Devil's Eve, 1982

Before she was killed by her ex-boyfriend, Dominique Dunne had been poised for Hollywood stardom. The crime launched her father, Dominick, into his calling, covering high-profile court cases for this magazine. The tragedy also reshaped their family, as Griffin Dunne writes in his memoir, The Friday Afternoon Club

- By Griffin Dunne

At 3 A.M., during the early hours of Halloween 1982, Detective Harold Johnston of the West Hollywood homicide division rang the doorbell of my mother's house in the flats of Beverly Hills. Marina, her live-in housekeeper, woke to the sound and let the detective in. When she led Johnston into Mom's bedroom, the lights were on and she was already sitting up in bed, bracing herself for news that is never good at that time of night. The first thing that caught Johnston's eye was my mother's wheelchair. He was a tough Irish cop who'd made countless house calls like this before, but never to a lady like Mrs. Ellen Griffin Dunne of 528 Crescent Drive North. He took in the wheelchair, the collection of glass hippos lining the shelves of an overstuffed bookcase, a bowl of rosebuds floating in water, and a black cat lying protectively on my mother's lap, both of them waiting for the detective to get to the reason for his visit. The closest murder had ever come to this house was in the pages of the Georges Simenon novel on the bedside table.

Johnston gently informed my mother that her daughter had been strangled by a man named John Sweeney. At this moment Dominique Dunne was still alive, though she had been placed on life support at Cedars-Sinai hospital. The detective asked if there was anyone she'd like to call.

Though they had been divorced for 16 years, my father was the first and only person who came to mind. She reached for the phone but it fell to the floor, scaring the cat off her lap. Her hands trembled so much, she fumbled the numbers on the rotary dial. She gave up and handed the phone to the detective and told him Dad's number in New York City.

"Thank you," she said when he handed it back. "Nick, I'm here with a homicide detective named...I'm sorry, I forgot your name...."

"Detective Harold Johnston. Would you like me to speak to him?"