Murder in Brentwood (14 page)

Monday morning, I awoke to an empty house. I made coffee and stared at the blank television screen. Although it was the middle of summer, the house seemed cold and lonely. I wanted to see the news coverage, yet at the same time I didn’t. Finally, curiosity overcame me and I turned on the television. It came as no surprise that the media were in a feeding frenzy over me.

I phoned Ron at the station. He told me that Captain Kurth wanted to have lunch with Ron and me to discuss our options. Brad Roberts would come by my house just before noon to pick me up.

When Brad arrived, the media had not yet shown up. We escaped undetected in our four-door plain police car. Brad was sympathetic; I was embarrassed. We talked briefly about the news about me, but Brad was a good friend, and soon we were cracking jokes and laughing.

Captain Kurth was also sympathetic. Although I did not want to go out to lunch, his rank and personality won me over. Ron, the captain, and I went to a Mexican restaurant in Santa Monica and discussed the current problems over lunch. Kurth flatly asked what I wanted to do, and I quickly told him, “Get out of town and join my family.”

The conversation went in circles, with me wanting to make the whole mess just go away and Kurth trying to protect the department, me, and the case all at once. Finally, he agreed to let me go to Ukiah for a week, and we would evaluate things when I returned.

I felt somewhat better, but still not relieved. Brad won the job of driving me home to await my evening flight to Santa Rosa and then on to Ukiah. When we got back to my house, we cracked a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Chivas Regal. The scotch eased my anxiety, and my sense of humor resurfaced. Before long, I was making fun of myself and the situation. Brad and I had some good laughs while we polished off the better part of the bottle.

Normally I enjoyed airports, especially LAX. I liked getting there an hour before the flight, or even earlier, so I could drink a cup of coffee and watch people. I analyzed their dress, walk, grooming; I tried to estimate their income, profession, or destination. Airports had been fun, but not anymore. Now I arrived just before departure, and I had to stay aware of anyone staring or media trucks parked in the area.

Checking in with only carry-on items, I discovered that my flight was half an hour late, so I had to kill some time. At first, I sat in my gate’s waiting area. Within minutes, a lady asked if I was Mark Fuhrman. I responded that I was not, but thanked her for the compliment. The scotch still had a hold of my humor, but I had to take my bag and walk deeper into the terminal. Going past a small airport cocktail lounge, I saw that there was no one inside. Even though I really didn’t need a drink, I thought I could sit there without being recognized. At the bar I ordered a Chivas. The bartender nodded at my request and poured me a tall double.

“There you go, detective,” he said. So much for traveling incognito.

The flight was short, but full of some people who thought they knew me and others who knew exactly who I was. After arriving in Santa Rosa, I almost walked right by my old partner Kevin Devries. It was great to see Kevin, and he immediately informed me that my family arrived safely after driving all night.

Kevin tried to reassure me that everything would work out. He knew me well enough to know that I was down, but not beaten. We stopped in Hopland at the brewery for a burger, a beer, and quiet conversation. Because we were such good friends, I felt obligated to try and explain everything they were saying about me, but he didn’t need to hear it. Kevin obviously planned to take my mind off of all matters not related to wine tasting, skiing, basketball, and beer.

The week was very long for me. Even though Kevin kept us busy, media reports about me slipped into our day at every turn. My childhood, military service, police career, and two prior marriages were now nothing more than daytime talk show chatter. I was being tarred and feathered, and I couldn’t speak in my own defense.

One day while I was away from Kevin’s house, my wife heard about a plug for an upcoming Geraldo Rivera show that - no great surprise - was about me. Evidently, Geraldo was going to interview an officer on the LAPD who supposedly was head of a secret hit squad on which I was allegedly a member. The officers identity was going to be kept secret, but his allegations weren’t. Caroline was beside herself with anger. A person who is not normally confrontational, Caroline called the Geraldo show, identified herself as Mrs. Fuhrman and said that what Geraldo was claiming was not true. Within seconds, Geraldo himself got on the phone.

Caroline no doubt read Geraldo the riot act considering these silly allegations. Then Geraldo asked a few questions of his own concerning “Men Against Women” and my supposed leadership of the group. Caroline heatedly explained that “Men Against Women” was just a screenplay.

Of course, Geraldo wanted to have my wife speak to him live on the show, but she refused. But he immediately informed the world that he just spoke to Mark Fuhrman’s wife, and “Men Against Women” was just a joke turned into a screenplay. When I found out what she had done I was furious, but as my anger subsided I became very proud of her, even though I never told her. This innocent gesture, my wife’s defense of me, might have been the clue that the defense later followed, leading them to Laura Hart McKinny and her infamous tapes.

While I stayed at Kevin’s, some strange things happened. First, Kevin received a call from someone representing himself as an employee of the phone company. This person tried to convince Kevin that the company was having some trouble with the phone service and they needed some personal information to verify the phone number. Of course Kevin refused, as his number is not listed or available; he is a Ukiah police officer. Later in the day, Kevin once again answered the phone and a man with a British accent stated that he was from the National Enquirer, and he wished to speak to Mark. Kevin refused to give away any information or even acknowledge that I was there.

The next day, this same man called the house across the street, which is owned by someone I had met just days prior. Later he called Kevin’s home once again, and I look the call.

The offers to tell my side of the story were spoken in a tone meant to resemble sincerity, but I declined. When sincerity fails, the offer of money usually works, which was described as “name a price,” but my comment to it all was, “Common sense dictates that I remain silent.”

Like so many others involved in the trial, I had countless opportunities to sell my story for cash. But I felt I had a professional obligation to the district attorney’s office, the LAPD, and the victims’ families. So, while I was being attacked in the press with charges that were inaccurate, unfair, or simply untrue, I had no means by which to defend myself.

A week passed, and my family was ready to go home. Kevin made me laugh and showed me a good time, considering the obstacles, but I had many things to confront in Los Angeles. Although I didn’t look forward to it, I had no choice but to get back in the game.

Without my asking, a West LA civil attorney by the name of Robert Tourtelot offered his services to help me fight the libelous accusations being made against me by the defense and spread in the media.

I had met Bob before when Ron Phillips and I worked on a robbery case in which Tourtelot’s wife was the victim. Ron and I solved the case and sent the suspect to prison. When Bob read the allegations about me published by The New Yorker and Newsweek, he was furious. He offered his services on a contingency basis, and I hired him as my attorney. Bob came out swinging, defending me on any talk show that would have him. He also sued everyone who was responsible for the accusation that I planted the glove.

Soon, the famous private investigator Anthony Petheano offered his services pro bono. Anthony is an investigator for the stars, having worked for Michael Jackson, Sylvester Stallone, Rosanne Barr, Don Simpson, James Woods, and many other celebrities. He pledged his total support and services. Anthony was and remains a loyal friend and great investigator.

Week after week, the press continued its relentless campaign.

Radio and television commentators still kept spinning the planted glove/rogue cop theory, and Tourtelot kept defending me in the media. Tourtelot no doubt enjoyed the media attention, but at one point I told him that we had to back off a little. We were too exposed; we needed to be more out of sight, and then hopefully out of mind. As much as I tried to stay out of the media spotlight, giving no interviews or photo opportunities, the pressure continued. My ignoring the media seemed to motivate them to find new dirt, new angles, and new theories on how and why I supposedly planted the glove.

Although I functioned normally on the outside, I was devastated on the inside. The world that I struggled to become part of was slowly drifting away from me. The desperation I felt made me remember movies I had seen where the shipwrecked survivor watched the ships pass, time and time again. Just as I seemed to recover from one onslaught, another ship passed over the horizon. There seemed no way that I would be saved. Nevertheless, I kept putting one foot in front of the other and did my job.

Not all of the attention was negative. I was invited to lunches with commanders, deputy chiefs, and assistant chiefs. I received promises of another promotion when the case was over. Department personnel I never got along with were suddenly my friends. Still, it was a distraction. And many of those supporters began to desert me as the defense continued to play up the race card.

Race is a difficult issue, one that America still tiptoes around. After all, many times when racial accusations are made, they are used as a satellite issue to accomplish another goal. 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. I understand racism, and I understand the inequality that it produces. But I also understand history, and as history has evolved, so have we. History is a learning tool that we use to make ourselves better, in hopes of not repeating the same mistakes.
 
Without becoming too philosophical, I am trying in very few words to express that I understand the sensitivity, the feelings, and the pain of racism, but the hypocrisy of its use sometimes turns the tragedies of history into the tragedies of today.

In addition to playing on racial sensitivity, the defense also hoped to take advantage of their client’s immense popularity and people’s reluctance to think of him as a murderer. The defense card would be accepted by many in Los Angeles and throughout the country despite the lack of proof, because many did not want to accept the fact that Simpson was capable of this brutal crime.

I kept thinking that all this would soon blow over and we could get back to the central question of Simpson’s guilt or innocence. But even before it began, the trial was already careening out of control.

During the period between the preliminary hearing and the Superior Court trial, one district attorney, Cheri Lewis, wrote all of the motions to suppress the defense attacks on my police and Marine records, charges of racism, and the planted glove theory. Cheri knocked herself out for me and the case. I don’t think I will ever thank her enough.

Cheri is a very diligent, competent attorney who is also very likable. She worked hard to keep the case on the right track. But between the defense, the media, and Judge Ito, doing so was an uphill battle. And often her own colleagues in the prosecution were obstacles.

Just before opening statements in the Superior Court trial, prosecutors Cheri Lewis and Chris Darden argued a motion attempting to prevent any cross-examination on racism and use of racial epithets.

Chris told the court that the introduction of racial issues and use of epithets “will do one thing. It will upset the black jurors, it will issue a test, it will give them the test, and the test, will be ‘whose side are you on?’ The side of the white prosecutors and the white policemen or on the side of the black defendant and his very prominent black lawyer? That is what it is going to do. Either you are with the man, or you are with the brothers.”

Whether or not the jury eventually saw the case in these stark alternatives, this is certainly the way Chris looks at things, especially when race is involved. He later said, “The next white police officer takes the witness stand-the jury is going to paint that white police officer with the same brush.”

So Chris Darden drew the line, and then Johnnie Cochran placed him on the other side. As he would do throughout the trial itself, Cochran baited Darden with a mixture of racial politics and simple intimidation. He stated that Darden s “remarks this morning are perhaps the most incredible remarks I’ve heard in a court of law in the thirty-two years I have been practicing law. His remarks are demeaning to African Americans as a group. I want... to apologize to African Americans across this country.... It is demeaning to our jurors to say that African Americans who have lived under oppression for two-hundred-plus years in this country cannot work within the mainstream, cannot hear these offensive words.... I am ashamed that Mr. Darden would allow himself to become an apologist for this man.”

Gerald Uelmen took up the defense s argument, saying that if the prosecution didn’t call me as a witness, “he will make another appearance in this case, being called as a hostile witness by the defense, because he has a lot of relevant testimony to offer with respect to the Bronco automobile.... Lots of questions that are going to come up with respect to how evidence was contaminated in terms of the parade of officers who went from one scene to another.”

After the trial, Uelmen commented, “Keeping the issue of race out of the trial of People vs. O.J. Simpson would have been like keeping the issue of slavery out of the Civil War.” Uelmen s analogy is mistaken. The Civil War was fought because <>l slavery. The Bundy murders had nothing In do with race. They had everything to do with O.J. Simpson. A better analogy would be this: Trying to keep Simpson out of the case was like trying to keep Babe Ruth out of baseball. But that’s exactly what the defense tried to do by injecting race into the trial.