Abramson’s Toughest Test?

The words have always come easy. Glib, cocky, passionate, brilliant. Defense attorney Leslie Abramson could conjure whatever phrase, whatever tone was necessary to defend clients accused of the most atrocious crimes.

The words carried her to this peak: hailed as one of the nation’s top criminal lawyers, famed as a television analyst during the O.J. Simpson trial, praised for her superb strategies, incisive intellect and brutal frankness.

The words were always there for Abramson. Until now.

Twice she has invoked the 5th Amendment rather than answer allegations that she doctored evidence in the Menendez brothers’ murder retrial by forcing a defense psychiatrist to extensively alter the notes he used to testify. On Tuesday, she waived her right against self-incrimination but still refused to talk, citing her attorney-client privilege.

While the judge has not indicated whether he would pursue the matter, the state bar seems almost certain to investigate after jurors decide whether to give Erik and Lyle Menendez death or life behind bars.

Her colleagues have questions for her, too. Somehow, somewhere, someone will want answers from Abramson. When that happens, the flamboyant barrister whose oratory has spared at least a dozen defendants from death row will have to summon all her skills.

Not for a client. But for herself.

While the State Bar of California said it will not disrupt the Menendez trial to investigate her conduct, it will almost certainly probe Abramson’s actions later. Discipline could range from a private letter in Abramson’s professional file to a public reprimand--to outright disbarment. If Abramson violated rulings requiring her to turn over all witness notes, she could face court sanctions as well.

“If they find it is an actual fabrication of evidence, the courts have traditionally viewed that very harshly for an attorney. Even a single incident is a very, very serious thing,” said former State Bar Judge Ellen Peck, now in private practice in Malibu.

University of San Diego law professor Robert C. Fellmeth, a former prosecutor and state bar monitor, said he believes Abramson could face at least a severe suspension, and at worst could lose her license to practice law in California.

Asking an expert witness to excise notes based on “empirical observations and recordings of statements . . . is not briefing an expert to put your spin on it. It is basic deceit, subterfuge and fraud on the court,” Fellmeth said.

He stressed that he had not heard Abramson’s defense, but said: “When you start altering physical evidence, you have crossed a very thin line.”

But other lawyers who routinely follow state bar disciplinary proceedings said Abramson’s reputation might be enough to spare her punishment.

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“A lawyer of good reputation who makes a mistake in judgment in the course of highly charged litigation [and is] a first-time offender is not going to suffer very serious discipline,” said San Francisco attorney Doron Weinberg, who often defends lawyers accused of misconduct. “I think if Ms. Abramson is going to be treated differently, it will be in part because of the special [high-profile] nature of this case.”

While rumors about her conduct swirl, Abramson has so far abided by a gag order banning all attorneys in the Menendez trial from talking about the case. The silence seemed particularly uncomfortable for an attorney who in 27 remarkably successful years has made her reputation with words.

“She had a hell of a run before this,” said federal Judge James M. Ideman, who presided over a 1982 trial that until now was Abramson’s only defeat in a death penalty trial. “There was not then, nor is there now, any question about her ability. She is without a doubt one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the country.”

Even critics who wince at her personality agree that she’s talented. But the allegations of misconduct have everyone wondering aloud:

Has the great Leslie Abramson overstepped the boundaries she pushed with such flair for decades?

“Assuming the facts are as presented . . . it is a very sad day because what it does is stain an otherwise strong reputation of a peerless attorney,” said former Superior Court Judge Burton Katz. “It has to hurt her credibility, and credibility is what a trial attorney sells. You don’t sell evidence. You sell yourself.”

For prosecutors, credibility comes from the weight of the government. When they speak, they speak for the People.

Defense attorneys, however, stand alone with their clients, and their personal credibility can make or break a case.

“However critical people have been about her,” said longtime friend and fellow criminal attorney Elisabeth Semel, “the criticisms have not been about her ethics.”

Even if she avoids sanctions, Abramson will still need to muster all her legendary scrappiness to recover her reputation--and her marketability.

“You can’t have Ted Koppel asking her to discuss anything now if this allegation that she tampered with evidence is true,” said author and courtroom pundit Dominick Dunne, whose writings on the Menendez and Simpson cases have been decidedly pro-prosecution.

For almost 18 months during the Simpson trial, Abramson appeared on television as often as four times a day--including on ABC’s “Nightline”--with lively analysis that brought color to even the drabbest of legal maneuverings. Riding on her popularity as a commentator, Abramson last year signed an agreement with Twentieth Television to develop a half-hour news magazine talk show.

But the show, with the working title “Flashpoint With Leslie Abramson,” was scotched in December when Twentieth officials concluded it did not have a place in the afternoon market. Abramson still has an overall deal with various Fox television entities, including Fox News, but no specific program ready for launch. One Twentieth official said it is “far too premature” to discuss how Abramson’s legal woes might affect her television prospects.

The idea of leaving the courtroom for network television seemed to tantalize Abramson, who said the Menendez retrial could be her last case. “The whole notion that . . . I could make a living by talking about someone else’s case, it was just amazing,” she said after Simpson’s acquittals. “It was something I never anticipated.”

But it was something she was well prepared for.

Abramson has long been known for spouting off on any legal topic, inside or outside the courtroom.

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Opposing prosecutors routinely grumble at how this 4-foot-11 woman dominates a courtroom. Judges sometimes complain that she argues too much, sliding dangerously close to contempt. Jurors have accused her of over-hyped theatrics. But from the moment she opens her argument, few can rip their eyes from her.

Abramson worked her magic in 14 death-penalty cases before rocketing into the public spotlight with the first Menendez trial. She won an acquittal for Dr. Khalid Parwez, a gynecologist accused of strangling and dismembering his son. She persuaded jurors to show leniency to Peter Chan, accused of participating in a Chinatown robbery that left a police officer dead. Chan was convicted of second-degree murder, a lesser charge that spared him the death penalty.

And, in a 1988 trial, Abramson defended Arnel Salvatierra, a 17-year-old who admitted sending a fake death threat to his father, then sneaking into his bedroom and shooting him three times as he slept. Using the same tactics that would prove so successful in the first Menendez trial, Abramson argued that Salvatierra struck out only because he could no longer endure the physical and psychological abuse his father had doled out for years. The strategy worked. Salvatierra was convicted of manslaughter and placed on probation--a stunning victory for the defense.

“She’s one of the brightest people I’ve ever met,” said retired Superior Court Judge Gilbert C. Alston, who handled the Salvatierra case. “She’s a delight to watch in the courtroom.”

In fact, the only capital case Abramson lost before the Menendez retrial was the 1982 murder trial of Ricky Sanders, who was sentenced to death for shoving 11 people into a freezer at Bob’s Big Boy and killing four of them. During the trial, Abramson and prosecutor Harvey Giss clashed so often--and so bitterly--that the judge threatened to jail both attorneys.

“I told her ‘The deputies will bring your client out of one [jail cell] door and you out of another,’ ” recalled Judge Ideman. “That did it. From then on, we had some peace.”

Peace, perhaps. But Abramson never let up her zealous aggression for a minute. She was always pushing to the limit. Always testing the boundaries of advocacy. Always stretching to keep her clients off death row. Colleagues who have known her for years suggest that Abramson may have reached just a little too far in her impassioned, almost frantic zeal to save Erik Menendez from the execution chamber.

“Sometimes you get burned because you go a little bit too hard, because maybe you believe that the Menendez brothers should not die. And you push the envelope and you don’t use the best of judgment,” former judge Katz said.

Even after the allegations of misconduct surfaced, those who have worked with and against Abramson said they would hire her without qualms to defend them in a criminal trial. “Absolutely,” said former Los Angeles Dist. Atty. Robert Philobosian. “Because of her thoroughness and her dedication to her clients.”

Echoing many of Abramson’s admirers, Palo Alto lawyer Thomas Nolan said: “There’s no doubt in my mind that whatever she did, she did in the best interests of her client.” Nolan had no doubt, either, that Abramson would fight the accusations against her, both in the courtroom and in the court of public opinion.

“I don’t see her giving up at all,” Nolan said. “She’s always going to win her battles.”