Fatal Vision

by Joe McGinniss

  "All right," MacDonald said, standing up. "I appreciate all the advice. And I only have one piece of advice to give you about how to handle the direct examination."

  "What's that?" Segal asked.

  "Go easy on the pony, Bernie. After all those character witnesses, if they hear about that pony one more time they're gonna puke."

  At 10:01 A.M. on Thursday, August 23, 1979, Jeffrey MacDonald took the witness stand. For nine and a half years, he had been telling his story—to the military police at 544 Castle Drive in the early morning hours of February 17, 1970, to ambulance drivers, orderlies, and doctors at Womack Hospital, to Ron Harrison and to the CID and FBI later that morning, to his own mother and to Freddy and Mildred Kassab that afternoon, to Grebner, Shaw, and Ivory at CID headquarters on April 6, 1970, to the Philadelphia psychiatrist later that month, to the reporter from Newsday later that summer, to the Army psychiatrists at Walter Reed, to Colonel Rock at the closed Article 32 hearing, o Dick Cavett and a nationwide television audience shortly after lis discharge from the Army, to Pruett and Kearns in February and March of 1971, to the grand jury for a total of six days in August of 1974 and January of 1975, and in a hypnotist's office in Beverly Hills in early July—but this was the first time he had ever told it in public, under oath, and it was the time that could determine whether he would spend the rest of his life as a free nan, or as a prisoner.

  "Doctor MacDonald," Bernie Segal began, "where do you reside, please?"

  "In Huntington Beach, California."

  "Doctor MacDonald," Segal said softly, "are you married today?"

  "No," MacDonald said, biting his lip and looking as if he were about to cry.

  "Is there some reason why you are not married?"

  With that, the sobs began to come from MacDonald's throat. ‘I can't forget my wife and children," he managed to say.

  "Do you still have occasion to think about your family, even though it has been nine and a half years since they died?"

  "Every day," he sobbed.

  Segal's tone and manner were that of a funeral director, about to assist a grief-stricken widow to a limousine. "May I ask, Doctor MacDoriald," he said, appearing embarrassed by the necessity of speaking at all, "what are your strongest or most consistent memories of your wife, Colette?"

  Jeffrey MacDonald, who had been through it so many times, for so long, had to make himself go through it one more time. He rubbed his eyes with his hand, as if wiping away tears, and he began to glance helplessly around the courtroom, as if hoping that someone could come and save him from all this. Then the sobs came again, preventing him from answering immediately. It was demeanor quite different from that which he'd last displayed in a Raleigh courtroom, when, at the end of his grand jury testimony, he had told Victor Woerheide to shove all his fucking evidence right up his ass.

  "Excuse me," MacDonald said, momentarily regaining his composure. "Colette was very beautiful and intelligent and warm. She was a great mother and wife."

  "May I ask, Dr. MacDonald, what are your strongest memories of your daughter Kimberly?"

  "Of her beauty and brightness," MacDonald said. "She was very inquisitive, I think exceptionally bright—a delightful person and very loving."

  "Can you share with us, please," Segal continued, "what are your memories of your daughter Kristen?"

  "Well, she was the prettiest of all of us. She was a little ball of fire. She was a tomboy at two and a half and she was very loving also."

  He covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders began to heave as sobbing sounds came from his throat. It was all that Bernie Segal could have wanted.

  "What sort of things did you and your family—the four of you, including the children—what sort of things did you do together?"

  "We lived together," MacDonald said. "We shared most everything. We had a good life. We were all friends. Colette and I shared the children growing up. We shared our life experience."

  It went on that way for almost five hours, not including the morning recess, the break for lunch, and the afternoon recess. Segal had MacDonald read the printed message in the Valentine card that Colette had given him from Kimberly and Kristen ("To a Wonderful Daddy: Dad, there are millions of daddies in the world, it's true, but the nicest by far is you"), and he had MacDonald read the Valentine card that Kimberly had made for him in school ("I'll trim my little Valentine with hearts and ribbons gay, to tell you I love you, today and every day"), and he showed MacDonald a series of enlarged photographs—visible also to the jury—and asked him to identify each one. "This is Colette and I when we were getting married. . . . This is Colette and I when Colette was pregnant in Chicago. . . . That's me with Kimberly as a baby in Princeton. . . . That's Kimberly. . . . That's Kimberly and I on a couch in Chicago. . . . That's Colette playing with Kimmy. . . . That's Kimmy and I studying for an examination in medical school. . . . That's Kristy, probably about eighteen months old. . . . That's Colette and I at my mom's home. . . . That's Kimmy and I holding ice—I was playing in a football game the day before and had a bruise on my face, and Kimmy and I were both applying ice. . . . That's Colette and Kim swimming. . . . That's Colette and I at a Princeton football game. . . . That's Kimmy and I at the children's zoo in Chicago. . . . That's Kim and I playing at the beacli—I vas just covering her up with sand. . . . That's Colette, Kim, md Kristy. It is Christmastime. That is my family."

  "About what year?" Segal asked.

  "Nineteen sixty-nine."

  "The last Christmas you and your family spent together?" "Yes."

  "Finally, I want to show you this photograph—the last of the series. Tell us what it depicts and what you know about it." "That is Kim and Kris."

  "Are the girls dressed up in some kind of costumes, Dr. MacDonald?" Segal asked, his own voice now seeming close to he breaking point.

  MacDonald, sobbing again, was unable to answer. All he could do was nod.

  "Would that be Halloween of 1969?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you see the clothing that Kristen MacDonald is wearing?" "Yes."

  "What is it, Dr. MacDonald?" "Pajamas made up like a clown."

  "The same pajamas that she was wearing on the night of February 17, 1970?" "Apparently so."

  "Your daughter Kimberly—is she wearing some kind of nightgown also?"

  Again appearing unable to speak, MacDonald nodded. "Can you tell us what it reads across the top of the nightgown, Please?"

  "Little Angel," MacDonald said, and then he, Segal, and a lumber of others in the courtroom, which was filled to capacity, began to cry openly.

  Among those who did not cry were Freddy and Mildred Cassab, who were seated in the front row. Grinning sardonically, Cassab shook his head from side to side, and uttered the word faker loud enough so he could be heard across the aisle.

  During the course of the morning and afternoon, MacDonald ;aid, at various times, that Colette had been "ecstatic" at the lews that he had decided to enlist in the Army ("She thought it vas great"), that he had very much wanted their third child to be a boy, because "I thought it was fair that we had one boy," and that both he and Colette had felt that his proposed thirty-day trip to Russia with the boxing team "was an advantage and sort of a privilege, and a good time, and an honor. She was not reluctant in the least."

  Segal did not question MacDonald in detail about the apparent discrepancies between his account of February 17 and the physical evidence found inside the apartment. ("The government, like hounds to the fray, will leap at that tomorrow," he said later. "I was not part of what I wanted to do.") He did, however, elicit from his client the information that MacDonald was "not certan at all" about the exact details of what had transpired. "I have never been certain," MacDonald said. "I have never told anyone I was certain. It is extremely vague. There is a lot of confusing thoughts. There is a lot of sounds, and there is a lot of sights, and the recollection is hazy, at best."

  Segal made MacDonald look at the crime scene photographs and asked h
im if they were an accurate representation of what he had seen.

  "All I remember is a lot of blood," he said, looking at a colored picture of Colette's battered body on the floor. "Shi looked bloodier than that to me."

  When shown similar pictures of each of his daughters, Mac Donald said, "That is Kimmy," and also identified Kristen— much as his neighbor, the warrant officer, had done nine and a half years before.

  "What did you do there, in Kristen's room," Segal asked "on this second trip?"

  "I only recall doing one thing." MacDonald, throughout the day, had never been far from tears—or at least from the appearance of them—and now he was, once again, on the edge.

  "What was that?" Segal asked softly.

  "I patted her on the head and said she'd be okay." His voice trailed off into a sob.

  "I'm sorry," Segal said. "I heard you say that you patted her on the head but did not hear the words."

  "He said she'd be okay!" Franklin Dupree interjected sharply, glaring at Segal with an expression of obvious distaste.

  Later, Segal asked MacDonald to describe what his life had been like following the dismissal of charges against him and his honorable discharge from the Army.

  "I don't really remember the last part of the month of December. It was kind of depressing with Christmas coming up. I was seeing friends and friends were trying to see me and we were also trying to reopen the investigation. We were making trips to Washington, D.C. I was having meetings with congressmen and senators and newspaper people and TV people. There were people trying to write a book about the case. It was a very confusing and depressing time."

  "When you went to New York City, what were your plans for the future? What were you going to do with the rest of your life?"

  "Well, I was trying to figure that out. The plans that Colette and I had always had, you know, they were shattered."

  "Well, what were the factors that caused you to give up your goal of taking a residency at Yale and going to California instead?"

  "There were a lot of reasons. I did not have the interest in becoming a great orthopedic surgeon teaching at Yale because it was part of Colette and the kids, and that was our dream. And with part of it gone, it did not make much sense, but I had other reasons also."

  "Well, I would like you to share those with us, please."

  "The East Coast had become a very sad place for me. I was uncomfortable. My friends were very supportive, and yet I was uncomfortable receiving their support. No one really knew what to say, and I didn't know what to say, and it was constantly there because it was constantly in the press; and the reinvestigation was now beginning."

  "How did you arrive at the decision to go to California? What were the key factors that helped you make that decision?"

  "Distance from Freddy. A new environment. Not so many people maybe worried about my welfare, my emotional makeup and constantly either—you know—trying to support me or to get me to do something like public appearances or to write a book or whatever. And I just—it was—once I arrived in California, I had this tremendous sense of relief."

  "Now, when did you arrive in California?"

  "July 5th, 1971."

  "Where did you start working at that time?" "St. Mary's Hospital in Long Beach." "Where you still are employed today?" "That is correct."

  "What kind of life did you build for yourself between July of 1971, and, say, January of 1975? Just tell us about the kind of life you created for yourself up until that juncture."

  "Well, I was working very hard. I developed a good position at the hospital. I was active in community affairs. Our group was becoming prominent in the area in emergency medicine. We were teaching at USC and later UCLA. I bought a house on the water—not a house—but a small two-bedroom condo which I still—that is where I live now. I bought a boat and lived on the water—working, I think, fairly hard."

  "How many hours a week do you ordinarily work?"

  ' ‘ Eighty—seventy or eighty

  ‘‘Why do you choose to work that many hours, Dr. MacDonald?"

  "It just seemed easier. Work was good for me."

  ‘'Easier than what?"

  "Easier than sitting and thinking."

  "About what?"

  "My family."

  There was a pause, as Jeffrey MacDonald, apparently once again overcome by emotion, lapsed into silence. Bernie Segal walked slowly toward a table on which lay a number of items which had been introduced into evidence.

  "Dr. MacDonald," he said, "I want to show you the four instruments that we have come to hear so much about during this trial: the club, the bent-bladed knife, the straight knife, the icepick.

  "I want you to look at those weapons, please, and I want you to now hear me and respond, if you will, to what the indictment has said."

  Segal began to read. "In the First Count, it is charged: That on or about the 17th day of February, 1970, at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, upon lands acquired for the use of the United States and under the exclusive jurisdiction thereof, and within the Eastern District of North Carolina, Jeffrey R. MacDonald, with premeditation and malice aforethought, murdered Colette S. MacDonald by means of striking her with a club and stabbing her, in violation of the provisions of Title 18, United States Code, Section 1111.' "

  Segal stared at Jeffrey MacDonald. ‘ ‘Did you stab your wife? Did you club your wife?"

  "I did not."

  ‘ ‘With those or any other weapons?" "I never struck Colette."

  "Dr. MacDonald, I want to read to you the Second Count of the same indictment, and again ask you the same question. In that count it is charged: 'That on or about the 17th day of February, 1970, at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, upon lands acquired for the use of the United States and under the exclusive jurisdiction thereof, and within the Eastern District of North Carolina, Jeffrey R. MacDonald, with premeditation and malice aforethought, murdered Kimberly K. MacDonald, by means of striking her with a club and stabbing her, in violation of the provisions of Title 18, United States Code, Section 1111. "

  Again Segal stared at MacDonald. "Is that true?"

  "It is not true. I never harmed Kimberly."

  "I will read you, Dr. MacDonald, the Third Count of the indictment, and ask you to respond again. 'That on or about the 17th day of February, 1970, at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, upon lands acquired for the use of the United States and under the exclusive jurisdiction thereof, and within the Eastern District of North Carolina, Jeffrey R. MacDonald, with premeditation and malice aforethought, murdered Kristen J. MacDonald by means of stabbing her, in violation of the provisions of Title 18, United States Code, Section 1111.' "

  For the third time, the lawyer's eyes met those of his client. "Is that true, Dr. MacDonald?"

  "It is not true."

  Taking a deep breath, Segal approached the witness stand and handed Jeffrey MacDonald a piece of paper. "Finally, Dr. MacDonald, I would like for you to share with us all a letter addressed to you dated August the 26th, 1969, from your wife in Patchogue, Long Island, to you at Columbus, Georgia. If you would be good enough to read that to us, sir."

  In a halting, stumbling voice, MacDonald began to read the last letter Colette had ever written him. "Sunday night. Darling Jeff, what a difference a day makes—or even a few minutes— especially when you take me from the . . ." His sobbing temporarily prevented him from continuing. "... nadir of despair and return me to that happy full of love and life feeling. Thank you sweetheart, you really know how to handle me.

  "In case you're getting ready to jump out of an airplane and need a little material for pleasant daydreaming, here are a few of my favorites: (1) Remember the night you came to Skidmore in the snow for 'Happy Pappy Weekend' and stayed in the Rip Van Dam, the fashionable watering place of the New York jet set. (2) The night we came home from Paul and Kathy's and we decided to have something to eat in the city and we went to Manana after walking around a bit. This is one of my favorites because I think we were definitely on the same wavelength
that night. (3) When you were in the Infirmary at Princeton because you had dropped the weights on your chest, you wrote me an abstract story entitled "The Cool Guy and the Warm Girl.' Do you remember that at all? I do. It was beautiful. (4) New Year's Eve this year—what could top that for a feeling of togetherness! (5) Cutting up onions and peppers together and planning for our giant Champagne Brunch—and then, of course, the brunch itself. (6) The first time you came to Skidmore and the picnic we had in the woods. Four kisses. Colette."

  With trembling hands, Jeffrey MacDonald lowered the letter to his lap. He looked five years older than he had five hours earlier. He began to sob loudly, and, as he did, Bernie Segal's own eyes filled with tears. Three members of the jury were weeping openly and the sound of sniffling and sobbing could be heard from all portions of the courtroom, except the right front row, where Freddy and Mildred Kassab sat, dry-eyed, staring unflinchingly at MacDonald. The extended pause in the proceedings was punctuated by Freddy Kassab's short, sardonic laugh.

  Then Judge Dupree declared a recess until the morning.

  5

  In approaching the question of how to conduct his cross-examination, Jim Blackburn kept one principle uppermost in mind: he did not want the trial—and eventual jury deliberation—to turn into a referendum on whether Jeffrey MacDonald was or was not a good guy, on whether he had contributed more or less to society than had Freddy Kassab.