Tom O’Neill (author of Chaos: Charles Manson, the CIA, and the Secret History of the Sixties) came to see Vincent Bugliosi (author of Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders and DA on the case) as his nemesis:
I’ve already mentioned Mary Neiswender, the reporter who told me that Bugliosi was “terribly dangerous”: he’d sent an emissary warning that he knew where her kids went to school and implied that “it would be very easy to plant narcotics in their lockers.”
[…]
In 1968, Bugliosi fell into a scandal kept under wraps by the DA’s office until ’72, when he was running for district attorney of Los Angeles. (He lost the election.) He’d stalked and terrorized someone he was convinced had carried on an affair with his wife and fathered his first-born child, Vincent Jr. As clichéd as it sounds, Bugliosi suspected his milkman, Herbert Weisel, who was married with two children.
Weisel had left his job in 1965, eight months before Vincent Jr. was born. Bugliosi was sure that Weisel had quit because of his transgression—the evidence must’ve been in Weisel’s personnel file at the dairy. He made anonymous phone calls to Weisel’s wife and then to Weisel himself, demanding him to release his files. The couple began to notice “strange cars” circling their block after dark. They changed their phone number, which was already unlisted. Two days later, they got a typed letter postmarked from L.A. “You shouldn’t have changed your phone number,” it said. “That wasn’t nice.”
Eventually, Bugliosi’s wife, Gail, approached the Weisels, revealing her identity in the hopes that she could arrange a détente. The Weisels told her that her husband should be getting psychiatric help. “She told us that she’d tried many times, but that he wouldn’t do it,” they later testified in a civil deposition. She’d taken paternity and lie-detector tests to prove the child was his, but he still harbored doubts. “I know he’s sick,” she said. “He’s got a mental problem.”
The couple became so frightened that they stopped allowing their children to take the bus to school. They hired a lawyer and, after a mediation, Bugliosi agreed to stop harassing them and to pay them $ 100 for their silence. They refused the money. In ’72, with Bugliosi on the ballot, they decided it was their civic duty to go public—their tormentor aspired to the most powerful law enforcement job in the city. They told the papers of his yearlong harassment and intimidation campaign.
Enlisting his well-documented talent for fabrication, Bugliosi retaliated, telling the press that Weisel had stolen money from his kitchen table seven years earlier. Weisel sued him for slander and defamation. It wasn’t a tough case to win. In depositions, Bugliosi and his wife swore they’d only been worried about the alleged robbery of their home. The Weisels proved otherwise, bringing in witnesses who exposed the Bugliosis as perjurers. Soon it came out that Bugliosi had twice used an investigator in the DA’s office—his office—to get confidential information about Weisel, claiming he was a material witness in a murder case. Fearing the disclosure would cost him his job, Bugliosi settled out of court, paying the Weisels $ 12,500. He paid in cash, on the condition that they sign a confidentiality agreement and turn over the deposition tapes.
No sooner was the milkman imbroglio resolved than Bugliosi fell into another fiasco, again abusing his connection to the criminal justice system to straighten it out. His mistress, Virginia Cardwell, the single mother of a five-year-old, told him she was pregnant. It was his. With visions of public office still dancing in his mind, and Helter Skelter on the eve of publication, he ordered Cardwell, a Catholic, to get an abortion. She refused, but after Bugliosi threatened her and gave her money for the procedure, she lied and said she’d done it. He wasn’t about to take her word for it. He got her doctor’s name, called him, and learned that she’d never been to see him, after which he headed to her apartment and beat her so savagely that she suffered a miscarriage. He choked her, struck her in the face several times with his fists, threw her onto the floor, pulled her up by her hair, and threatened to kill her if she had the baby, saying she wouldn’t leave the apartment alive if she lied to him: “I will break every bone in your body—this will ruin my career.” Bruised and battered, Cardwell gathered herself and went to the Santa Monica Police Department, where she filed a criminal complaint. The cops photographed her bruises and then, evidently, did nothing.
That evening, an eagle-eyed reporter spotted the incident on the police blotter and wrote about it in the next day’s paper. Bugliosi returned to Cardwell’s apartment that morning, this time with his secretary. The pair held her hostage for four hours until she agreed to tell the police she’d filed a false complaint the previous day. Bugliosi assured her he’d use his contacts in the DA’s office to make sure she was never brought to trial for the false report. He and his secretary used Cardwell’s typewriter to forge a backdated bill for legal services, telling her to show it to the police. He listened in on an extension as she called to turn herself in. The dispatcher said they’d send a patrol car to get her. He vigorously shook his head, and Cardwell told the dispatcher she’d be fine getting in on her own.
The dispatcher sent a car anyway. One of the detectives who’d seen Cardwell that day, Michael Landis, told me Bugliosi and “a couple of his associates” answered the door “and tried to discourage us from talking to her. We were persistent and we did see her—and she was pretty well banged up.” Cardwell claimed that the bruises were from an accident: her son had hit her in the face with a baseball bat. She’d only blamed Bugliosi because she was angry that he’d overcharged her for legal advice concerning her divorce. “This outrageous charge, even though false, can be extremely harmful,” Bugliosi told police.
Cardwell’s brother persuaded her to file a lawsuit against Bugliosi. Bugliosi’s story fell apart before the suit was even filed, and he settled with Cardwell in exchange for her confidentiality—ensuring, he hoped, that his lies to the police, fabrication of evidence, and obstruction of justice would never see the light of day. He was wrong. The Virginia Cardwell story hit the papers in 1974, when his primary opponent in the California state attorney general’s race, William Norris, caught wind of it. (Bugliosi lost that election, too.) Because of his clout in the DA’s office, he was never prosecuted for assaulting Cardwell. Landis, the detective, called him “a whiney, sniveley little bastard,” saying, “I wanted to prosecute the son of a bitch.”