"And it cost you two thousand dollars?"
"I was telling Freddy this great detective story. That I was doing all this work on the case because that's what he said he was doing. This is really just continuing that stupid game until I got up enough nerve finally to write him a letter and tell him the truth."
"Well, why all this explicit detail and color, like the broken hand? Were you implying you broke your hand slapping somebody?"
"I suppose. You know, Mr. Woerheide, my actions during that period of time—I apologize for them. Jesus, that doesn't mean I murdered my wife and kids. It was stupid. I've regretted it every single day since I wrote the letter to Freddy. I regretted it the day I started it."
"You talked in the letter about writing a book. At that time were you involved in the writing of a book?"
"It's never been written. There were a lot of interviews with authors and publishers. All these supposedly helpful friends of mine wanted me to write a book. I didn't want to write a book. So you keep putting them off, you know? Several people wrote beginning chapters, like, and tried to get front money. When it became apparent that I was going to have to sit down with a person for a period of months and go over the whole thing and sort of live with an author, I said screw it. I'm not going to do it. I was trying to rebuild a life. And that's when I decided I've got to clear this up. So I wrote Freddy a letter and I said: 'Freddy, what I told you in the past is not true.' "
Woerheide resumed his reading of the letter that MacDonald had written to Freddy Kassab. "In the next paragraph you say, The one difference between you and I is that I don't think that justice will bring back my family. I want revenge. Preferably brutal revenge, and don't care about justice any more. There is no justice, in case you haven't noticed. You act as though you were on a noble cause. I think the cause is ugly, brutal, but necessary. I will do it. I have done some. One fourth or fifth of it.' Now let's talk about that statement."
"What I was trying to tell Freddy is that he was on a soapbox all the time. He made it sound like this was some sort of glorious thing to do. He didn't understand. I never heard Freddy and Mildred say, i want Colette back.' Never! They said they wanted to see someone hurt. What the hell does that do?"
Woerheide then read from a copy of the letter that MacDonald had written to Mildred Kassab in March of 1973 after his angry telephone conversation with her husband.
"Is this the letter you were referring to when you said you'd sent it to Freddy?"
"No."
Woerheide then read the paragraph in which MacDonald had admitted that some of things he had told Kassab were not 100 percent true.
"Does that refresh your recollection as to whether or not this is the letter you are referring to?"
"I thought I addressed it to Freddy and Mildred, and, I believe, Colette's Aunt Helen. I'm sure I addressed it to all three. Helen was living with them."
Woerheide then read the portion of the letter in which MacDonald had said he'd never had an affair but that he had seen, dated, or slept with a "very rare" girl other than Colette.
"That's true. That's what I said to her." "All right. Now why were you saying that at this time in this letter?"
"There had been a phone call from Freddy. He had called me up. He was drunk. It was the middle of the night and he was ranting and raving that he had—maybe I'm exaggerating, okay, but I recollected him as saying that he had just come from Fort Bragg and he had fifteen affidavits that the MPs were supplying me with girls while I was locked up in my BOQ room. So I said, 'Freddy, that's the most ludicrous comment I've ever heard in my life. It's obscene, perverse, and it's incredible.' He said—I don't know. He said he had sworn affidavits from fifteen girls in Fayetteville that the MPs or the CID or someone was supplying me with females while I was locked in my BOQ. I said, 'Freddy, you're crazy.' "
"Did you have any females in your BOQ?"
"After I was released from custody, sure."
"While you were in custody?"
"While I was in custody? Females in my BOQ room?" "Yes."
"You mean other than friends and relatives?"
"I mean, was there a girl who would come in and have sexual relationships with you during the period that you were in custody in your BOQ?"
"No. Afterwards."
"During this time period there was no such girl?"
"There was a girl that used to—I used to sit outside with the MP guard and do some reading outside and she was a clerk or something, and it started out she walked by and she said, 'Hi! Aren't you Captain MacDonald?' And I'm standing there with an MP guard behind me, so I said, 'Yes, I'm Captain MacDonald.' And it started out—then like a month later she'd come by and give me a tuna fish sandwich while I'm sitting out there. And after—I dated her after I—you know, I took her out on a double date with one of my escort officers, as a matter of fact."
"While you were in the BOQ under escort and guard?"
"No. One of my escort officers who became sort of a friend after I was released from custody. She got another girl and we went on a double date. We went to a movie and had dinner or something."
"What was his name?"
"I don't know."
"What was the girl's name?"
"I don't know."
"You don't remember her name?" "No."
"Does the name Bonnie Wood mean anything to you?"
"Bonnie Wood, right."
"How frequently did you see her?"
"I probably dated her several times after—before I left, before December."
"Arid you say Freddy purported to have affidavits from fifteen girls?"
"That's the sense of the conversation. Fifteen." "You say that is completely erroneous?" "Erroneous?"
"There were not fifteen girls? Will you say there were no girls?"
"You mean in regard to having sexual relations in my BOQ room while I'm under guard with an MP outside the door?" "Yes."
"Yes, I would say that is erroneous." (It was, in fact, not erroneous at all, as the CID's reinvestigation had revealed.)
As the week progressed, Woerheide asked MacDonald to try to recall the names of anyone to whom, in the first days following the murders, he might have given any account, however fragmentary, of the events of the early hours of February 17. Eventually, MacDonald mentioned his attorneys, saying one of his military lawyers "gave me a yellow legal pad and told me to write down whatever I remembered whenever I remembered it. 'If you wake up in the middle of the night and remember something, write it down.' And this went on. This went on for a month."
"Do you remember how long this statement was, or this compilation of data, this narrative?" "No."
"Have you seen that statement lately?"
"I've seen it. I haven't read it."
"Can you tell me who has possession and control of it?"
"My attorneys."
"Do you know of any reasons why that should not be shown or made available to the grand jury? Is there anything in there that you think might be harmful or detrimental to yourself?"
"I doubt it. It would reflect severely upon the CID.'''
"1 am going to request that you make available to us these notes that you compiled."
"With all the irrelevancies and meaningless comments?"
"Yes."
"As I understand it, that's an attorney-client product."
"It is privileged," Woerheide agreed, "and you are at liberty to refuse to make it available."
"The statement itself has nothing in it except what I recollect."
"I'm telling you that it is a privileged communication to your counsel. You can, if you wish, waive the privilege and make this information available to the grand jury."
"Mr. Woerheide, are you setting me up as a fall guy?"
"No, I'm not."
"I've got instructions from an attorney that gets five hundred dollars a day and he says, 'You will not ever divulge attorney-client relationships.' And here I am divulging them."
"I have not asked yo
u question one."
*’I understand that. But the implication is—"
"I'm asking you to consult with him and give us an answer as to whether or not you are willing to give us this statement either in whole or in part. If you wish to Xerox it and excise portions of it, you are free to do so."
"The problem is, the unfairness is, if I respond in a negative fashion through attorney—"
"We'll be aware that you are doing it on the advice of counsel and you might not necessarily agree with the answer," Woerheide said. "But it's your decision, not your counsel's decision. You can accept his advice or reject his advice."
Woerheide shuffled some more papers. "Let me ask you this," he said. "In April of 1970, when you went up to Philadelphia, you were examined by a forensic psychiatrist. I assume this examination extended over several days?"
"It did. I don't know the dates."
"Now, besides seeing the psychiatrist, did you also see a psychologist who gave you certain tests?"
"Yes, I did. But I think we're going to have to stop talking about attorney-client relationships."
"I'm not asking you what you said to him."
"Yes, you are."
"I'm not asking what the psychologist said to you. I'm just asking you were you examined by a psychologist who gave you certain tests?"
"Yes."
"Well, how long did you spend with the psychiatrist as opposed to the psychologist who gave you the tests?" "I don't remember."
"Was it part of one day or more than one day?"
"Oh, it was more." "How many days?"
"I don't remember. I honestly don't remember."
"Could it have been more than three days?"
"I would say that would be the upper limit. It was parts of two or three days." In fact, there had been only a single, three-hour interview.
"Now, between the interview by your own psychiatrist at the end of April and the Walter Reed examinations made in August, did you talk to anyone concerning the incident of February 16th and 17th?"
"No one except reporters."
"Who were the reporters?"
"I really don't remember, sir. There were hundreds of them. You know, they were all over the place all the time."
"Did you give a full description of the matter to any of these reporters?"
"I gave a long statement to one from Newsday."
"Was this with the knowledge of your attorneys?"
"Certainly."
"Was it tape-recorded?"
"I believe it was."
"Do you have any objection to our obtaining a copy of that tape?"
"It's not my property."
"Would you personally have any objection?"
"Only that—that my experience in the past with government prosecutors has not been very good. And you would have to view the tape with the understanding that that was a statement to a reporter.''
"I understand that you were not under oath."
"It isn't even that. It's—this was a duty for me to, you know, to try to sort of equalize all the bad things my family had to read up on Long Island and stuff. And the Kassabs at that time. My in-laws."
"Well, let me ask you this. Is there anything that you said in that statement that you feel at this time you would like to retract?"
"I'd have to reread it."
"I'll get a copy. I'll give it to you. I'll afford you an opportunity to reread it tonight. I'd like to know—"
"Sir, in other words, what you're saying is that you're viewing the statement as a statement of fact from me—otherwise you wouldn't be interested in it."
"Well, it is a statement by you recounting your recollections of the events of February 16th and 17th."
"You know, this wasn't even really with thought. This is just talking to a reporter. It's not at all like—you know, I should turn this around and say, do you want me to bring the provost marshal's news clippings, what he said in the press."
"I'm not interested in what the provost marshal said."
"Well, you should be."
"I'm interested in what you,, as a witness, having knowledge of certain facts, have to say."
"But the newspaper isn't facts. That's the thing. And this was an interview sort of arranged by high-powered defense attorneys who want a story told publicly. You know, if I'd had it my way, I wouldn't even have given the interview. That's not a legitimate thing to me."
"Well, it is a statement you made for the benefit of anybody who chose to read it, and the statement is attributed directly to you."
"Sir, I think there is a much fuller, better account of this in the Article 32 investigation, taken under oath."
"But this was prior to the Article 32. You were not under any pressure. You were not under any strain."
"I beg to differ with you."
"It was done voluntarily and purports to cover the same territory."
"To imply that I wasn't under pressure at that time in my life is outrageous! I was under tremendous—"
"Did the reporter put you under pressure?"
"The interview was to me, yes."
"You were tense?"
"Yes, I was tense, Mr. Woerheide."
"You think you said anything you should not have said?"
"I don't know. I'd have to reread it. I don't reread newspaper clippings."
The next day, Woerheide said, "Doctor MacDonald, I gave you a copy of the statement that was published in Newsday, and I asked you to review it and inform us today whether there was anything that you felt should be explained or modified."
"The answer is essentially what I said yesterday. This is not a statement under oath. It's a statement to a reporter for a news story, and I think it should be viewed as such. There are a lot of things in here that now, if I looked critically at it, aren't exactly correct. But I don't see what relevancy that has."
"I see questions which purport to be verbatim transcript of questions asked of you and I see answers which I think purport to be verbatim transcript of responses that you gave."
"Sir, if you took what was quoted as verbatim in a newspaper— for instance, the Justice Department six months ago stating that this case would never be prosecuted. This is totally irrelevant. A news interview by a reporter."
"Did he ask you those questions, and did you give those answers?"
"I don't remember each one specifically. I get a general feeling as I read it that it's essentially, generally, the interview I had."
"Would you say it has been doctored in any way?"
"As I remember it, there are things that don't sound like me at all in here. I can't imagine me saying it. I don't know if it's been doctored or if I said it. Do you follow me? I don't remember stating some of the things he had me stating."
"I notice on page seven," Worheide said, "and I don't want to get into the details of this right now, there is a—"
"Sir, may I say this? If this is going to be discussed, is the grand jury going to see it? I mean they should see this if we're going to discuss it.''
"At this point," Woerheide continued, "I just wanted to ask you, did you furnish this drawing that's set forth here?"
Woerheide pointed to the diagram of the interior of 544 Castle Drive on which MacDonald had drawn stick figures to represent himself on the living room couch and the bodies of his wife and children in the locations in which he said he had found them. In his handwriting there were identifications of the various rooms, such as "Kristy's," "Kim's," "L.R."
"No, sir," MacDonald said. "I believe this was a drawing furnished the news media by the provost marshal."
"So that doesn't represent your work product in any way?"
"That's correct," MacDonald said, despite the fact that the drawings had been made by his own hand.
"All right. I have here also a transcript of a CBS interview of Captain MacDonald given on 11 December 1970. Can you tell us how this came about?"
"No, I cannot. I don't remember which interview you're talking about."
"T
his is a CBS interview which was part of a Walter Cronkite news broadcast. The person who interviewed you is Bob Schieffer."
"Was that interview on Fort Bragg, sir?"
"Well, Schieffer states at one point here, 'We talked with
Captain MacDonald in the office of New York Congressman Allard Lowenstein.' "
"I honestly don't remember that, being in an office in New York for an interview. There were hundreds of interviews like this during that time, sir. I honestly don't remember a CBS interview with Bob Schieffer."
"Do you recall who arranged this interview that took place in Mr. Lowenstein's office?"
"Sir, I honestly don't remember an interview in an office. It may have occurred, but I really don't remember it. Most of these interviews were done on the phone. There were a lot of interviews at Fort Bragg where they brought TV crews to the BOQ. But on December 11 that wouldn't have been the case."
"You don't remember being in Congressman Allard Lowenstein's office, Bob Schieffer being there, and, I assume, cameramen and technicians?"
"Sir, that was not an unusual occurrence at the time. Honestly. I mean, this was happening all the time."
"All right. I have here a somewhat more lengthy transcript captioned 'Jeffrey MacDonald's appearance on Dick Cavett show, 15 December 1970.' Do you remember that occasion, sir?"
"Yes, I do."
"How did that come about?"
"I believe that was Lowenstein's bright idea. To push along the congressional investigation that we were asking for—civilian type, not CID reinvestigating itself. But his feeling was that pressure should be brought to bear from any number of quarters. That was the last—that was when I finally said, this thing was too much and I wasn't going to do any more."