Murder in Brentwood (13 page)

A cop has to understand search and seizure. It’s not a sixth sense or a hunch. You need a knowledge of the law, attention to the evidence, and the experience and judgment earned only through years of policework. The crime scene provides you with clues, and as you connect the clues together, they begin to paint a picture. But you can’t make the picture fit your own preconceptions. You have to be reactive, not proactive, and make only the judgment calls that the evidence allows you to make.

Under the law, if you are at a scene and confronted with exigent circumstances-unexpected conditions that you must react to-you have probable cause to investigate further in order to protect lives or pursue suspects. Sometimes it can be a life-and-death situation, so you must act both quickly and within the law.

When we arrived at the Rockingham estate, we were presented with pieces of evidence that, once compiled, resulted in obvious exigent circumstances. We had just been at the site of a brutal double murder. There were footprints and blood drops leaving the scene, and the suspect appeared to have been bleeding. But the blood stopped in a back alley, where the suspect probably entered a vehicle, which then left the crime scene.

At Rockingham, there was blood on a Bronco, which was parked haphazardly. Another car, the Nissan 300Z, did not fit the neighborhood and was registered to a Hollywood resident, a neighborhood some eight to ten miles away. We knew two people were dead, but there could have been a third victim at Rockingham. The scenarios were countless, due to our inability to even speculate on the male’s identity, and the fact that we didn’t know the movements of either victim before the murders. Although we believed the female to be Nicole Brown Simpson, we were not yet sure. As far as I knew, the female victim could have been her sister, a babysitter, or someone staying at the house.

A chain of circumstances was beginning to build. Any one of them separately might have been easy to explain. But taken together, they suggested something had happened at Rockingham as well. The blood on the Bronco was located where someone would put a hand on the door to open it. The brush marks on the doorsill looked like blood from shoe soles. The Bronco was owned by Hertz, a company we all knew Simpson worked for. Inside the Bronco was a package with his name and address on it. There was also a shovel and what appeared to be plastic sheeting inside. An unexplained piece of wood lay on the parkway by the Bronco; it didn’t seem to come from anywhere in the immediate neighborhood. Simpson had not notified his security service, Westec, that he would be out of town. A maid was supposed to be there all the time, and there were lights on in the main house, both upstairs and down. Yet, no one answered the door or the phone.

There was a level of urgency here that made it necessary for us to investigate inside the Rockingham estate. What if we had not gone in, and O.J. was lying inside somewhere bleeding to death? If you went to the house of a friend or family member, seen what we had at Bundy and then at Rockingham, would you have simply rung the doorbell a few times and gone home? No, you’d call the police and want them to do something, or yon would go in yourself. And that’s what we did.

Still, sometimes when the police take action and do exactly what they’re supposed to do, they get raked over the coals for it. That’s what happened in this case.

A detective is paid to make decisions. Here were four detectives with almost one hundred years of combined experience. A policeman’s job is to make split-second decisions that legal experts spend decades analyzing. It’s not fair, but that’s the way it is.

We entered the property because we were presented with circumstances over which we had no control, and we were obligated to investigate further to make sure that no one else was hurt and that the suspect was not hiding somewhere nearby. That’s all we did. Once we entered the Rockingham estate and found that everyone was safe, we did not conduct any further search until we got the warrant. When I found the glove behind Kato’s bungalow, I was looking for a suspect or victim, not evidence. I believed we had probable cause in entering the Rockingham estate.

Judge Kennedy-Powell agreed, ruling on July 7 that our judgment was sound and the evidence would be allowed. In her decision, the judge commented: “This would be a very easy decision for me if in fact these officers went in there like storm troopers, fanning out over the property, examining every leaf, every car, every closet, every nook and cranny of this location. But the testimony... shows this did not happen.” Not only did she rule that we had made a lawful decision, but she also praised our efforts to notify Simpson in person and make arrangements for his children to be reunited with him. “The place for two small children whose mother has been murdered is not at the police station, sitting in a corner drawing pictures on a tablet,” the judge said in her ruling. “The place for those kids is with their family.”

In their arguments, the prosecution did not use People vs. Cain, the 1989 California appeals case that Kennedy-Powell cited in her ruling. Because I dealt with so many search warrants, I kept up on case law, particularly in the area of search and seizure. In fact, just weeks prior I had read People vs. Cain myself, and while I can’t say that I was thinking about it as we decided to enter the estate, I certainly was familiar with the case. In People vs. Cain, the police had even less dramatic exigent circumstances than we did at Rockingham. Sheriff’s deputies investigating an assault and attempted rape came to the victim’s apartment. They saw lights and heard music in the apartment next door, even though it was early in the morning. So they knocked on the neighbor’s door, but no one answered, which made them think there might be an additional victim inside. When they entered the unlocked door, they found a man passed out. In that apartment they recovered evidence that tied the man to the crime and eventually convicted him. The appeals court ruled that experienced

[When I found the glove behind Kato’s bungalow, I was looking for a suspect or victim, not evidence.]

police officers can use “reasonable inference,” but the search “must be strictly circumscribed by the exigencies that justify its initiation.” Judge Kennedy-Powell’s ruling was a big victory for the prosecution and a setback for the defense. But while the judge made it clear that we had acted reasonably and responsibly, the defense continued to question our motives for entering the estate. Even though these arguments had no legal bite after the ruling, the defense’s repeated assertions that our actions were somehow questionable served as prologue to the bizarre conspiracy theories they would spin throughout the trial.

My testimony did not cover only the search and seizure challenge. I also described all my actions from the initial call at 1:05 A.M. the night of the murders through the discovery of the glove at Rockingham. I talked about the crime scenes and evidence. I had testified hundreds of times and was not intimidated by defense attorneys. I did well that day, and I think I made the defense nervous. If it was a bad day for the defense, it was partly their own fault; they were unprepared.

Early in his cross-examination, I realized that Uelmen did not appear to know anything about what had happened during the investigation. He broke the cardinal rule of a litigator: asking questions he did not know the answers to. The second miscalculation he made, I think, was assuming that I was legally misinformed, easily intimidated, or did not have a high level of professionalism in my work. Uelmen approached the cross-examination not giving me credit for nineteen years of service, having testified in hundreds of trials, and having been confronted by countless defense attorneys who had tried the same tactics he himself was now attempting. He tried to rattle me by questioning my judgment. He waited for me to falter or stumble on my words. But he walked away disappointed. The following excerpt from the hearing is a humorous but telling example of Uelmen’s unsuccessful attempts to raise questions about my policework:

UELMEN: Now, you indicated that you believe these stains [on the Bronco] to be blood?

FUHRMAN: Yes.

UELMEN: Could you explain why you came to that conclusion?

FUHRMAN: Just the appearance of the stain. It looked like a red translucent stain that when you see dried blood, that’s what it looks like.

UELMEN: Well, does dried blood look any different than dried taco sauce?

FUHRMAN: I don’t take much note of dried taco sauce too often, so I wouldn’t know.

After my first day of testimony was over, Marcia and I walked together to the elevator. Standing there staring at the closed doors, Marcia turned to me and smiled.

“You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen,” she said.

I didn’t know what to say other than thank you. I was a little embarrassed. I was just proud that I had been able to do a good job for the prosecution.

The prosecution now considered me a star witness, while the defense now considered me a prime target. The defense had barely been aware of me until my testimony at the preliminary hearing. My name wasn’t on the search warrant, and I was not in charge of the case. But I believe that once the defense lost their motion to suppress, largely because of my testimony, I became a target.

The fact that the hearing was on television didn’t really hit me until I returned to the West LA station. As I walked up to my desk, Ron Phillips smiled and said, “I should give you a big kiss!”

“What’s up?” I asked.

Ron told me that ever since my testimony that afternoon, the phone had been ringing off the hook with positive comments and reactions. I thought he was pulling my leg. Then other detectives jumped in, describing some of the calls they had taken. I was shocked at the compliments: “That’s what a detective is supposed to be”.... “LAPD should be proud of Fuhrman”.... “What a cop!”

I thought this would all pass by the next day. Boy, was I wrong.

The next day in court, Uelmen asked me, “Do you remember taking some notes that morning-would you like to look at them again to refresh your memory?” “No, I don’t need to.”

The day before, as I came off the witness stand and walked past Uelmen’s desk I saw his notebook folded open to my crime scene notes. Although he had discussed them in the beginning, I guessed my notes would once again be the subject of his cross-examination. So I knew I’d better review my notes to be ready for his questions.

As it turned out, this minor error on Uelmen’s part probably eliminated his planned challenge to my notes, for he never went into them in detail later. He knew I was prepared. Here’s one lesson the professor didn’t learn in law school and probably doesn’t teach his students: Don’t have the questions you’re going to ask your witness the next day on your desk in plain view.

Uelmen had already brought up my notes. On the first day, he opened his cross-examination with a line of questioning that puzzled me at the time:

UELMEN: Detective Fuhrman, did you ever prepare any reports regarding your participation in this investigation?

FUHRMAN: No. I just took some preliminary notes while I was still at the scene before Robbery/Homicide detectives arrived.

UELMEN: All right. And what did you do with those notes?

FUHRMAN: I gave them to Detective Phillips, and they were in turn given to Detectives Vannatter and Lange.

UELMEN: And what did Detective Vannatter do with them?

MS. CLARK: Objection, calls for speculation.

Why did Marcia object to this, I wondered. The defense attorney rephrased his question.

UELMEN: Were they utilized in preparing any reports by Detective Vannatter that you’re aware of?

FUHRMAN: I have no idea, sir.

UELMEN: Did you review any reports prepared by Detective Vannatter?

FUHRMAN: No, none.

The questioning quickly moved away from the subject of my notes. I wondered why Uelmen did not mention my notation of the bloody fingerprint on the rear gate, or perhaps my initial speculation that the blood apparently coining from the suspect could have been the result of his being bitten by the Akita. Particularly since this was his first line of questioning, I was very Surprised that he did not follow up on these details. I was also surprised by Marcia s objection. But the full significance of that was lost on me at that point.

The second day of testimony concluded without incident. I did my job, Uelmen remained clueless, and the public seemed to like me. The media at the Criminal Courts building took notice, and reporters began hounding me for interviews. I said nothing.

That evening, my face was plastered on the television. I received compliments from many attorneys, but the most memorable was from Johnnie Cochran, who at the time was not yet on the defense team and was serving as a TV commentator on the case. Cochran described me as a “great witness direct from central casting.” The attention embarrassed me; I didn’t understand the media frenzy. That night the phone started ringing. By the next day, even at work, I received many phone calls from old friends, retired partners, and many cops, all praising my performance. The letters started coming in, eventually numbering a dozen or more a day, from people all over America. I heard from ex-Marines, school children, elderly women, families, cops, and police widows. They all thanked me for a job well done. I was overwhelmed. Maybe I had done a good job, but I didn’t think I should have generated that much attention.

The media attention increased with requests for telephone or in-person interviews, all of which I politely declined. For the next two weeks, my work day consisted of half public relations and half policework. My fellow detectives had to answer the phones, and my buddies in patrol helped me sneak out of the station so I could avoid the reporters and cameras. People stopped, stared, pointed, and spoke to me all over town. Crime scenes, restaurants, stores, and even stop lights became show-eases. The contacts were always positive, but I did not like my celebrity status.

As uncomfortable as even the positive press was for me, I had no idea that celebrity would quickly turn to notoriety.

Chapter 9

THE DEFENSE CARD

I find the issue of racial animosity to be something the defense is entitled to cross-examine on.

JUDGE LANCE ITO, OVERRULING THE PROSECUTION’S MOTION TO EXCLUDE THE ISSUE OF RACIAL

EPITHETS FROM THE TRIAL

FOLLOWING THE PRELIMINARY HEARING, I tried to get back to my other cases, but on July 16,1994, at about 4:00 P.M., I received a call from Jeffrey Toobin of The New Yorker. Toobin asked bluntly about a petition for pension I had filed in 1982. I told him I had no comment.

“I’ve spoken to the defense,” Toobin continued. “They claim that you planted the glove at Rockingham.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I exclaimed.

Toobin asked if I wanted to make a comment because an article with this allegation would be in the issue hitting the stands on July 19.

Again, I had no comment.

It was a ludicrous charge. There was not a shred of evidence that I could have done anything like planting the glove. In fact, it could be proved there was no way I could have done so. But the defense would never even try to prove their planted glove theory. Instead, they would try to smear me as the type of man who would be willing to plant evidence. The first weapon they would use, and which Toobin used for his article in The New Yorker, would be carefully chosen excerpts from an application for a disability pension I filed in the early 1980s.

The Jeffrey Toobin I know is a person I’ve seen on talk shows and a writer whose articles and book I have read. He seems to be articulate and intelligent. And he truly believes that O.J. Simpson murdered two people. But he was too torn by his connections to the defense team to come out and say so until well after the trial. Toobin might have thought of himself as an independent, objective journalist, but in effect he was a stooge for the defense. He took the defense’s position from the beginning, and then after doing enormous damage to the truth, slowly tried to slither back into the prosecution camp. As the first media purveyor of the planted glove theory, I have to wonder, did Toobin believe it? No. Did he compromise himself by reporting it? Yes. Did he wish that he hadn’t? I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt and say yes. Still, Toobin was the messenger of the absurd defense claims. But if Toobin hadn’t been the messenger, the defense would have found some other journalist looking for a scoop.

The defense’s racial strategy was quickly leaked to the press and the disability claim was just the initial step in their campaign against me. First, they would try to prove that I was supposedly a bigot, then claim I planted the glove because I supposedly hated black people. These accusations didn’t need any facts to substantiate them because they involved race, the most sensitive issue our nation faces, and one which is rarely dealt with honestly.

My application for a disability pension in 1982 has been scrutinized at length in the media. Conveniently excerpted portions of my file have been publicized, and I consider all discussion of the contents of that file to be a breach of confidentiality.

While I refuse to discuss the specifics of that file, I will, however, speak candidly about my life at that time.

The period in which I applied for disability could only be described as a time I felt lost. I know that my personality and inability to cope with job pressures broke up my first marriage. The immaturity of youth, stress of policework, and lack of a stable family life drove me in a direction I never wanted to travel. I was confused, depressed, and suffering nightmares. I sought help, taking well-meaning advice from friends, but that only complicated my life even more.

When the pension board refused my petition, I actually felt relieved. My attorney, Seth Kelsey, wanted to take the decision to Superior Court in hopes of overruling the pension board. As we stood on the steps of City Hall South, I told him, “No, I’m going back to work.”

But Seth took the case to Superior Court anyway. My claim was refused, and my medical records

[By claiming victim status the minority or advocate immediately puts the accused in a position of guilt, a charge that sticks regardless of any evidence to the contrary.]

became public record. I’m sure Seth felt he was being helpful, but his concern caused me to relive this painful
   
part of my life over and over again, unfortunately with the whole world watching.
                                                

The only redeeming feature of this period was that I was able to take a break from the job and take a long look

at myself. I didn’t like myself then. But I realized that nobody was going to fix me but me. I got control

of my emotions and learned to cope with stress.

During the media frenzy surrounding the initial charges, Janet Hackett, my ex-wife, described to the press the change I underwent: “Mark got some counseling, became a detective, and turned his life around. Now he’s getting screwed for it.”

Picking myself up by the bootstraps, I began to make some-tiring of my life. I worked hard at my job and got my personal life in order. By the lime of the Simpson case, I had a citywide reputation for being a very good detective. People are always willing to kick you when you’re down. But they rarely give you credit when you pull yourself back up. I had problems, and I learned how to deal with them. It made me a better person, not perfect by any stretch, but I rose above my failures and eventually made a successful life.

Sometimes I wonder how my professional life would have evolved had I met Ron Phillips early into my career. Ron is more than a friend-he is like the big brother I never had. Ron had a way of teaching me things without saying, “Come here, let me teach you something.” He has a personality that demands respect. He made me a better policeman and a better person.

Ron is the reason I became the detective I was the morning of June 13, 1994. We were a team-two “Type A” personalities who worked too hard, took our jobs very seriously, and loved what we did. We were so much alike that it scared even us. When we first worked together we found that we both cut our spaghetti and both put potato chips on our tuna sandwiches. I’ll miss not working with Ron on another case. It was the best time of my career.

I had never told my wife, Caroline, about my emotional problems in 1982 because I was embarrassed. In my eyes, I had failed, and I didn’t want to become a failure in hers. But after talking to Toobin, I called her immediately and told her all about it. Caroline remained calm. She said she understood, and it was no big deal. I was relieved to have her by my side.

That same day, I drove to Marcia’s office and laid it on the line, telling her all about my problems back then. Marcia smiled and told me, “It will never come in, it’s remote and irrelevant. Don’t worry about it.”

But of course I did. Now I had to think of something to head off Toobin’s article. I remembered an ABC reporter whom I had met outside the Simpson estate a few days after the murders. A different sort of journalist, she was not caught up in the O.J. frenzy.

The next morning, I phoned her. First, I explained enough of the situation to get her interest, then I asked for her help. She was interested and made arrangements to meet with me in a hotel near my house. There, I gave her a quick outline of my current problems. In addition to the Toobin piece in The New Yorker, Newsweek was also going to run a similar article. Both magazines were coming out on Monday morning.

The ABC reporter used her contacts to obtain the rough drafts of both articles and to have them faxed to the hotel room. Once she read the articles, she thought they were not that bad. I disagreed-to me, they were devastating. We discussed the situation and agreed that a preemptory strike would take the sting out of the story, at least somewhat. She notified her boss and had a crew ready to do an interview in an adjacent room as soon as I gave the word.

Before I would submit to the interview, I wanted to clear it with my superiors. While there was nothing to keep me from talking to the media, I wanted to have the department’s blessing and support. I began by calling Ron Phillips, who notified Captain Kurth, who in turn notified Chief Frankel. Quickly, the word came down that I would not be giving any interviews, and that was an order. I felt worse than before. My hopes of defending myself were gone, but I did what I was told.

The clock was ticking. I knew that on Monday the whole media world would be at my doorstep. I had to get my family out of town before the story broke. My sister-in-law Didi is very close to Caroline, and I wanted to bring her in to help move my family. On the Sunday night before the story appeared, I loaded my wife and children into Didi s Landcruiser and sent them away to stay with a friend in Ukiah, California. Thus began a game of cat-and-mouse with the media that continues to this day.