WHAT MIGHT JASON’S IMMEDIATE neighbors have witnessed about his recent behavior? I decided to interview Betty Phipps, who lived in the adjoining bungalow to Jason’s. Edward Solby and his wife occupied the one to the left, but I was more concerned with Betty Phipps. While searching through the trash there on Electric Avenue, we found a great deal of Jason’s garbage mixed in with hers. At first we thought they might have been dating, so I made a point to find out where she was working and paid a visit to her place of employment.
It turned out that Betty was a bartender at a plush restaurant about three miles from her house. One evening I walked in, sat down at the bar, and struck up a conversation. Betty was so easy to talk to that it didn’t take me long to learn her life’s history. In fact, she wouldn’t even let me pay for my drink, Grey Goose vodka on the rocks with a twist.
I confirmed that she lived alone in one of the three bungalows adjacent to Jason’s. It was mid-December and Betty was excited over the prospect of getting an engagement ring from her boyfriend for Christmas. It came as a surprise to me to learn that her parents lived in Dallas, Texas. What a small world.
I looked forward to seeing her again and even contemplated visiting with her parents in Dallas, explaining to them what I was doing and seeking their help for their daughter. I was concerned that Betty lived so close to my major suspect, innocent of any problems he might be having.
There were indications in the trash that Betty and Jason would visit from time to time; she sometimes helped out doing his laundry, and that worried me. I also felt that Betty could be a big help to me, but I remained chiefly concerned for her safety.
My next stop after meeting with Betty Phipps was at Paul Goldberg’s residence in Manhattan Beach. As I had quickly learned, everybody—it seemed—was looking for Goldberg. It appeared he owed a great deal of money. The word on the streets was that he was no longer living in the United States, but his family still was.
As I pulled up to their small middle-class home in Manhattan Beach, the Goldberg’s appeared to be doing better than I would have expected, given the number of creditors looking for Paul. A sprinkler system was being replaced and it was obvious the family was attempting to improve the landscape. It was a nice area of Manhattan Beach, not far from a middle school.
I parked my car, walked up to the door, and knocked. It was opened by Debbie, Paul Goldberg’s wife. I apologized for coming on Sunday morning. She was very cordial and invited me in, explaining that her son had a sleepover and she was in the process of making breakfast.
We sat down over coffee at the kitchen table. I explained to her who I was and what I was doing. She told me Paul was out of the country, where he had been for quite some time and said she didn’t know when he would be back.
At my request, Debbie gave me her impressions of Jason. She said he had helped her and her husband start the Revival Café. Debbie said Jason had even helped design the menus and the food. The one thing he couldn’t do, according to Debbie, was work under pressure. She said Jason could be a really nice young man one moment and change completely the next.
Listening to Debbie, I sensed concern. I asked if it was possible for me to talk to Paul. Without hesitation she reached over, picked up the phone, and dialed his number. I could hear the phone ring and a male voice answer. Debbie talked to her husband for several minutes, then handed me the receiver. I was now to meet Paul Goldberg, if not in person, at least on the telephone.
It took only that short conversation for me to take an immediate dislike to him. He was arrogant, unfriendly, and uncooperative. It seemed obvious he was interested only in himself. I was able, however, to obtain from Paul the fact that Jason had assaulted him and had come at him with a knife while he was employed as chef at the Revival Café.
I asked Goldberg why the charges had been lowered to misdemeanors. He wouldn’t discuss it. I preferred to talk to him in person, so I asked if he would be willing to meet with me.
“Paul, I understand you’re out of the country. I’m willing to meet you there or anywhere in the United States.”
“Why would you want to come all this way?”
“Because it’s important to me. I’m trying to solve this case. I’m willing to pay you for your time.”
“How much are you willing to pay?” he asked.
“How much do you want?”
“Well, I’d been offered $25,000 for an interview, right after it all happened, and I wouldn’t take that.”
I knew Paul needed money, but I wasn’t willing to pay that kind of money for an interview with him or anyone else, unless the evidence would lead to information indicting the killer of Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman. I already had most of the police documents, and most of the facts concerning the Goldberg incident. It would have been nice to sit down and talk to him one-on-one, but it wasn’t going to make much difference now.
I had already established a pattern in Jason’s life.
“Mr. Goldberg, I could use your help. But if you don’t want to cooperate, that’s your right.”
“I guess that ends our conversation, doesn’t it?” Goldberg said curtly.
“Yes sir, it does.”
I handed the phone back to Debbie, who talked to her husband for a few moments more, then hung up. She turned to me and apologized for Paul’s attitude.
I could sense there was some problem in the relationship. I could sense, too, that there was a daylight-to-dark difference between their personalities.
It was also clear that Debbie had constant contact with Goldberg. I admired the fact that she was working hard trying to raise her eleven-year-old son. It was obvious she cared. I could only wish the very best for her and her son. As a single parent, I realized how difficult her role could be.
I started to get up from the kitchen table when I turned to her and said, “Debbie, would you mind describing Jason for me one last time?”
She smiled sadly. “One minute Jason could be the nicest guy in the world and the next moment, entirely different. Mr. Dear, he’s sick . . . he’s sick.”
On my notepad resting on the kitchen table I scribbled, “He’s sick . . . he’s sick.”
I thanked Debbie for her help and apologized again for interrupting her Sunday morning. I walked out to my car, knowing that I had—at the least—made more progress. Paul Goldberg’s statements to me now verified what was contained in the original police report—that Jason Simpson had indeed attacked and assaulted him with a knife.
This incident had occurred just eighteen months prior to the murders of Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman.
Once I returned to Dallas, I was able to acquire, through a confidential source, the number Debbie had called in Thailand, from the date of the phone call made from Goldberg’s permanent residence in Manhattan Beach. I now knew how to reach him if I had to. Paul Goldberg had told me what I needed to know, but more importantly, his wife had shared her feelings about Jason with me.
And Debbie’s final words, “He’s sick . . . he’s sick,” reconfirmed the possibility of Jason’s mental instability on the night of June 12.