Murder in Brentwood by Mark Fuhrman Page B

over, to allow him to stumble on his lies. Simpson should have been forced to account for his time from the recital until Phillips called him in Chicago. He should have been locked into his story during this taped interview.
    Vannatter and Lange should have entered the interview room with just a few goals. Establish where and when he cut his finger and where he bled. Does he own any brown leather dress gloves? What size shoe does he wear? Is he right- or left-handed? Has he ever been behind Kato Kaelin’s room before? What’s back there, anyway? Confront him and let him explain why he never even asked the detective who notified him of Nicole’s death how she was killed.
    Unfortunately, he was never even directly challenged on any statement. Vannatter and Lange had their suspect right where they wanted him, but then they let him go, never confronting Simpson with the possibility of any participation in the murders. The interrogation seemed more an opportunity for Simpson to explain away areas in which he appeared guilty, and by not challenging his excuses, the detectives almost appeared to accept the answers.
    The most shocking aspect of the interrogation was that Lange and Vannatter terminated the questioning to photograph Simpson’s finger. An effective interrogation would have continued for hours, as long as Simpson didn’t invoke his constitutional rights. If they wanted a photograph or blood taken, all the detectives had to do was write a search warrant and take the evidence later. There is no reason why they had to interrupt the questioning that could have slammed the door on Simpson.
    Two people were dead. The suspect had waived his rights and was sitting right across the table from two experienced detectives. They had him where they wanted him, and they interrogated him for only thirty-two meandering minutes. They learned close to nothing. In thirty-two minutes, I could barely have begun to build a rapport with the suspect.
    A good interrogator would have tried to establish a solid answer on Simpson’s part, then used the evidence at the scene to begin to poke holes in his answer. Let him talk about the previous day without interruption, and then question him about his own statements. Allowing him to change his story would have confused him. After five or six hours of the game, he would have made mistakes, and then a smart interrogator would have gone in for a gentle kill.
    Whenever Simpson appeared to be lying, he talked in circles and said almost nothing. They shouldn’t have let him get away with it. They should have nailed him down to a single timeline, and then poked holes in his story. When was the last time he visited the Bundy residence? The recital ended around seven. What did he do from seven to eight? From eight to nine? From nine to ten? From ten to eleven? If he didn’t remember when he cut himself, exactly when did he realize he was bleeding? What “stuff did he get out of the Bronco? Why did he leave the shovel and package in the back?
    In an effective interview, just as Simpson would begin to run out of excuses, the questioning would become more accusatory. No one is smiling anymore, and the pressure builds. Just before Simpson is about to ask for his attorney, the “in-charge” detective elevates his voice and says, “O.J., we both think you were involved in this murder.... We think you killed Nicole.”
    The inevitable pause is important. You read his eyes. “You left a bloody glove behind Kato’s room. You screwed up.... You left evidence everywhere.”
    You throw a couple of Polaroids from the crime scene onto the table. You get graphic.
    “How did it feel, O.J.? How did it feel to kill the mother of your children? How did it feel to have her warm blood running down your hands?”
    Let him think about it a moment.
    “What about your kids, O.J.? How are they going to feel, knowing their daddy killed their mommy? What’s going to happen to them? How does your mother feel? Is she proud