The Run of His Life: The People v. O. J. Simpson

19. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

Their greatest humiliation, the jurors remembered later, came right before bed. At 11:00 every night, one of the deputy sheriffs would walk around the fifth floor of the Inter-Continental Hotel, knock on the jurors’ doors, and demand their room keys. This ceremony went on every night for months before anyone even asked about it. This was how the jurors behaved-trusting, accepting, even passive about the many embarrassments of their quasi-custodial living arrangements. Finally, someone worked up the nerve to ask why they had to surrender their keys for the six and a half hours until the deputies returned to wake them up.

“It’s so you don’t go into each others’ rooms,” the sheriff’s spokesman replied.

That was that. The jurors were to be trusted to decide whether O.J. Simpson murdered two human beings but not to sleep with the keys to their own rooms. As usual, there was no protest, and the jurors continued to yield the keys until their last night in confinement. As with so many petty insults, the jurors lived with this one, too.

By summer, they were struggling. Twelve jurors and twelve alternates had reported for sequestration under the twenty-four-hour-a-day supervision of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department on January 11. With the exception of occasional weekend outings-a much-enjoyed group ride on a blimp, a disastrous boat ride to Catalina Island, on which almost everyone got seasick-the jurors’ world was circumscribed by the courthouse and the Inter-Continental, about a mile away. Their rooms had no telephones or televisions. Deputy sheriffs dialed and monitored all telephone calls from a central “telephone room,” and screened newspapers for references to the case, clipping them out. Blockbuster supplied an unending stream of movies for the pair of “video rooms,” dubbed Cinema 1 and Cinema 2 by Judge Ito. The jurors ate their meals as a group. One night a week, from 7:00 to midnight, the jurors were allowed unsupervised conjugal visits with their spouses or significant others.

Not surprisingly, these arrangements produced immediate and lasting stresses on the jurors. The strain showed itself in trivial ways. Like summer campers (or, more relevant, prisoners) everywhere, the jurors complained about the food. As Armanda Cooley, who eventually became foreperson, once put it in a meeting with the judge, “Same thing, repetitious, too many particles walking, crawling, talking in the food.” Movie selection produced enduring tensions, as did movie-watching behavior. Ito devoted a great deal of time to mediating between jurors who wanted to talk and those who preferred silence during the videos. The alleged foot odor of one juror, Tracy Kennedy, was another problem. There was also what Judge Ito bemusedly referred to as the “famous Target/Ross shopping incident,” which involved one juror’s complaint that one group of jurors had an hour to shop at the Ross discount store and thirty minutes at a Target emporium, whereas other jurors had only a half hour at each.

The aggrieved shopper was Jeanette Harris, a thirty-eight-year-old African-American employment interviewer and a divisive force on the jury from the first day. In light of Harris’s answers during voir dire, it was bewildering that the prosecutors had left her on the jury at all. When Clark asked Harris about the low-speed Bronco chase on June 17, Harris said, “My family is comprised mostly of males, so I know that females have this real desire, you know, to protect their young men… My heart just went out.” Asked about Simpson’s plea of no contest to domestic-violence charges in 1989, Harris said, “I guess if I was a celebrity, there probably would be times when I would say no contest… because the media is so vicious.” Less than a month after the jurors were sequestered, Harris put Ito and the lawyers on notice that tensions were brewing among the jurors over something much more important than videos. In a secret closed-door session on February 7, just a few days into the taking of testimony, Harris told them that the jury was splintering along racial lines.

Harris had requested the meeting ostensibly to complain about the “famous” shopping incident and her difficulties with another juror. She said the deputies had intentionally given the white jurors the extra half hour to shop at Ross while hurrying the black jurors through the store. Harris also asserted, improbably enough, that she had been pushed by Catherine Murdoch, a sixty-three-year-old white legal secretary and only the first of several jurors Harris would accuse of striking her. “In the last week or so there has been like a major division,” Harris said in the judge’s chambers. Meal tables had become segregated by race, with Murdoch at a table with “all the white jurors and anybody that is not African-American.” Shocked by the accusation, Murdoch denied any malign intent, and Ito believed her. Nevertheless, the very existence of the accusation put everyone on notice about just how fragile the jury was.

A full-fledged crisis was averted because Murdoch was removed from the jury on February 7 for an unrelated reason: Her arthitis doctor, who also treated Simpson, had been listed as a defense witness (though he never testified). Several other jurors also left the case in the early weeks, one because she was found to have covered up a history of domestic violence, another because he worked for Hertz and had apparently met Simpson. After Murdoch, Michael Knox was dismissed on March 1 for failing to report that he had been arrested for kidnapping a former girlfriend. Next came Tracy Kennedy, who was removed on March 17 because Ito believed he was keeping notes for a book. (Both Knox and Kennedy did manage to parlay their brief tenure as jurors into books.)

But it was Jeanette Harris who continued to absorb the attention of the lawyers on both sides. In March, the judge received an anonymous letter suggesting that Harris had been a long-term victim of domestic violence. Sheriff’s deputies followed up on the lead, and they learned that in 1988 Harris had sought a restraining order against her husband. In voir dire and in her questionnaire, Harris had specifically denied any personal involvement with domestic violence. The prosecutors wanted her off the jury, asserting that she had lied during the course of jury selection. The defense lawyers wanted Harris to remain, arguing that her answers during voir dire amounted only to innocent mistakes. In the argument over Harris, Ito made a revealing observation: “The one thing that’s interesting to me is that, were one to look at this case in the abstract and what we have here, it would seem to me that the defense would want her off in the worst way, that the prosecution would want to keep her. And I see the diametrically opposed position.”

Ito was probably being coy, for by this point in the trial he knew how much race had trumped gender. The defense wanted to keep a black juror even if she had been abused by her husband. Through all the jury controversies, the one constant was the prosecution wanting to shed black jurors, the defense seeking to evict whites. In any event, on April 5, Ito dismissed Harris for her lack of candor about the domestic violence in her past-and she, in turn, promptly created an uproar in the case.

Pat Harvey, an anchorwoman at KCAL, a local television station in Los Angeles, had a dentist who had been teasing her with some tantalizing information during the first several months of the trial. He said he had a patient who was a juror in the Simpson case, but he wouldn’t tell Harvey her name. When Harris was dismissed, the dentist confided that she was the patient, and he arranged for the ex-juror to sit for an interview with Harvey. In the conversation, conducted on April 5 just hours after Harris was dismissed, Jeanette Harris sat with Harvey in the co-anchor’s chair and shared her impressions of the trial so far.

Jeanette Harris was, it turned out, the prosecution’s worst nightmare. “From day one, I didn’t see it as being a fair trial,” Harris told Harvey. Prosecutors, she asserted, were “saying a whole lot of nothing.” She accused Denise Brown of “acting” on the witness stand (just as Johnnie Cochran had predicted the black jurors would react). Harris said she believed that Mark Fuhrman was “capable of probably anything,” including planting evidence. As for the defendant himself, Harris said that she was “quite impressed” with Simpson and his ability to handle his grief: “It amazes me; it totally amazes me that he handles things as well as he does.”

Even worse than her pro-defense interpretation of the evidence was Harris’s suggestion that the racial tensions surrounding the case might influence jurors’ votes. “There is maybe a person that, say one of the Caucasians, will say, ‘I can’t vote him not guilty because when I walk out of here, I want to walk back into a life,’ ” Harris told Harvey. “Or an African-American might say, ‘I can’t say he’s guilty because I want to walk out of here.’ You know, those things cross your mind.” In other words, jurors might vote to please their racial group. In addition, there was no doubt in Harris’s mind that the sheriff’s department was promoting racial divisions on the jury. “There are racial problems, and the deputies, some of them, not to bad-mouth the sheriff’s department, but some of them are promoting it.” Worst of all, as Harris told a reporter for KCAL off camera, jurors were discussing the facts of the case among themselves-in clear violation of Judge Ito’s orders to them.

Harris’s conduct was reprehensible. She had lied about her past to get on the jury. Once seated, she viewed the evidence with a completely biased eye in favor of the defense. (How, after all, could this have been an unfair trial “from day one”?) She admitted to being influenced by outside political pressures, and then she either lied about jurors’ discussing the case or failed to bring this misconduct to Ito’s attention when the violation of his orders was occurring. In retrospect, it is hard to imagine how Harris could have done more to betray her oath as a juror.

Yet Cochran knew just how to spin Harris’s removal from the jury and her subsequent statements. The day after Harris’s interview with Harvey, Cochran held an indignant news conference on the ground floor of the courthouse. But Cochran did not direct his indignation at Harris’s misconduct. Rather, he asserted that the prosecution had undertaken “a concerted effort” to pick off jurors favorable to the defense. In a sound bite that was played repeatedly over the next few days, Cochran said, “We think that Big Brother is doing more than watching us… We’re very concerned about this obsession to win.” Cochran had once again posed the Simpson case as a contest between the black community and the white establishment. “If Mr. Simpson can’t get a fair trial,” Cochran told the reporters gravely, “then all of us would be in trouble.”

Faced with specific, unsolicited information about a juror, the sheriffs had investigated in an unobstrusive way-by examining a court file. This inquiry had produced information establishing beyond doubt that Harris had lied on a critical issue in jury selection. She was, accordingly, dismissed as a juror. This, to Cochran, was evidence of a racist conspiracy against O.J. Simpson. That Cochran would make this absurd claim in an environment in which, according to Harris, information from the press was leaking through to jurors shows just how calculated a gesture it was. From the Todd Bridges trial to the Michael Jackson investigation-from the O.J. Simpson case to the civil suit filed by the white trucker Reginald Denny-Cochran found a handy white vendetta to denounce in every case. Dreading, as always, the ordeal endured by Time magazine when it ran its darkened photo of Simpson on the cover-that is, being called racist-the mainstream press mostly reported Cochran’s denunciations without comment.

Jeanette Harris also dumped a major dilemma in Ito’s lap. By asserting that jurors were discussing the case, Harris raised the troubling prospect of additional misconduct by the jury and the removal of more jurors. With only six alternates remaining (and likely months of testimony to go), this was a disheartening possibility for the judge, to say the least. But Ito felt he had to follow up, so after bringing Harris back in to flesh out her allegations, he decided to interview the remaining jurors in his chambers, one by one. For the lawyers, this was an extraordinary (and rare) opportunity to get a glimpse of the jurors and their state of mind in the middle of a trial.

Merely conducting these inquiries unsettled the prosecution, because the judge’s questions might raise the racial issue to jurors who may not have been affected by it. But as the jurors trooped through Ito’s chambers during the third week in April, it was clear that they had done plenty of thinking about race without Ito’s help.

The white jurors reacted to the racial issues with some hesitancy. Asked about racial tensions, Anise Aschenbach, a sixty-year-old white woman, said, “Well, I don’t know. Nothing has been said that I could pinpoint where that really is a problem, so I don’t know.” And several black jurors detected no animosity from anyone. (Cochran never let up on his charm offensive, though, especially in the intimate setting of Ito’s small office. One black juror took the opportunity in chambers to ask if the judge could get the jurors a copy of the movie Bad Boys, a thriller starring a pair of handsome young black actors. “Good movie,” Cochran volunteered.)

The real news of these sessions was that several African-American jurors were furious, especially the men. That the black men were suffering was hardly surprising. Though it was not well known outside of Southern California, the Los Angeles sheriffs had a reputation for racism that matched that of the LAPD. Worse, the training for all deputy sheriffs involved a peculiar procedure that required new recruits, as their first assignment, to spend two years as guards at the L.A. county jail. According to a widespread belief in Los Angeles, the sheriffs then spent the rest of their careers treating civilians like inmates. Since African-American men were disproportionately represented among the residents of the county jail, it is probably understandable that the black men on the jury chafed at the deputies’ attitude at the hotel. Willie Cravin, one of the black jurors, told Ito simply that “some of the black jurors are treated like convicts.”

But Cravin was a happy camper compared to Lon Cryer, a forty-three-year-old black telephone company employee. Cryer said he had been enraged one time when a female deputy had told him to get off the patio of the hotel when she allowed several white jurors to remain. As a result, Cryer said, “I’m to the point where I don’t really trust anybody involved here. I mean, no disrespect to you, Your Honor, I don’t even trust you, sir. I mean, I don’t trust anybody.” The experience with the deputy, Cryer said, reminded him of some other things.

“Tell me about that,” Ito prompted.

“About police and-well, I-you know, I have no problems with police officers myself, but it kind of reminds me of why so many black men in America have such a problem with being confronted with white police officers in situations like when they are operating their cars, and they become very defensive about it, and it just kind of made me realize that those situations do exist, and you don’t really have to be doing anything for them to take it upon themself to be harassing toward you.”

One can scarcely imagine a monologue more likely to alienate the prosecutors in the case. But Clark and Darden made no effort to remove Cryer, and Ito completed his examination of the jurors without finding reason to dismiss any more of them. In the end, the notion of a prosecution conspiracy to eliminate hostile jurors was absurd. If anything, the prosecution probably should have been more aggressive in ferreting out the biases of potential and sitting jurors in the case. (After all, several months later, on the day the verdict came in, it was Lon Cryer who showed his support for the defendant in the most dramatic way.)

Ito did make one change as a result of his interviews with the jurors. Responding to the complaints of Cryer and a black twenty-five-year-old flight attendant, Tracy Hampton, the judge transferred three of the deputies who had been guarding the jurors at the hotel. The jurors noticed their absence on the night of Thursday, April 20, and several of them were outraged. They had formed attachments to some of the deputies and felt that the deputies had been treated unfairly. Thirteen jurors decided to write a letter of protest to Ito-and to back it up with an even more conspicuous display.

The following morning, Friday, April 21, began with one of the more curious public spectacles in the history of American jurisprudence. Every morning, the jurors would be taken from their bus to a lounge on the eleventh floor of the courthouse. A few minutes before testimony began, they would go down a freight elevator to the ninth floor, where they would walk single file past the reporters and spectators assembled for the day. On this Friday, the thirteen protesting jurors all wore black outfits to court, as in an ersatz funeral procession. The rest of the jurors, the remnants of the Jeanette Harris clique-including Lon Cryer, Tracy Hampton, and Sheila Woods-defiantly wore bright colors in counterprotest. To a certain extent, the protest crossed racial boundaries; all of the white and Hispanic jurors, plus seven African-Americans, wore black, but all of the counterprotesters were African-Americans, including both of the remaining black men. But even this signal was muddled, because the two black men on the jury, Cravin and Cryer, couldn’t abide one another. (The protest provided a vivid demonstration of the Stockholm syndrome, which holds that captives come to identify with their keepers: The one thing that stirred the jurors from their usual passivity was a perceived attack on the deputies who “protected” them.)

In short, the jury was in chaos, leaving the trial on the verge of collapse. Ito canceled testimony for the day, explained to the jurors that the deputies had been transferred, not fired, and generally gave everyone a weekend to cool off. It worked for a while, and the following week the judge eased tensions on the jury somewhat when he finally dismissed Tracy Hampton. She had looked almost catatonic through the entire trial, rarely directing her glance away from her feet during testimony, and she had asked several times to be excused from the case. On May 1, without objection from either side, Ito agreed. (A few months later, Hampton recovered sufficiently to pose for a Playboy pictorial.)

It was clear, as the DNA testimony droned on in the courtroom, which juror most troubled Cochran and the defense team: Francine Florio-Bunten, a thirty-eight-year-old white telephone-company employee, who was following the prosecution’s case with keen interest. She was probably the most educated and worldly juror, the only one who complained about not being allowed to browse in bookstores. Jeanette Harris, the defense’s biggest known partisan, despised Florio-Bunten. During the jury protest in April, Florio-Bunten wore a defiant expression and a long, flowing black gown.

On May 25, Ito called the lawyers to chambers to say that he had received a letter in the mail the previous day. He read it out loud to them. “Dear Judge Ito,” it began.

I have been debating over and over what to do with this information. But after seeing you last night on the news telling the pain your family went through during the war and what my family in Germany endured, it touched my heart and I felt so grateful to live in a country with very strong civil rights and a strong constitution. I guess that’s why I feel so ashamed for the information I have.

I work for a literary agent. I’m only a receptionist. It is true I am very young, but I am aware of what is happening with this office and one of your jurors on the Simpson trial. It has been kept very secret, but I know for a fact that my boss has entered an agreement with a juror and her husband. The working title for the book proposal is, ‘Standing Alone: A Verdict for Nicole.’ It is obvious to me that the woman and her husband came to the conclusion of Mr. Simpson’s guilt and sold the book with that agreement. I have not come to you sooner because I too feel Mr. Simpson is guilty. But after seeing you last evening on television, and seeing how what happened to your family and mine made you open your heart to the public, it affected me greatly…

I am in a moral dilemma that a 20-year-old receptionist should not be in. I can only identify the juror as female, once an alternate, husband became ill, about 40 years old, a white woman. She did not want to be on the jury, but her husband is the one driving this. She is very apprehensive and is worried this will become public. The husband wants her to stay on, but she wants off.

My boss has met with the husband at the Intercontinental Hotel, which I assume is where the jury is staying. I know you are a very fair and decent man and judge. So I know and have faith that you will use this information in a way that you know best…

The letter, which was postmarked Los Angeles, was signed “Anonymous.” There was no mystery to anyone about the subject of the letter. Florio-Bunten was thirty-eight years old, and in late April she had asked to be removed from the jury because her husband was suffering from pneumonia. (At that time Ito talked her into remaining on the case.) Still, attempting to be thorough, Ito decided to undertake the by now familiar ritual of bringing the jurors into chambers one by one and asking them about the letter. Were they writing books? Had they spoken to a literary agent? All the jurors-including Florio-Bunten-said no.

Just in passing, in the course of these interviews in his chambers on May 25, Ito told each juror not to discuss the subject of his questions with the jurors who had yet to be interviewed. But Yolanda Crawford, a twenty-five-year-old black woman, told Ito that she thought two jurors had violated that instruction. She said that when Farron Chavarria, a twenty-nine-year-old Hispanic woman, returned to the jury room from Ito’s office, she “wrote on a newspaper” and called Florio-Bunten over to read the note. “Just looked like they were trying, you know, to be secretive about it,” Crawford said.

Ito sent his clerk into the jury room to collect all the newspapers, and sure enough, she found a copy of The Wall Street Journal on which was scribbled, “They asked me about a juror writing a book.” Ito brought Chavarria back into his chambers. At first she denied writing a note, but when the judge confronted her with it, she broke down in tears and confessed that she had written it to Florio-Bunten. Jury service had obviously been a rough ordeal for Chavarria. Her skin had become blotchy and irritated, apparently because of the stress, and she had complained to Ito that Willie Cravin had stared at her and intimidated her several times. She read one self-help book after another-The Dance of Intimacy, then The Dance of Anger, and any number of others. Chavarria told Ito that she wrote the note to Florio-Bunten to remind her about an incident where another juror’s girlfriend had made a remark about writing a book. Ito then called Florio-Bunten into his chambers.

“Did another juror before you came in here write you a note about our discussions in here?”

“No,” said Florio-Bunten.

The judge then showed her the note. “Was that note shown to you, scribbled out by another juror?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Any reason why two other jurors would say that note was shown to you?” Ito asked.

“I have no idea,” Florio-Bunten replied.

Everyone in the judge’s chambers-Ito, the defense lawyers, even Marcia Clark-thought Florio-Bunten was lying about seeing the note. Ito brought Florio-Bunten back another time and confronted her with the anonymous letter about the book. Florio-Bunten was indignant. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “I am here for one purpose, to be a juror.” Plainly disgusted at the entire line of questioning, Florio-Bunten finally said, “I mean, you know, Jesus. I want out. Just let me go. This is absolutely ridiculous.” With Marcia Clark’s consent, Ito did just that, dismissing Florio-Bunten for lying about the note from Chavarria, not specifically for the underlying accusations in the anonymous letter. Only four alternates remained.

The origin of the anonymous letter to Ito about Florio-Bunten remained (and remains) a considerable mystery. The author had a good deal of accurate inside knowledge, including Florio-Bunten’s approximate age, her husband’s medical condition, and the name of the jurors’ hotel. Yet Florio-Bunten and her husband continued to deny that they had ever discussed a book project with anyone, and she ultimately did not write a book. A survey of all Los Angeles-based book agents by 60 Minutes in March 1996 found no one who matched the self-description offered in the letter-which further corroborates Florio-Bunten’s claim that no such conversations took place. Members of the defense team, who had a motive to want Florio-Bunten removed, have categorically denied any role in the letter, and no evidence has surfaced tying them to it. In the end it was probably either a freelance effort by an insider to help Simpson’s cause, or part of a personal vendetta against Florio-Bunten.

In keeping with the obsessive media interest in the case, Florio-Bunten became a paid consultant to NBC’s Today show in the late stages of the trial, analyzing developments in the trial from her unique status as a former juror. As it turned out, the judge’s anonymous correspondent did O.J. Simpson a great favor, for Florio-Bunten said later that she definitely would have voted to convict him.

Both in the courtroom and in what passed for their private lives, several jurors showed signs of depression. One juror, Tracy Kennedy, tried to kill himself after he was dismissed, and another, Tracy Hampton, was rushed to the hospital with an apparent anxiety attack on the day after she left the jury. The jurors were further shaken when they learned that on July 19, one of the deputies who guarded them in the courtroom, Antranik Geuvjehizian, was murdered while trying to stop a burglary at a neighbor’s house. The isolation from friends and family, the endless waits as Ito listened to the lawyers haggle, and the mind-numbing testimony about arcane scientific matters all gave the jurors more than adequate reason to be miserable. Watching one after another of their colleagues summoned to Ito’s chambers and then dismissed-without being allowed so much as a goodbye to their fellow jurors or an explanation for the dismissal from the judge-added to the strain. Denied access to alcohol by the sheriffs, several jurors took solace in food. Family members, struggling to find some common ground with their increasingly estranged loved ones, began bringing gargantuan feasts to the hotel during visits-mostly cookies, cakes, and desserts of every description. The remaining jurors gained weight at a fantastic pace, which only compounded their despair.

Though Ito did not dismiss Farron Chavarria immediately after he caught her passing the note to Florio-Bunten, her days on the jury were numbered. On June 5, Ito decided to let her go because she had violated his order in tipping off her friend about the judge’s inquiry. Ito’s other action on that day came as more of a surprise. He dismissed Willie Cravin because “the Court has received numerous reports of personal conflict between [him] and other jurors,” including Cravin’s “deliberate and offensive physical contact and the threat of physical contact.” Yet Ito provided a less than overwhelming list of Cravin’s misdeeds-principally, a couple of purported shoves in the elevator and a pair of complaints from jurors that Cravin had stared at them.

In short, it appears that the judge, too, was monitoring the racial makeup of the jury. Upon reflection, Ito may have recognized that he had dismissed Florio-Bunten too precipitously, but having done so, he realized he had to dismiss Chavarria for essentially the same offense. That meant he was dropping consecutively two non-African-Americans. It is difficult not to conclude that Ito then pulled Cravin-a black man-as a sop to the prosecution. (Lawyers on both sides saw it this way.) The trial had become so swept up in race that, regrettably, the judge seemed also to be party to the bean-counting. The unexpected dismissal of Cravin sent Marcia Clark literally skipping with joy out of the courtroom.

The fourteen survivors-twelve jurors and now just two alternates-did not get much of a reward. After Chavarria and Cravin were ousted, they heard from Dr. Lakshmanan Sathyavagiswaran, the Los Angeles county coroner. He had not actually examined the two victims, but the pathologist who did, Irwin Golden, had made so many errors and testified so poorly at the preliminary hearing that the prosecution decided to call his boss instead. Dr. Lakshmanan, as he was addressed, couldn’t do much more than guess how the murders had occurred, but he did so in dramatic fashion.

Lakshmanan said that he believed a single killer with a single knife could have inflicted all the wounds on both victims. In his scenario, Nicole was first knocked out by a blow to the back of the head. The killer then leaned over her unconscious body, pulled her hair back, and slit her throat. Prosecutor Brian Kelberg had Lakshmanan demonstrate the movement by standing behind Kelberg and using a ruler to simulate a knife. Jurors and spectators alike recoiled at the grisly spectacle.

This method of execution had drawn prosecutors’ attention at an early stage in their investigation. Those with military experience recognized that the killing bore great similarity to the way U.S. Navy SEALs are trained to dispatch their adversaries. In the weeks before the murders, Simpson had been filming an NBC pilot, Frogman, where several ex-SEALs had served as technical advisers. Had O.J. been trained to kill this way? The prosecutors made a halfhearted effort to make the connection, but the technical advisers weren’t very cooperative and the issue faded amid the press of other business.

There were, in fact, relatively few coroner-related issues in dispute in the trial, yet Kelberg kept Lakshmanan on the witness stand through eight excruciating days of direct testimony. A former medical student who switched to law, Kelberg had a sophisticated underderstanding of pathology, but he hadn’t tried many cases in recent years. The examination amounted to a display of selfindulgence, with the jurors forced to stare at horrible autopsy photographs for days on end: Nicole’s neck wound propped open, as big as a baseball, her eyes open in hazy comprehension; Goldman’s savaged torso, pockmarked by knife wounds. Kelberg’s extravaganza also cost the prosecution the high ground on the issue of the length of the trial. Previously, most of the delays had come from long and meandering cross-examinations. Now, defense lawyers could (and did) blame this prosecution excess.

The truth was, Kelberg’s fellow prosecutors did not know when he was going to finish this marathon, so when he did, they were caught by surprise. Late on the afternoon of Tuesday, June 13, Richard Rubin received a frantic call in New York saying he had to be on a plane to Los Angeles the following morning. Rubin didn’t even know precisely why he was being called to testify. He was, after all, only an expert on gloves.