IF WALLS COULD TALK
Candace Zamperini realized that the job of removing her sister Kathleen’s blood wasn’t going to be so simple. There was more blood than met the eye, and Candace had to find the strength to get through it.
As she began, the blood started to bother her. As she was cleaning, Candace realized this was the last of her sister’s life. And the blood seemed to be everywhere. It seemed to be endless. Candace had scrubbed and scrubbed in one corner. The blood wouldn’t come off the stairs.
To try to get her mind off the horror of her task, Candace decided to move over to a wall inside the staircase, where Kathleen had hung a poster of a black cat. It was a famous print called Le Chat Noir, and Candace liked the piece of artwork. When she took a closer look at it, she noticed the corner of the black cat had blood on it. Candace decided that would be an easier place to work.
Candace got the Windex out and sprayed. She was using a rag, removing the blood from the cat poster into a bowl of water. Then all of a sudden, a streak of red blood came running down from the poster, running right down Candace’s arm.
It was too much. Candace just couldn’t bear it. Kathleen’s blood had mixed in with the Windex and was running bright red again.
Other Pinnacle Books by Aphrodite Jones
THE FBI KILLER
CRUEL SACRIFICE
APHRODITE JONES
A PERFECT HUSBAND
Pinnacle BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Table of Contents
IF WALLS COULD TALK
Other Pinnacle Books by Aphrodite Jones
Title Page
Dedication
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Three-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four - Profile of a sociopath
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
Fifty-seven
Epilogue
Copyright Page
To the memory of:
Kathleen Hunt Peterson
Elizabeth Ratliff
Cherica Adams
Nicole Brown Simpson
and their surviving loved ones
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This work hopes to take the murder investigation of Kathleen Peterson and place it into a meaningful context, one that will make something good come out of such a cruel and unusual circumstance. This account attempts to go beyond the newspaper reports and TV sound bites. It is based on the memories of those interviewed, as well as my own observations, police reports, court transcripts, and other documents collected during my research.
The passages that are dramatized are based on the accounts of people who lived them. This is a true story, told in its entirety, using real names, dates, and places. However, the reader should note that for the purpose of narration, certain words and phrases have been placed into a dramatic context, not to improve on what interview subjects have said, but to make the transition from speech to print more fluent.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
During the time I spent in the Research Triangle and in Durham covering the trial and doing research for this book, I met a number of wonderful people, without whose help and encouragement I would never have been able to face this daunting task.
Members of the law enforcement community helped me understand the complexity of the Michael Peterson case. Among them, DA Jim Hardin, ADA Freda Black, ADA David Saacks, and Detective Art Holland. There were also members of the DA’s staff who need to be credited for their assistance, as well as the staff of the clerk of the Superior Court in Durham, especially Angela Kelly, Myrtle Weaver, and MeLinda Stanley. I also must acknowledge Sheriff’s Deputy Walter Dwayne McDougal, who treated me with respect and kindness, and court reporter Julie Chapin, who helped me sort through the most important transcripts of the jury trial.
Throughout this book, I often referred to members of the press, both the local and national media, without naming any names. I did this at the request of certain reporters who did not wish to be named, but I must give credit to the work by the journalists at the Herald-Sun, the News & Observer, and the Independent Weekly, who relentlessly covered this case for over two years, reporting brilliantly about courtroom happenings, some of whom pored over Peterson’s unpublished manuscripts and dug into the history of the elusive Michael Peterson, a man people have come to call “murderer.”
Michael Peterson did not grant any interviews for this book. Peterson allowed his attorneys to speak for him. To be clear, I was granted no formal interviews with Peterson’s attorneys, but it has been my long-standing policy to discuss all aspects of the case—and of the lives of the people within it—that have become a matter of public record.
My deepest and most heartfelt appreciation goes to Louis Flores, who, as a talented assistant, transcriber, and researcher, made this effort possible. I would also like to thank the following for their invaluable contributions: Caitlin Atwater, Fred Atwater, Amybeth Berner, Bruce Berner, Candace Zamperini, Peter Eichenberger, Joan Troy, Pamela Wallmann, the Piacenza family, Goldie Wallace, Woody Charcoal, and Robert Olason. I am also grateful to Lynn Lowry, who provided me with an understanding of the Internet voices on the Court TV message board, all of whom offered such valuable insights into the backdrop of this case. I am profoundly indebted to all of you for caring, for revealing the experiences and intimacies of your lives, and for allowing me to enter your personal universe.
I wish to thank Jeremie Ruby-Strauss, my editor at Kensington, who guided me through this process and believed in this book. And, as always, I am eternally grateful to my agents, Robert Gottlieb and Alex Glass, who had the strength and courage to see the big picture, to understand the significance of an American tragedy such as this.
Finally I want to thank my enthusiastic family and my truly great friends, but most of all, I wish to thank you, my dear readers, who have shown your appreciation and vital understanding of this type of work. I admire your keen smarts, and I need your support, more than you’ll ever know.
“When ye see a cloud rise out of the west, straightaway, ye say, There cometh a shower. And so it is.
And when ye see the south wind blow, ye say, There will be heat, and so it cometh to pass.
Ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky and of the earth; but how is it that ye do not discern this time?
When thou goest with thine adversary to the magistrate, as thou art in the way, give diligence that thou may be delivered from him, lest he hale thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and the officer cast thee into prison.
I tell thee, thou shall not depart thence, till thou has paid the very last mite.”
—Luke 12: 54–59
One
It was a balmy night in Durham, not a bit like winter, and Christmas was just around the corner, with all the holiday plans in place, when the Petersons decided to settle in for a cozy evening alone. Their Christmas tree was up, their presents for the kids had been bought, not yet wrapped, but that could wait. This particular Saturday night was a special evening for them. It was a time for Michael and Kathleen to celebrate, to bring the magic back to their marriage. The Petersons were tired of the social scene; they wanted things to be more simple. It was a relief for them to stay at home and just enjoy each other. They needed that. They talked about going on a second honeymoon in Bali, one of the places in the world where they spent their happiest times.
As they sipped champagne in their family room, watching America’s Sweethearts on the TV, they held hands like two teenagers. The Petersons realized that as much as they loved each other, as much as they were devoted and supportive of one another, they seemed to have forgotten about romance. They each had become too busy with their own lives, each of them having full-time careers; then with all their other commitments, it seemed everyone else came first. This was especially true of their five kids, who had finally grown up but were ever-more demanding as college students.
The night before, Michael had taken Kathleen to a holiday bash thrown by one of the local newspapers—he was glad that she enjoyed it—they both delighted in the social whirlwind. But with more black-tie affairs soon to come, with an invitation to the governor’s mansion for the following week, with Kathleen’s new gown and evening shoes already lined up and waiting, Michael reminded his wife that they had to take time out for each other. Life was too short.
By the time the two had dinner and got themselves comfortable, Kathleen left all her cares behind. She relished her private time, especially since her days were filled with corporate meetings and presentations. Despite the fact that she was a wisp of a woman, tiny in height and frame, Kathleen was the type of woman who was larger than life. Not only was she regal and brilliant, a success in her work and a supporter of the arts, she was a woman of grace, someone whom many people looked up to.
But home alone with Michael, Kathleen was a different person altogether. With Michael, she could let go of her business persona, let her hair down, and confide whatever insecurities or troubles she might have on her mind. Around Michael, her signature pearls and business suits were gone. With him, she could let go of any pretenses. Even around her kids, Kathleen would wear sporty casual attire, but with Michael, it didn’t matter what she wore. He loved her every day of her life, whether she was in a ball gown or in cheap comfortable clothes. That night, Kathleen had thrown on a navy sweatshirt with white sweatpants and was running around the house in clear flip-flop sandals. Kathleen didn’t need to try to impress Michael—he wasn’t only her husband, he was her best friend—and she loved him more than anyone could know.
A handsome man, ten years her senior, Michael Peterson was a very successful author when he married Kathleen. And she was his dream wife, the woman he’d been searching for. Kathleen came from a place of strength and beauty; she was a glamorous woman, a real class act. With the advance from one of his books, Michael had bought the mansion they lived in. He afforded his wife the lifestyle most people only dream of—the elegant house on lavish acres in the heart of Durham, the Porsche, the BMWs, the Jaguar—the Petersons had it all. Having been on the New York Times list, Michael Peterson was a known entity in their small Southern city. People in Durham were aware of him; he dabbled in local politics and wrote columns for the local media, and his war-based novels were impressive, even if they were not always met with rave reviews.
On this special occasion, Michael and Kathleen were celebrating some good news. Peterson had sold the film rights to one of his most recent books, and the project looked like it was going to be a sure thing. Michael had reason to rejoice; he had been waiting a long time for his ship to come in. With Hollywood producers calling, he felt he had a shot at international acclaim. It was an answer to his prayers, really, because he knew Kathleen hadn’t been herself lately. . . .
Michael wanted to bring that sparkle back into his wife’s eyes. He understood that his wife had reasons to be nervous; her financial world was rocky, especially in the months following the 9/11 attack, when her company, Nortel Networks, was in trouble. But Michael wanted Kathleen to stop worrying so much. He was a complete charmer, he knew all the right things to say, all the right moves, and even though he realized that Kathleen was concerned about her future, that her company had already laid off so many people . . . he reminded Kathleen that she was a leader, a most prized employee, someone who could never be replaced.
Michael felt optimistic that Nortel would bounce back, that the economic crash suffered by corporate America in the wake of 9/11 was only a temporary situation. A decorated war hero, Michael Peterson was more concerned about the terrorist attacks, the troops being sent abroad, and the threats of chemical warfare. Having fought as a U.S. Marine in Vietnam, Peterson had already lived through atrocities, through things like Agent Orange. He was concerned about the young men, the U.S. troops fighting battles overseas.
That was the type of person Peterson was, a very strong man, a man of conviction, a patriot. He was always concerned for his country, his fellow citizens, his friends and neighbors. People gravitated to Michael, they loved his worldly perspective; they were entertained by his sharp mind and brilliant wit. Michael’s charismatic character was the reason Kathleen had fallen so head over heels in love with him. Not only was he a good-looking man, well mannered and well bred, Michael was also an excellent talker who provided a constant source of amusement, information, and guidance. Peterson was the type of man who was the rock, the keeper of the castle. For Kathleen, Michael was the man she could always count on. He was the soul mate who would be with her until her very last breath.
Beyond her executive position at Nortel Networks, Kathleen was one of those Martha Stewart types. She was used to working on projects at home, always cooking, decorating, making things happy and cheerful. The idea that Michael wanted to spend quiet time—romantic time—really made an impression on her. Michael had emailed her at work the day before and he was flirting. He told her how gorgeous she was, and said he wanted to work on their marriage. Between all the kids’ needs, the keeping track of every household expense, the added burden of holiday spending, Michael reminded Kathleen that she needed to give more focus to him.
That was one thing about her husband, he was independent, but he always needed her. This was an important time for him. He had a major career move happening, and he wanted her support and input. Michael wanted to stop all the worrying and negative thoughts—it was time to focus on the positive, to smile about their good fortune and the bright lights of Hollywood that awaited them. Michael was ecstatic about the huge upturn his career was taking. It wouldn’t be long now; after twenty-five years and all that writing, he would really cash in. Peterson had received $600,000 for one of his books already. And with the new movie deal, his name would finally be up there—right next to Tom Clancy and James Patterson—where it belonged.
It was only a matter of time.
That night, when Michael insisted that Kathleen forget about everyone else, Kathleen realized her husband was right. She needed to celebrate with him, to enjoy life for every moment it offered. If Michael was willing to bring their love life back, then she needed to do her part to keep her marriage intact. She needed to dote on her husband and let him brag to her. She needed to assure him that she bel
ieved in him fully, without doubt. And Kathleen did believe in Michael. She had always believed in Michael. He was her soul mate, a man she’d known for thirteen years. The two of them had been through everything and—in the end—all they really had was each other.
Still, no matter how much Michael wanted Kathleen to take a break from her endless worrying, Kathleen’s job problems were still with her. She found her workload hard to escape. Even in the midst of their quiet Saturday night together, Kathleen would be interrupted by a call from Canada. Instead of being able to fully relax, as she had promised herself, Kathleen had to break away from her romantic evening to receive e-mails from a Nortel coworker. But Kathleen wasn’t going to let that bother her.
Even if the promise of Hollywood couldn’t erase all the loss Kathleen had suffered, she wasn’t going to let it show. Not on this night. Michael was well aware that Kathleen was firing her employees left and right, that she was working harder than ever for the same pay. He also knew that her stock options at Nortel had dropped over a million dollars. That million-dollar loss was her life’s savings—and even though he tried to console her, reminding her it was only a loss on paper—the two of them had been through all that before. For Kathleen, that loss was real. Her blood and sweat had gone down the drain, and along with it, her plans for an early retirement.
Kathleen was determined to keep all that chatter in the back of her mind. She and Michael had been down that road so many times already. And he had a point: the worrying wasn’t making anything any better. Kathleen realized that her work would always be there, that she could get back to it again in the morning. It suddenly dawned on her that the duty of being Michael’s loving wife was all that really mattered. Kathleen decided that nothing unpleasant was going to spoil their evening. Nothing was going to stop her from being happy for her husband. On that given night, on Michael’s big night to gloat, she wanted to put on a big smile and be loving. With all her heart, she wanted to help her husband succeed....
A Perfect Husband Page 1