Menendez Confidential

The case of the missing guns

On an early March afternoon, Lyle Menendez drove a buddy along Mulholland Drive pointing out the luxurious homes of Jack Nicholson, Warren Beatty and Marlon Brando. Seven months had passed since his wealthy parents, Jose and Kitty, were shotgunned to death on a quiet Sunday evening in August 1989 in Beverly Hills. And it would be another three years before then 22-year-old Lyle and his 19-year-old brother, Erik, would publicly confess to their killing. Their trial, which dominated Court TV for months, resulted in a double hung jury. During the drive along Mulholland, Lyle casually mentioned that "we dumped two shotguns and a pistol down the side there recently." As his friend squirmed in his seat, Lyle explained that his parents' deaths might have been a Mafia hit and that he and Erik had bought two shotguns to protect themselves. But realizing they were the primary suspects, the brothers decided it might look suspicious and dumped the guns in the heavily wooded area. Of course, there had been no Mafia hit and Lyle was engaging in some odd revisionist history. What had really happened was this: The brothers had tossed a pair of freshly fired shotguns down a steep canyon the night they killed their parents. Lyle anxiously returned a few days later hoping to retrieve the weapons, but scavengers had apparently already found them.

The Great Escape

Lyle and Erik had chosen a secret spot for a rendezvous. The special place was in Greece, high on a cliff over-looking the Aegean Sea. Lyle told several close friends that they would be able to contact him there if he ever disappeared.

Three months after the Menendez brothers' arrest, sheriff's deputies discovered that some links on the two-foot chain Lyle wore to and from court had been partially cut. A strip search turned up nothing, but a search of their cells was more productive. Deputy Robert Birkett reported that he found "an escape contingency plan with information on countries that had extradition plans."

As if the brothers needed more trouble, Lyle actually titled one document "Key Questions" and wrote down such concerns as "How will they be looking for us? Can we get an appearance change? How do our girlfriends fit in?" Other papers mentioned "safe houses" and listed various entries: "three passports with different names. Need finances. Need silencer. Extradition."

As it turned out, the plot was merely a paper tiger. It was found that the brothers had no part in cutting the chains. After accusing the Menendezes of attempted escape, the sheriff's department recanted. The escape plans were never mentioned during the trial.

The Abuse Excuse is Born

In early summer 1990, a few months after Lyle and Erik were arrested, Leslie Abramson, Erik's attorney, contacted Dr. William Vicary, a renowned forensic psychiatrist. Dr. Vicary has degrees from Harvard Law School and the University of Southern California Medical School. In addition to conducting psychiatric evaluations for the Los Angeles County Superior Court system, he has run a sex offender treatment program at USC.

Abramson asked Vicary to "get involved--do your thing," which meant to spend time with the Menendez brothers and form a professional opinion. He already had an opinion based on what he knew from the media. "When I started, I completely accepted the prosecution's theory of the case," he recalls. "I thought they were rich kids who were pissed off at their overbearing, oppressive parents. They killed so they could go on with their lives and have the money." But as a psychiatrist, he knew children rarely kill their parents. And when they do, they often have been victims of terrible abuse.

Vicary had a hunch that the father, Jose Menendez, was going to turn out to be a monster. But he was puzzled by the mother, Kitty. "It's rare when kids kill their mother. I couldn't believe kitty had been doing nasty, rotten things to her own children," he said. "It shows my own naivete."

A week after Abramson called, Vicary was face-to-face with Lyle and Erik. The first few minutes were awkward. "There's no point in beating around the bush," Abramson said. "We have a tough situation and Dr. Vicary is here to help us. We all know you guys did it. Isn't that right?" Everybody smiled except Vicary.

His sessions with Erik took place in a tiny interview room down the hall from Erik's nine-by-seven-foot cell. With the door of the room closed to shut out the constant din of the jail, the temperature in the room felt as if it were 100 degrees. Vicary occasionally took notes as he sat across from Erik, who was chained to a chair.

During the sessions, Erik described Jose as a "mental manipulator." Kitty "loved us but hated us." She yelled to her sons that she wished "they'd never been born." Jose repeatedly told the brothers what he could've done "if I had your start." They "grew to hate him." At one point, Jose told Lyle and Erik he had "disinherited and disowned them."

Vicary believes both brothers were emotionally immature, many years behind their peers. "Erik was probably a person about 8 to 12--somewhere in that range. Lyle was a little more advanced, but from an emotional point of view, he was probably in the 12 to 14 age range. Both of them were very immature from a psychological perspective. Both knew how to conduct themselves in a superficial way to avoid sticking out from other people."

Late one night in his cell, Erik was startled by someone speaking to him. It was his father's voice. It sounded "like a stone, like the devil" and he told Vicary he would "do anything not to hear it again." Sometimes the voice would whisper to him in a dream. But on other occasions it would scream, "You're stupid!" "You're not worthy of being a Menendez!" or "It's your fault!" just as his father had in real life.

When it came to patients hearing voices, Vicary found this persuasive. "Real patients tell you it's like someone is in the room standing next to them talking," says Vicary. "The people who make it up talk about voices inside their heads." To Erik, it sounded as if his father were right next to him, an actual presence in his cell.

Erik frequently became emotional, shaking and crying during their meetings. Vicary was surprised during their eleventh session when Erik said being in jail was "relaxing, like a vacation." There was one other thing he was relieved about: "Now we don't have to succeed," he said about his and Lyle's lives.

A frustrated Abramson sometimes became agitated with Vicary on the phone. "What's happening? Why can't you get more?" she demanded. "We need the answers." The mystery began to unravel during Erik and Vicary's 26th meeting. Erik spoke about his cousin Andy Cano, his best friend from the ages of ten to 14. According to Erik, Andy "knew about the problems with my father." In recent weeks, Erik constantly woke up crying in his cell after dreaming about his parents. "M, I hate you," Erik had said, according to Vicary's notes. "Found out one week prior to killings M knew F molested Erik."

After that, the details poured out of Erik. "F not having sex with M. . . . Age five to six F massaged sore muscles from sports. . . eventually told me to turn over . . . massaged sore muscles from sports . . . eventually told me to turn over . . . massaged my penis told me it was a tension release . . . oral sex since seven or eight . . . asked me to give him massage and oral sex . . . sodomy at age 11 . . . I cried out, but no one was home . . . I was torn apart inside."

"It was difficult," Erik tearfully related to Vicary. "My father told me over and over he'd beat me to death if I told anyone. I was afraid he'd hurt me, kill me or not love me."

Erik had been afraid to say no. Lyle was furious when Erik revealed his molestation to Lyle a few days before the killings. "That's it," proclaimed lyle. Erik said his brother insisted on confronting their father. Jose warned Lyle not to challenge his authority. "I had no pity for my mother when I found out she knew what my father was doing to me," Erik told Vicary. "I was ashamed of it all my life."

The D.A.'s Shrinking Shrinks

Why didn't prosecutors put their own psychological experts on the stand to counter the defense? "I'm not going to answer that," lead prosecutor Pamela Bozanich said at a press conference following the mistrial. The decision not to rebut the molestation claims was clearly a tactical error.

Unknown to the public, prosecutors had two doctors in the courtroom listening to every word of Lyle's and Erik's testimony. Dr. Saul Faerstein is a forensic psychiatrist who teaches at (continued on page 74)Menendez(continued from page 60) USC and frequently provides expert testimony throughout the country. Joining Dr. Faerstein was Dr. Spencer Eth, an expert in child psychology. "They're very thorough, very conscientious and very confident," says one associate.

Vicary spoke with Faerstein after the trial and says both doctors had doubts after they heard the testimony: "It doesn't mean they agreed with everything about the molestation evidence, but they weren't willing to try to knock it down. They really couldn't be of any help. That's why they weren't called."

Faerstein has a different recollection of their conversation: "I never told Vicary I bought even a minuscule amount of the molestation evidence. I don't buy it. Categorically, I don't believe the story at all. The whole thing was fabricated." He says Vicary is "speculating" about his and Dr. Eth's positions.

Vicary contends neither doctor was looking forward to confronting him. "We all know one another well," he says. "They know I don't make things up." Vicary believes the prospect of weathering cross-examination by Abramson may have also been a factor. "They had no interest in doing that. If it had been a different case with less able attorneys and less publicity they might have been willing to come in and do a little nibbling around the edges. In these big cases, you better be ready."

Faerstein says he wasn't afraid of Abramson or Jill Lansing, Lyle's lead attorney. He frequently testifies and is a veteran of tough cross-examinations. But the Menendez prosecution team didn't follow through on a pretrial request to have their own experts examine the brothers. "I will not testify about someone's mental state at the time of the crime if I have not examined them, because there are ethical concerns," says Faerstein.

"If they were molested, it doesn't excuse what was done nor provide a mental impairment sufficient to lower the level of criminal responsibility even to second-degree murder unless the jury just feels sorry for them and says we won't convict anyone of first-degree murder if they have been abused or molested."

The Trial Within A Trial

The star psychological witness of the first Menendez trial will have a greatly diminished role the next time around. Jerome Oziel, the therapist Erik confessed to five months before the brothers were arrested, may not testify.

Oziel's appearance resulted in a six-day cross-examination that exposed every detail of the stormy relationship with his former mistress, Judalon Smyth. After her romance with the psychologist soured, Smyth went to the police in March 1990 and said that she had overheard the brothers confess to Oziel. Lyle and Erik were arrested days later.

In a lawsuit she filed against Oziel, Smyth claimed she was his patient and accused him of beating, drugging, kidnapping and raping her. But a countersuit filed by Oziel and his wife maintained that Smyth was a desperately disturbed woman who came into their lives and held them hostage in their home with a series of threats that included suicide, murder and exposure of confidential information about the Menendez case. Smyth reportedly received a settlement of between $400,000 and $500,000 from Oziel's malpractice insurance.

On the eve of Smyth's appearance as a defense witness to discredit Oziel, the former lovers met in a conference room at a Los Angeles law firm. The meeting was an attempt to settle a law-suit Oziel filed against Vanity Fair writer Dominick Dunne and Smyth, whom Dunne had quoted extensively (she said she'd had with Oziel "the worst sex of my life") in an October 1990 article. Oziel settled with Dunne and the magazine, but not with Smyth. As he was leaving the meeting, Smyth charges that Oziel pushed against her suggestively while whispering in her ear, "You slut. You know you still want me." Witnesses say she spun around and threw a glass of water in his face. Oziel denies making the remarks to Smyth, and his attorney, Raj Patrao, said the incident was not an assault but "an unfortunate touching of the body at a deposition." A suit stemming from the meeting, seeking unspecified damages, accuses Oziel of battery, negligence and intentionally inflicting emotional distress.

This past January, Smyth filed her third lawsuit against the therapist, alleging that Oziel's libel suit (which was dismissed in February 1994) had been filed in order to harass her. According to Smyth's new claim, Oziel's suit lacked proper legal grounds and was malicious prosecution. While Oziel continues to deny any wrongdoing, he closed his Beverly Hills therapy practice and moved back to his hometown of Seattle.

The Frankfurter Connection

A single jury will deliberate the fate of both brothers in the retrial. At Menendez I, Lyle and Erik each had their own juries because some evidence applied to only one brother. Shuttling the parallel panels in and out of the tiny courtroom became a logistical nightmare that won't be repeated.

Even though jurors are instructed not to consider potential penalties, the men on Erik's panel worried about setting a precedent. Anything less than a first-degree murder conviction, they argued, would lead to the widespread use of the "abuse excuse" defense. One hour into the deliberations, all six women on Erik's jury voted for man-slaughter. The six men voted for the murder charge.

Even though jury deliberations are supposed to be secret, Erik heard within 48 hours that his jury was split evenly along gender lines. Some jurors had shared the information with the owner of a hot dog cart outside the court-house. The hot dog vendor told some-body else. Within a few hours it was the worst kept secret in Van Nuys.

Juror vs. Juror

In early 1994 jurors sympathetic to the defense stayed in touch. Several struck up friendships with the brothers through jail visits and phone calls and one even played chess with Lyle over the phone.

As lawyers began picking the jury for O.J. Simpson's trial, there was renewed interest from talk show producers in jurors who had served on high-profile cases. Two Menendez veterans were already regulars on the talk circuit, with appearances on Donahue, Oprah and Prime Time Live. Jude Nelson was an outspoken advocate for a first-degree murder conviction. The unemployed, ponytailed 53-year-old Army veteran with three children told a fellow juror he'd once been a "psychic to the stars." Judy Zamos, a 55-year-old nurse and teacher married to an attorney, was one of the jurors who believed the brothers. Although she was an alternate juror, other jurors had angrily vented their frustrations during deliberations by telling her what was happening behind closed doors. Nelson and Zamos traded insults while appearing on The Maury Povich Show in late August 1994. In the opening minutes of the program, Nelson accused Zamos of trying to get him kicked off (continued on page 76)Menendez(continued from page 74) the jury so she could replace him. "I feel that she has absolutely no credibility," he blustered. "If Judy is normal, I wouldn't want to be normal for anything."

Zamos explained that she had resigned as an alternate juror after becoming troubled when she heard "some of the things that were happening in the jury room."

Nelson said he had learned from one of the attorneys connected to the case that Zamos was dismissed from the trial for misconduct. Zamos was outraged. The discussion deteriorated into a shouting match as the pair argued about Nelson's contact with the media. (During deliberations, Nelson had bragged to other jurors that he had talked to "his friend" Ron Reagan that morning. "Is he a friend of yours?" asked one. "Yeah," he reportedly replied. "I don't have much use for his father, but he's a good guy." Nelson announced to others seated at a cafeteria table that Reagan was shooting "an MTV segment on the trial." Several were uncomfortable because jurors were forbidden to talk with the media. Zamos reported Nelson's remarks to the judge, who took no action after questioning Nelson.)

After Zamos accused Nelson of hiring an agent to seek out TV appearances (he denied it), there were more fireworks. As petty insults flew across the studio, the audience roared with laughter.

"Hey, folks--any of you who want to be on a long trial, you think twice," declared Zamos. "These are people you wouldn't talk to in your entire life if you had a choice."

"If they would allow me, I would pull the gas chamber pellets on Lyle," declared Nelson a few minutes later. "I can't believe that we have jurisprudence such that--"

At that point Zamos interrupted: "Oh God--he's learned a three-syllable word. I can't believe this. Do you believe how ignorant he is? Would you want your life to be in this man's hands?"

"Ignorant?" he replied. "Oh, come on, give me a break, lady!"

"Oh, I need to give you a break."

Instead, Zamos sued Nelson. In the suit filed by her attorney husband, Zamos declared she was slandered by Nelson's comment that she'd been "dismissed for misconduct." In fact, she asserted, she was excused not for wrongdoing but "as a result of her request based on personal and philosophical concerns." A week later, Nelson's attorney, Phillip Rose, wrote to Zamos' husband Jerry: "Mr. Nelson is a man of limited assets and financial means and can ill-afford to bear the legal costs of defending this lawsuit. Unfortunately, Mr. Nelson is not married to an attorney, a distinct and unfair advantage that your client has over my client."

Ten days after that, Nelson filed a countersuit accusing Zamos of slander for calling him "ignorant" and accusing him of "making a career out of doing talk shows."

In the ensuing months, the court file grew into two thick volumes. At a hearing in February, the judge presiding over the case said both sides "deserved what they got for appearing on talk shows."

A Star is Born

Of course, the Los Angeles County District Attorney's office didn't like the outcome of the first Menendez trial. But the weeks that followed the trial weren't much more pleasant. Abramson was everywhere. Marie Claire magazine declared her one of America's foremost "ball-busters." The New York Times called her the "queen of miracles." Barbara Walters named her one of the ten most fascinating people of 1994. Over and over again, she kicked sand in District Attorney Gil Garcetti's face. And she enjoyed it.

By the time of the first hearing a month after the mistrial, Abramson had assumed a new stature. TV crews followed her into the courthouse, barely keeping pace with the autograph hounds. Several former jurors also lined the hallway. As Abramson approached the courtroom door, she saw Nelson--atypically wearing a suit and tie--offering to shake hands. Pausing, she recognized him before withdrawing her hand and walking by. "She evidently doesn't like my point of view," he said to no one in particular. "That's fine with me. I don't like hers, either." A few weeks later, Nelson was back, patiently waiting again at the courtroom door. "Good morning, Miss Abramson," he said cheerfully. "Good morning, Mr. Nelson. I see you still haven't gotten a life yet."

If at first you Don't Succeed

For the retrial Garcetti replaced the original prosecution team. David Conn, the 44-year-old acting head of the D.A.'s special trials unit, was named the new lead prosecutor. The New York native joined the district attorney's office in 1978 after graduating from Columbia University Law School. Conn previously served in the sex crimes, special investigation and organized crime divisions.

Joining Conn is 36-year-old Carol Najera, a ten-year-veteran deputy district attorney. Both Conn and Najera have prosecuted death-penalty cases, but Najera's appointment was not popular within the D.A.'s office. Garcetti urged his staff to "get behind" the new team, but moments later seemed to undercut Najera: "David Conn is the person assigned to the case. He will be handling 95 percent of it. He asked that Carol be assigned to the case. I said, 'Yes, she will be a fine assistant for Dave.' "

Within weeks, there was already significant animosity between Abramson and the new prosecution team. At one hearing, Conn accused Abramson of wanting to delay the start of the trial because of her "financial arrangement" to provide commentary on the O.J. Simpson case for ABC News. When a police witness asked to have a picture taken with Abramson, Najera said, "That's disgusting--this hero worship of you." Abramson replied, "As much as you hate me now, you'll be apoplectic at the end of trial." The witness' mother turned to Najera and told her, "You're the rudest person I've ever met." A delighted Abramson maintains that Najera is "the greatest asset of the defense case."

Lyle Makes a Friend

The ability of the Menendez case to attract controversial characters continued with the emergence of Martha Jane Shelton, a Falls Church, Virginia woman who became hooked on Court TV's coverage of the trial. Shelton wrote to Lyle after watching him testify. She too was an abuse victim. When Lyle phoned her, she told him details of her life she'd never revealed before. The 30-year-old single mother was so dedicated, she even began raising money for the defense fund at a Falls Church bar in addition to urging friends to pray for the brothers.

But the night of the mistrial declaration, Shelton says she heard a different side of Lyle during a phone call from jail. He was arrogant, cocky. At one point, Shelton claims, Lyle laughed and said, "We've snowed half the country. Now we have to snow the other half." She was shocked.

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A few days later she phoned A Current Affair. She told them about Lyle's comment and offered to tape some of her phone conversations with him for the show. Then Shelton called Court TV reporter Terry Moran, who had covered the trial, and said she was sympathetic to Lyle but felt she should do something. She confessed one other thing to Moran: She had served time for check fraud.

"You have a record and now you're clean," Moran told her. "My advice would be to stay out of this." Shelton didn't take that advice. The next day she phoned Vanity Fair's Dominick Dunne. Dunne was more than happy to feature Shelton's account of Lyle's "snowed half the country" remark in his next Menendez article. However, he made no mention of her criminal past. Shelton was described as "a working single mother, with a two-year-old son, who had been in constant telephone contact with Lyle Menendez throughout the trial." Lyle told his attorneys he had only two conversations with Shelton and insisted he never uttered the "snowed" line.

Meanwhile, A Current Affair reportedly provided Shelton with recording equipment and paid her $1000 for taping her conversations with Lyle. Shelton denies she received money from the show. The calls were taped, she says, because otherwise no one would believe somebody with a criminal record. On March 16, 1994 the show introduced a story about "a call that could possibly turn Lyle Menendez into a convicted murderer." In an interview with reporter John Johnston, Shelton's story changed slightly from the one she told Vanity Fair. Now, Lyle said, "We have half the jury snowed." In other revelations, Shelton claimed Lyle called Erik "a pussy who just shot up the bookcase." And there was more.

"If my phone calls from jail had been monitored, the jury never would have come back hung," she claimed Lyle told her. "If I go to prison for the rest of my life, my brother is going with me." Johnston reported that Shelton's tapes were now "at the center of the prosecution case." In a parting shot, Shelton turned to the camera and addressed her former confidant: "I hope you get what you deserve." (Because of legal concerns, the TV show didn't broadcast any of the tapes.)

But in another interview a month later, Shelton told reporter Harvey Levin the "snowed" line had been said only in jest while Lyle was "joking around" the night of the mistrial. Shelton said she "felt guilty" about taping many of her phone calls but since she had "a police record as long as a DC-9 airplane," she fretted, "who's going to believe me?" At the request of California officials, Shelton was pressured in Virginia to turn over her audiotapes to the Beverly Hills police. The tapes were never played publicly--there was nothing of importance on them.

Shelton also had recorded several calls with Abramson while trying to raise money for the defense fund. "Miss Shelton was not a developed witness," declared Abramson at a pretrial hearing. "She is reaching out for her 15 minutes of fame."

Lyle Makes Another Friend

During the pretrial hearings, the courtroom presence of Menendez family members and friends dwindled to one faithful advocate: Norma Belly Novelli. The native of England and mother of four grown children had lived in southern California for 15 years. She published Mind's Eye, a small monthly newspaper circulated in local jails and state prisons. In June 1990 Lyle wrote the newspaper to comment on an article critical of Pope John Paul II.

"From your various articles and your paper's structural tone, I believe we would get along quite well," he added in a personal postscript. Norma and Lyle became friends through a series of letters and phone calls. She cheerfully served as a telephone operator for him, setting up conference calls with his friends. In those early conversations, Lyle frequently boasted he would soon be out of jail. His plans included moving to Florida and buying a Ferrari. He asked Novelli to save all the media coverage--someday he wanted to show everything to his grandchildren. To Novelli, Lyle frequently seemed more preoccupied with his media image than with the case against him.

At one of the pretrial hearings in early 1993, Novelli displayed a valentine card with a shiny, mirror-like front she was sending her favorite prisoner. "It's good for shaving," she said. "They aren't allowed to have mirrors in jail." When a friend noticed that Lyle appeared to be developing dark circles around his eyes, Lyle asked Novelli to bring him makeup. She advised him that it wasn't such a good idea. Lyle also complained about the preppie way the defense team made him dress. It just wasn't him. His prejail clothes--including the expensive Italian loafers his attorneys didn't want him wearing in the courtroom--were in storage. Novelli says that he requested a copy of GQ so he could offer his attorneys a fashion lesson.

One day, less than a month before jury selection, Novelli was seething with anger outside the courthouse. One of the defense attorneys had asked her to stop attending pretrial hearings. "People will think you have something to do with Lyle," was the explanation. "I have something to do with Lyle. I'm not going to disappear!" she exclaimed. "I want it to look like they have some supporters. I'm in control of my tongue."

Novelli frequently wore short skirts and white go-go boots to court. Sometimes, she dressed in provocative outfits while visiting Lyle in jail. Menendez family members believe Novelli developed a "romantic fixation" for Lyle. "It's disgusting," said one family member during the trial. "What is this 54-year-old woman doing chasing after a 25-year-old man?"

"I have two things in life: publishing Mind's Eye and taking care of Lyle," Novelli said just before the trial. "He calls me several times a day and I visit him in jail three times a week. I'm the only person who visits him. When you're in jail, you find out who your friends are."

Lyle recently discovered the true meaning of Norma Novelli's friendship. She has written a book based on transcripts from the four years she surreptitiously recorded his three-way phone calls. The publisher, Dove Books, is the same company that released Faye Resnick's tabloid tell-all about Nicole Simpson. Dove co-founder Michael Viner told Newsweek that Novelli's tapes "will put Lyle away for good." And this past February, Novelli voluntarily turned over to the Los Angeles County district attorney 15 hours of taped phone calls that Lyle had made.

Defense attorneys say the tapes contain no "smoking guns" nor anything about fabricating a defense. "People will be disappointed," Novelli told one member of the defense team. She also said she was annoyed with Dove for embellishing the significance of her recordings. Novelli has been listed as a prosecution witness, but it's unlikely that the illegally recorded tapes will be admitted as evidence at the trial.

O.J. Pays a Visit

At 10:20 P.M. on June 17, 1994 O.J. Simpson arrived at the Los Angeles County Men's Central Jail. He was taken to a small, isolated pod of seven cells. Instead of a 5700-square-foot mansion in Brentwood, his new home was a 63-square-foot cell, painted institutional green, with a metal toilet, sink and bed with a thin mattress and no pillow. The metal door has a square window and a small flap, about eight inches high, through which food trays can be passed.

The 7000 High Power Unit, on the jail's second floor, is sometimes called "celebrity row" because prominent prisoners such as Christian Brando, Sean Penn and Charles Keating have been housed there. It is separated from the general jail population for safety reasons. Within a few hours after being incarcerated, O.J. Simpson, prisoner #4013970, met his new neighbor, prisoner #1878449, a.k.a. Erik Menendez.

Erik knew something was up earlier that day. On Friday afternoon, sheriff's deputies ordered him (along with two other inmates on the hallway) to scrub the floors and walls of the entire seven-cell pod. Erik had been preoccupied for weeks writing a science fiction novel, and he didn't like the interruption.

As he scoured the floor, Erik watched TV coverage of the Simpson saga, including the dramatic reading of O.J.'s goodbye letter and the slow-speed chase. "I almost cried when his suicide letter was read on TV," said Erik. "It was very sad--tears came to my eyes. It reminded me of Lyle and me." Just before 10:30 P.M., the entire jail was locked down. A group of deputies led by two sergeants escorted the former football hero to the cell next to Erik's.

The first night was rough. "I didn't see O.J. crying, but I believe he was," Erik told me from jail a few days later. "I could hear him moaning. I felt very bad for him." A few hours after Simpson's arrival, Erik overheard him talking about his case with one of the deputies. A deputy and a sergeant were stationed on "suicide watch," sitting on chairs directly outside his cell. A few minutes later, Simpson called out to his neighbor.

"Hey, Erik, it's O.J.!"

"OK, O.J., let me explain a few things about jail to you," Erik replied.

"I told him not to talk to the deputies or inmates about the case. I told him not to worry, that everything would be all right. 'Just relax. Nothing drastic is going to happen to you any time soon.' After that long chase, you can imagine what shape he was in."

By Saturday morning, the impact of the week's events were consuming the despondent Simpson. "He wasn't happy to be in jail," said Erik. "He wasn't any worse than I was or Lyle was. He was delusional, thinking that he was going to get out in three weeks or three months." Erik still occasionally heard moaning from the adjacent cell. Between visits from attorney Robert Shapiro and psychiatrist Saul Faerstein, Simpson spent hours making calls on a portable phone.

Erik told O.J. that he and Lyle had met the football star when their father was an executive at Hertz in the late Seventies, but O.J. didn't remember the encounter with the young boys.

Later that day the two neighbors spoke again. Simpson told Erik he was worried about the loss of his prestige. "I guess I won't be working for NBC anymore," he said. "He was worried about his reputation and that he was being slandered," said Erik. "I just told him that he was going to have to deal with the media." Throughout the day, Simpson and Menendez peered through the open door flaps, watching the news coverage on a TV set across the hall from their cells.

By Sunday morning, the two men saw their cases linked together by the man prosecuting them. District Attorney Gil Garcetti was appearing on This Week With David Brinkley to offer his opinion about the Simpson defense strategy.

"Well, it's not going to shock me if we see an O.J. Simpson sometime down the road say, 'OK, I did it, but I'm not responsible.' We've seen it in Menendez. It's going to be a likely defense here, I believe, once the evidence is reviewed by the lawyers."

Erik was indignant that Garcetti compared the two cases. "He kept bringing it up, as if my name is synonymous with some sort of thinking--here's another 'I did it but don't blame me kind of thing.' It was really aggravating."

A few days later Erik and O.J. had a conversation about legal representation. Erik was unhappy about his own surrender, which Shapiro had arranged in March 1990. Erik was playing tournament tennis in Israel when he received the news of Lyle's arrest. He immediately flew to London, where he debated his next move with relatives and legal advisors back in the U.S. It was decided that Erik would voluntarily surrender in Los Angeles. He later discovered that had he surrendered in London, where there is no capital punishment, the death penalty would have been ruled out as a condition of his extradition. He blamed Shapiro for making the wrong call.

"Don't ever believe Bob Shapiro is going to get you a deal, because he isn't," Erik said he told O.J. "Nobody knows who's the best lawyer. Everyone can talk a good line." Erik felt he'd been fortunate to replace Shapiro with Abramson. What Erik had no way of knowing was that Abramson was at that moment jockeying--along with many other prominent criminal attorneys--to be named to the Simpson defense team.

A handful of people are connected to both murder cases. Faerstein was with O.J. the day he fled from Robert Kardashian's house. Mark Slotkin, an antique dealer and contractor and friend of O.J.'s who has appeared on numerous TV shows insisting on Simpson's innocence, was a Menendez defense witness in the first trial. Slotkin had sold Jose Menendez his Beverly Hills mansion, and both brothers approached him for business advice after killing their parents. Kato Kaelin's attorney, William Genego, also testified as an expert witness on an obscure legal point. Retired porno star Jennifer Peace appeared in front of a grand jury after claiming her former boyfriend. A.C. Cowlings, told her about O.J. Simpson's involvement in his wife's murder. Peace camped out overnight with Screw publisher Al Goldstein (who once dated Judalon Smyth) to get a seat for Erik Menendez' dramatic testimony. In the ultimate intersection of the stories, Erik and Lyle's grandmother, Maria Menendez, had a brief meeting with O.J.'s mother, Eunice, in the waiting room at the county jail. The women hugged as they wished each other well.

The Gay Question

Prosecutors tried to turn Erik's sexual identity into one of the lingering mysteries of Menendez I. In a closed hearing the last week of the trial, deputy D.A. Lester Kuriyama hoped to prove Erik was gay. He asked permission to bring in a county jail inmate who would testify that he'd performed oral sex on Erik in the jail's shower room.

Kuriyama also sought testimony from a photographer who'd shot a modeling portfolio of what prosecutors considered to be suggestive pictures. Although the photo contact sheet contains mostly head shots, there are also pictures of a shirtless Erik in an open jean jacket and another of him wearing only white cotton briefs--a takeoff of the Calvin Klein ad. "It offends me that a molested child is being blamed this way for the perversion of his molester," said Abramson. After an angry debate, Judge Stanley Weisberg denied Kuriyama's requests.

Dominick Dunne interviewed the photographer, Philip Kearney, looking for evidence of what he called Erik's "possible homosexuality." Kearney said he'd shot the portfolio in 1988 when Erik was considering becoming a model or actor. "Did you have an affair with Erik?" Dunne asked Kearney. "Spiritually, yes. Physically, almost," he replied. Vanity Fair reportedly paid $10,000 to run the underwear picture.

Although the controversial evidence wasn't allowed in court, Kuriyama suggested in closing statements that Erik's homosexuality was the real Menendez family secret. "Homosexuality is a personal choice," he said. Over defense objections, Kuriyama then hinted that Erik was gay. "If Erik indeed engaged in consensual homosexual activities, that would account for his ability to describe the sexual encounters with his father," Kuriyama said.

Lyle reportedly told a friend that he worried that Erik was bisexual. Erik insists he's not gay.

Clash of the Titans

The caustic feud between Vanity Fair's Dominick Dunne and Leslie Abramson began early in the trial. The day after opening statements, Dunne appeared on Good Morning America. Shortly before the morning session began, the diminutive writer approached the equally diminutive Abramson and asked, "Did you see the plug I gave you this morning on TV?" "Nicky, I don't need any plugs," Abramson replied coolly.

The day after the mistrial, Abramson described him as "the little puke, the little closet queen" in a posttrial interview she set up with jurors sympathetic to the defense. Dunne had become a cheer-leader for the prosecution, keeping the anti-Menendez media juggernaut going strong for months following the mistrial.

No one could accuse Dunne of being an uninvolved reporter when he wrote: "If Jose did stick needles and tacks into his son's thighs and buttocks, why didn't Erik bleed? I tried sticking a thumbtack into my buttocks and I bled."

Dunne feigns disdain for Abramson but loves to write about her continuing criticism of his credentials. In various Menendez articles, he quotes a speech in which "she called me a liar and said that I had made up facts," retells an insult about himself from a BBC documentary and reprints every mention she made of him during the course of the trial. He even published an excerpt from the book proposal for Abramson's forthcoming autobiography.

Dunne has also tweaked her for making a reported $4000 a day as an O.J. commentator for ABC News. Of course, Dunne may be envious. He's providing courtroom play-by-play for the less prestigious Good Morning America and the local CBS affiliate in L.A. But Dunne still has clout. He and Joe McGinnis--an author whose controversial journalism has resulted in best-sellers about Ted Kennedy and convicted murderer Jeffrey MacDonald--have been given front row seats for the Simpson trial. Local news-papers are seated several rows behind.

"Here you have southern California's three leading newspaper companies relegated to the cheap seats while the front row is reserved for Judith Krantz in pants and Ted Kennedy's unauthorized mind reader," complained Copley News reporter Paul Pringle to the Los Angeles Times. "Dunne's a professional gossip, and it seems like McGinnis ought to be able to read O.J.'s mind from anywhere in the courtroom."

"It's perfect," chortled Abramson. "Judy and Judas together in the front row. What a team."

Jailhouse Rock

As for the brothers, March 8 marked the fifth anniversary of Lyle's arrest.

While Erik has been busy writing, Lyle needs more energy around him. When possible, he spends hours on the phone chatting with relatives, supporters, girl-friends and strangers who've written him letters.

Before the trial, Lyle served as a jail trustee, delivering meals and distributing mail to fellow prisoners. He preferred it to being locked in a cell all day. At one point, Lyle Menendez became a tourist attraction, a popular diversion when visitors would tour the jail.

"They used to bring me out as a spokesperson," he says. "They would bring me around the corner and sort of parade me like the Elephant Man or something. People were shocked. I don't think they actually expected to meet me. The kids would all be excited, and I actually didn't mind it."

"They would recognize me immediately and I wouldn't be handcuffed or anything," he said. "I would just stand there with a few deputies and we would joke around. They allowed them to ask me questions and then they would say, 'What's it like? It must be a big switch for you, being in jail. How do they treat you in here?' Obviously, I couldn't say that they beat me down every day or something."

Lyle already had a taste of celebrity life before becoming a stop on the jail tour. Fellow inmates frequently asked for an autograph. Among the other renowned prisoners he has met on celebrity row are Charles Manson (brought in for a two-day hearing), Reginald Denny beating defendant Damian Williams and funk star Rick James. (Lyle claims to have co-written a few songs with James.)

"Coming to jail was the greatest thing that ever happened to me after my parents died," Erik said in a conversation from the Los Angeles County Men's Jail. "If I would not have come here, I probably would have been dead by now. I'm not quite sure I'd have committed suicide, but I don't think I would have been able to last this long. After the relationship with Oziel failed, I had no one to turn to."

Lyle has his own ideas. "Clearly, their best theory is hatred. I don't think that's going to hold up because the events surrounding August 20, 1989--within a few months before and after--don't support it," he says. "There were too many good things going on in my life for me to toss it for that reason. I'm not a guy who hated, and I'm not a guy who even expresses anger very well. I hope my own feelings--the mixed feelings about the whole thing coming out--will make a difference for the jury."

One hour into deliberations, all six women voted for manslaughter. The six men voted for murder.

Lyle laughed and said, "We've snowed half the country. Now we have to snow the other half."