The Search for Justice (46 page)

On May 1, L.A.P.D. criminalist Gregory Matheson took the stand for five days of blood-evidence testimony. The prosecution
’s DNA strategy had become defensive: Every single issue that we ’d raised in opening arguments or shown in our charts, which
were required by the new rules of evidence, they immediately tried to counter. It was as if we had presented the case and
they now had to rebut it.

One of the issues raised in Matheson ’s testimony was the finding of Nicole ’s blood on one of O.J. ’s socks, which had been
retrieved at Rockingham.

When the socks were initially examined by the crime lab
personnel immediately after the murders, no blood was present. They countered this with, “Well, this was a dark sock, and
blood couldn ’t be seen.” However, twelve items of evidence, including a shirt, gloves, and a scarf, were collected from Rockingham
and tested for blood traces, in a procedure called a phenothaline preliminary test. However, the thirteenth item, the sock,
was never tested. Two weeks after the evidence collection, our experts, Dr. Michael Baden and Dr. Barbara Wolf, along with
Michelle Kestler from the L.A.P.D. lab, had looked at the same sock, and no blood was noted. It wasn ’t until two months later
that blood was found.

There were other questionable factors as well. For example, the sock was found on a pale Oriental carpet. If the sock was
wet with blood when it was dropped there, why was there no trace of blood on the carpet? The blood was on the ankle of the
sock, having seeped from one side of the sock to the other; if someone had been wearing the sock when the blood got on it,
that seepage couldn ’t have happened.

As the prosecution heated up the DNA wars, Rock Harmon had reportedly been calling and talking to some of our expert witnesses,
trying to get information from them beyond what we ’d presented in discovery. We prepared a motion asking for sanctions against
him; Barry Scheck was low-keyed and understated as he presented the argument. Harmon, however, was absolutely obnoxious, referring
to the defense as the “rogue ’s gallery, not interested in the truth.”

“They had a great April,” he said, “but now they ’re afraid of a bad May.” Although Ito didn ’t sanction Harmon, he did call
his behavior reprehensible, which gave us a nickname for him: Reprehensible Rock.

When you have a blood test, the standard-size tube into which that blood goes holds ten ccs. There are thirty ccs to an ounce,
so the amount in the tube is about a third of an ounce.

In the preliminary hearing, during my cross-examination of Thano Peratis, the L.A.P.D. nurse, Peratis testified that he drew
7.9 to 8.1 full ccs of O.J. ’s blood at the police lab on June 13. I then asked him how he knew he ’d drawn that precise amount.
His answer was, “I looked at the tube”—which was calibrated. The prosecution was adamant that after being used in standard
serology tests, there wasn ’t enough of O.J. ’s blood (and DNA) remaining to be planted anywhere. However, Bob Blasier, Scheck,
and Neufeld had prepared a chart illustrating that after the amount of blood used for lab tests had been subtracted, approximately
1.5 ccs of O.J. ’s blood was unaccounted for. We wanted that chart admitted into evidence for when Peratis testified in the
trial.

Consulting with Harmon, district attorney Hank Goldberg set up a pattern of objecting to almost every sentence out of Blasier
’s mouth, throwing off his tempo and irritating Ito in the process. “You ’ve made the same point about eight times, Mr. Goldberg,”
Ito said. In the jury box, jurors were nodding off.

Ultimately, the chart was admitted into evidence; we planned to use it a few weeks later, when questioning Peratis again.

Early in May, we had a defense team meeting with Skip Taft, and one of the items on the table was my continuing lack of cooperation
in signing photographs, specifically one of O.J., Johnnie, and me together. Taft estimated that he could realize between sixty
and eighty thousand dollars per thousand autographed pictures, which were sold to a wholesaler in Florida.

Cochran had asked for an opinion from the state bar, which said there was nothing unethical about it; he and O.J. had already
signed a thousand. The argument, of course, was that it was one way to get a few of our bills paid.

I was more than willing to respond to requests from charities, who frequently auctioned off the trial memorabilia. I had sent
autographed copies of O.J. ’s book (with signatures from
Johnnie, O.J., and me) to at least one hundred of them, and sent signed photographs and ties that I ’d worn in court as well.
However, I believed that selling signatures during the course of a trial was unprofessional, and I simply refused to do it.
“If you want to make us into whores,” I told Taft, “don ’t make us streetwalkers.”

Early in May, I finally went to one of Grant ’s Little League games, at Roxbury Park. In the third inning, Kevin Upton, another
player ’s father, turned to me and said, “Ronald Reagan ’s here.” I waited to hear what the joke was, and he said, “No, he
’s really here.”

I turned and there he was, wearing a baseball cap and a red, white, and blue jogging suit, walking between two Secret Service
men. He went behind the home-plate screen and stood watching the kids for almost an inning. No one approached him.

I went into the dugout and told the kids that the President was there watching the game, that this was a historic moment for
them. I wanted to greet him, and I wanted my boys to have this opportunity to shake hands with an American president, and
perhaps to understand how unique a moment this was. I asked the Secret Service if we could speak with him, and they said yes.

I ’d seen President Reagan before; his office is in the same building as mine in Century City, and before his illness, he
was often in, coming and going through the halls with one or two Secret Service men, waving as he got into his car at the
end of the day. But this was the first time I had spoken with him. It was not long after Reagan ’s public announcement of
Alzheimer ’s, yet he seemed in great shape, robust and clear-eyed, with color in his cheeks and a firm handshake. He stood
perfectly erect, as though at attention, and was graceful and patient as the boys and their parents came up to be introduced.
Grant
stood right next to me, shaking hands with the President and smiling up at him.

It was the first time I had ever seen or talked to a president outside of an organized political setting, and it was with
a certain awe that I spoke with him. Even though I hadn ’t agreed with his policies, I had great respect for him and for the
office he ’d held for eight years. He had shown great courage in surviving a serious assassination attempt, and in spite of
great criticism, he had never wavered about his beliefs or convictions. That, I said, was truly admirable. “Thank you very
much,” he said, and smiled the legendary smile.

I watched as he and the Secret Service men continued on their walk. It ’s one thing to argue politics. It ’s another to actually
meet a president. He had been the most powerful man in the free world, and there he was, on a Sunday afternoon, watching boys
play ball in the park. I thought it was quite remarkable.

On May 8, the People called John Meraz, the tow-truck driver who had taken the Bronco from Rockingham back to the impound
lot. It was Meraz ’s testimony that the car had been locked when he towed it. Cochran did the cross, and O.J. was concerned,
as he always was with the civilian witnesses, that Johnnie was pressing too hard on Meraz about the car being locked.

“Do we have to attack everybody?” he asked.

We needed to know if Meraz saw blood either inside or outside of the Bronco, so Cochran asked him. Given my rule about how
dangerous questions are when you don ’t know the answer, I tensed up for a moment. But we got the answer we wanted: No, Meraz
didn ’t see any blood.

Each member of the defense team had an ergonomically designed chair that had been donated by a company in Los Angeles called
Relax-the-Back. One day during court, while
Johnnie was trying to adjust his, he hit the wrong button, released the back support, and nearly fell backward out of the
chair. Then, in an effort to bring the back up, he pushed the middle button (which controls the seat height), and crashed
to the floor. I started laughing and had to turn away, literally biting my cheeks. No one in the audience had noticed except
the bailiff and Detective Vannatter, and Vannatter had gone red-faced with laughter, fighting to keep from making any noise.
O.J. was looking down at Johnnie like he had just arrived from another planet.