened.”

 

A.
“I have a pretty good idea.”

 

Q.
“I want to know who was involved. How it went down. The little details.”

 

A.
“I told Mr. Patchett [in Independence] I’ll tell him if I changed my mind. I haven’t changed my mind yet.”

 

Q.
“You’re going to have to talk about it someday.”

 

A.
“Not today…How did you ever trace it back to Spahn?”

 

Q.
“Who did you see leave the night of the eighth of August?”

 

A.
[Laughs] “Oh, I went to bed early that night. Really, I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Q.
“Who went?”

 

A.
“That’s what I don’t want to talk about.”

 

All these were little admissions, if not of participation, at least of knowledge.

Though she didn’t want to talk about the murders, she didn’t mind talking about the Family. “You couldn’t meet a nicer group of people,” she told McGann. “Of all the guys at the ranch, I liked Clem the best; he’s fun to be with.” Clem, with the idiot grin, who liked to expose himself to little children. Sadie was “really kind of a nice person. But she tends to be on the rough side…” As Sharon Tate, Gary Hinman, and others had discovered. Bruce Davis was all talk, Leslie continued, always going on about how he was going to dynamite someone, but she was sure it was “only talk.” She commented on some of the others, but not Charlie. In common with the four other girls who had been brought down from Independence, she avoided the subject of Manson.

Q.
“The Family is no more, Leslie.” Charlie was in jail; Clem was in jail; Zero had killed himself playing Russian roulette—

 

A.
“
Zero!
”

 

Obviously shocked, she dropped her little-girl role and pressed McGann for details. He told her that Bruce Davis had been present.

A.
“Was Bruce playing it too?”

 

Q.
“No.”

 

A.
(sarcastically)
“Zero was playing Russian roulette all by himself!”

 

Q.
“Kind of odd, isn’t it?”

 

A.
“Yeah, it’s odd!”

 

Sensing an advantage, McGann moved in. He told her that he knew five people had gone to the Tate residence, three girls and two men, and that one of the men was Charles Manson.

A.
“I don’t think Charlie was in on any of them.”

 

Leslie said she had heard only four people went to Tate. “I would say that three of them were girls. I would say that there were probably more girls involved than men.” Then, later, “I heard one girl who didn’t murder someone while they was, they were up there.”

Q.
“Who is that?”

 

A.
“A girl by the name of Linda.”

 

Susan Atkins had told Ronnie Howard, in regard to the killings the second night, “Linda wasn’t in on this one,” presumably meaning she had been along the first night, but until now we had been unsure of this.

Questioned, Leslie said she didn’t know Linda’s last name; that she was at Spahn only a short time and hadn’t been arrested with them; and that she was a small girl, maybe five feet two, thin, with light-brown hair.

McGann asked her
who
had told her that Linda had been along on Tate. Leslie replied, petulantly, “I don’t remember. I don’t remember who told me little details!” Why was she so upset? McGann asked. “Because so many of my friends are getting knocked off, for reasons I don’t even know about.”

McGann showed her the mug shots taken after the Barker raid. Though she had been present, she claimed she couldn’t recognize most of the people. When handed one of a girl booked as “Marnie Reeves,” Leslie said, “That’s Katie.”

Q.
“Katie is Marnie Reeves?”

 

Leslie equivocated. She wasn’t sure. She really didn’t know any of these people all that well. Though she had lived with the Family at both Spahn and Barker, she associated mostly with the motorcycle riders. She thought they were neat.

McGann brought the questioning back to the murders. Leslie began playing games again, and in the process making admissions. She implied that she knew of eleven murders—Hinman 1, Tate 5, LaBianca 2, Shea 1, for a total of 9—but she declined to identify the other two. It was as if she were keeping score in a baseball game.

T
here was a break in the questioning. It’s standard police procedure to leave a suspect alone for a while, to think about his or her answers, to provide a transition between “soft” and “hard” interrogation. It also gives the officers an opportunity to visit the can.

When McGann returned, he decided to shock Leslie some more.

Q.
“Sadie has already told fifteen people in the jailhouse that she was there, that she took part in it.”

 

A.
“That’s incredible.” Then, after a thoughtful pause, “Didn’t she mention anyone else?”

 

Q.
“No. Except for Charlie. And Katie.”

 

A.
“She mentioned Charlie and Katie?”

 

Q.
“That’s right.”

 

A.
“That’s pretty nauseating.”

 

Q.
“She said Katie was there, and I know it was Marnie Reeves, and you know it was Marnie Reeves.”

 

At this point, McGann later told me, Leslie nodded her head affirmatively.

Q.
“Sadie also said, ‘I went out the next night and killed two more people, out in the hills.’”

 

A.
“
Sadie said that!
”

 

Leslie was astonished. With good reason. Though we were as yet unaware of it, Leslie knew Susan Atkins had never entered the LaBianca residence. She knew that because she was one of the persons who had.
After this, Leslie refused to answer any further questions. McGann asked her why.

A.
“Because if Zero was suddenly found playing Russian roulette I could be found playing Russian roulette.”

 

Q.
“We’ll give you twenty-four-hour protection from now on.”

 

A.
(laughing sarcastically)
“Oh, that would really be nice! I’d rather stay in jail.”

 

F
rom Leslie we learned that three girls had gone to the Tate residence: Sadie, Katie, and Linda. We also learned that Linda was “one girl who didn’t murder someone,” the clear implication being that the two other girls had. Beyond Leslie’s limited description of Linda, however, we knew nothing about her.

We also knew that Katie was “Marnie Reeves.” According to her Inyo arrest sheet, she was five feet six, weighed 120 pounds, had brown hair and blue eyes. Her photograph revealed a not very attractive girl, with very long hair and a somewhat mannish face. She looked older than twenty-two, the age she gave. In comparing the Barker and Spahn photos, it was discovered that she had been arrested in the earlier raid also, at that time giving the name “Mary Ann Scott.” It was possible that “Katie,” “Marnie Reeves,” and “Mary Ann Scott” were all three aliases. She had been released a few days after her arrest at Barker, and her current whereabouts were unknown.

In return, Leslie had learned a few things from McGann: that Tex, Katie, and Linda were still free; and, more important, that Susan Atkins, aka Sadie Mae Glutz, was the snitch.

Even with a “keep away” on the girls, it wouldn’t be long before this information got back to Manson.

We could have used a private line between Independence and L.A.; Fowles and I were averaging easily a dozen calls a day. Thus far, no attempt to meet Manson’s bail, or any sign of Tex or Bruce. However, there were reporters all over Independence, and KNXT was sending in a camera crew tomorrow to film Golar Wash. I had Lieutenant Hagen call the TV station. They told him they didn’t plan to use the film until Monday, the first, the agreed date, but wouldn’t promise an extension to Wednesday, which I wanted.

Although nothing had seen print, the leaks continued. Chief Davis was enraged; he wanted to break the news himself. Someone was talking, and he wanted to know who. Determined to catch the culprit, he suggested that everyone working on the case, at LAPD and in the DA’s Office, take a polygraph.

Even his own office ignored the suggestion, and I resisted the impulse to suggest that we concentrate on catching the killers instead.

O
n Saturday, Sergeant Patchett interviewed Gregg Jakobson. A talent scout, who was married to the daughter of old-time comedian Lou Costello, Jakobson had first met Charles Manson about May 1968, at the Sunset Boulevard home of Dennis Wilson, one of the Beach Boys rock group.

It was Jakobson who had introduced Manson to Terry Melcher, Doris Day’s son, while Melcher was still living at 10050 Cielo Drive. In addition to producing his mother’s TV show, Melcher was involved in a number of other enterprises, including a record company, and Jakobson had attempted to persuade him to record Manson. After listening to him play and sing, Melcher had said no.

Though Melcher had been unimpressed by Manson, Jakobson had been fascinated with the “whole Charlie Manson package,” songs, philosophy, life style. Over a period of about a year and a half, he’d had many talks with Manson. Charlie loved to rap about his views on life, Gregg said, but Patchett wasn’t particularly interested in this, and moved on to other subjects.

Did he know a Charles “Tex” Montgomery? Patchett asked. Yes, very well, Jakobson replied; only his real name wasn’t Montgomery—it was Watson.

S
unday, November 30. At LAPD from 8:30
A.M
. to midnight.

Charles Denton Watson had been arrested in Van Nuys, California, on April 23, 1969, for being on drugs. Though he had been released the next day, he had been fingerprinted at the time of his arrest.

10:30
A.M
. Latent Prints Section called Lieutenant Helder. The print of Watson’s right ring finger matched a latent found on the front door of the Tate residence.

Helder and I jumped up and down like little kids. This was the first physical evidence connecting the suspects to the crime scene.

Helder sent out fifteen detectives to see if they could locate Watson at any of his old addresses, but they had no luck. They did learn, however, that Watson was from a small town in Texas, McKinney.

Checking an atlas, we found that McKinney was in Collin County. Patchett called the sheriff of Collin, informing him that a former local resident, Charles Denton Watson, was wanted for 187 PC, murder, in California.

The sheriff’s name was Tom Montgomery. A coincidence, Watson’s using as alias the last name of the local sheriff? It was more than that: Sheriff Montgomery was Watson’s second cousin.

“Charles is living here now,” Sheriff Montgomery said. “He has an apartment in Denton. I’ll bring him in.”

The sheriff, we later learned, called Watson’s uncle, Maurice Montgomery, saying, “Can you bring Charles over to the jail? We’ve got some trouble.”

Maurice picked up his nephew and drove him to McKinney in his pickup truck. “He didn’t say much on the way,” the uncle later said. “I didn’t know what it was all about, but I guess he knew all the time.”

Watson supposedly refused comment and was lodged in the local jail.

T
exans are straight shooters, LAPD told me. They’ll hold him until we get around to sending an arrest warrant.

Not wanting to take any chances, I suggested we send someone to McKinney with the warrant, and it was decided that Sartuchi and Nielsen would leave at eleven the next morning.

Manson, Atkins, and Watson were now in custody, but two other suspects were still at large. From one of the ranch hands at Spahn, LAPD heard that Linda’s last name was Kasabian, and that she was supposedly in a convent in New Mexico.
*
Marnie Reeves was rumored to be on a farm outside Mobile, Alabama.

That same day Patchett interviewed Terry Melcher regarding his contacts with Manson. He confirmed what Jakobson had already said: he had gone to Spahn Ranch twice, to hear Manson and the girls perform, and was “not enthused”; he had also seen Manson twice before this, while visiting Dennis Wilson. Melcher, however, added one important detail Jakobson hadn’t mentioned.

On one of the latter occasions, late at night, Wilson had given him a ride back to his house on Cielo Drive. Manson had come along, sitting in the back seat of the car, singing and playing his guitar. They’d driven up to the gate and let him out, Melcher said, Wilson and Manson then driving off.

We now knew that Charles Manson had been to 10050 Cielo Drive on at least one occasion prior to the murders, although there was no evidence that he had ever been inside the gate.

A
t 5:30 that Sunday afternoon, while still at LAPD, I talked to Richard Caballero. A former deputy DA now in private practice, Caballero was representing Susan Atkins on the Hinman charge. Earlier Caballero had contacted Aaron Stovitz, wanting to know what the DA’s Office had on his client. Aaron laid it out for him: while at Sybil Brand, Susan Atkins had confessed to two other inmates that she was involved not only in the Hinman but also the Tate and LaBianca murders. Aaron gave Caballero copies of the taped statements Ronnie Howard and Virginia Graham had given LAPD.

Under the law of discovery, the prosecution must make available to a defense attorney any and all evidence against his client. This is a one-way street. While the defense therefore knows in advance exactly what evidence the prosecution has, the defense isn’t required to tell the prosecution anything. Although discovery usually occurs after a formal request to the Court, Aaron wanted to impress Caballero with the strength of our case, hoping his client would decide to cooperate.

Caballero came to Parker Center to see me and the detectives, wanting to know what kind of deal we could offer. In accordance with the earlier discussion between our office and LAPD, we said that if Susan would cooperate with us, we would probably let her plead guilty to second degree murder—i.e., we would not seek the death sentence, but we would ask for life imprisonment.

Caballero went to Sybil Brand and talked to his client. He would later testify: “I told her what the problems were, what the evidence was against her as it was related to me. That included the Hinman case (to which she had already confessed to LASO) and the Tate-LaBianca case. As a result of all this, I indicated to her that there is no question in my mind but they were going to seek the death penalty and that they would probably get it. I told her, ‘They have enough evidence to convict you. You will be convicted.’”

About 9:30, Caballero returned to LAPD. Susan was undecided. She might be willing to testify before the grand jury, but he was sure she would never testify against the others at the trial. She was still under Manson’s domination. Any minute she could bolt back to him. He said he’d let me know what she finally decided.

It was left hanging there. Though we had the Howard-Graham statements implicating Atkins, and physical evidence linking Watson to the Tate murder scene, our whole case against Manson and the others rested on the decision of Sadie Mae Glutz.