And now, she was rooted in my life. In the music of the chimes, I heard her voice. And I promised to remember.
Before the trial ended, the verdict was a foregone conclusion in my mind. The medical examiner’s report made it murder. The spatter inside the shorts made it Mike. All else was window-dressing.
But who knows how the twists and turns tormented the collective mind of the chosen twelve? They pounded through weeks of a prosecution case where, at times, they seemed to be in the jury room more often than in the courtroom as one voir dire hearing after another banished them to their sanctum.
The top-dollar defense team did not need to prove Peterson blameless—that is not their job. They needed only to etch enough question marks in the air. Still, it seemed odd that they did not present a single tangible witness who connected in a real way with the accused or the victim. Not one concrete witness mounted the stand for the defense—only professional experts.
No one took the stand to extol the virtues, the passions or the good works of Michael Peterson. Not a friend from his past. Not any of his neighborhood supporters and not one member of the family. Once the trial was over, it was still difficult to find anyone willing to spend a few minutes sharing a kind word on his behalf.
No one took the stand for the defense to testify about the events of December 9 or 10 or any day in the lives of Michael and Kathleen. Of course, the defendant avoided the hot seat—he had too many toxic elements in his life to survive the crucible of cross-examination.
What about the blowpoke that mysteriously reappeared? Neither the public nor the prosecutors nor the panel sitting in judgment knew anything about the provenance of that tool. No one spoke of where it was found. No one spoke of who found it.
Despite public opinion to the contrary, the legal system is no longer designed to find the truth—it is constructed to decide a winner. Although life and death lie on the line, many players in the courtroom see it all as a game where cleverness and ruse win the day. A place where a desperate desire to deceive means truth is to be avoided at all costs.
And what is the truth—the whole truth—about Michael Peterson? Perhaps it will never be known. As his good friend, Richard White Adams, said at Michael’s wedding to Kathleen, “Michael is a man of mystery.” He seemed to take great pleasure in this image.
More than one mental health professional on Court TV suggested that he could have Narcissistic Personality Disorder. If that diagnosis is true, it does answer a lot of questions in Michael’s life.
The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders defines Narcissism as “A pattern of traits and behaviors which signify infatuation and obsession with one’s self to the exclusion of all others and the egotistic and ruthless pursuit of one’s gratification, dominance and ambition.” As many as 75 percent of all narcissists are men. It is in the same family as Borderline, Antisocial and Histrionic Personality Disorders.
The art of deception is a hallmark of Narcissism. A person with NPD projects a false face to the world and manages all social interactions through this fictional self. People often become involved with a narcissist without having any awareness of who he really is.
He expresses surprise that society should hold him responsible and want to punish him for his actions. When faced with the judgment of others, he feels wronged and persecuted. It is rare for him to feel any regret for what he was done or any empathy for his victim.
He is apt to experiment sexually with multiple partners. Sex for him is the ultimate act of objectification of another human being. It proves his superiority and fuels his narcissism.
He often embroiders the tales of his achievements and talents to gain acknowledgment of his superiority. His humor is sharp and biting, and cloaks a deep well of hostility and venom.
He draws to him people who offer positive affirmation. They are the source of his narcissistic supply. He desires to impress and manipulate them—and hold them tight.
But theories about the state of Michael Peterson’s mental health pale in importance when compared to the future of three damaged young women. What will become of Caitlin, Margaret and Martha?
Many in the families of Elizabeth Ratliff and Kathleen Peterson ache from the severing of their relationships with Margaret and Martha. The two sisters, whether they acknowledge it or not, are bound to suffer from this estrangement, too. Will they ever renew the relationships that were once so important to them? Will the fear of possible abandonment forever create barriers that separate them from others?
And what about Caitlin? She is a strong young woman with an intense desire to succeed. Time will somewhat soften the pain she feels from the loss of her mother. But, after viewing how her mother was betrayed by the men she loved—one painfully, the other lethally—will she ever be able to develop enough trust to enjoy a close relationship?
Margaret, Martha and Caitlin. The road to recovery for all of them will be a long and winding one. Whisper their names in your hearts. Bless them with a world of healing and a universe of hope.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without the insight and assistance of many people. I express my gratitude to the family members of Elizabeth Ratliff and Kathleen Peterson who shared their stories with me: Caitlin Atwater, Fred Atwater, Margaret Blair, Rosemary Kelloway, Lori Campell, Veronica Hunt and Candace Zamperini. And to the others who felt the pain of these deaths: Randy Durham, Barbara Malagnino, Donna Carlson Lindahl, Pat Finn, and Patty Peterson.
I deeply appreciate the assistance I received from so many Durham County officials—District Attorney Jim Hardin, Assistant District Attorney Freda Black, Jury Clerk Susan Cowen, Victim-Witness Legal Assistant Leslie Hearn, Deputy Brian Mister, Sergeant Vicky Menser and Dee Johnson of the sheriff’s department, Jay Rose and Mickey Tezai of the Durham County Emergency Medical Services. A very special expression of gratitude to the angel of the courthouse, Court Clerk Angie Kelly—I would have been lost and bewildered without your help and hospitality.
Thanks, too, to Investigator Art Holland, SBI Agent Duane Deaver, Dr. Deborah Radisch and to my new friend, Carolyn Hardin.
Thanks to Nancy Perry at the Duke Archives and Elizabeth Dean in the university’s Special Collections library.
I appreciate the hard work of all the jurors, but in particular want to thank the three who shared their experience with me: Kelli Colgan, Bettye Blackwell and Richard Sarratt.
I appreciate the help of Tom Ewing at the Educational Testing Services in Princeton, New Jersey, and forensic pathologist John Cooper, Jr., in California. In my home state of Texas, thanks to Andy Krueger of Krueger Legal Services, Beverley Home of the Writers’ League of Texas, Susie Adkins at Cedarvale Cemetery in Bay City and Ron Friesenhahn, my favorite attorney in New Braunfels—maybe, the whole state.
I send my gratitude to Peter Eichenberger, David Perlmutt, Defense Attorney Tom Maher, Maureen Berry, Marlo Kinsey and Attorney Jay Trehy, as well. And to those of you who helped me but asked to remain anonymous, you know who you are and I appreciate you.
Finally, a huge thanks to my agent, Jane Dystel, and to St. Martin’s executive editor Charles Spicer, and my editor, Emily Drum. You made this book possible.
And a special thank you to my husband, Wayne, for his infinite patience and support and to my daughter, Liz, whose wedding plans I neglected until I finished this book.
DON’T MISS THESE OTHER FASCINATING TRUE CRIME ACCOUNTS BY DIANE FANNING
OUT THERE
UNDER THE KNIFE
BABY BE MINE
GONE FOREVER
THROUGH THE WINDOW
INTO THE WATER
WRITTEN IN BLOOD
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WRITTEN IN BLOOD
Copyright © 2005 by Diane Fanning.
Poem on p. v, “Acension,” © 1987 by Colleen Corah Hitchcock. Used with the author’s permission and sincere condolences to the family and friends of Elizabeth McKee
Ratliff and Kathleen Hunt Peterson.
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St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / February 2005
Written in Blood Page 29