Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders Page 23

  There was no evidence whatsoever that Dianne was involved in any of the murders, but “Chick” wasn’t deterred by this.

  “Now, I’m here for one specific reason, and that’s to listen to you, see what you’ve got to say, so I can go to the District Attorney and tell him, ‘Look, this is what Dianne told me, and she’s willing to turn state’s evidence in return for her full release.’ We’re not interested in nailing you. We’re interested in the big guy, and you know who we’re talking about, right, honey?”

  A. [No audible answer]

  Q. “Now, somebody’s going to go to that gas chamber, you know that.

  This is just too big. This is the biggest murder of the century. You know that and I know it. So, in order to protect yourself from getting even indicted or spending the rest of your life in jail, then you’re going to have to come up with some answers…We know of about fourteen murders right now, and you know which ones I’m talking about.”

  A. [Unintelligible]

  Gutierrez accused her of involvement in all fourteen. He then said: “I’m prepared to give you complete immunity, which means that if you are straight with me, right down the line, I’ll be straight with you, and I’ll guarantee you that you will walk out of that jail a free woman ready to start over again and never go back up there to Independence to do any time. I wouldn’t say that unless I meant it, right?”

  Actually, Sergeant Gutierrez did not have the authority to guarantee this. The granting of immunity is a complicated procedure, involving the approval not only of the Police Department but also of the District Attorney’s Office, with the final decision being made by the Court. Gutierrez offered it to her as casually as if it were a stick of gum.

  Commenting on her silence, Sergeant Gutierrez said, “Now, what’s that going to prove, huh? Right now the only thing you’re proving to me, honey, is that, heck, you’re out there sticking your nose out for a guy by the name of Charlie. Now, what’s Charlie? He got you guys in all this problem. You could have been out right now doing your thing, but here you’re holding silent for what? For Charlie? Charlie ain’t never going to get out of that jail. You know that, right? Didn’t we start out on good terms? Huh?”

  A. “Yes.”

  Q. “O.K. And I’m not about to beat you over the head with a hammer or hose and all that. All I want to do is talk to you friendly…”

  Gutierrez interviewed Dianne for nearly two hours, obtaining from the sixteen-year-old little more than the admission that she liked candy bars.

  Later Dianne Lake would become one of the prosecution’s most important witnesses. But credit for this goes to the Inyo County authorities, in particular Gibbens and Gardiner, who, instead of threats, tried patient, sympathetic understanding. It made all the difference.

  Having got nothing from Dianne, Gutierrez next interviewed Rachel Morse, aka Ouisch, t/n Ruth Ann Moorehouse, age eighteen. Ruth Ann was the girl Danny DeCarlo identified as his “favorite sweetie,” the same girl who at Barker Ranch had told him she couldn’t wait to get her first pig.

  Unlike Dianne, Ruth Ann answered Gutierrez’ questions, though most of her replies were lies. She claimed she’d never heard of Shorty, Gary Hinman, or anyone named Katie. The reason she knew so little, she explained, was that she had been with the Family only a short time, a month or so before the Spahn Ranch raid (all five girls said this, obviously by prearrangement).

  Q. “I want to know everything you know, because you’re going to testify before that grand jury.”

  A. “I don’t know anything.”

  Q. “Then you’re going to hang with the rest of them. You’re going to go to the joint. If you don’t start cooperating, you’re going to go to the joint, and let me tell you what it is down there. They may drop that pill on you. They may drop that cyanide pill on you.”

  A. (nearly screaming) “I haven’t done anything! I don’t know anything about it!”

  Then, later:

  Q. “How old are you?”

  A. “Eighteen.”

  Q. “That’s old enough to go to the gas chamber.”

  There was also no evidence linking her to any of the homicides, but Gutierrez told her, “Fourteen murders, and you’re involved in each one!” He also promised her complete immunity (“You’re either going to go up for murder or you are going to go free”), and added, “Also, there is a $25,000 reward.”

  Manon Minette, aka Gypsy, t/n Catherine Share, who at twenty-seven was the oldest female member of the Family, gave the detectives nothing of value. Nor did Brenda McCann, t/n Nancy Pitman, age eighteen.

  It was otherwise, however, with twenty-year-old Leslie Sankston.

  Leslie, whose true name, Van Houten, was not known to us at this time, was interviewed by Mike McGann. McGann tried using her parents, conscience, the hideousness of the murders, the implication that others had talked and involved her—none worked. What did work was Leslie’s little-girl cuteness, her I-know-something-you-don’t game playing. Repeatedly she trapped herself.

  Q. “What did you hear about the Tate murders up there?”

  A. “I’m deaf. I didn’t hear nothing.” [Laughs]

  Q. “Five people were killed up there, on the hill. And I know three for sure that went up there. I think I know the fourth. And I don’t know the fifth. But I suspect you do. Why are you holding back? You know what happened.”

  A. “I have a pretty good idea.”

  Q. “I want to know who was involved. How it went down. The little details.”

  A. “I told Mr. Patchett [in Independence] I’ll tell him if I changed my mind. I haven’t changed my mind yet.”

  Q. “You’re going to have to talk about it someday.”

  A. “Not today…How did you ever trace it back to Spahn?”

  Q. “Who did you see leave the night of the eighth of August?”

  A. [Laughs] “Oh, I went to bed early that night. Really, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Q. “Who went?”

  A. “That’s what I don’t want to talk about.”

  All these were little admissions, if not of participation, at least of knowledge.

  Though she didn’t want to talk about the murders, she didn’t mind talking about the Family. “You couldn’t meet a nicer group of people,” she told McGann. “Of all the guys at the ranch, I liked Clem the best; he’s fun to be with.” Clem, with the idiot grin, who liked to expose himself to little children. Sadie was “really kind of a nice person. But she tends to be on the rough side…” As Sharon Tate, Gary Hinman, and others had discovered. Bruce Davis was all talk, Leslie continued, always going on about how he was going to dynamite someone, but she was sure it was “only talk.” She commented on some of the others, but not Charlie. In common with the four other girls who had been brought down from Independence, she avoided the subject of Manson.

  Q. “The Family is no more, Leslie.” Charlie was in jail; Clem was in jail; Zero had killed himself playing Russian roulette—

  A. “Zero!”

  Obviously shocked, she dropped her little-girl role and pressed McGann for details. He told her that Bruce Davis had been present.

  A. “Was Bruce playing it too?”

  Q. “No.”

  A. (sarcastically) “Zero was playing Russian roulette all by himself!”

  Q. “Kind of odd, isn’t it?”

  A. “Yeah, it’s odd!”

  Sensing an advantage, McGann moved in. He told her that he knew five people had gone to the Tate residence, three girls and two men, and that one of the men was Charles Manson.

  A. “I don’t think Charlie was in on any of them.”

  Leslie said she had heard only four people went to Tate. “I would say that three of them were girls. I would say that there were probably more girls involved than men.” Then, later, “I heard one girl who didn’t murder someone while they was, they were up there.”

  Q. “Who is that?”

  A. “A girl by the name of Linda.”

  Susan Atkins ha
d told Ronnie Howard, in regard to the killings the second night, “Linda wasn’t in on this one,” presumably meaning she had been along the first night, but until now we had been unsure of this.

  Questioned, Leslie said she didn’t know Linda’s last name; that she was at Spahn only a short time and hadn’t been arrested with them; and that she was a small girl, maybe five feet two, thin, with light-brown hair.

  McGann asked her who had told her that Linda had been along on Tate. Leslie replied, petulantly, “I don’t remember. I don’t remember who told me little details!” Why was she so upset? McGann asked. “Because so many of my friends are getting knocked off, for reasons I don’t even know about.”

  McGann showed her the mug shots taken after the Barker raid. Though she had been present, she claimed she couldn’t recognize most of the people. When handed one of a girl booked as “Marnie Reeves,” Leslie said, “That’s Katie.”

  Q. “Katie is Marnie Reeves?”

  Leslie equivocated. She wasn’t sure. She really didn’t know any of these people all that well. Though she had lived with the Family at both Spahn and Barker, she associated mostly with the motorcycle riders. She thought they were neat.

  McGann brought the questioning back to the murders. Leslie began playing games again, and in the process making admissions. She implied that she knew of eleven murders—Hinman 1, Tate 5, LaBianca 2, Shea 1, for a total of 9—but she declined to identify the other two. It was as if she were keeping score in a baseball game.

  There was a break in the questioning. It’s standard police procedure to leave a suspect alone for a while, to think about his or her answers, to provide a transition between “soft” and “hard” interrogation. It also gives the officers an opportunity to visit the can.

  When McGann returned, he decided to shock Leslie some more.

  Q. “Sadie has already told fifteen people in the jailhouse that she was there, that she took part in it.”

  A. “That’s incredible.” Then, after a thoughtful pause, “Didn’t she mention anyone else?”

  Q. “No. Except for Charlie. And Katie.”

  A. “She mentioned Charlie and Katie?”

  Q. “That’s right.”

  A. “That’s pretty nauseating.”

  Q. “She said Katie was there, and I know it was Marnie Reeves, and you know it was Marnie Reeves.”

  At this point, McGann later told me, Leslie nodded her head affirmatively.

  Q. “Sadie also said, ‘I went out the next night and killed two more people, out in the hills.’”

  A. “Sadie said that!”

  Leslie was astonished. With good reason. Though we were as yet unaware of it, Leslie knew Susan Atkins had never entered the LaBianca residence. She knew that because she was one of the persons who had.

  After this, Leslie refused to answer any further questions. McGann asked her why.

  A. “Because if Zero was suddenly found playing Russian roulette I could be found playing Russian roulette.”

  Q. “We’ll give you twenty-four-hour protection from now on.”

  A. (laughing sarcastically) “Oh, that would really be nice! I’d rather stay in jail.”

  From Leslie we learned that three girls had gone to the Tate residence: Sadie, Katie, and Linda. We also learned that Linda was “one girl who didn’t murder someone,” the clear implication being that the two other girls had. Beyond Leslie’s limited description of Linda, however, we knew nothing about her.

  We also knew that Katie was “Marnie Reeves.” According to her Inyo arrest sheet, she was five feet six, weighed 120 pounds, had brown hair and blue eyes. Her photograph revealed a not very attractive girl, with very long hair and a somewhat mannish face. She looked older than twenty-two, the age she gave. In comparing the Barker and Spahn photos, it was discovered that she had been arrested in the earlier raid also, at that time giving the name “Mary Ann Scott.” It was possible that “Katie,” “Marnie Reeves,” and “Mary Ann Scott” were all three aliases. She had been released a few days after her arrest at Barker, and her current whereabouts were unknown.

  In return, Leslie had learned a few things from McGann: that Tex, Katie, and Linda were still free; and, more important, that Susan Atkins, aka Sadie Mae Glutz, was the snitch.

  Even with a “keep away” on the girls, it wouldn’t be long before this information got back to Manson.

  NOVEMBER 27–30, 1969

  We could have used a private line between Independence and L.A.; Fowles and I were averaging easily a dozen calls a day. Thus far, no attempt to meet Manson’s bail, or any sign of Tex or Bruce. However, there were reporters all over Independence, and KNXT was sending in a camera crew tomorrow to film Golar Wash. I had Lieutenant Hagen call the TV station. They told him they didn’t plan to use the film until Monday, the first, the agreed date, but wouldn’t promise an extension to Wednesday, which I wanted.

  Although nothing had seen print, the leaks continued. Chief Davis was enraged; he wanted to break the news himself. Someone was talking, and he wanted to know who. Determined to catch the culprit, he suggested that everyone working on the case, at LAPD and in the DA’s Office, take a polygraph.

  Even his own office ignored the suggestion, and I resisted the impulse to suggest that we concentrate on catching the killers instead.

  On Saturday, Sergeant Patchett interviewed Gregg Jakobson. A talent scout, who was married to the daughter of old-time comedian Lou Costello, Jakobson had first met Charles Manson about May 1968, at the Sunset Boulevard home of Dennis Wilson, one of the Beach Boys rock group.

  It was Jakobson who had introduced Manson to Terry Melcher, Doris Day’s son, while Melcher was still living at 10050 Cielo Drive. In addition to producing his mother’s TV show, Melcher was involved in a number of other enterprises, including a record company, and Jakobson had attempted to persuade him to record Manson. After listening to him play and sing, Melcher had said no.

  Though Melcher had been unimpressed by Manson, Jakobson had been fascinated with the “whole Charlie Manson package,” songs, philosophy, life style. Over a period of about a year and a half, he’d had many talks with Manson. Charlie loved to rap about his views on life, Gregg said, but Patchett wasn’t particularly interested in this, and moved on to other subjects.

  Did he know a Charles “Tex” Montgomery? Patchett asked. Yes, very well, Jakobson replied; only his real name wasn’t Montgomery—it was Watson.

  Sunday, November 30. At LAPD from 8:30 A.M. to midnight.

  Charles Denton Watson had been arrested in Van Nuys, California, on April 23, 1969, for being on drugs. Though he had been released the next day, he had been fingerprinted at the time of his arrest.

  10:30 A.M. Latent Prints Section called Lieutenant Helder. The print of Watson’s right ring finger matched a latent found on the front door of the Tate residence.

  Helder and I jumped up and down like little kids. This was the first physical evidence connecting the suspects to the crime scene.

  Helder sent out fifteen detectives to see if they could locate Watson at any of his old addresses, but they had no luck. They did learn, however, that Watson was from a small town in Texas, McKinney.

  Checking an atlas, we found that McKinney was in Collin County. Patchett called the sheriff of Collin, informing him that a former local resident, Charles Denton Watson, was wanted for 187 PC, murder, in California.

  The sheriff’s name was Tom Montgomery. A coincidence, Watson’s using as alias the last name of the local sheriff? It was more than that: Sheriff Montgomery was Watson’s second cousin.

  “Charles is living here now,” Sheriff Montgomery said. “He has an apartment in Denton. I’ll bring him in.”

  The sheriff, we later learned, called Watson’s uncle, Maurice Montgomery, saying, “Can you bring Charles over to the jail? We’ve got some trouble.”

  Maurice picked up his nephew and drove him to McKinney in his pickup truck. “He didn’t say much on the way,” the uncle later said. “I didn�
�t know what it was all about, but I guess he knew all the time.”

  Watson supposedly refused comment and was lodged in the local jail.

  Texans are straight shooters, LAPD told me. They’ll hold him until we get around to sending an arrest warrant.

  Not wanting to take any chances, I suggested we send someone to McKinney with the warrant, and it was decided that Sartuchi and Nielsen would leave at eleven the next morning.

  Manson, Atkins, and Watson were now in custody, but two other suspects were still at large. From one of the ranch hands at Spahn, LAPD heard that Linda’s last name was Kasabian, and that she was supposedly in a convent in New Mexico.* Marnie Reeves was rumored to be on a farm outside Mobile, Alabama.

  That same day Patchett interviewed Terry Melcher regarding his contacts with Manson. He confirmed what Jakobson had already said: he had gone to Spahn Ranch twice, to hear Manson and the girls perform, and was “not enthused” he had also seen Manson twice before this, while visiting Dennis Wilson. Melcher, however, added one important detail Jakobson hadn’t mentioned.

  On one of the latter occasions, late at night, Wilson had given him a ride back to his house on Cielo Drive. Manson had come along, sitting in the back seat of the car, singing and playing his guitar. They’d driven up to the gate and let him out, Melcher said, Wilson and Manson then driving off.