Without a Doubt - [35]

Suzanne’s reporter buddy handed me copies of the police reports on the tapes. I hadn’t seen these, either.

“Oh, great,” I fumed. “Now I’m getting discovery from the press!”

Within the space of an hour it seemed that tape was everywhere. You couldn’t step within earshot of a radio without hearing Nicole’s pitiful, quavering pleas for help. It was on all the television news shows, and they didn’t play it just once, but kept repeating it, in a sick parody of MTV’s heavy rotation.

“My ex-husband or my husband just broke into my house and he’s ranting and raving… He’s O. J. Simpson, I think you know his record… He’s fucking going nuts… He’s screaming at my roommate about me… about some guy I know and hookers… And it’s all my fault, and now what am I going to do…? I just don’t want my kids exposed to this…” When Nicole begged Simpson to calm down, for the sake of the children, his anger only increased. “I don’t give a shit anymore! Motherfucker! I’m not leaving!”

The backlash was immediate. Our lines were flooded by outraged callers. And most of them took the side not of the panicked 119-pound woman, but of the out-of-control former football player who was terrorizing her. They said, “How can you do this to that poor man?” Everyone assumed that the release of the 911 tape was part of a cynical scheme hatched by the D.A.‘s office, the LAPD, and the City Attorney’s office to spin public opinion against Simpson.

What a joke. Believe me, there wasn’t enough solidarity among these camps to coordinate a beer run, let alone an offensive like that. For days afterward, we would all point fingers at one another, Gil lit into the city attorney, James Hahn, for releasing the tape. Hahn insisted that he had acted in the belief that the LAPD had gotten approval from the D.A.‘s office for his office to release the tape. The LAPD would say it was against releasing the tape, but felt it hadn’t gotten support for that position from the D.A. In our office, it was David who took the fall. The cops had called, asking him if they should authorize release of the tape under the Public Records Act. And he had told them, “Do what you normally do.” It was the right instruction-but the result was disastrous.

The worst part of it was watching Shapiro exploit this screwup. He filed a motion to halt the grand jury hearing on grounds of excessive publicity. At a hearing hastily convened on Friday in the courtroom of a former prosecutor named Lance Ito, Shapiro was preening like a peacock in full plumage. He accused the D.A.‘s office of misconduct in making “improper expressions of personal opinion.” He cited my “sole murderer” slip as well as Gil’s speculation that Simpson might cop an insanity plea.

I couldn’t let this pass.

“Robert Shapiro has lost no opportunity to exploit coverage in this case to get sympathy for his client,” I told the court. “He has been no stranger to the spotlight.”

But the barbs exchanged by Shapiro and me were at that very moment being rendered irrelevant. That morning, our grand jury adviser, Terry White, had come back to Gil with reports that a couple of jurors were discussing the 911 tape. That cinched it. If we did get an indictment, it could be thrown out on the strength of this revelation alone. Gil himself had no choice but to file a motion to dismiss the grand jury. Superior Court Judge Cecil Mills heard the motion and began interviewing the jurors to see if they had read or heard anything that might affect their judgment. He concluded that they had, and granted Gil’s request to recuse the jury.

It was over.

In some ways I was not unhappy to see this grand jury go bust. The case had drawn such intense public interest that I was uncomfortable seeking an indictment in a closed proceeding. I felt we’d always be susceptible to the charge that funny things were happening behind locked doors. Better to bail out early and try for a better result at a preliminary hearing in open court. Besides, the grand jury had been a useful dress rehearsal for what was to come-sort of an overture to the opera. By totally immersing us in the case, it sharpened our perceptions of its weaknesses and strengths. I’d even prepared a grand jury summation that was a very early first draft for a closing statement.

Still, the suddenness with which the grand jury was disbanded came as a shock. None of us could remember such a thing ever happening before. It also put us in a very tough spot logistically. Normally, we have weeks, or even months, to pull these things together. But the deadline mandated by law was upon us. We had less than a week to prepare for a preliminary hearing.

A prelim is like a little trial where the witnesses you put up can be cross-examined by the defense. This means you have to go back, reinterview each one of them-after comparing their statements to the grand jury to those made to police. We couldn’t afford any unpleasant surprises. No more Jill Shivelys. It would mean sorting through the complex physical evidence and figuring out a comprehensible way to present it. We’d be clocking fifteen-hour days, at least.