Campen fielded the questions well, but the impression left was clear—the state had misplaced a piece of evidence. It may have been the most powerful point for Rudolf to conclude his cross with, but he pressed on. He asked questions about bloody towels, contamination and Campen’s responsibilities at the scene.
Next, the jurors heard the testimony of three officers about procedures at the scene and at the jail when Peterson was arrested. Then a special agent with the SBI took the stand. Most of her testimony was a mundane recital of her analysis of the fingerprints from evidence taken at the scene. But then she dropped a bombshell. She showed the jury the clear mark of a footprint on Kathleen’s sweatpants. And she added that the foot impression was consistent with the design, elements, size, and wear pattern of Michael Peterson’s shoe.
Serologist Suzi Barker was the last person to testify on July 29. She went through the items she tested and the results on the testing for blood and semen. Her long brown hair with sweeping bangs framed a pair of lively brown eyes and a winning smile. It was apparent that she had captivated the jury. When David Rudolf cross-examined her, it seemed as if she had him under her spell, too. The questioning seemed more like a flirtation than an inquisition.
After her testimony, an agent testified about DNA evidence and a hair analyst presented evidence that the hairs clutched in Kathleen’s hands and from the steps were forcibly removed from her head.
Over renewed objections from the defense, forensic meteorologist William Haggard got to say his piece at last on August 6. He testified that on December 9, 2001, it was simply too cool outside for Michael Peterson to relax by the pool in shorts and a tee shirt—the temperature was between 51 and 55 degrees.
Then, Dr. Kenneth Snell of the North Carolina Medical Examiner’s Office described his observations at the scene and at the autopsy. His facial expression was relaxed and his manner was focused, reflecting an innate honesty and intelligence. But the dark look in his eyes spoke of a man who spent too much time in the company of death.
The next day, Judge Hudson delivered that long-awaited decision about the admissibility of the pornography and homosexual email as evidence in the trial. He first addressed the defense. “Mr. Maher, I agree with the state’s presentation. The court is going to find this evidence proffered by the state is relevant. It goes to the issue of motive. It also goes to attack the idyllic marriage that the defendant has set forth through his counsel in his opening statement.”
The jury would now be exposed to photographs more sexually explicit than some of them had ever seen.
Computer experts educated the jury about the specifics of Michael Peterson’s computer. They introduced the exchange of emails between Peterson and pornographic film producer Dirk Yates about his homosexual Web site. They pointed to the lack of any literary work or book proposal in progress, even though the defense contended that all the pornographic material on the computer was there for the purpose of research for a book.
They detailed the hundreds of files deleted from the computer between December 8 and December 12, and a long list of pornographic Web sites accessed on that computer. Most of the sites had homoerotic names, but a few indicated that the focus was on sexual activity with teenagers below the age of consent.
The jury had a lot to contemplate over the weekend. And a big question loomed for Monday—would Brad, the male escort, testify or would he take the Fifth?
The courtroom audience was eager for some titillation on Monday, August 11. The judge had denied the request from Brad’s attorney Thomas Loflin to conceal his client’s real identity. But Loflin was successful in obtaining immunity from state prosecution for his client.
Brent Wolgammott, aka Brad, was born in a small town in Indiana to a Southern Baptist minister and his wife, who worked as a secretary in an automobile plant. He disclosed his homosexuality to his parents when he was 17, but he never told them about his escort work.
Before court was in session, Brent was in the district attorney’s office with Freda Black looking at the evidence photos of himself. When they flipped to a back view of his naked body, Brent said, “I wish my ass still looked like that.”
Freda did not know where to begin to respond to that remark. He then expressed concern about the photographs becoming public documents. Freda couldn’t figure that one out—he had these photos splashed over the Internet for the world to see and now he worried that people will see them?
Looking at his naked front view, Brent said, “It’s a good thing I’m well hung.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Freda quipped.
“You don’t think so?” a distressed Brent asked.
Freda just stared at him. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.
Brent took the stand with self-assurance. His blonde brush cut and lantern jaw labeled him military as well as a uniform could have. A half-formed smirk was constant on his full, sensuous lips. With little provocation, that smart-aleck look would transform into a warm, wide grin.
Freda Black smiled and laughed a lot during the cross-examination of this witness—sometimes from amusement and at other times from embarrassment. “What types of services did you perform?” she asked.
“Oh, wow, that’s pretty broad,” Brent replied. “Basically it’s companionship for other males of legal age.”
“All right. Did that involve sexual activity?”
“Sometimes it does.”
Black used the witness to introduce photographs and reviews from the Web site as well as emails and phone call records from Michael Peterson. “During your conversations with Mr. Peterson,” she asked, “did you all actually even discuss a price for your services?”
“I believe we did.”
“And what was the price that you quoted him?”
“I believe that it was one hundred-fifty dollars per hour.”
She asked him about Michael Peterson’s positive comments about Kathleen and about the setting of the date for their rendezvous. Then she asked, “Tell us, please, did you all actually discuss what you were going to do when you were to get together on September fifth, 2001?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what were you all planning on doing?”
“Having sex.”
On cross-examination, Rudolf asked, “Was that an unusual occurrence for you to have or plan to have sexual relations with married men?”
“To the contrary, I mean, married men are in the majority of most the clients I saw when I was an escort,” Brent said.
“With regard to the kinds of men that you tended to have escort relationships with, can you give us some indication of their professions, for example?”
“Sure. Usually they are professionals because my fees were so high. I saw doctors, attorneys. One judge.”
The courtroom erupted into boisterous laughter.
With exquisite comic timing, Judge Hudson allowed a perfect pause before he said, “It was not this judge.”
The audience roared in appreciation.
Rudolf followed up with: “I think we can stipulate to that.”
The defense attorney established that Brent did not have a personal relationship with Michael Peterson and that he did not have sex with him. Then he asked, “Do you know anything about the death of Kathleen Peterson?”
“I know diddly. Diddly,” he said with a laugh and a smug expression.
Judge Hudson put him in his place. “I take it that means nothing?”
Brent straightened up at his command and said, “I know nothing. Zip.”
Brent Wolgamott was dismissed. Courtroom observers shook their heads in disbelief. They had anticipated a serious person involved in a provocative profession. Instead, they got a refugee from a comedy skit who seemed to have no sense of the gravity of the situation.
When the next witness took the stand, he wiped away all lingering amusement from the spectators’ faces. The SBI forensic chemist was all business as he told the jury about his analysis of
Michael Peterson’s khaki shorts. He found eight defined spots of blood deposited on the inside of the right leg. This spatter was consistent with that on the test shorts created when a blood source was straddled and impacted with a blunt object. His testimony invoked an image of a bloodied Peterson looming over the body of his wife.
A downtown Durham power outage prevented court from beginning until noon on the next day of the trial. When it did, it moved at the speed of cold molasses. The courtroom sat in a whispered, shuffling impersonation of silence for more than an hour while the jury reviewed the photographs and documents submitted into evidence. The judge’s eyes hung heavy as he fought off the desire to lapse into catnap. At moments, it appeared as if he might lose the battle.
When Agent Duane Deaver of the State Bureau of Investigation hopped into the hot seat, the jury got its exercise. Deaver was to testify as an expert on the meaning of the blood spatter in the stairwell. The judge sent the jurors in and out of the deliberation room as the defense turned cartwheels to have Deaver disqualified.
As a bloodstain analyst, Deaver’s testimony centered on his findings and interpretations at the scene and in the evidence room. His direct testimony consumed the rest of that Wednesday. On Thursday, the prosecution wheeled a wood and Plexiglas model of the complete stairwell into the courtroom. It was made to scale, with 12 inches equaling 62 inches—Kathleen’s height.
Using this model and photographs from the scene, Deaver detailed every blood drop, transfer stain and cast-off to the jury. He then testified about the clothing of Michael, Kathleen and Todd Peterson.
Outside the courtroom, the Court TV staff hustled. They lost all contact with the mother ship. Soon they learned about the massive northeast blackout that spread over New York City, into Southern Canada and as far west as Ohio and Michigan. They would not regain contact with New York until late on Friday.
On Friday morning, Rudolf questioned Deaver outside the presence of the jury. Rudolf’s repetitious questioning was designed to ridicule. Deaver’s drawn-out answers were as dense as a textbook, as if the agent believed that if he just kept talking, the questions would fade away.
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The action in the courtroom during the week of August 18 divided into two distinct sections. During the regular court day, the prosecution witnesses’ testimony continued. Once the jury was dismissed, the hearing on the admissibility of the Ratliff evidence began.
Agent Deaver presented the conclusions of his blood spatter analysis to the jury on Monday. On Tuesday, David Rudolf cross-examined him. He played the videotape of Deaver’s experiments to the jury, ridiculing what the SBI expert had done.
Looking at the videotape out of context, it might look more like a child playing in a mud puddle than serious experimentation. But when seen through the eyes of an experienced blood analyst, questions about the location of blood spatter were answered. Theories about how it occurred were supported or destroyed by the reenactments. Alternate possibilities that could be forwarded by the defense were considered and eliminated. Rudolf hoped the jurors would not have enough sophistication to see beyond the superficial appearance.
After an exhausting day of cross-examination, Agent Deaver reflected on his ordeal. He videotaped every step of his experiments to be fair—so that the defense team could review and perhaps replicate the complete sequence of events. He knew they would use it to question his conclusions. He did not expect it would be used to attack his character, competence and credibility. He mourned the loss of a court system where seeking the truth was the main objective on both sides of any case.
Rudolf battered Deaver again on Wednesday. Deaver maintained a cool, professional demeanor throughout. His opinions in old cases were thrown at him like an endless barrage of spitballs—but none of his opinions were presented in proper context. To Deaver, it was as ugly and deceptive as an old-fashioned political mudslinging contest.
On Thursday, the cross-examination of Duane Deaver continued. The judge expressed impatience with the length and repetitiveness of Rudolf’s questioning.
While Deaver presented the conclusions of his blood spatter analysis to the jury by day, the late afternoon was devoted to a hearing on the admissibility of the Ratliff evidence outside the presence of the jury. On the first day, Cheryl Appel-Schumacher took the stand. Her quivering chin, halting voice, and moist eyes showed a trauma that was deep, a memory that still had the ability to shatter after eighteen years—even her smiles were caressed with pain.
She testified about the lengthy process of cleaning up Liz’s blood in the stairwell. Thomas Maher tried hard to get her to discredit the testimony of upcoming witness Barbara Malagnino. At the time of Liz’s death, her name had been Barbara O’Hara. In the intervening years, she had married and divorced cab driver Salvatore Malagnino and still retained his name. Cheryl insisted throughout that she had no opinion on Barbara’s credibility.
The next afternoon Cheryl was on the stand again. She told of theories of murder that drifted through her circle of friends, but she did not share their suspicions. “The overriding feeling for me was sadness and confusion and doubt,” she said. Her face collapsed inward and reddened as tears spilled down her face. She choked as she finished her sentence. “Doubts about the reasons why these two beautiful girls do not have parents.”
Thomas Maher was not diverted by her display of emotion. “I don’t mean to keep pushing the same question, but you said there were discussions of a lot of feelings or possibilities. Did any of those possibilities involve Michael Peterson being involved in the death of Liz Ratliff?”
“I think you have to ask somebody else.”
Judge Hudson intervened. “He’s not really asking you about how you felt. I think you made it clear about how you felt.”
“That’s all I want to say about it,” Cheryl told the judge.
With a smile, Hudson said, “Well, it’s not always about what you want to say.”
“Yeah, but he’s trying to make me remember things from 1985.”
I don’t think he’s trying to make you remember anything. He’s asking you. Do you know?”
After a moment’s pause, Cheryl said, “No.” And that was the last word of her testimony in the hearing.
After the jury went home the following day, Freda Black read into the record the proffered statement of Margaret Blair, Liz Ratliff’s sister, about the similarities in Liz’s and Kathleen’s deaths that compelled her to contact the Durham police. Margaret then took the stand for a cross-examination by the defense.
The judge announced his ruling on the Ratliff matter first thing Friday morning. Thomas Maher’s ruthless mocking of the thirty coincidences presented by the prosecution did not impact his decision—he sided with the state. Judge Hudson found enough similarities in the two deaths to deem the Ratliff evidence appropriate for this trial.
The prosecution began the presentation of this evidence immediately, as if they feared the judge might change his mind if they dawdled. Cheryl Appeal-Schumacher dragged her sorrow back onto the stand and recounted her previous testimony before the panel of Peterson’s peers. Freda Black talked to her about the blood. “And over what period of time did you clean?”
“It seemed like we cleaned blood most of the day.” Cheryl’s face shriveled into a tight ball as she fought off tears. She put her index finger to her lips and looked down as she tried to regain control. “It was a slow process.”
Her face cracked a nervous smile as she wiped her eyes with a tissue. “It was overwhelming to my senses many times during the day. When I actually thought of what I was doing, then I couldn’t manage. It took a while because I was slow at it.” Cheryl’s face contorted in pain. “But there was a lot of blood.”
“Did you clean it all up?”
“The purpose of cleaning the blood was so that the baby girls would not see this, this place. And it would not be a part of their memory. I wanted the place to be clean so they couldn’t see it.”
Under cross-examinati
on, Cheryl told the jurors about the two-hour telephone call she and her husband had with Michael’s detective in December of 2002. She discussed the face-to-face interview she had with that detective and a German detective at Patty Peterson’s home in Gräfenhausen in May of 2003.
Judge Hudson interrupted her testimony to clarify to the jury that the men were not detectives—they were private investigators.
“If they hadn’t contacted me, I wouldn’t have contacted the prosecution and we wouldn’t be here today,” she said.
Tom Appel-Schumacher, Cheryl’s husband, was the next on the stand. He confirmed his wife’s statements. After he stepped down, the current owner of the home where Liz died slipped into the box. She introduced the statement from Liz’s neighbor about seeing Michael Peterson flee from Liz’s house. She also brought an excuse from the neighbor’s doctor that stated her recent surgery made her unable to travel.
The original statement was written in German. The defense demanded an interpretation by a court-certified interpreter. This was an expensive and time-consuming demand for the prosecution—the nearest person with certification in German was in Virginia. The defense rejected the state’s compromise offer of a Duke University German professor as translator. The judge ruled that the statement would be admissible if a translation agreeable to both sides was provided. Next week, the prosecution announced their decision not to pursue the matter.
The state called Dr. Larry Barnes, the clinical pathologist who performed Liz Ratliff’s original autopsy, on Monday morning. They used him to establish that he was not trained in forensics and that the review done by the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology (AFIP) was only cursory.
The goal of the cross-examination by the defense was to reinforce the credibility of this doctor’s original autopsy conclusions and to elevate the perception of competence of AFIP. Barnes did not give the defense much help.
Written in Blood Page 22