Love & Death (28 page)

An early version of the book, entitled
Kurt Cobain: Beyond Nirvana,
was made available on Harrison’s now defunct website several years ago, but, because his investigation into Kurt’s death is ongoing, it has yet to be published in book form. He claims now that his investigation is nearly complete and that the book will probably be published in 2005. All royalties, he insists, will be donated to suicide prevention. Grant is dismissive of Harrison, believing that he serves only to discredit the case. For his part, Harrison is impressed by Grant’s research but thinks it is flawed because “he can’t get the credentials to hang with the junkies and dopers like I can.”

Although he declines to elaborate on the new evidence he has gathered, a hint may be found in an interview Harrison granted to a Nirvana Internet fan site in 2000. Asked whether he thinks Cali might have murdered Kurt because he was the only person known to have been at the house at the time of Kurt’s death, Harrison responds,

Though Harrison’s comments cry out for elaboration, he declines to say anything further about what he has found, claiming he is saving the evidence for his as-yet-unpublished book. But he does disclose that he recently found a letter that Courtney sent him when she was a teenager—a letter that convinces him more than ever that she had something to do with Kurt’s death. In it, she writes, “I’m going to marry myself a rock star, and kill him.” As revealing as this letter might be about Courtney’s teenage personality, it hardly constitutes proof of her guilt. But for those who find meaning in such writings, it may be instructive to look at the lyrics of a 1990 song Courtney wrote called “Turpentine”—the first song Hole ever recorded: “Now you’re mad and you’re snubbing me / Stinks of metal in the junkie tree…. / Rip it in turpentine /Put your leg up over your head / I better walk you to your suicide.”

One of Harrison’s arguments is particularly compelling: Why were there no legible fingerprints found on the shotgun? As Harrison says, “Dead men don’t wipe fingerprints off their own guns.”

Indeed, the lack of fingerprints has always been one of the anomalies of the case. When the police dusted for fingerprints, they actually found four latent prints. But, according to the deputy medical examiner, Nikolas Hartshorne, “We know those prints belonged to Kurt because we had to pry the gun out of his hand when we found him.” Yet nowhere else on the shotgun was there a single print found, legible or otherwise.

SPD spokesman Sean O’Donnell had a ready explanation for the lack of fingerprints: “I think it’s clear that anyone who is familiar with firearms and their use would know that as they hold a weapon, that frequently that weapon will move in their hand. Additionally, when that weapon is discharged, that causes a jerking motion, which causes the hands to move over the surface of the weapon. And all of those factors could cause any fingerprints that may have been left on the weapon to be unusable.”

We consulted a retired FBI fingerprint specialist named Max Jarrell to ask him whether O’Donnell’s explanation made sense. He was not convinced. “You’re more likely to have trouble lifting prints off a handgun than a shotgun,” Jarrell explained. “With a shotgun, there’s a much larger printable surface. You’re much more likely to find some usable latent prints. I find it unlikely that his hand would have wiped off all the fingerprints after he fired it.”

Moreover, Hartshorne himself had declared that, because of the cadaveric spasm, Kurt’s hand immediately gripped the barrel of the gun after firing it. Therefore, it couldn’t have slid over the surface of the weapon as O’Donnell described. Also unexplained is the fact that the police found no prints on the pen thrust through the so-called suicide note.

But, according to Jarrell, the absence of prints alone does not prove that a murder took place. “Whether a person leaves fingerprints or not depends on a number of factors. A lot depends on how much oils are on your hands. If someone has just washed their hands, for example, they might not leave prints. I’ve certainly seen cases where somebody left no fingerprints on a surface that we know they touched.”

However, we know that the shotgun was handled by at least three separate people: the salesman who sold Dylan Carlson the gun on March 30, Dylan himself, and, finally, Kurt. Yet none of the three men’s prints were found on the gun. Is it possible that each of these people had washed their hands just before handling the gun?

In the end, argues Colorado deputy coroner Denise Marshall, there is a lot of very convincing evidence to call the suicide verdict into question, including the lack of fingerprints, the triple lethal dose of heroin and the postmortem credit card use: “There is certainly enough evidence in this case to have the medical examiner’s verdict changed from ‘suicide’ to ‘undetermined,’ and I think that’s exactly what should be done,” she explains. “I’ve worked on a number of cases where we’ve had the verdict changed to ‘undetermined,’ and with less compelling evidence than I’ve seen here. This would serve to reopen the case and ensure a proper investigation is finally undertaken.”

But Marshall adds a big disqualification: although there is enough evidence to change the verdict from “suicide” to “undetermined,” none of this evidence will conclusively prove that Kurt was murdered. Only the crime scene photos will do that, she explains. Marshall has consulted a number of experts about this case, including one of America’s most respected forensic pathologists, who insisted that, before anyone can say for certain that Kurt’s death was a staged suicide, a pathologist would have to examine the photos taken at the scene. “The photos should tell the story,” she says. “He’d be looking at the blood splatter. You see, if somebody actually held Kurt’s hand around the gun and pulled the trigger, some of the blood would probably have splattered on their hand, leaving a void on Kurt’s. You can analyze that void in the photos and determine whether or not it was a staged suicide.”

This echoes what the former Bronx Homicide Task Force commander Vernon Geberth told us: “I’d have to see the photos. The photos tell you everything.”

Could the importance of these photos possibly explain a letter we obtained from the Seattle Police Department under a recent Freedom of Information request? On February 13, 1995, less than a month after Tom Grant first went public with his murder theory, Sergeant Don Cameron sent the following internal memo to his superior, Lieutenant Al Gerdes, commander of the SPD Homicide Division:

The Seattle Police Department refuses to confirm or deny whether the photos remain in their files today.

F
ive months after the death of her daughter in June 1994, Janet Pfaff received a call from the producers of
The Oprah Winfrey Show
with an invitation to appear. They were planning a segment about the parents of drug addicts and wanted Janet to come on and talk about Kristen, who had died of an apparent heroin overdose.

Janet politely declined. She told the producers that she just wasn’t emotionally ready to talk about her daughter so soon after the tragedy. Only now is she prepared to admit the real reason she refused to appear: “I am not convinced my daughter’s overdose was accidental, so how could I go on the biggest show in the world and talk about it?”

Kristen Marie Pfaff was born in the Buffalo suburb of Williams-ville, New York, on May 26, 1967. Her parents divorced when she was young, and her mother remarried shortly afterward. When Kristen was nine, her half brother, Jason, was born.

Kristen was educated in Buffalo’s Catholic school system, where she became proficient in classical cello and piano at an early age. Her mother recalls that, while other girls her age were playing with dolls, Kristen was recording Girl Scout songs that she adapted to her own lyrics.

She graduated from Sacred Heart Academy in 1985 and then briefly attended Boston College before receiving a scholarship to study in Holland. Two years later, she enrolled at the University of Minnesota, where she majored in women’s studies, became a committed activist and worked as a crisis counselor for rape victims. After earning 150 credits, Kristen decided to leave college to pursue her lifelong dream of a music career. “I graduated myself,” she told a Minnesota newspaper. “I just decided to start a band and forget about school.”

Kristen soon immersed herself in Minnesota’s underground music scene, where she decided that she preferred playing hard rock to the staid classical music she had performed since the age of five. She taught herself to play bass guitar, which she mastered quickly. Her first project, Drool, featured members of the notorious Minneapolis garage bands, the Cows and God’s Bullies; shortly afterward, Kristen teamed up with two local musicians, Joachim Breuer and Matt Entsminger, to form a new trio called Janitor Joe, with Kristen on bass and keyboards. “Kristen was an incredibly driven person,” recalled Breuer. “Whatever she set her mind to, she could accomplish.”

Within a year, Janitor Joe was the talk of the Minnesota music scene. In 1993, the respected indie label Amphetamine Reptile Records released the band’s debut album,
Big Metal Birds,
to great acclaim.

Kristen’s musicianship was beginning to attract attention beyond the Minnesota indie scene, but her fame had not changed her gentle personality. “She was the most peaceful, friendly person you could meet,” recalls former Janitor Joe music producer Pat Dwyer. “Kristen had a beautiful presence. And she was one damn talented musician and artist.”

One night in 1993, after Janitor Joe finished a gig at a small L.A. club, Eric Erlandson and Courtney Love came backstage and introduced themselves to Kristen. Hole had just signed with Geffen Records, and they were about to head into the studio to record a new album. Their bassist, Leslie Hardy, had recently left the band, and they needed a replacement. Saying they were “blown away” by Kristen’s assertive style, they told her she would be a perfect addition to the group.

Kristen had a good thing going with her own band, which was beginning to attract widespread attention. “She agonized over that decision for a long time,” says her father, Norm Pfaff. “Janitor Joe was just getting rolling, but she recognized the opportunity of being in a successful band on a big label.” After some convincing, and a generous financial offer, she agreed to join Hole on a temporary basis.

“I wish to God she would have never made that move,” says her mother, Janet. “I was totally against it. I never trusted Courtney and Eric. They were deeply into drugs. I thought that Kristen was better off in Minnesota. I tried to convince her not to go, but she didn’t want to let such a big opportunity slip by.”

Kristen rented an apartment in Seattle, where the band rehearsed before heading to a studio in Atlanta to record their new album,
Live Through This.
Before long, Kristen had hooked up with the band’s guitarist, Eric Erlandson, Courtney’s ex-boyfriend, who told friends he was taken with Kristen’s stunning long jet-black hair and striking figure. Within weeks she became hooked on heroin.

Janet tried to persuade her daughter to quit the band and enter a detox center, but there was little she could do with Kristen so far away. Jason, however, saw the depth of his sister’s addiction first-hand: “I think she might have already tried heroin before she met Courtney, but in Seattle, Courtney got her addicted. She would always make sure that Kristen was supplied with as much heroin as she needed. I was there at the time. Kristen had asked me to move to Seattle to be with her for support, so I witnessed a lot of the crazy things that went on. One time, Kristen showed me a purse Courtney gave her. It had needles inside that Courtney had put in it. Courtney and the rest of the band pushed Kristen into drugs beyond control. Of course, Kristen had a mind of her own, so she has to take some of the responsibility.”

According to Kristen’s close friend Kathy Hewitt, Kristen and Courtney got along well at first, but the relationship went rapidly downhill after the band flew to Atlanta to record
Live Through This.
Kristen was a formally trained musician with strong opinions about the song arrangements. Courtney could barely play an instrument. Hysterically defensive about her musical abilities, she did not take well to Kristen’s suggestions and threatened to fire her more than once.

Hewitt believes Courtney set out to break Kristen emotionally, an experience that left her friend traumatized: “Courtney yelled at Kristen all the time. She wanted to make sure Kristen knew who was boss. I think Kristen was afraid of Courtney. She thought she was out of control. She said Courtney was the most egomaniacal, insecure and power-hungry person she had ever met. Kristen was interested in making good music. Courtney was more interested in making headlines for all the crazy stuff she did every day.”

To make matters worse, Kristen had established a deep bond with Kurt. They spent hours talking together. As Jason recalls, “Kurt was extremely fond of Kristen. It made Courtney very jealous. Courtney kept a close eye on them. I don’t think that they were involved—in fact, I’m pretty sure they weren’t—but Courtney was jealous because Kristen was so beautiful and smart. And she had a lot in common with Kurt. They used to talk a lot about books, art and music. I don’t think it made Courtney very happy.” Courtney once complained to Jason that Kurt and Kristen were “connecting too much.” Two weeks later, when Kurt gave Kristen a copy of the novel
Perfume,
Jason says, “Courtney hit the ceiling.”

Around Christmas 1993, Kristen broke up with Eric, a relationship Kathy Hewitt describes as “nightmarish”: “It’s hard to say whether Kristen was ever in love with Eric. I think it was more a relationship of convenience. Kristen had just arrived in Seattle, and Eric was right there to greet her with open arms. I think the relationship eventually dissolved because Kristen wanted a change from the seedy life of drugs and booze.” Soon after the breakup, Erlandson began to date Hollywood actress Drew Barrymore.

The album completed, Kristen moved back to Minneapolis in February to await the start of Hole’s summer tour. It was there that she received the news of Kurt’s death. “She was devastated,” Janet recalls. “It was a big loss for her. She lost someone she really respected. They had a lot in common. It was a big wake-up call for her. Kristen stopped doing drugs the day Kurt died.”

Reeling, Kristen entered a Minneapolis detox center and began the job of straightening out her life. In May, she told the local alternative paper the Minnesota
Nightly
how happy she was to be home: “I’m really having a great time doing the things I’m doing now here, getting back to friends, playing music together, which I really missed. I couldn’t get going in Seattle because the local scene was so stagnant. There’s a lot more going on in Minneapolis.” Kurt Cobain, she told the interviewer, “broke my heart.” She failed to elaborate.

Meanwhile, she had made the decision to rejoin her old band, Janitor Joe. Revitalized, the Minneapolis band flew to Europe in May for a brief tour. Kristen was adamant she would never go back to Hole.

“I met Courtney for the first time at the Phoenix Festival in England in 1993,” says Janet Pfaff. “She was never able to look me in the eye, and I could never figure out why. I thought she was very rude. I never trusted her, and I could see how she treated Kristen. When Kristen told me she was quitting Hole, she told me that she would never rejoin them, no matter how successful the album was. She wasn’t really quitting Hole, she was quitting Courtney. She just couldn’t stand to be around Courtney anymore, especially after Kurt’s death. I think she was scared of her. She wanted to make a new start.”

As Kristen told her Janitor Joe bandmate Matt Entsminger, “These people are all crazy. Let them find another idiot to play the bass. I’m history.”

Courtney was livid when she heard the news.
Live Through This
had just been released to great acclaim, and many critics were crediting Kristen’s bass playing for the band’s unique new sound. She was being hailed as one of the top female rock bassists in the country. “The day Kristen joined Hole is when we took off,” Erlandson told
Spin
magazine. “All of a sudden, we became a real band.” To quit just as Hole’s long-anticipated tour was set to begin was to plunge Courtney’s carefully ordered plans into disarray.

Before settling in Minneapolis for good, however, Kristen made arrangements to visit Seattle one last time—just long enough to clear the things out of her apartment. For reasons she can’t rationally explain now, Janet begged Kristen not to go: “I felt something bad might happen. I just did not want her to go back. I had this strange inner feeling that told me not to let her go. But she wasn’t a kid anymore. There was just so much I could tell her. It was her decision.”

When Janet’s pleas fell on deaf ears, she asked her cousin Michael, a security guard, to accompany Kristen to Seattle to help her gather her belongings, and even purchased Michael an Amtrak ticket to travel there. But when Janitor Joe’s European tour was extended, and Kristen’s Seattle trip was postponed a week, her cousin couldn’t make it. Kristen asked her friend Paul Erickson, leader of the Minneapolis band Hammerhead, to come with her and help her move.

They arrived in Seattle on June 14. The next day, Paul and Kristen packed her furniture and other belongings in a U-Haul for the return trip to Minneapolis. They planned to set out the next morning.

After Paul finished helping Kristen pack up the U-Haul, he volunteered to spend the night in the truck to guard her belongings from thieves. There were said to be more heroin addicts per square foot in Kristen’s Capitol Hill neighborhood that year than in any other district in the United States; theft by junkies was rampant. Sometime that evening, Kristen called her Janitor Joe bandmate Joachim Breuer, who later said that Kristen sounded “as chipper and happy as she’d ever been. She couldn’t wait to get back to Minneapolis.”

Around 8:00
P.M.,
Paul left Kristen alone in the apartment so she could take a bath. As he was sitting in the truck a few minutes later, he saw Eric Erlandson enter the apartment and then leave again roughly half an hour later. Paul returned to the apartment around 9:30 and knocked on the locked bathroom door. He heard Kristen snoring inside. He knew she often fell asleep in the bath, so he returned to the truck to sleep for the night.

When Paul awakened the next morning, he returned to the apartment to see if Kristen was ready to hit the road. He discovered the bathroom door still locked. When he knocked and got no response, he kicked down the door. Kristen was kneeling in an inch or two of water in the tub, unconscious. The phone had already been disconnected for the move, so he rushed to a phone booth around the corner to call 911. She was dead by the time police and paramedics arrived. In a cosmetics bag on the bathroom floor, police found what they described as “syringes and narcotic paraphernalia.”

On June 17, a spokesman for the King County Medical Examiner’s Office declared Kristen’s death accidental; he did not name the person who conducted the autopsy. When we obtained a copy of Kristen’s death certificate, it revealed that the task had been performed by none other than Nikolas Hartshorne, who listed the cause of death as “Acute Opiate Intoxication” caused by an accidental “[injectable] use of drug.”

“It seemed clear that the frequently self-destructive grunge music demimonde had claimed another victim,” concluded
People
magazine, a little out of its depth. The media were quick to blame the city’s notorious drug culture, but also its take-no-prisoners music scene. Rock stars died, they concluded, and curiously, they all seemed to die at the same age. More than one report noted that both Kurt and Kristen were twenty-seven when they fatally overdosed—the same age as Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix when they met their own drug-related deaths a quarter century earlier.