Free The Search for Justice by Robert L Shapiro Page A

increased.
    At about three, Gil Garcetti called, asking to speak to me. When I put the phone to my ear, there was no doubt that the district
     attorney was livid.
    “I ’m here with Suzanne Childs [his press secretary] and we ’re at a loss to understand this, Bob,” he said, his voice barely
     controlled. “Can you explain to me how a murder suspect just disappears from a house full of people?”
    I knew Garcetti reasonably well; in fact, not only had I supported his reelection campaign and done some major fund-raising
     for him, I had been named to the board of advisors of the District Attorney ’s Association. He ’d come to my fiftieth birthday
     party. He had trusted me. Now, it was clear, he believed that his trust had been badly misplaced. I could only imagine, between
     the press and the police chief ’s office, the kind of heat he was getting at this moment—heat that he was ready to redirect
     towards me.
    “Gil, look,” I said, trying to control my own fears about O.J. and calm Garcetti ’s anger at the same time, “I gave my word
     that he would surrender on his own, and that ’s still my intention. Don ’t forget I promised to bring Erik Menendez in, and
     I did, all the way from Israel. If O.J. ’s alive, and we ’re hoping that he is, I ’ll do everything I can to get him there.”
    In the meantime my wife, who hadn ’t heard from me all day, had grown more and more worried, and she finally beeped my driver,
     Keno, who called me to the phone.
    “What on earth is going on there?” Linell asked. “We ’rewatching TV, and they ’re reporting that he ’s disappeared or something.”
    “You know as much as I do,” I told her. “We were preparing to surrender him, and then… and there ’s this letter. It ’s awful,
     Linell. We ’re pretty sure that he ’s gone off to kill himself.”
    “Everyone ’s calling here looking for you,” she said, “and I was so worried. Nobody knew where you were, and when I didn ’t
     hear anything, we began to think that maybe you ’d gone with him. And now there ’s all this speculating on television.”
    She told me that David Gascon, the L.A.P.D. commander, had appeared on TV, obviously furious, and made a statement to the
     effect that anyone who was involved in O.J. ’s disappearance was now involved in a felony and would be dealt with as a felon.
     Gascon ’s anger didn ’t dissipate over time. A year and a half later, when Michael Nasatir and I were at a Kings hockey game,
     we ran into him, and it was apparent, although he was cordial, that he was still smoldering over the fact that O.J. hadn ’t
     been surrendered as we had promised—thus making the L.A.P.D. look foolish.
    In the meantime, Linell had more information for me. “Lee Bailey called,” she said, “and asked that you call him back immediately.”
    When I got Bailey on the phone, he said, “Bob, you have to respond to this somehow. They ’re on the air, out-and-out accusing
     you, claiming that you ’re involved somehow, that you ’re deliberately not surrendering him.”
    “Lee, wait,” I said, “that ’s totally ridiculous. I mean, we ’ve got this suicidal letter here, and—”
    “No, no, no,” he interrupted. “You ’ve got to speak up, and do it now. Before it gets worse.”
    I told Kardashian what was going on outside the walls of his house. And then I called up my office and spoke with Bonnie,
     asking her to please do whatever it took to set up a large conference area somewhere in the building and to notify the press
     that we would be there at 5:00 P.M . to make a statement.
    On the way over in the car, Kardashian and I discussed O.J. ’s letter, which I thought he should read aloud at the press conference.
     “People have to hear his own words, so they can understand what ’s going on,” I said. “So they ’ll know what we know.”
    “Bob, I can ’t do that,” Kardashian said. “In front of a room full of reporters? I don ’t think I