For five months people in the courtroom watched the unlovely spectacle of three female defense attorneys trying to make the slain mother of their clients killable to the juries. The dead woman was attacked in a rampage of verbal violence that equaled and occasionally surpassed in gore the contact wound made when Lyle Menendez fired into her cheek after Erik had helped him reload his spent weapon, the shot that turned Kitty Menendez’s face into near nothingness. Kitty’s body was found on the floor of the family room, next to her dead husband’s feet. Her face lay in her own coagulating blood. One of her eyes was shot out and her nose was gone. Her teeth had been knocked out of her mouth by the impact of the contact blast, except for the one that hung loose from the top gum, like a hag’s. Her hair stood straight up, like Don King’s, from the impact of the final blast. Her left breast, which had presumably once suckled her sons, was a mass of ugly pellet wounds. The fingers of one of her hands, with their freshly manicured pink nails, were intertwined with her own guts and matter.
Dominick Dunne, "Menendez Justice"
Dominick Dunne’s Vanity Fair trial coverage is maybe a little too prominent a part of my life and research right now.