Without a Doubt

by Marcia Clark

“Go ahead, Marcia,” said Gil, abruptly cutting off small talk. “Brief us on what we have so far.” I laid it all out, beginning with the centerpiece of our case: blood. That’s what the Simpson case would be about. Nicole’s blood. Ron’s blood. O. J. Simpson’s blood. Blood would tell the truth. I was convinced it would convict. “Here’s how it breaks down,” I began, speaking from notes I’d scribbled on a yellow legal pad. “The police lab did DNA testing on the blood drops at Bundy leading away from the victims—and they all come back to Simpson. The bloody shoe prints to the right of those drops are a size twelve—Simpson’s size. The blood on the Rockingham glove seems to be a mixture of Ron’s and Nicole’s blood, and possibly Simpson’s. We’ll send the samples to Cellmark for more sophisticated testing.” I glanced around the room to make sure I hadn’t lost anybody. Nope. More results were coming in, I told them. There was a bloody shoe print on the driver’s-side floorboard of the Bronco. We were preserving it for shoe-print comparison before we did the DNA testing. The knit cap found between the victims at Bundy, I told them, was set to be examined for hair and trace evidence, but nothing had been done on it yet.