Sound of Gunfire Marks the Collision of Two Lives

Page turned to make sure his Taser wasn't lying close by, and that's when he saw the woman in the chair.

She was blond, tall, freckled. She slumped, half in, half out of the seat, her long legs extended in front of her. Her head lolled to the left, and a great deal of blood had flowed from her face down to her chest.

In the struggle, she had escaped Page's notice. But on first sight the officer knew she was dead.

It was early Monday, Feb. 3, 2003. For Spector, it was the unexpected end of a night's celebrity revelry: ferried from one pleasure spot to the next in a chauffeured black Mercedes-Benz, accompanied at various points by three different women.

Spector first told officers he'd accidentally shot Lana Clarkson. Then he insisted she had committed suicide, an account he has stuck to.

Since Spector and Clarkson were the only ones present when the Colt Cobra Special .38-caliber revolver went off, the case may turn on physical evidence: blood spatters, shattered teeth and where the gun was found.

This account was distilled from a 1,018-page transcript of secret proceedings before the Los Angeles County Grand Jury, which indicted Spector in September for Clarkson's murder. The transcript -- composed of sworn testimony from police, forensic experts, Spector's driver and friends of Clarkson -- was made public Thursday.

Spector, 64, has pleaded not guilty and is free on $1-million bail. No trial date has been set. His lawyer, Bruce Cutler, in a prepared statement, called the transcript a "one-sided presentation of lies and half-truths," and noted that those who testify before the grand jury are not subject to cross-examination.

Invited to the Castle

Adriano De Souza drove his red Ford Crown Victoria up the long driveway of Phil Spector's 8,500-square-foot Alhambra mansion around 6:45 p.m. on Sunday, Feb. 2, 2003.

De Souza told the grand jury he had been working as Spector's backup driver for a couple of months. A veteran of the Brazilian army, he was technically violating his student visa by holding a job, but he was moving up in the world. He'd previously been a parking valet.

De Souza brought along a laptop computer and some bottled water and snacks to see him through the night.

Locals referred to Spector's mansion as the Pyrenees Castle. With 10 bedrooms, eight baths, an office, a large wine cellar, guard turrets and walls tapering from 3 feet thick at their base to a foot thick at the roofline, it had been built in 1926 by an American who patterned it after castles in the south of France.

De Souza drove to the garage in the back of the property. In the first of four stalls, a new Mercedes S430 awaited, keys in the ignition.

Spector walked out of the mansion's foyer around 7 p.m., wearing black pants, a black shirt and a white jacket.

He had not produced a hit record in years but remained a celebrity from a string of hits during the 1960s and '70s, all stamped with a signature sound that combined orchestration with vocal harmonies.

Spector later became reclusive, known as "the Howard Hughes of rock," until the early 1990s, when he reemerged on the music and social scene.

Spector told De Souza to take him to Studio City. De Souza didn't need an address. He'd driven Spector there before, always to see the same woman.