After THAT Verdict, Dominick Dunne Goes in Search of the Ghost of Brentwood…

A young woman named Moya Rimp, whom I met during the Simpson trial, called to tell me that she and her mother, Pauline Rimp, a prominent real-estate woman in Brentwood, had moved into Nicole Brown Simpson’s condo, the scene of the murders, in order to help the Brown family sell it. The Browns are eager to get rid of the condo, although as yet there have been no takers.

“What’s it like living there?” I asked.

“Very strange. Tourists are still coming by to look at it. When I walk the dog, I meet all these people in the neighborhood who tell me things. There’s one who swears she saw O.J. talking to Ron and Nicole before the murders, but she wouldn’t come forward.”

Moya Rimp invited me for dinner, I went. Robert Altman, the film director, and his wife, Kathryn, were also there…

With the reverence of a docent at the Getty Museum, Moya Rimp showed us through the condo. “This is where Nicole’s exercise equipment was,” she said stopping in an area outside the master bedroom. We stared at the empty space, then moved on.

“Now we’re entering Nicole’s bedroom. That was her bed, and beyond, in the bathroom, you can see her tub, which was filled with water that night and had lit candles around the edge.” We became caught up in her surreal thrall.

As many times as I had walked by the condo and looked at the pictures of the crime scene, I was still amazed at how large the place is – 3,400 square feet – and how small the killing area is.

I perched on the spot outside the picture window where Simpson would have sat when he reportedly spied on Nicole prior to the killings. It was the perfect place for a voyeur…

“We think he was watching Nicole through the window on the night of the murders before she came outside,” said Moya Rimp.

In the ill-lit, eerie space, I felt as if I could almost hear the scuffling of rubber-soled Bruno Magli shoes and sneakers in the dirt and on the walkway. “This is where Ron fell,” said Moya. “That’s where Nicole was.”

As I looked at the scene, remembering the horrifying photographs shown in court, I didn’t want to be there anymore, and we went inside.

Dominick Dunne Three Faces of Evil for Vanity Fair (June 1996)

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Recollect Nicole! Tee Bylo Remembers…

 On Sunday June 12 1994 Nicole Brown Simpson became a public figure overnight for on that balmy Sunday evening she was senselessly and brutally murdered in the grounds of her home at 875 South Bundy Drive in the leafy suburb of Brentwood in California.

 Her murder trial and that of her friend Ronald Lyle Goldman who had been murdered alongside her became known as the “Trial of the Century” with her former husband Orenthal James Simpson as the accused.

 It is hard to believe that Nicole was murdered over twenty one years ago; I can remember the BBC news reports and the iconic photographs of the bloody pathway lined with purple and lilac Agapanthus…

 I also remember the farcical “Bronco Chase”, the sensational headlines week after week in The National Enquirer, the court testimony of Mark Fuhrman and the shock of the “Not Guilty” verdict the following year.

 And yet what I most recall is the realisation of a grotesque dichotomy that despite the voluminous photographs of a beautiful and happy Nicole that she had in fact been abused by Simpson throughout most of their seventeen year relationship.

 The first book that I ever bought about Nicole was written in October 1994 by her friend Faye Resnick called Nicole Brown Simpson A Private Diary of a Life Interrupted and I am still reading about her.

She was the subject of my Thesis in 1999 and remains the purpose for my work ever since.

 There are literally hundreds of books that have been written about the life of Nicole and of her life with Simpson and the tales of glamour, celebrity, wealth and beauty have frequently made her appear remote, abstract and insignificant.

Yet it is the very tragedy of her early death that makes her life a compelling human story of hope, love, obsession and betrayal and that is why I choose to remember her…

Tee Bylo