Q. “Why are you confused?”
A. “For one thing, how come I wasn’t murdered?”
Q. “I don’t know.”
Although legally inadmissible as evidence, the police believe in the polygraph.[7] Though uninformed of it at the time, Garretson had passed. “At the conclusion of the examination,” Captain Don Martin, commander, SID, wrote in his official report, “it was the examiner’s opinion that Mr. Garretson was truthful and not criminally involved in the Polanski homicides.”
Unofficially, though Burdick believed Garretson “clean” on participation, he felt he was a little “muddy” on knowledge. It was possible that he had heard something, then, fearful, hidden until dawn. This was just conjecture, however.
For all intents and purposes, with the polygraph William Eston Garretson ceased to be a “good suspect.” Yet that bothersome question remained: Every single human being at 10050 Cielo Drive had been slaughtered save one; why?
Because there was no immediate answer, and certainly in part because, having been the only warm body on the premises, he had seemed such a likely suspect, Garretson was held for another day.
That same Sunday, Jerrold D. Friedman, a UCLA student, contacted the police and informed them that the call Steven Parent made at approximately 11:45 on Friday night had been to him. Parent was going to build a stereo set for Friedman, and he wanted to talk over the details. Friedman had tried to beg off, saying it was late, but finally gave in and told Parent he could drop by for a few minutes. Parent had asked him the time and, when he told him, said he would be there about 12:30.[8] According to Friedman, “he never got there.”
That Sunday, LAPD not only lost their best suspect to date, another promising lead fizzled out. Sharon Tate’s red Ferrari, which the police had thought might have been used as a getaway car, was located in a Beverly Hills garage where Sharon had taken it the previous week for repairs.
That evening Roman Polanski returned from London. Reporters who saw him at the airport described him as “terribly crushed” and “beaten by the tragedy.” Though he refused to talk with the press, a spokesman for him denied there was any truth to the rumors of a marital rift. Polanski had remained in London, he said, because he hadn’t finished his work there. Sharon had returned home early, by boat, because of airline restrictions against travel during the last two months of pregnancy.
Polanski was taken to an apartment inside the Paramount lot, where he remained in seclusion under a doctor’s care. The police talked to him briefly that night, but he was, at that time, unable to suggest anyone with a motive for the murders.
Frank Struthers also returned to Los Angeles that Sunday night. About 8:30 P.M. the Saffies dropped him off at the end of the long driveway leading to the LaBianca residence. Lugging his suitcase and camping equipment up the driveway, the fifteen-year-old noticed that the speedboat was still on the trailer behind Leno’s Thunderbird. That seemed odd; his stepfather didn’t like to leave the boat out overnight. Stowing his equipment in the garage, he went to the back door of the residence.
Only then did he notice that all the window shades had been pulled down. He couldn’t recall ever seeing them that way before, and it frightened him just a little bit. The light was on in the kitchen, and he knocked on the door. There was no response. He called out. Again no answer.
Really upset now, he walked to the closest pay phone, which was at a hamburger stand at Hyperion and Rowena. He dialed the number of the house, then, getting no response, tried to reach his sister at the restaurant where she worked. Suzanne wasn’t working that night, but the manager offered to try her apartment. Frank gave him the number of the pay phone.
Shortly after nine she called. She hadn’t seen or heard from their mother and stepfather since they had dropped her off at her apartment the previous night. Telling Frank to remain where he was, she called her boy friend, Joe Dorgan, and told him Frank thought something was wrong at the house. About 9:30, Joe and Suzanne picked up Frank at the hamburger stand, the three driving directly to 3301 Waverly Drive.
Rosemary often left a set of house keys in her own car. They found them and opened the back door.[9] Dorgan suggested that Suzanne remain in the kitchen while he and Frank checked out the rest of the house. They proceeded through the dining room. When they got to the living room, they saw Leno.
He was sprawled on his back between the couch and a chair. There was a throw pillow over his head, some kind of cord around his neck, and the tops of his pajamas were torn open so his stomach was bare. Something was protruding from his stomach.
He was so still they knew he was dead.
Afraid Suzanne would follow and see what they had, they returned to the kitchen. Joe picked up the kitchen phone to call the police, then, worried that he might be disturbing evidence, put it back down, telling Suzanne, “Everything’s O.K.; let’s get out of here.” But Suzanne knew everything wasn’t O.K. On the refrigerator door someone had written something in what looked like red paint.
Hurrying back down the driveway, they stopped at a duplex across the street, and Dorgan rang the bell of 3308 Waverly Drive. The peephole opened. Dorgan said there had been a stabbing and he wanted to call the police. The person inside refused to open the door, saying, “We’ll call the police for you.”
LAPD’s switchboard logged the call at 10:26 P.M., the caller complaining about some juveniles making a disturbance.
Unsure whether the person had really made the call, Dorgan had already pushed the bell of the other apartment, 3306. Dr. and Mrs. Merry J. Brigham let the three young people in. However, they were so upset Mrs. Brigham had to complete the call. At 10:35, Unit 6A39, a black-and-white manned by officers W. C. Rodriquez and J. C. Toney, was dispatched to the address, arriving very quickly, five to seven minutes later.
While Suzanne and Frank remained with the doctor and his wife, Dorgan accompanied the two Hollywood Division officers to the LaBianca residence. Toney covered the back door while Rodriquez went around the house. The front door was closed but not locked. After one look inside, he ran back to the car and called for a backup unit, a supervisor, and an ambulance.
Rodriquez had been on the force only fourteen months; he had never discovered a body before.
Within a few minutes, Ambulance Unit G-I arrived, and Leno LaBianca was pronounced DOA—dead on arrival. In addition to the pillow Frank and Joe had seen, there was a bloody pillowcase over his head. The cord around his neck was attached to a massive lamp, the cord knotted so tightly it appeared he had been throttled with it. His hands were tied behind his back with a leather thong. The object protruding from his stomach was an ivory-handled, bi-tined carving fork. In addition to a number of stab wounds in the abdomen, someone had carved the letters WAR in the naked flesh.
The backup unit, 6L40, manned by Sergeant Edward L. Cline, arrived just after the ambulance. A veteran of sixteen years, Cline took charge, obtaining a pink DOA slip from the two attendants before they left.
The pair were already on their way down the driveway when Rodriquez called them back. Cline had found another body, in the master bedroom.
Rosemary LaBianca was lying face down on the bedroom floor, parallel to the bed and dresser, in a large pool of blood. She was wearing a short pink nightgown and, over it, an expensive dress, blue with white horizontal stripes, which Suzanne would later identify as one of her mother’s favorites. Both nightgown and dress were bunched up over her head, so her back, buttocks, and legs were bare. Cline didn’t even try to count the stab wounds, there were so many. Her hands were not tied but, like Leno, she had a pillowcase over her head and a lamp cord was wrapped around her neck. The cord was attached to one of a pair of bedroom lamps, both of which had overturned. The tautness of the cord, plus a second pool of blood about two feet from the body, indicated that perhaps she had tried to crawl, pulling the lamps over while doing so.
7
In 1972 a Los Angeles Superior Court judge broke with precedent and permitted the results of a polygraph test to be received into evidence in a marijuana case.