Forty-two

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.