Fatal Vision

by Joe McGinniss

  "Well, if you had the rubber gloves on while you were doing the dishes, how come some fingerprints were found on the dishes."

  "I have no idea."

  "Your fingerprints."

  "I didn't say I had them on. You keep asking me if I had them on. I said I don't know. But it's logical I may have put them on."

  "Wouldn't it surprise you if by—"

  "Nothing would surprise me, Mr. Woerheide."

  "Would it surprise you if I told you that by chemical process your print could be found on those rubber glove fragments?" (In this instance, Woerheide apparently was attempting to goad MacDonald into an intemperate reply—no such chemical process had been performed, nor, indeed, did such a process even exist.)

  "Nothing would surprise me," MacDonald said. "I'm sure, at this date, you can do anything you want. That is why the whole thing is ridiculous."

  Victor Woerheide removed from an envelope a photograph of Jeffrey MacDonald's blue pajama top. "Here are a number of icepick holes," he said. "One, two, three, four, five—it goes right up to seventeen in the back. You weren't stabbed in. the back. You weren't injured in the back. Can you tell me how those icepick holes got there?"

  "I presume it was around my arms."

  "I see. While it was around your arms, they were stabbing at your arms? Is that it? They got in there then?"

  "Yeah. We've talked about it at length, Mr. Woerheide."

  Victor Woerheide removed the Hilton bathmat from a plastic bag. "Doctor MacDonald," he said, "this is a bathmat. I want to show you, when you take the Old Hickory knife and lay it down here it is a perfect match with the outline of this bloodstain. And this stain here is a perfect match for the icepick. Now, you said this bathmat may be one of the things you put over Colette's body. Is it possible that when you were handling this you also had a knife and an icepick in your hands?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "Well, where was it you found this bathmat?"

  "I never said I found it, Mr. Woerheide. You made me reconstruct a story in which I may have pulled this from the green chair in the bedroom and put it over her. Why don't you stick to the facts for a change, Mr. Woerheide?"

  Victor Worheide held up a photograph of the blue sheet that had been found rumpled on the floor of the master bedroom. "This," he said, "shows the pattern of the blood on the sheet. There is a small amount of Kris's blood in one area and the rest of the sheet basically was soaked with Colette's blood. They didn't find any of your blood on the sheet." Woerheide's deep voice began to rise, like a strong wind preceding a storm.

  "Now I am going to ask you again: did you handle that sheet that night? Did you touch it? Did you have anything to do with it?"

  "Not that I remember."

  Woerheide removed more photographs from an envelope. "Doctor MacDonald," he said more quietly, "I want to show you a few pictures. On the bottom here is a picture of the sheet and above it is a picture of a part of Colette's pajama top.

  "An expert in making examinations of this type has testified before this grand jury that the pattern of Colette's pajama top and the bloodstains from Colette's pajama top were transferred from Colette's body to the sheet, and he was able to tell how this sheet was laid over Colette—the position she was in when the blood was transferred from her pajama top to the sheet.

  "The same man has testified that your pajama top had blood on it; that it was blood of Colette's type, and that the pajama top was torn, and that the design of your pajama top, the textile design, the creases, the beading, and the design of the bloodstain on your pajama top were transferred to the same sheet.

  "He's also testified it was your pajama top that was torn on the left side, leaving your left shoulder bare. And that there were marks indicating where your left shoulder transferred blood to the sheet. And this was Colette's blood."

  Woerheide's voice had again been steadily rising, filling the grand jury room. Now, he was approaching a crescendo.

  "Tell us!" he demanded, his face a deep crimson, his scowl severe, his words spaced evenly, like fence posts enclosing the territory that Jeffrey MacDonald had been occupying for five years: "Tell us—how—that—blood—from—your—body—and— from—Colette's—body—got—on—that—sheet!''

  "I have no idea! I have no idea!" MacDonald shouted in response. "I don't even know what crap you're trying to feed me!"

  "Doctor MacDonald: did you take Colette off the bed in Kris's room, lay her on top of the bedspread on the floor in Kris's room, cover, her with this sheet, then pick her up and carry her out of the room?"

  "No, I did not do that," MacDonald spat back.

  "And lay her on the floor of the master bedroom?"

  "No, I did not do that!"

  "Your pajama top, Doctor MacDonald, transferred blood to that sheet at the same time that Colette's pajamas and Colette's body transferred blood to that sheet. And your footprint indicates that you were carrying something out of that room. And the footprint.is in Colette's blood."

  "None of that happened, to my—Jesus. Oh, would you—the answer to the question is no."

  "All right. I have another question," Woerheide said. He held up another photograph. "This is Colette's chest. It shows a total of twenty-one icepick stabbings that penetrated deep inside of her body, went straight in."

  He held up three other pictures. "These show how Colette was covered by your pajama top when they found her. Mr. Stombaugh, of the FBI, by careful examination of these photographs was able to reconstruct the manner in which the pajama top was folded.

  "He did reconstruct it. He found there were forty-eight icepick penetration marks on your pajama top. And when the pajama top was folded the same way it was folded on top of Colette's body, these icepick holes went through your pajama top and into her body. Now—can—you—tell—us—how—that—happened?!''

  "No, because I don't believe it. It's a lot of bullshit."

  "Take a look at the picture."

  "You can do anything you want to with fifty holes in a pajama top is what I am trying to say, Mr. Woerheide. It's a bunch of crap. If this was a legitimate investigative technique, why wasn't it done four years ago?"

  "Do you have any other comment?"

  "No, except that by my being unable to explain blood spots you make me guilty of homicide of my family."

  "Well, tell me this," Woerheide said, "did you ever at any time become enraged at Colette?"

  "I can't remember being enraged, no. Angry, sure."

  "Was there anything she could have said to you at any time that might set you in a state of rage?"

  "No."

  "If she had accused you of a lack of sexual competence, would that have—" "Oh, my."

  "—would that have set you in a state of rage? Or would it have had no effect whatsoever as far as you're concerned?" "I can't imagine me being in a state of rage over that." "How about accusing you of a lack of masculinity?" "Colette? Accusing me of that?" "Yes."

  "No, I wouldn't be in a state of rage." "Now, that night there was no argument or quarrel between you and Colette?" "None whatsoever."

  "And all of this evidence that I have told you about is fabricated?"

  "I don't know what to make of it, Mr. Woerheide. It doesn't make any sense to me. I have told you what I know to the best of my ability."

  "And so far as you know, Colette was not in contact with that sheet?"

  "I don't remember seeing the sheet. I was lying against Colette."

  "Doctor MacDonald, you say you came to in the hall, you went down to the master bedroom, you took the pajama top off from around your wrists, you threw it on the floor, and then you put it on Colette's body. And obviously Colette's body was bloody. And blood could have been transferred at that time to the pajama top.

  "Now, until the time that you laid it on her body, was there any way you can explain how blood would have gotten on it?" "How blood would have gotten on it?" "Your pajama top. Her blood."

  "Not unless there was blood from the assailant
s originally." "In other words, they picked up blood from Colette and transferred it to your pajama top?" "I'm just hypothesizing."

  "Well, I want to make clear to you the information that's available to this grand jury in this matter. One item of information is that Colette's blood was on your pajama top in a certain area that became torn. And the blood was there before it was torn."

  "I have no idea what that means." "Do you have any explanation for that?" "Do I?" "Right."

  "I'm not a criminologist."

  "Now, Doctor MacDonald, you have always said that it was Kristen who was wet. Kristen, who was in the bed with Colette and wet the bed."

  "Right. It was."

  "A test of the urine spot indicates it was Kimberly's urine arid not Kristen's urine."

  "Kristy was in the bed," MacDonald said. "Jesus Christ! What do you want me to say? Kristy was in the bed. She wet the bed and I put her back in her own bed. You people are crazy! I picked up Kristy and put her back in her bed."

  "And it was not—"

  "It was not Kimberly."

  "It was not Kimberly who was in the bed?"

  "Jesus Christ!"

  "Well, do you have any reason for saying it was Kristen instead of Kimberly?''

  MacDonald did not respond, but he sighed loudly enough for the sound to be picked up by the tape recorder used by the court reporter who was transcribing the proceedings.

  "As I say," Woerheide continued, "scientific laboratory evidence indicates—"

  "Scientific bullshit!"

  "—it was Kimberly's urine—"

  "No!"

  "All right," Woerheide said. "Now the evidence indicates that Kimberly was injured in the master bedroom. That her blood is on the carpet and is in the vicinity of the door."

  "So Mr. Shaw told me."

  "Do you have any explanation for that?"

  "No, not unless the blood was tracked in by other people."

  "Well—"

  "What if the blood dripped off weapons?"

  "All right, when you first came in, Dr. MacDonald, I asked you about whether or not you had been given a polygraph in Philadelphia and you said you'd have to talk to Mr. Segal about that. So, as we break for lunch, I'm going to suggest that you do talk to Mr. Segal and then let us know what your answer is."

  "Okay. Are we going to be finished today, Mr. Woerheide?"

  "Yes."

  Jeffrey MacDonald left the room. Victor Woerheide returned to his desk and examined some papers. "I think I'm just about through with him," he told the grand jurors. "There are one or two little items that we could ask him about but I think at this juncture it's scarcely worthwhile.

  "I'll give you an example. He met a nurse, I-think it was down in Texas, and they got acquainted and he was talking about his family and told her that they did have a problem with their older child, Kimberly—she had enuresis, which is a fancy word for bed-wetting.

  "Now he comes up here and he says, no problem at all with Kimmy as far as bed-wetting. Well, we could ask him, you know—we know from the girl who gave us the statement that she does know him, she had the conversation with him, and this is what he told her.

  "But if I ask him about the conversation with the girl, I'm sure he's going to deny it. Well, this is just one of several instances. In any event, I was told by Mr. Segal when I was talking to him sometime back that Dr. MacDonald was planning to go to Europe to do some skiing in the Swiss Alps. I might ask him when he plans to leave." Woerheide paused. "And whether he plans to come back."

  The grand jurors laughed.

  "Another thing, the psychiatrist from Philadelphia, in his first report, refers to the polygraph which indicates a guilty reaction on the part of MacDonald, and he explained it away. Now, it's possible he has a copy of the polygraph report. Certainly, I think he knows the identity of the polygraph operator. I suppose we could subpoena the operator."

  Having been in session since August, however, and with their minds apparently already made up the grand jurors displayed little enthusiasm at the prospect of still more witnesses. And Victor Woerheide, having worked incessantly at the case since early June, wanted to do no more than was necessary to obtain the indictment.

  There was a delay at the start of the afternoon session. Woerheide explained that he had just had a conversation with Bernie Segal. "He came out from an inner room and he said will you give us another fifteen or twenty minutes, and I said all right.

  "So, I think they're cooking something up, and they're gonna— MacDonald's gonna read some sort of a statement to you."

  "We already figured that," one of the grand jurors said, to general laughter.

  When Jeffrey MacDonald returned to the witness stand, he brought with him two prepared statements. In the first, Bernie Segal argued that Woerheide had violated attorney-client privilege by asking MacDonald if he had undergone a polygraph examination while in Philadelphia during the spring of 1970.

  After MacDonald had finished reading it, Woerheide asked him if he had any further statement to make.

  "You mean before we close?"

  "Yes."

  "Yeah, I have a few things," MacDonald said. "I think the grand jury ought to know how this case has been investigated. Since you like newspapers, Mr. Woerheide, I have here a clipping from December 1974 from Newsday about the graves of my wife and children. I'd like to let the grand jury take a look at it. It's indicative of how the case has been investigated from beginning to end, Mr. Woerheide.

  "No one asked the husband or the father if these graves should be opened, or could they be opened. What you did was you son-of-a-bitches paid off six gravediggers fifty dollars apiece not to say anything.

  "And I'd just like to put that in evidence because that's exactly how the whole goddamned case has been handled."

  "Well," said Woerheide, taking the clipping, "we'll mark this as MacDonald Exhibit 31."

  "I'd also like to say for the record that I don't appreciate you lying to and badgering my relatives in order to get some testimony from them. Specifically, I'd like to say that my sister was told that the only time Dr. MacDonald broke down and cried in August was discussing the sodium amytal interview.''

  "Who allegedly made this statement to her?" Worheide asked.

  "That creep that works for you," MacDonald said, referring to Brian Murtagh. "That little viper. The little guy who doesn't have enough politeness to introduce himself. Or doesn't know any of the social amenities." (In August, at their first meeting, Murtagh had, in MacDonald's opinion, failed to identify himself adequately.)

  MacDonald paused briefly.

  "There's a lot I'd like to say. But what I'm going to do, if it's okay with you, so I'll make some sense instead of yelling and screaming like I did last time, I'd just like to sort of make my statement which I wrote on the plane.

  "This, of course, was with the help of my attorneys. This is me, but they edited it and said you shouldn't say that and do say this—what they always waste lunch hours doing."

  Jeffrey MacDonald began to read. "It's been five long years since my life collapsed when my family was murdered. I tried to start over—I'm reading this, this is obvious. I'm not going to speak off the cuff because I wanted to say too much."

  He resumed his reading. "I tried to start over again in California. Some people—Mr. Woerheide, Colonel Pruett, my father-in-law— they don't seem to understand how hard it's been for me. They seem to feel that because I moved away from New York, away from the graves, somehow I don't love my family, and I don't miss them, and I faked everything about the murders.

  "This means, of course, that I never cared for my family at all. And, of course, that leads to that I must have killed them.

  "The last time I was here, in August, and this time, I tried to answer your questions. I have told you as much as I know except in regards to attorney work products that Mr. Segal says I shouldn't talk about.

  "I wish I knew more of your questions, especially today. I wish I knew why it happened. And I w
ish I knew who killed Colette, Kristy, and Kimmy.

  "I wish I could tell the grand jury the answers to all the questions Mr. Woerheide has been raising for five or six months. These are questions that I have had to live with for five years.

  "I have had to accept that I may never know what happened. It is not easy to live with that, but it's really all I can do.

  "What I wanted to tell you about is what my life has been like since the 17th of February. That seems to bother Mr. Kassab and Mr. Worheide and everyone else. They all seem to think that I just walked away from Colette and Kimmy and Kristy. And that shows I couldn't have cared for them. They all seem to think that if I never cared for my girls I could have killed them.

  "And then going out to California and bought a car and a boat and forgot all about it. Well, that's not true. People want to know why I don't spend all my time crying on other people's shoulders. Why don't I break down? 'Is he cold? Doesn't he have any feelings?' Wouldn't that show more of my love?

  "Let's start with the newspaper interviews and the Dick Cavett show. My mother, my brother, and my sister all tell me that when they were here they were asked at length why I did those interviews, and yet why didn't I ever talk about the killings to anyone else, including my family.

  "No one questioned me about it. I'm not going to talk about it for no reason. And the reason I went on the Dick Cavett show is because a congressman called me and asked me to go on. And I also know that a lot of people don't believe me.

  "I have a right to try to live and try to get this statement out once and for all. So, I did two things: I talked to Time magazine and I talked to the Dick Cavett show. You know, the upshot is I was trying not to have to spend the rest of my life explaining to everyone that meets me.