“Hello.” Amber eyed the tape recorder to confirm that it was still whirring.
“Baby?” It was Scott. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Amber replied.
“I found a quiet place; it’s pretty good, huh?” Scott said, referring to the phone’s reception.
“How was your New Year’s?” Amber asked.
“It’s pretty awesome fireworks,” Scott said with a laugh. “The Eiffel Tower ... ”
“Uh-huh,” Amber acknowledged. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad you guys decided to go out.”
Elaborating on his tall tale, Scott listed his companions by name: Jeff, François, and Pasqual, a friend from Spain.
“Good,” Amber said. “Did you make any New Year’s resolutions?”
“What should my New Year’s resolution be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, that was my question,” Amber retorted.
“I’ll come up with something good,” Scott responded with a chuckle. “So, um, if you can hear me, I miss you and I’ll try to call you back. It will be nine o’clock here in the morning, but I’m going to call you back for your New Year’s. Talk to you soon, baby.”
At police headquarters, a press conference was under way. Sergeant Cloward read from a prepared statement: “As we continue to profile Laci’s background, gather witness statements, recognize her close relationship with family and friends, investigate the circumstances of her disappearance and, in view of the timing with the holiday season, it is becoming more apparent that her disappearance is the resuk of foul play. The investigation is progressing forward with that as the main focus, but we have not ruled out other possibilities.”
What he didn’t say was that the investigation was beginning to focus on Scott Peterson as the chief suspect.
In the glare of TV camera lights, officers announced a $1,000 re-ward for information leading to the identification of the person or persons responsible for the burglary of the home across the street from the Petersons on Covena Avenue. The break-in, they noted, took place some time between December 24 and 26. Information in that case could be relevant to Laci’s disappearance because of the timing and proximity to the Petersons’ home. Officials repeated the eyewitness description of the suspects as three dark-skinned, although not African American males, short in stature. They were also looking for an older model full-size van, tan or light brown in color, with one or possibly two doors in the rear.
As the press conference continued, Detective Grogan was in an upstairs interview room with Scott’s parents, Lee and Jackie Peterson. The fifty-nine-year-old Jackie’s chronic lung disorder was reportedly the product of repeated bouts of pneumonia as a child, and she used supplemental oxygen throughout the interview.
The Petersons told Grogan that they lived in Solano Beach, near San Diego, and that they had driven to Modesto as soon as they learned that Laci was missing. During the interview, they provided the police with more background information on their son.
In response to questions, the couple told Grogan that Scott had landed his job with Tradecorp through one of his professors at Cal Poly. Scott tested for a managerial position and was hired soon after. At first he had worked out of his home in Modesto, until he was able to get a client base and rent a warehouse. The company knew that it would take some time for him to show a profit, Lee explained.
When asked if they were aware that Scott had recently purchased a boat, Lee and Jackie Peterson shook their heads. Although they knew that Laci was no longer bringing home a check, and there was a baby on the way, neither of Scott’s parents questioned the investment. The boat was clearly an indulgence of his own, as Scott certainly knew Laci’s motion sickness would keep her off the water. But Lee Peterson said that the purchase didn’t surprise him because his son “liked to experiment with things.” Apparently Scott had made similar purchases—a car, a motorcycle—without mentioning them to his father. On its own such behavior might ap-pear harmless, of course, but in hindsight it seems impulsive, irresponsible, and selfish.
Scott’s parents said that both Scott and his wife wanted to have a child. Jackie believed they had been trying to get pregnant for about three years. The frustrated couple had just begun researching fertility testing when Laci announced that she was expecting.
Grogan did not dare ask the Petersons about Scott’s affair with Amber Frey.
At the East La Lorna Park, more than a thousand people gathered for a New Year’s Eve candlehght vigil. Scores of Laci’s friends, former classmates, and teachers packed a grassy knoll around a makeshift stage, a flatbed trailer adjacent to the police department’s mobile command center.
As dozens of satellite news trucks surrounded the perimeter, re-porters and cameramen grabbed sound bites from those closest to Scott and Laci. Scott Peterson was in attendance that night. Yet many observers found it odd that Scott never spoke with the press and was avoiding the TV cameras. Furthermore, he chose not to join the other family members on the stage, staying instead on the ground— and away from the spotlight.
Lee and Jackie Peterson joined Laci’s parents and siblings on the podium, where they took turns speaking, urging the swelling crowd to continue the search for Laci. Hundreds of people, their shoes wet from standing in the soggy grass, raised glowing candles as Sharon Rocha took the microphone. Many in the crowd wore pale yellow and blue ribbons pinned to their clothes: the yellow to symbolize hope, the blue for the baby boy Laci was carrying. Applause rang out as Laci’s mother pleaded with the crowd to “just keep looking” for her daughter.
“Don’t give up,” a teary Sharon told the onlookers, her voice cracking as she uttered the words.
Standing beside her was Modesto’s chief of police, Roy Wasden. “Wherever the search takes us, let’s keep looking for Laci,” Wasden told the crush of participants, as a sea of flickering candles danced in the wind.
Laci’s father, Dennis Rocha, came to the vigil from Detective Grogan’s office. Like the Petersons, Laci’s dad sat down for an inter-view with the police that day. Rocha looked as though he’d been through hard times. His skin appeared wrinkled and leathery from exposure to the elements, and from the difficult life he had led. Rocha wore his thick salt and pepper hair combed to one side, and a bushy mustache curled upward toward his cheeks. Behind dark-rimmed glasses his eyes were red and swollen, no doubt from crying.
Dennis told Grogan that he was Laci’s natural father. He and Laci’s mother had been married for seven years; having “married young,” he said, they had lived on his parents’ ranch in Escalon during the early years together. After the two divorced, he visited with Laci every other weekend until she was sixteen. Once his daughter got a car, she wanted to spend more time with her friends and pursue other interests. He understood and didn’t force her to make the trip.
Dennis told the police that his mother, Helen Rocha, had been “very helpful” with Laci and his two other children, Brent and Amy. She had recently passed away and had left Laci some of her fine jewelry. She was a “lady,” Dennis said.
“About how much was your father’s estate worth?” Grogan inquired.
Dennis said the ranch was sold for about $500,000, and that there was an equal amount in stock.
After the divorce, Dennis paid child support regularly, and noted that he and his ex were still friends. He described Sharon as a bit “prissy” but “very attractive” when the two started dating. Like Laci, his ex-wife was a cheerleader during high school. In Dennis’s opinion, however, all of his children were somewhat “spoiled.” Sharon had indulged both Laci and Brent, he said, as did their paternal grandparents.
Dennis admitted that he and his older daughter had grown estranged after Laci went off to college. Since her move to Modesto, he had seen her only about a dozen times, on holidays and birthdays. Eight months earlier, on May 4, Dennis was with the family as Laci turned twenty-seven. That birthday would be her last.
During the interview, Dennis Rocha also expressed concern about his son-in-law,
Scott Peterson. While he had never heard Laci complain about her husband, he felt that Scott always “acted like he was too good for us.” He also ventured that “something doesn’t sound right in his story.” As he told Grogan, “You don’t go fishing by yourself.”
Dennis also told Grogan that Scott had been “giving me the cold shoulder.” And he said he was convinced that his son-in-law’s emotional outbursts were nothing more than an act. “He has not attended a press briefing since the press started asking questions about him. He got up and ran out and hasn’t been back since.”
“I think he was jealous of the baby, that’s what made him do it,” Rocha told the detective.
Hurrying to the park, Dennis Rocha joined his son. Brent, and daughter. Amy, on the stage, where Sharon Rocha, Ron Grantski, and Scott’s parents were already gathered. All of them made public, heartfelt pleas for Laci’s safe return.
Scott Peterson was conspicuously silent. He insisted that he wanted the focus of the evening to be on his missing wife—not him. At one point, Scott was nowhere to be found. Yet photographers captured his image mingling—and smiling—with friends. Months later, that picture would be juxtaposed with the grieving faces of other attendees on a large screen in a California courtroom.
At the stroke of midnight. Amber’s phone rang. Celebrating at Shawn Sibley’s New Year’s Eve party, she stepped outside to take the call.
“Happy New Year’s,” Amber said.
“Happy New Year,” Scott responded.
“So tell me, what’s your New Year’s resolution?” Amber asked, picking up a theme from their last call a few hours before. It was an interesting question. Amber was attempting to elicit some information about Scott’s future plans. She would continue her performance, as both confidante and inquisitor, for more than a month.
“Ah, I didn’t even think of one.”
“You didn’t think of one?” Amber retorted. “You had nine hours to think of one. My New Year’s resolution is, and actually I thought of one for you—which one do you want me to share first?”
“Uh, first ... ”
“Yours first,” Amber continued. “My New Year’s resolution for you would be to not travel so much … and spend more time with me and Ayiana. What do you think of that? Is that something on your mind or anywhere close?”
“Oh yeah, for a long time … I could care for you … care for each other and … we could fulfill each other.”
“And Ayiana, what?”
“We could be together, could care for her, and you know, raise Ayiana.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We could fulfill each other … forever.”
“So,” Amber cleared her throat. “I know you said before you’ll be back by my birthday so … anticipate any plans … do you have anything in mind?”
“For your birthday? Yeah, I’ll have to come up with something good.”
“I haven’t even thought about what should we do for Ayiana’s birthday party. … So how would you feel about meeting Ayiana’s grandparents? Not my parents, Ayiana’s father’s parents.”
Scott said he thought it would be fine; he didn’t see anything “weird” about it.
“You’d be okay,” she said.
“I can’t think of any reason why I wouldn’t be,” he agreed.
Yet, when pressed by Amber, Scott cited several differences between them that could cause their relationship not to work. “Like, Fve never gone to church much… . And that you know could be a point for you, and would we see eye to eye on raising Ayiana? And how would you accept our role … I can think of others but those are major right now.”
“Mm-hum …”
“The fact that you want another child ... ”
“Right … Do you still feel that you’re very adamant about not having another child?”
“Ah, I wouldn’t say adamant, but it’s just not my thought ... ”
Later in the conversation, Amber tried once more to pin Scott down on his travel plans. “Do you even know when you’re coming back?”
Scott said he would be in Guadalajara from January 28 through February 2.
“That’s certainly something for me to look forward to,” Amber replied.
“Yeah, but you know, what we need to do, sweetheart, is not analyze our relationship.”
“I’m not analyzing.”
“You know what I mean,” Scott said. “We just need to spend a little time together and let it grow.”
At one point. Amber asked Scott about a book he had been reading. “What book was that?”
“Jack Kerouac it was, um … hitchhiking across the country … oh, shoot, what’s his book? Late sixties movie, hitchhike New York to San Francisco … I can’t think of the name of it right now.” Scott seems to have been thinking of Kerouac’s On the Road—and perhaps confusing it with the 1967 film Easy Rider.
“That’s okay. Good book, though? Did you enjoy it?”
“Yeah, it was interesting cause it’s a … it was interesting because I never had a prolonged period of freedom like that from responsibility, you know ... ”
Here was another telling statement from Scott—a clear suggestion that he had been thinking about the burdens of adult life … responsibilities, in his case, that included caring for Laci and their baby. He was dreaming about being free—free to travel, and pursue other women, and to become an entirely different person from the doting husband and fertilizer salesman that he had become.
The conversation turned to religion and then to banter about their ages. Amber told Scott that she was looking forward to her thirties.
“You’re really cute,” Scott laughed. He told Amber he was al-ready old, already in midlife.
“You’re not old, you’re so young, Scott… . You’re not even at midlife. You’re in great shape and you have an awesome body.”
“My knees are cracking,” Scott said.
“That’s nothing, my knees crack. It’s nothing. So tell me, do you think I’m intelligent?” Amber asked.
“Yeah, that was one quality I was thinking of. You know what the quality was that I’m thinking about now?”
“No, tell me.”
Scott’s response was inaudible.
“Me?” Amber replied. “How is that?”
“You have good self-esteem and it’s difficult to find in people. And it makes you incredibly sexy and appealing to me.”
“That’s something I’ve had to work very hard on Scott, not some-thing that came easy to me.”
“You’ve done a great job.”
“There’s always been something that I always keep it to the sur-face,” Amber said; she was beginning to cry. “‘Cause everything in its time, and everything in its time serves a purpose.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh God, don’t ever say that, don’t ever say you’re sorry for sharing.”
“What?”
“I’m here for you?”
“What was that?” Amber wept.
“I’m here for vou.”
“I wish you were.”
“But I am, and I will be,” Scott consoled. As he spoke, a dog— probably McKenzie—barked in the background.
“I’m smearing my mascara down my face,” Amber giggled.
“You’re wonderful,” Scott said.
“I’m drinking a Guinness Extra Stout on top of my three cran-berry lime twists.”
“You’re having breakfast.”
“Yeah, that’s a good way to look at it,” Amber giggled. “So when do I get to hear from you again, Scott?”
“I’ll call when it’s the nighttime.”
“When’s your nighttime.-’”
“There’s nine hours’ difference, I will take the train late tonight from here to Brussels… . Then I’ll be in Brussels for at least four days.”
“All I’m saying is, I don’t know when you go to sleep.”
“Oh, probably midnight or one.”
“So that would be?�
��
“Three or four your time … and, um, okay, you go to bed at nine, it’s six o’clock my time.”
“I don’t go to bed until eleven. So eight your time.”
“Okay, I might be up then. I’d like to talk to you at that time. To me it’s the most intimate time.”
“The most intimate time because … ?”
“Just because that time of day our psyches are in … focused on relationships, as opposed to getting up in the morning and doing things or going to pick up the dry cleaning,” Scott said. “You go back to that party”
“Okay.”
“And our relationship will grow. I have confidence in that.”
Scott’s call to Amber lasted seventy minutes. Before it was through. Detective Buehler noted, Amber had “confirmed many de-tails that had been brought up in the interview Brocchini and I conducted with her on Monday, 12/30/02.” Among these were his supposed travel arrangements: “She was able to get him talking about plans for his return from Europe and his travel to Mexico, returning to the United States on January 25. An agreement was made to continue phone contact around the same time each night.”
As soon as this relationship became public, commentators and onlookers speculated that Amber Frey was the motive for Laci’s murder. However, this explanation has never resonated with me. Scott’s pattern of extraneous lies and narcissistic behavior overrode any sincere love for this woman.
Rather, the one thing Scott Peterson seemed to care about was rejecting his life as a small-time fertilizer salesman in Modesto, saddled with a suburban wife and the eighteen-year obligation she was about to bear. He preferred to think of himself as an international playboy, who swept into town from time to time to entertain his mis-tresses with fine meals and grandiose tales of his escapades and glorious future.
His stories, and his actions, were not for Amber Frey; they were simply for Scott.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JANUARY 1, 2003, NEW YEAR’S DAY
Derective Jon Buehler spent much of New Year’s Day 2003 on the road, driving to and from Madera. Buehler had been officially appointed to “handle” Amber Frey, and it was a good choice for many reasons. Buehler was kind, eager, and enthusiastic. He was also divorced, which meant he didn’t have a wife at home to feel uneasy about the many phone calls he would be receiving from this attractive but very needy young woman. Buehler’s assignment would require a lot of hand-holding. In the coming weeks his phone would ring repeatedly, interrupting precious time with his son and daughter. But in the end, his efforts did not go unappreciated by the woman who bravely stepped in to help solve the crime.
A Deadly Game Page 16