corroboration.”
This was one of our biggest problems. In a sense it didn’t matter who ended up as our star witness; without corroboration our case would be lost as a matter of law. We not only had to find corroboration against
Aaron had seen Linda briefly, when she was booked into Sybil Brand. I’d never seen her. For all I knew, she was probably just as freaky as Sadie Mae Glutz.
“Now if Susan bolts back to Charlie,” I told Aaron, “and we’re left without a major witness for the trial—as well we might be—then we can talk about a deal for Linda. In fact, if that happens, Linda may be our only hope.”
When the grand jury reconvened on Monday, we moved quickly through the remaining testimony. Sergeant Michael McGann described what he had found at 10050 Cielo Drive on the morning of August 9, 1969. Sergeant Frank Escalante testified to having rolled Charles Watson’s prints on April 23, 1969, when he was arrested on a drug charge; Jerrome Boen of SID described how he lifted the latent from the front door of the Tate residence; and Harold Dolan, also of SID, testified to having compared it to the Watson exemplar, finding eighteen points of identity, eight more than LAPD requires for a positive identification. Sergeant William Lee testified regarding the pieces of gun grip and the .22 caliber bullets. Edward Lomax of Hi Standard matched the grips with his firm’s .22 caliber Longhorn revolver, and gave statistics indicating that the gun itself, because of its low production figures, was “rather unique.” Gregg Jakobson told of touting Manson to Melcher. Granado testified regarding the rope, the blood on the gun grips, and his discovery of the Buck knife.
It was for the most part highly technical testimony, and the appearance of Daniel DeCarlo provided a respite, as well as more than a little local color.
Aaron asked Danny: “Did you have any particular reason for staying at the ranch?”
A. “Lots of pretty girls up there.”
How did he get along with particular girls—for example, Katie?
A. “We talked, that is about it, but I never did nothing. You know, I never snatched her up or anything.”
Q. “And is your motorcycle club the kind that goes into a town and scares everybody?”
A. “No, that only happens in the movies.”
DeCarlo’s appearance, however, was intended for more than comic relief. He testified that Manson, Watson, and others, including himself, target-practiced with a .22 caliber Buntline revolver at Spahn. He said that he had last seen the gun “maybe a week, week and a half” before the sixteenth of August, and never after that. The drawing of the revolver which he had made for LAPD before he knew it was the Tate murder weapon was introduced into evidence. DeCarlo also recalled how he and Charlie had bought the three-strand nylon rope (which, being an ex– Coast Guardsman, he called “line”) at the Jack Frost store in Santa Monica in June 1969, and, shown the rope found at Cielo, said it was “identical.”
After Susan Atkins, the outlaw motorcyclist looked almost like a model citizen.
Deputy Medical Examiner David Katsuyama followed DeCarlo. Katsuyama had conducted the LaBianca autopsies. I’d have many, many problems with this witness. The grand jury provided only a sample. Aaron was to show Katsuyama a photo of Leno LaBianca’s hands, which were bound with a leather thong. DeCarlo was then to retake the stand and describe how Charlie always wore leather thongs around his neck. Sergeant Patchett was to follow and introduce the thongs he had found in Independence among Manson’s personal effects. He was also prepared to testify that they were “similar.”
Aaron showed Katsuyama the photo, asking what material had been used to tie Leno LaBianca’s hands. “Electrical cord,” he replied. I managed to suppress a groan: the electrical cord had been around the necks of the LaBianca victims. Would he look at the photo a little more closely? It still looked like electrical cord to him. I finally had to show Katsuyama his own autopsy notes, where he’d written: “The hands are tied together with a rather thin leather thong.”
Roxie Lucarelli, an officer with LAPD and a lifelong friend of Leno’s, identified photos of the LaBiancas, both Suzanne and Frank Struthers being still too shaken by the deaths to testify. Sergeant Danny Galindo told what he had found at 3301 Waverly Drive the night of August 10–11, 1969, and stated that a search of the residence revealed no trace of Rosemary LaBianca’s wallet.
Of the five girls brought down from Independence, Catherine Share, aka Gypsy, refused to testify, and we had not called Leslie Van Houten, since we were now aware that she was one of the LaBianca killers. The three remaining—Dianne Lake, aka Snake; Nancy Pitman, aka Brenda; and Ruth Ann Moorehouse, aka Ouisch—all denied any knowledge of the murders.
I’d anticipated this. However, I had another reason for calling them. If they appeared as defense witnesses when we went to trial, any discrepancy between what they told the grand jury and the trial jury would give me a prior inconsistent statement with which to impeach their testimony.
At 4:17 P.M. the Los Angeles County grand jury began their deliberations. Exactly twenty minutes later they returned the following indictments: Leslie Van Houten, two counts of murder and one count of conspiracy to commit murder; Charles Manson, Charles Watson, Patricia Krenwinkel, Susan Atkins, and Linda Kasabian, seven counts of murder and one count of conspiracy to commit murder.
We’d got the indictments. And that was about all we had.
DECEMBER 9–12, 1969
Neither Aaron nor I logged the calls we received, but it would be a safe guess that we were getting upward of a hundred a day, to most of which our only response was “no comment.” The press was frantic. Although the indictments had been made public, the grand jury transcript itself had been “sealed”; it would remain secret until a week to ten days after the last defendant was arraigned. It was rumored that one magazine offered $10,000 just to look at a copy.
An officer Thomas Drynan called from Oregon. He had arrested Susan Atkins in 1966, as part of a holdup gang. At the time she had been carrying a .25 caliber pistol and had told Drynan that if he hadn’t drawn first she would have shot and killed him. At this stage of the investigation such information had no relevance. There was always a chance, however, that it might be useful later, and I made a note of his name and telephone number.
My cubicle in the Hall of Justice measured 20 feet by 10 feet, the furnishings consisting of a battered desk, a rickety cot brought in for cat naps at lunch hour, a filing cabinet, a couple of chairs, and a large table, usually piled high with transcripts and exhibits. A reporter once described the decor as 1930 Chicago. At that I was lucky, since the other deputy DAs had to share their offices. When I had a witness to interview, I’d have to drive everyone else out—not always diplomatically. That left the phone, which, since none of us had secretaries, we had to answer ourselves.
Each day brought new developments. Thus far, although sheriff’s deputies had dug up a sizable portion of Spahn Ranch, no trace of the remains of Donald “Shorty” Shea had been found. However, acting on the information supplied by Mary Brunner, LASO searched the neighborhood adjacent to 20910 Gresham Street, Canoga Park, and found, just around the corner from the former Family residence, Shea’s 1962 Mercury. It was dirt-covered and rain- streaked, apparently having been abandoned some months before. Inside the vehicle was a footlocker containing Shea’s personal effects; dusting it, LASO found a set of palm prints, which were later matched to Family member Bruce Davis. Shea’s cowboy boots were also in the car. They were caked with dried blood.
Independence, California, 4 P.M., December 9. Charles Milles Manson, aka Jesus Christ, age thirty-five, address transient, occupation musician, was charged with the Tate-LaBianca murders. Sartuchi and Gutierrez were bringing him to Los Angeles.
We scheduled Manson’s arraignment on a different date than that of the other defendants, fearing that if
