Derrick explained that his employer wanted someone “taken down,” not killed but hurt. Stant wanted more information; eventually Smith told him the job was to “take down a skater.” Give me more details, Stant insisted. Ninety minutes later, Shawn Eckardt called Stant. Shane wanted specific information before he agreed to the hit. Eckardt told the weight lifter that he was to cut the Achilles’ tendon of a figure skater. Forget it, Stant replied. He wouldn’t cut anyone. But for the $2,500 Eckardt offered, he would hurt someone badly enough so she couldn’t skate at the championships. Eckardt also offered the lure of a bodyguard contract worth $36,000. If his expenses were paid, he was on the job, Stant said.
—
On December 27, Smith and Stant drove to Portland in Derrick’s black 1983 Porsche and checked into a cheap motel near Eckardt’s parents’ house. Eckardt called Gillooly to tell him that they should meet the next day, and he asked Jeff to bring specific information about Kerrigan, including a picture of the skater.
Tonya Harding wanted the attack on Kerrigan to happen at Nancy’s home or skating rink, Gillooly would later tell the FBI. He ruled out Kerrigan’s home—they couldn’t call to find out the address without raising suspicion. Harding, he said, made up an excuse that she wanted information about Kerrigan’s practice times so Kerrigan could sign a poster for a fan of Harding’s. Then she telephoned a freelance writer from Pennsylvania named Vera Marano and asked if Marano could get her the address of Kerrigan’s rink and when she practiced, Gillooly later said. Marano left a message on the couple’s answering machine, but Harding and Gillooly thought it sounded like “Tunee Can Arena.” Harding called Marano back and asked her to spell the name, and Gillooly said he watched as Harding wrote out “Tony Kent Arena.”
Tonya drove the couple’s big-wheel pickup and dropped Gillooly off at Eckardt’s parents’ house after her practice the next day, December 28. Before Gillooly’s arrival, Eckardt had set up a tape recorder and covered it with a napkin. Smith wanted the tape for leverage if Gillooly decided not to pay.
After introductions, Gillooly told the others that Harding stood to make millions of dollars in endorsements if she won an Olympic gold medal. Gillooly wanted to make sure Harding made the team. To do that, he wanted Nancy Kerrigan knocked out of the national championships. Eckardt again talked of cutting Kerrigan’s Achilles’ tendon, but the others were against such a drastic act. Derrick Smith suggested hurting Kerrigan’s arm, but Gillooly said to do it right, they had to hurt the skater’s right leg—the one she depended on to take off and land her jumps. Without her jumps, she couldn’t compete.
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to kill her?” Eckardt asked, according to Gillooly’s later account to authorities. Eckardt claimed he could set up a sniper who could do the job and vanish. Gillooly told Shawn to leave murder out of it. Talk about killing made him uncomfortable, Gillooly said.
Gillooly said he would pay $6,500, one third up front. There also was the promise of high-paying bodyguard work afterward, when Harding made the team. Eckardt guaranteed the hit, telling Gillooly he’d get his money back if it wasn’t carried out before the championships. At the end of the meeting, Smith and Stant shook Gillooly’s hand. “It was a pleasure,” Stant said. They were the only words he uttered during the meeting.
Smith and Stant talked about the plot as they returned to their hotel. They felt bad that Kerrigan would be hurt—she’d done nothing to deserve it. But, they reasoned, if they didn’t do the job, Eckardt and Gillooly would find someone else to do it, someone who would have no inhibitions about seriously hurting the skater. They would do the job, they agreed, but they’d make sure Kerrigan wasn’t hurt too badly. She’d be okay.
Harding was waiting in their truck as Gillooly prepared to leave. Eckardt hugged him, saying, “We’re going to make a lot of money. We’re going to make a lot of money.”
As they drove away, Tonya asked how the meeting went, Jeff later told the FBI. When he told her about Eckardt’s money-back guarantee, Harding laughed. This, Gillooly said, was better than playing the lottery. Gillooly remembered that they were driving past a public storage building when he said, “I think we should go for it.”
“Okay, let’s do it,” he recalled Harding replying.
When they arrived home, Gillooly said Harding called the Tony Kent Arena and first got a prerecorded message. She tried a second number and talked to a woman who told her Kerrigan’s normal practice times. A manager at the Tony Kent Arena later said people called regularly with questions about Kerrigan and there was no way to know if Harding, or anyone else, had called on a certain day.
The next evening, Gillooly and Harding drove to Eckardt’s house with pictures of Nancy Kerrigan and the information about her practice times. While Harding talked to Eckardt’s mother, Shawn told Gillooly that the plan already was in action. Two men—not the same ones Gillooly had met, Eckardt assured him—would carry out the hit. One was prepared to fly out of Seattle to Boston that night. The other would fly out of Los Angeles. Gillooly took $2,000 he had withdrawn earlier from his bank and laid the money, in hundred dollar bills, on Eckardt’s desk.
In reality, it was Stant who later left Portland on an American Airlines jet that took him to Dallas and then to Boston. He carried a packet with background information on Kerrigan and a “glamour” photograph of the skater. Upon arrival, Stant checked into a hotel near Logan International Airport, using a credit card and registering under his own name. He discovered that the credit card he shared with his girlfriend couldn’t be used to rent a car, and so he had to wait a day for his own card to arrive from Phoenix.
On December 31, the next day, Stant found the Tony Kent Arena in the resort town of South Dennis on Cape Cod. For two days, he parked outside the arena, moving his car every thirty minutes but always keeping an eye on the front door. On January 3, Stant called the rink and asked about Nancy Kerrigan, and whether she would be skating soon. He claimed to have a daughter who wanted to see Kerrigan skate. The woman told him Kerrigan had left for the national championships.
Stant drove back to Boston, returned his rental car, and took a cab to the train station—where he learned that no trains were going to Detroit. His money getting low, he took a cab to the Greyhound Bus Station and bought a $125 ticket to Detroit. The twenty-five-hour trip would bring him to Detroit late January 4.
Stant checked into a Super 8 Motel, registering in his own name and paying $101.76 for three nights. He asked for a waterbed and paid $10.39 for a video player and two adult movies, Hollywood Fantasies and The Girls of Beverly Hills. Once in his room, Stant called Smith, who had in the meantime returned to Phoenix.
—
Back in Portland, Tonya Harding and Jeff Gillooly were beginning to suspect that the would-be hit men had taken their money and run, Gillooly later said. As late as December 30, Harding said it would be nice if they could “get” Kerrigan in a bar on New Year’s Eve, so Kerrigan would “look bad” to the public, Gillooly recalled. But on New Year’s Day, during a late night private practice session at Clackamas Town Center, Gillooly said, Harding skated up to the railing where he and Eckardt stood talking. Why wasn’t the job getting done? she demanded of Eckardt. “If it doesn’t get done, you call them and get the $2,000 back,” Gillooly recalled Harding as having said.
Eckardt made up stories to keep the couple pacified. The hit men had broken into Kerrigan’s car to get her address off her registration while she was at a 7-Eleven and, when the skater came out the door, stole the car. Later, Eckardt claimed, the men hid in Kerrigan’s house on New Year’s Eve, but she didn’t come home. Gillooly told Eckardt to tell the men they would receive a $10,000 bonus if the job was done in a hurry, and he showed a $10,000 check from the U.S. Figure Skating Association—money that was donated by Steinbrenner.
On January 3, the day Stant left Boston, an angry Gillooly called Eckardt demanding to know what was happening. Eckardt said he had talked to Derrick Smith and the “two guys” had gone to the sk
ating rink but Kerrigan wasn’t there. They were told that Kerrigan was taking quiet time before nationals, Eckardt said. When Harding heard this tale, she blew up, Gillooly later said. Harding, according to Gillooly, had then called the Tony Kent Arena and learned that Kerrigan had skated early that morning; Harding was convinced she and Gillooly had lost their $2,000, Gillooly would later tell authorities.
Gillooly called Eckardt, demanding the money back. He didn’t believe that anyone was even in Boston. Eckhardt sought to calm his friend. The attack would be done; it would happen at the national championships.
—
Gillooly arrived home late the night of January 4 to find a message on his answering machine. “Jeff, this is Shane. We met in Shawn’s office about a week ago. I’m in Detroit. Call me at this number.” Gillooly hit the roof and called Eckardt. You told me he was not one of the people sent to get Kerrigan, Gillooly told his friend. Eckardt claimed Gillooly was mistaken. It was “Lance,” Shane’s older brother and “the more violent of the two,” who was in Detroit. Eckardt thought that since Gillooly didn’t believe anyone was in Boston, “Lance” should call.
The job couldn’t be done in Detroit, Gillooly insisted. There was too much security at the championships. It would be impossible to get close enough to the skaters—let alone get away after attacking one. “Lance” didn’t have enough money to go home, Eckardt said. He would finish the job so Gillooly would pay the rest of the money, then leave.
Gillooly offered to pay the man’s trip home, but later the two wired about $725 of Gillooly’s money to Smith in Phoenix.
—
The next day, Smith flew to Detroit and met Stant at the Joe Louis Arena. The two went into the nearby Cobo Ice Arena, where skaters practiced. Stant watched where the skaters left the rink, then walked down to the supposedly secured area. For forty-five minutes, Stant wandered around an area that was off-limits without being stopped. He took note of a hallway leading to a set of open, Plexiglas doors.
Smith and Stant then drove to the Westin Hotel at the Renaissance Center, where Kerrigan, Harding, and the other skaters in the championships stayed. A readerboard said a skaters’ meeting was being held on the fifth floor, and Stant took the elevator up but found only an empty room. Back at the Super 8 Motel, Smith called Eckardt and learned that Harding had seen a man in the hotel lobby whose appearance had frightened her. Her description of the man matched that of Stant.
It wouldn’t do to have Tonya upset; it was Nancy Kerrigan, after all, whom they sought to hurt.
Tom Treick
FLYING HIGH: Harding’s career seemed ready to take off in 1985, when at 14 she already was competing in the featured seniors competition.
Tom Treick
MOVING UP: Competing in her second national championship in 1987, Harding finished fifth in Tacoma.
Tom Treick
In 1990, she was second after compulsories, but hampered by pneumonia in the free skate, finishing seventh overall.
Tom Treick
TRIPLE CROWN: At the top of her sport, Harding is all smiles after landing her historic triple axel en route to the 1991 national championship.
Tom Treick
Harding is flanked by runner-up Kristi Yamaguchi and Nancy Kerrigan, who finished third.
Tom Treick
NO MEDAL: Harding and her coach, Dody Teachman, were disappointed with her fourth-place finish in the 1992 Winter Olympics.
Tom Treick (2)
HARD TIMES: Problems stalked Harding in 1993. First, she fell in a performance in Phoenix.
Doug Beghtel
Then a problem with a loose skate blade cost her a chance to win Skate America in Dallas.
Doug Beghtel
BACK ON TOP: For the moment at least, all is right in Harding’s world as she celebrates winning the 1994 national championship in Detroit.
Brent Wojahn
BEST-LAID PLANS: Harding returns from the nationals, accompanied by sometime bodyguard Shawn Eckardt, who later implicated both Harding and ex-husband Jeff Gillooly in the plot to injure Nancy Kerrigan.
Brent Wojahn
ECKARDT VISIT: Harding and Gillooly leave Eckardt’s house the day after Harding arrived back from competition in Detroit.
Tom Treick
LENDING AN EAR: Diane Rawlinson, who began working with Harding when the skater was 3½, offers some advice.
THE PLAYERS:
Jeff Gillooly
Shawn Eckardt
Derrick Smith
Shane Stant
Robert Weaver
Ronald Hoevet
Nancy Kerrigan
Steve Nehl
FUTURE TENSE: Even with Rawlinson’s guidance, Harding’s career has unquestionably been hurt by the investigation into the attack on Kerrigan.
8
Triumph Without Victory
Tonya Harding knew the 1994 figure skating championships would be her last chance to grab a piece of the success that Kristi Yamaguchi and Nancy Kerrigan had already found. After two decades of skating as an amateur, Harding planned to turn pro after the season. She looked forward to teaching and touring in ice shows but was under pressure to come up with those last big victories. She felt she had to win—she corrected people when they told her she could finish No. 2 and still make the Olympic team—and her training sessions at the mall reflected her determination.
For most of her adult career, Harding seemed to spend more time talking to coaches on the sidelines than actually skating. Typically, Harding would warm up with a spin, talk to Rawlinson, try a jump, talk to Rawlinson, and so on for an hour or ninety minutes. Some spectators wondered how Harding could improve with such disjointed sessions, but the stop-and-go practice was common with other experienced skaters, as well. They had done their programs so many times, they didn’t need to practice the whole routine. Instead, they worked on particular jumps or moves that were rough or difficult and let it all come together in competition.
Harding, however, had been caught in the 1992 Olympics with too little preparation. She and her coaches said it was different now. Tonya worked hard and, as fall turned into winter, began doing complete run-throughs of her programs during practice. Even though the skater continued to smoke, her asthma was under control and the run-throughs helped build her endurance. Without fail, she ended each session with a string of triple axel jumps.
Her coaches were proud of her, Tonya told friends. Financially, things were looking up, too. Dorothy Baker, a member of the Delaware Olympic Committee, had heard about Harding’s money woes that fall and the death threat at the Northwest regionals. Baker talked to George Steinbrenner, owner of the New York Yankees and a USOC vice president who had sponsored athletes in the past. Steinbrenner gave about $20,000 to Harding to help with her training. A Portland donor also gave her $10,000, and promoter Tom Collins sent her an additional $10,000.
For Christmas, Harding and Jeff Gillooly decorated a small tree with colored balls and laughed when they discovered their black cat, Ace, hiding in the branches. Harding bought Gillooly a Nintendo game, and he spent hours working the controls in a video contest between the Portland Trail Blazers and the Chicago Bulls. Gillooly bought jewelry for Harding.
Her practice routines weren’t the only things different about Harding in the days leading up to the Detroit competition. Like athletes in every sport, Harding always had a pat, self-effacing answer when questioned about her goals for an upcoming competition. She would do her best, Harding said, and be happy with that.
The new Harding talked a bigger talk. She would win the national title. Then she would win the Olympic gold. After that, she would get what was due to her—the paycheck for twenty years of hard work. She chided a reporter: “There’s no ‘hopefully.’ I’m going. Nobody’s going to stop me.”
Days before she was to leave for Detroit, Harding sat at her dining-room table, talking about the Olympic Games and the upcoming championships. Fog shrouded the steep valley outside the modest cabin tucked among cedar a
nd fir trees almost a mile off a country road. Neighbors were out of hollering distance, and, on this winter afternoon, their homes weren’t even visible. The cabin gave Harding what she craved, quiet and solitude.
The living room, dining area and kitchen of the cabin were open. Two pictures of Jeff and Tonya, one from their wedding, were displayed prominently. In both pictures they were holding each other.
Less visible were the signs of Harding’s skating career. Only when you looked close did you see the winner’s crystal bowl from the 1991 U.S. championships, which now held sewing materials and other knick-knacks. A blue piggy bank, from the 1993 championships, stood on a counter.
The skater liked the circumstance that she was headed to Detroit as the underdog. “I’m just tired of people saying, ‘She can’t do it,’” Harding said. “I like the pressure. I’m the underdog again, and I like that. I get to walk out with a gold medal for nationals and a gold medal for the Olympics.”
For once, Harding was one of the less interesting stories as skaters gathered in Detroit. Nancy Kerrigan was in the best shape of her life as she prepared to defend her title. Elaine Zayak, a twenty-eight-year-old with a Valley Girl voice and bobbing ponytail, delighted reporters as she attempted an amateur comeback more than a decade after winning the 1982 World Championship. At the other end of the age spectrum, thirteen-year-old Michelle Kwan brought more than just promise to her second senior nationals.
Fire on Ice Page 7