A Perfect Husband (25 page)

The length of Michael Peterson's 2003 trial would surpass everyone's expectations; it would be the longest-running trial in Durham history. The jury selection process alone lasted from May 5 to June 23—all those weeks being used to whittle down 124 prospective jurors to a panel of 12 and 4 alternates. The main issue for the prosecution was to make sure that jurors understood that a motive was
not essential
for conviction. There was no murder weapon, no eyewitness, and the motive would be speculative.

The case being entirely circumstantial, DA Jim Hardin and ADA Freda Black had mentioned the existence of the new autopsy on Elizabeth Ratliff, noting that the cause of death was changed from accident to homicide. Freda Black would tell jurors that if the Ratliff evidence were to be allowed in, the state would not have to prove that Michael Peterson was involved in Ratliff's death. It was enough, Black would explain, under the 404 (b) provision, that the defendant had been present at an identical crime scene, that the defendant had specific knowledge about how to set up that identical crime.

David Rudolf would tell prospective jurors that Kathleen Peterson fell backward on a step, at the lower part of the stairwell, and split her scalp open. He asserted that Mrs. Peterson had tried to stand up, but had slipped on the bloody floor and had hit her head again, her blood loss causing her death. Rudolf would further contend that the case was going to hinge on forensics. He promised to offer evidence that the police took an hour to secure the crime scene, that police had allowed Michael and Todd Peterson to embrace Kathleen's body and spread blood in the kitchen, the laundry room, on a diet Coke can, and on a couch.

Rudolf also attacked the Durham forensic investigation unit, telling prospective jurors that the unit did not take detailed pictures or notes, had not drawn sufficient diagrams, and could not be counted on for its findings pertaining to the events of December 9, 2001. David Rudolf would continue to characterize the upcoming case as “a battle of the experts,” assuring prospective jurors that the defense would show that both deaths were accidental. Rudolf was confident that Mr. Peterson had absolutely nothing to do with either death.

David Rudolf would not say whether Michael Iver Peterson would be testifying on his own behalf, and to prospective jurors, little was known about the life of Michael Iver Peterson. The son of a military career man who grew up moving from place to place, Michael Peterson was indeed known to Durham's upper-crust social circles, but he was a nonentity to the majority of the population. Peterson had never been elected to any political office, and most folks didn't pay enough close attention to know that he had once written a political column for the
Herald-Sun
. In the era of modern, fast-paced living, most people didn't have time to read newspapers, no less novels, so the majority of people in the jury pool had no idea who Peterson was.

As for Peterson's books, it turned out that only a handful of folks were enamored with them. Peterson had a narrow following, mostly among military personnel, but his books had never garnered him much national acclaim. He certainly wasn't a household name. In fact, Michael Peterson wasn't even in the category of certain “noted” Southern authors.

All the efforts that Peterson had made over the years, trying to parlay the name recognition from his books, from his columns, and from his local community involvement, just hadn't worked out for him. But jurors would never hear how Peterson's bids for public office had ended badly; they would never hear about all the rejection letters Peterson had received from editors over the years; they would never hear about the hopeful movie options that had amounted to nothing other than thin air.

Instead, they would be told that Peterson had a wonderful and fruitful existence, continuing his grand writing career at his million-dollar home, where he lived with his wife, Kathleen, who worked long hours as an executive at Nortel. The prospective jurors would be given a portrait of the kindhearted and generous Michael Peterson, who had helped raise five children, and who, along with his wife, was a patron of the local arts.

Days before his trial began, Court TV ran a profile on Michael Peterson, taping him sitting in his vast eleven-thousand-square-foot home, surrounded with trinkets and expensive Chinese artworks. The novelist had collected his thoughts; he was in fine spirits, and was very optimistic about his upcoming case. Peterson sat politely and chatted with a Court TV reporter from his comfortably furnished office, where the homegrown roses on his desk seemed to breathe fresh life into the air.

Down the long corridor, along another wing of the house, the Court TV crew would notice the cheap unpainted plywood that concealed the bloodstained staircase where Mrs. Peterson had died. The Court TV crew was not allowed near the bloodstains, not early on, before the trial started. But they would ultimately take a stroll through the remnants of Kathleen Peterson's blood, before the trial was all over. In the interim, the Court TV reporter was assured that the forensic experts, hired by Peterson, would be able to explain exactly what the bloodstain patterns in the stairwell meant—poor Kathleen, beloved wife, had taken a tragic fall.

Michael Peterson told the TV reporter that he and his wife had the kind of marriage that other people envied. He spoke of his grief for his deceased spouse. His son Todd told Court TV that his father's upcoming murder trial was “incomprehensible.” Todd asserted that his dad and his stepmom had “the most loving relationship” he could imagine.

“They never fought,” Todd told the reporter, promising that he would be sitting behind his father when the opening statements began. Todd assured the reporter that he, along with the rest of the family, including his biological mom, Patricia, would make their daily presence in court known. They all believed wholeheartedly in Michael's innocence. David Rudolf also participated in the family's Court TV interview, telling the reporter that, while his client was not a perfect man, Peterson's faults didn't mean he was capable of murdering the woman who was “the love of his life.”

There was one thing Rudolf was concerned about, he admitted. It was the graphic nature of the autopsy photographs. He would tell Court TV that he expected jurors to have “a gut reaction” when they faced all that blood. But even so, the attorney seemed confident. He was certain he would be able to get people to see beyond that.

On the day of opening arguments, July 1, 2003, two scenarios were presented to jurors in Peterson's murder trial. David Rudolf, who was reportedly paid over $1 million by Peterson, would use high-tech resources—large screens, PowerPoint, an array of expensive audio-visual equipment—to make his case. On the other side of the courtroom were two unpretentious prosecutors, Jim Hardin and Freda Black, who chose to present the facts the old-fashioned way—using charts, metal pointers, and photos mounted on cardboard.

It was a high-stakes trial. Court TV would cover the entirety of it, and before it was over, programs like
Good Morning America
would host Kathleen's family members and
Oprah
would be calling. Amid the high drama, the national exposure, and the public interest, the case had followers arguing for each side. Many onlookers believed that David Rudolf and his team were winning the battle. The defense had poked many holes into the prosecution's case, and there seemed to be so much reasonable doubt.

People who were behind the scenes, those working for the prosecution, and even the presiding judge, the Honorable Orlando Hudson Jr., thought the verdict could go either way. The journalists covering the trial, after sitting through five months of voir dire and testimony, felt that there had been convincing closing arguments from both sides, but were taking bets that Michael Peterson would walk. After the tremendous battle David Rudolf and his team had waged, the courtroom bystanders felt that the best anyone could hope for was a hung jury.

For the defense, there were four men representing Peterson: the notable David Rudolf; Thomas Maher, Rudolf's partner, who was listed among the best lawyers in America; Ron Guerette, a private investigator, who had been to Germany and Texas and back again; and Guy Seaberg, a former prosecutor, who, because of his own run-in with the law, had been disbarred and had moved to Durham, where he was operating various Web sites, including Hizzoner.com.

For the prosecution, there was the elected official, DA Jim Hardin, a lifelong resident of Durham, and the county's top prosecutor; ADA Freda Black, a topgun who handled the county's most violent felony cases; ADA David Saacks, a veteran litigator, who was working on the case in the capacity of researcher, and Art Holland, the lead detective in the case, with twenty-two years of experience on the Durham police force.

From day one, as the drama began to unfold, Jim Hardin opened with what was considered to be an ace: a replica of the alleged murder weapon, a unique fireplace tool called a blow poke, which the public had never seen before. Standing in front of the jury, Hardin reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a four-foot-long hollow brass pole, a hollow fire poker, which he alleged was identical to the possible murder weapon. It was a fireplace tool that had been omnipresent in the Peterson home. Throughout the years, Kathleen's sisters had helped her use the tool to build a warm and cozy family atmosphere, her sister Lori recalling that the fireplace poker was in the home when she visited there in 2001.

The fireplace tool was a gift, given to Kathleen by her sister Candace, in 1984. It was an antique-looking item, a very handy object, which Kathleen kept in her kitchen area. The tool always sat next to the fireplace in the kitchen, and it was useful because it was a blower and a poker all in one. The blow poke, a tool that no one had ever really heard of, was apparently used to fan flames.

Kathleen had built many fires, she had enjoyed the tool for many years. But mysteriously, Hardin alleged, the unique gift, the blow poke, was missing from the Peterson household after Kathleen's untimely death.

“They say it was an accident, a fall down the stairs,” Hardin told jurors, “and we say it's not. We say she died a horrible, painful death at the hands of her husband, Michael Peterson.”

Jim Hardin then showed the jury two carefully selected photos. He wanted them to see two opposing sides of Kathleen Peterson. From the first photo, the jury could see a very genteel, warm person, a woman with a smile on her face. They could see that she was a woman of substance and presence. Kathleen was a very graceful lady, and her expression was full of charm.

But as the image of the lovely woman faded from view, as Kathleen's beautiful face was removed from the posterboard, the jury would be aghast at the next photo the prosecutor placed in front of them. It was a crime scene photo, showing Kathleen Peterson lying on the bottom of the steps, and the photo was so gruesome, Hardin deliberately shielded it from the courtroom audience, holding it directly before the jury.

The picture was eerie. It showed a bloody and battered Kathleen, her white sweatpants covered with red spatter, her legs spread in an odd position. The picture had a strange look about it; it was almost a still-life representation of horror and gore. Kathleen's body seemed to be oddly propped up against the stairwell door frame, and her battered face was frozen in an expression of sheer agony and terror. The twisted corpse of Kathleen was surrounded by bloody paper towels, bloody rags, and the bloody shoes and socks of Michael Peterson.

Hardin would tell jurors that when the emergency crews first arrived, at 2:48
A.M.
on December 9, 2001, the sight of Kathleen Peterson had horrified them. The prosecutor mentioned that at least one person at the scene would testify that the positioning of Kathleen's body at the bottom of the stairs
just didn't make any sense.

Jim Hardin knew he would be fighting an uphill battle against David Rudolf for weeks and weeks to come. Rudolf had already filed motions to try to stop the evidence from coming in; he had argued that the police hadn't served proper search warrants, that the police had contaminated the scene. Hardin knew that Rudolf was prepared to destroy the credibility of every state witness, that Rudolf was a meticulous defense attorney who had done all his homework. With ABC and other news crews taping, with Court TV airing the event, Hardin would be facing the battle of his career, and Rudolf would be pulling out all the stops.

But Jim Hardin had something that all the experts in the world couldn't truly explain. Knowing that he had to make a striking first impression with the jury, the prosecutor would waste no time in bringing out the worst photograph of all: the image of Kathleen Peterson's shaved head as she was lying on the steel gurney at the medical examiner's office. The photo exposed a large scalp area, covered entirely with bright red wounds. It would be unfathomable to jurors, the sight of the lacerations to Kathleen Peterson's scalp. There were so many slices, and there were jagged type marks that resembled pitchforks.

“They say it's an accident, and we say it's murder,” Hardin told the jurors, “and you will have to decide that.”

“We say it's murder. . . . ”
The words would ring in the corridors of the court.

The prosecutor didn't have the actual murder weapon, but he spoke of the blow poke, the gift from Candace, given to Kathleen in the days when she was married to Fred Atwater. The missing blow poke, he said, was identical to the one he held before them. Kathleen's sister had supplied the item to the prosecution. Having purchased a set of blow pokes as Christmas gifts for each of her siblings, Candace had been the person who originally suggested that the blow poke might have been used to cause her sister's death. Candace had brought her own blow poke to Durham, hoping that police might be able to find the missing fireplace tool. But police had searched the Petersons' grounds for days. They had been through every inch of the house on three separate occasions. They had even used dogs to scour the property.

But there was no blow poke to be found. After exhaustive searching, police determined that the blow poke had been removed from the Peterson property.

Jim Hardin wanted jurors to understand that he was not contending the blow poke in his hand was the actual murder weapon—only that Michael Peterson could have used an identical item, causing the severe lacerations to his wife's head.

Hardin would maintain that the primary mechanism for killing was something like the metal pole he held in his hand. Hardin said it was light, hollow, and easily used to inflict the wounds Kathleen Peterson suffered, wounds that had lacerated her scalp without fracturing her skull.

As he spoke, Hardin raised the blow poke high up into the air, swinging it down into his left hand with a striking motion, making a tapping sound. The prosecutor repeated the move a few times, reenacting a beating.

“This case is about pretenses and appearances,” the prosecutor continued, changing his tone. “It's about things not being as they seem.”

Then Jim Hardin began to unfold the story. He revealed the grandeur of the Peterson mansion, which gave the appearance of a storybook life between a couple who had a happily “blended family.” He would tell jurors that these were people who seemed to have it all. These were successful, high-class people, this author and his corporate executive wife, and they seemed to be the quintessential couple. From all appearances, they had the perfect household, the perfect family, the perfect marriage.

“But as the old saying goes,” Hardin would tell jurors, “appearances can be very deceiving.”

The prosecutor would explain that the Petersons had anything but a perfect home life. Things had gone awry in their household, and by 2001, things had spun out of control. While things looked grand from the outside, things were rotting away at the core. The Petersons had developed a huge appetite for expensive living, Hardin told jurors, and had cultivated a taste for fine things. According to the evidence, the Petersons were able to live well, largely because of Kathleen's salary and benefits during her twelve-year career at Nortel. For many years, the Peterson family had plenty of money coming in, due to the rising profits at Nortel. And as the Internet gained worldwide appeal, particularly toward the end of the 1990s, the potential for greater wealth was always on the horizon.

But then, in the years prior to Kathleen's death, Hardin explained, the Petersons' financial picture would begin to change drastically. And that changing picture was something that Michael Peterson just couldn't tolerate. The prosecutor said that for several years prior to her death, it was Kathleen—not Michael—who had been the primary support for the Peterson-Atwater-Ratliff family. The evidence would show that everyone in the Peterson household—including Michael—depended on Kathleen to bring home her substantial salary and all-encompassing benefit package.

In the years prior to her death, not only was Kathleen carrying most of the financial burden for the family, but she had become overwhelmed by the cost of paying three college tuitions, as well as multiple mortgages on rental properties that the Petersons held, properties that held little equity. Hardin would describe the financial predicament the Petersons had gotten themselves into, telling jurors that, according to the state's financial analysts, by the years 2000 and 2001, Michael Peterson was making no money as a writer. Records would show that because Kathleen Peterson had deferred 80 percent of her income from Nortel Networks in the year 2001, the Petersons had to begin living on credit. They were also forced to liquidate Kathleen's assets.

To help put things into context, Jim Hardin explained that he would be calling a witness, a financial investigator, who would talk about the financial and personnel environment that Kathleen and others at Nortel Networks had found themselves in. By the fall of 2001, the fortunes of Nortel had deteriorated, and as the stock price plummeted, Kathleen Peterson, who had used her deferred income to purchase more Nortel stock, had lost most of her life's earnings.

To make matters worse, Nortel had begun to lay people off in great numbers. There would be evidence to show that Kathleen Peterson was worried about her job, that she was involved in the job-firing process at Nortel, which the company referred to as “optimizing.” Hardin would contend that, having fired so many of her employees, Kathleen was aware that her job could easily be eliminated. And Kathleen had confided to her sisters, Candace and Lori, that she was worried about being fired, frightened that she would join the masses of people who were being replaced by younger people, workers who were willing to do the same job for much less pay.

Because of the state of the U.S. economy following 9/11, in late months of 2001, Kathleen Peterson had become convinced that she would be left with nowhere to go to find employment in the Triangle area. It was unbelievable to Kathleen that all of her years of hard work—after fighting for her engineering degree from Duke, after putting in so much overtime, and forsaking vacation time—her life's work would amount to nothing. Kathleen had lost it all in the stock market. She had listened to her husband's advice, had gambled with her future, and suddenly she found herself being forced to sell her Nortel stock at a ridiculous price. To add insult to injury, even with a conference room named after her, Kathleen Peterson knew that her job was not secure at Nortel. It was clear that no one could count on any loyalty from the company, and if she were to be terminated, Kathleen felt there was absolutely nowhere for her to turn.

For years, Kathleen had been looking forward to an early retirement. She had seen her net worth increase tenfold in the dot-com era—in the age of high-tech mania. But suddenly, at the age of forty-eight, Kathleen found herself in a financial predicament that seemed unimaginable. Kathleen confessed to Candace that she could no longer afford a housekeeper, that she could no longer pay the basic bills around the house. She was forced to use a downstairs shower because none of the master bathroom plumbing was working properly.

Kathleen had taken steps to avoid complete financial ruin; she had signed papers to reverse her deferred payment plan and would be receiving her regular income from Nortel in the year 2002. But even with her annual salary of $145,000, the family was facing too much debt, and with so many more expenses yet to come, Kathleen felt the situation was looking dire.