coley_reads's reviews
294 reviews

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On the morning of June 13, 1994, when Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman were found their bodies butchered and discarded like grass clippings all of that changed. Their murderer, OJ Simpson, would turn justice on its head. By virtue of his celebrity, he would be coddled by worshipful cops, pumped up by star-fucking attorneys, indulged by a spineless judge, and adored by jurors every bit as addled by racial hatred as their counterparts on the Rodney King jury. OJ Simpson slaughtered two innocent people, and he walked free right past the most massive and compelling body of physical evidence ever assembled against a criminal defendant. 

 

How could the this jury fail to see? Blood trail following the bloody prints of that rare and expensive Bruno Magli loafersize 12 shoe, the same as OJ wears leading away from the bodies, up to the front steps to the rear gate of Nicole Brown's condo. A blood trail leading right to the foot of OJ's bed. On Ronald Goldman's shirt, a head hair that matched those of OJ. The navy-blue cap dropped at the crime scene had the same black hairs, as well as a carpet fiber matching those of OJ's Bronco. OJ's blood and hair where there shouldn't be blood and hair. There was enough physical evidence to convict OJ twenty times over. 

 

I was always itching to get beyond the preliminaries to trials. Real trials. Criminal trials where you have to think quickly, react quickly. I wanted to be drawn into an experience that was totally absorbing. Trial work is especially appealing to the workaholic. I'd go through docket like Pac-Man, grabbing cases no one else would touch, putting in ten-to-twelve hour days in the process. What gave rise to this fervor is hard for me to explain. Work offers a defensible escape from a private life on the skids. Beyond that, the courtroom is the ideal venue for someone who likes to argue. 

 

I knew that the Simpsons had been divorced for two years. I found it peculiar that he still had her pictures everywhere. Brad Roberts, detective, knelt on the floor and reached under the box spring and, using his fingertips, pulled out a framed photo. It showed Nicole and her husband in evening dress. 

 

The blood on the walk at the murder scene matched OJ's. Bingo! There was evidence the cops needed to charge. Somehow the LA Times had gotten wind of the blood-test results. Normally, we'd be getting witness statements and reports within twenty-four hours of a crime. This time, we hadn't received so much as a single sheet of paper. Even Gil had realized it was time for a showdown, and he'd finally brokered a meeting with the cops for later that afternoon. 

 

Cause of death? Sharp force injuries from some kind of knife or bladed instrument. I hated that. With a bullet you can match striations to the barrel of a gun and be 99 percent sure that you have the murder weapon. Blade wounds are usually sloppy. The injuries often can't be traced to a single instrument. Murder weapon? No sign of one yet. The cops apparently had a line on a German hunting knife that Simpson had bought at an establishment called Ross Cutlery close to the time of the murder. 

 

Fejves, Pablo, one of Nicole's neighbors, is watching the Channel 5 news at ten. I like witnesses who peg their memories to the TV Guide. They're usually reliable. At about a quarter past to half past the hour he hears a dog barking uncontrollably. The put the time of death conservatively speaking somewhere around 10:15 PM to 10:30 PM. 

 

The stain on the leather glove from Rockingham contained genetic markers from both victims, with a strong possibility that OJ's blood was in the mix. They'd also found OJ's blood on the interior of the door of his white Ford Bronco. 

 

When Tom Lange called Denise Brown to tell her of her sister's murder, the first words out of her mouth were "I knew that son of bitch was going to do it.!" 

 

OJ ha already taken a polygraph and scored a minus 22, meaning he failed every single question about murder. 

 

Jill Shively saw OJ in a white Bronco speeding north bound on Bundy at 10:45 PM. She was suppose to tell no one about her testimony. Instead she went on a TV Show and told everyone and displaying her subpoena for the cameras. 

 

The LAPD crime lab had just recently begun to do DNA testing. None of its techs was all that experienced in the process. They were perfectly capable of performing the simplest test, called PCR DQ alpha. But it had to be done correctly. When contamination occurs, you get wildly erratic results. That was why I breathed a sigh of relief when I read Collins report: in this case, the results were perfectly consistent. Every blood drop on the trail at Bundy displayed OJ Simpon’s genetic markers, and only his genetic markers. It was even possible that his blood was on the Rockingham glove. Preliminary tests indicated that this was the case. We had already found markers on that glove from Ron’s and Nicole’s blood. 

 

The knife salesman sold his story to the National Enquirer. Jose Camacho was the salesman who’d told the cops how Simpson had purchased a stiletto only days before the murder. 

 

At the front of the condo I stood on the upper landing and looked down on the area enclosed by the front gate. It was cramped and dark, even smaller than photos could convey. I turned to Bill and said, “The jury has to see this. When they realize how small it is, they’ll understand how impossible it would be for two men to have fit in here to commit the murders.” 

 

We’d been told by Nicole’s friend Ron Hardy that the intercom controlling the lock on the front gate was broken. If Nicole had wanted to let a visitor in, she’d had to go down and open the gate manually. If this was true, it was easy to conceive how Nicole and Ron were both at the front gate when Simpson moved in for the kill. 

 

On Friday, July 8, Judge Kennedy-Powell ruled. “The court has carefully considered the evidence in this case and the arguments of counsel,” she said. “There is sufficient cause to believe this defendant guilty.” 

I’ve never been one to cry sexism. But I know the score. I know that I have to be tougher and better than the guys I work with. 

I didnt like how their was pages of dialog with no indication who was saying the line such as 'Brett said' . I got lost in conversations which is most of the book. 

I think i understood the gist of the book without having to read the whole thing. Jake is an injured war veteran with little purpose anymore. He drinks a lot and spends time with ppl he doesnt really like. He loves Brett but she is wild with men and says she's no good for him. Jake, his friends, and sometimes Brett travel. More drinking. 

"You have to take them before they can learn to disagree, before their brains have been hardened by the world. Get them while they are soft, and you can make them into gods."

"But I wasn't just angry at those who tried to con children into conning the world. I was also angry at the world for believing it."

It started out good. I liked learning about his childhood and how it was written. It spent a long time talking about high school years. Too much time. When he got into the league and beyond, i didnt like the way it was written.  It was a lot about numbers and money. I wanted to know more about Lebron's personality and personal/family life.