Yesterday I interviewed a victim of sicko David Berkowitz’s year-long 1976-77 killing spree that paralyzed New York. Saturday, 9 p.m., Investigation Discovery reprises “Son of Sam: The Hunt for a Killer.” Today Marlin Hopkins, one of its lead investigators, remembers:
“The crime scene had nothing to go on. This means as a detective you right away have to reach out to your contacts. And the media, which can hinder or mislead, is often good. It helps. Mainstream eyes and ears bring leads, and the more the better.
“You have to try to build a direction. Like take victim Christine Freund, 26. She was in fiancé Jon Diel’s car. She died. He’s 30. He’s shaken. Unresponsive. So at the office, we grilled him. Being he was close to her, he’s No. 1 maybe. You work your way out until you eliminate him. You look for leads. Availability. Motive. The last 48 hours.
“Look, having worked organized crime homicides with a file of 1,800 cases New York to Florida, I made my bones long before Berkowitz. I’m a PI 23 years and come from a tough Brooklyn neighborhood where we knew the cops and they knew us. Gotti lived around the corner, Murder Inc. started a block away. I knew about wiseguys.”
His assessment of Berkowitz?
“After his arrest, eight of us faced his chair. Throwing questions. Three hours. He was stoic. He gave exact detailed descriptions of his stance, his outreach, the gun in his hand. I never came across such a homicidal, unhinged, unbalanced, psychologically remorseless killer. He’s psychotic.
“He now claims his years in prison have rehabilitated him. Don’t believe it.”
So Marlin, how about TV shows where crimes get solved in a few minutes?
“Please. Maybe Dennis Franz’s old show ‘NYPD Blue’ was the best. I once worked with its executive producer. But they’re mostly ridiculous. I don’t watch them.”
Please pay attention
After a private survey, the money’s on Cosby — he walks . . .
How Ralph Lauren’s shmattas are doing, who knows? How his Polo Bar restaurant’s doing, I know. Alongside me, former Mayor Mike Bloomberg to someone: “I know her. Don’t talk to her.” Next table Seth Meyers: “Tough to lose Scaramucci. He was great for the show.” Nearby PR man Rick Miramontez, who told even waiters that his client, the (ugh) Michael Moore show is great . . .
A table away Sen. Lindsey Graham on how’s our country doing: “We’re 241 years old. I figure we’ll be OK another few hundred years.” Senators do well. He was having steak.
Writer only had choice words
Sam Shepard left us. Handsome man in jeans, cowboy boots, ankle-length trench strutting about like a cross between the Marlboro Man and 007, he’d invariably show in photos as remote, dour, minus any inclination to toady to the camera.
An A-1 writer but also chary with spoken words, he told me: “I don’t own a computer. I write longhand. In notebooks. It’s then typed up. Retyped until I feel I’ve got it.”
In 2011, acting in “Blackthorn,” he filmed in Bolivia.
As I reported at the time, he said, “Wasn’t easy working at 1,500 feet. The air’s thin. Hard to breathe. Our rooms had tanks of air. On location auxiliary oxygen . . . We even ate their local food. Llama’s bland. Tastes like lamb steak.”
So Sam, why’d you shoot there?
“Because it’s cheap.” [More on Shepard in Michael Riedel’s column on Page 38.]
Madison Avenue office. The occupant of a desk says: “A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. A work station is where this worker stops. I’m going home.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.