A Perfect Husband

by Aphrodite Jones

  Peterson’s attorney felt it was improper to deny bond before the prosecution made at least some showing of an aggravating factor. But it was Jim Hardin’s position that his office was merely complying with the law, which deemed they need only state that an aggravating factor did exist. The DA did not have to specify what that aggravating factor was.

  In Michael Peterson’s journal entry from his jail cell, entitled “Christmas Eve,” the novelist said he was writing a journal in order to keep his sanity. Consumed with thoughts of his wife and children, he was writing, also, to keep his “horror at bay.” No longer locked in solitary confinement, he was spending the night before Christmas with twenty-three other jail mates in the C-pod of the county jail. He felt sorry for all the men housed there. The place was so dank; the place seemed inhuman.

  In one of Peterson’s journal entries, he wrote sympathetically about the men he shared his sorrows with, categorizing sixteen blacks, six whites, and two Hispanics. These were a group of men who were once little boys, little boys waiting for Santa, perhaps with sugarplums dancing in their heads. Peterson wrote about the gestures of a “toothless Santa,” an inmate in an orange suit, who handed out packages of Honey Buns bought for a few dollars in the jail’s commissary.

  Inside the cold, stark county jail, Peterson’s life seemed upside down. His Christmas holidays, typically filled with eggnog and designer gifts, had become a time of unbearable grief. Not only was he unjustly housed in a jail cell, he was unable to see any of his family, not even his children. He had been allowed no local visitors for Christmas because of what the rules dictated.

  Even though the jail had made a special meal for the inmates, feeding them the traditional mashed potatoes with gravy, cranberry salad with oven-baked chicken, the food was assembly-line caliber. And when the detention officers handed out little gift bags to the inmates, gifts provided by the Salvation Army, the bags held nothing but soap, deodorant, and toothpaste.

  As Mr. Peterson sat in jail, helpless to do anything but write, the Web site he had created, Hizzoner.com, was providing the general public with information about a possible link between Kathleen Peterson’s death and a man who had been charged with several break-ins near the Peterson home. The unnamed man had allegedly broken into homes on three streets within half a mile of Peterson’s Cedar Street mansion.

  The information about the burglar had been posted by Peterson’s friend and Web site editor, Guy Seaberg. And Seaberg wanted the public to be aware that if, indeed, Kathleen’s injuries showed an aggravating factor, if her injuries showed that her death was not an accident, then authorities had an obligation. Durham police needed to question the man already being held in jail for a rash of burglaries in Forest Hills.

  Fifteen

  “Michael wrote this thing about the police being out to get him,” Caitlin recalled. “He was convinced that they had pulled a grand jury indictment just so he would have to spend Christmas in jail. He told all of us that the police were saying things about him that were not true.”

  As she sat alone in her room on Christmas Eve, Caitlin wanted to think about the happy times. She kept remembering one of the final conversations she’d had with her mom, when they had spoken during the early part of the Christmas shopping season. Back then, she and her mom were talking almost every day. Kathleen was checking in regularly with Caitlin about the gifts she was buying for Margaret and Martha, about the gifts she was buying for the boys. Kathleen had a knack for finding just the right jean skirt from the Gap, for finding just the right ski gear, and all those kind of things, but she liked to call Caitlin to be sure that she wasn’t buying stuff that her kids already had.

  As she continued to focus on happy times, Caitlin recalled that her mom had phoned all excited one day. It was a conversation she suddenly remembered quite vividly. Her mom was happy about the possibility of Michael’s newest success—there was a film deal in the works—and her mom could hardly contain her glee.

  “I have good news, honey. Really good news,” Kathleen said. “The producer of Tom Clancy’s movies is reading one of Michael’s books.”

  “Really? Does that mean we’re going to be famous?” Caitlin asked, half teasing.

  “Well, I’ve heard that this man is in the middle of making a movie with Ben Affleck. And they say that Ben Affleck is reading Mike’s book right now. He might be interested in playing one of the characters.”

  “Is this for real?” Caitlin wondered. “Do you think Ben Affleck is really going to make the movie?”

  “Well, it’s up to his producer. This is the man who made The Hunt for Red October. So who knows? But if it happens, it might happen very quickly, which would really be a good break for Michael,” her mom told her.

  “Can you imagine if Ben Affleck decided to do it?” Caitlin asked. “Maybe I could be his date, and I could wind up going with him to the Academy Awards.”

  As Caitlin ran through the conversation in her mind, she recalled how happy her mom was in those final days of 2001. She and her mom just gushed, thrilled at the thought of a sex symbol being interested in Michael’s work. In all their excitement, the two of them had gotten off on a tangent about the fancy parties in Hollywood. They talked about shopping for gowns, they had really gotten ahead of themselves, dizzy with the thought of Ben Affleck, the most eligible unmarried movie star they could think of. Not only was he gorgeous, but at the time he’d just starred in the epic film Pearl Harbor. The guy was a fantastic choice to play the lead in one of Michael’s war novels. If Ben Affleck’s producer signed a deal, they both agreed, there would be no stopping Michael’s career after that.

  But then, as Caitlin sat alone on Christmas Eve, as she continued to think about the details of their chat, she realized that her mom had offered no other information about the movie deal. Her mom said that Michael might have had some papers being drawn up, but she wasn’t certain. Her mom really didn’t know anything for sure.

  The more Caitlin thought about it, the more it became obvious that she and her mom had gotten themselves all worked up over something that probably wasn’t real. Caitlin had been down that road before. She’d heard that Michael had signed film options for a few of his books. Over the years, she’d heard a lot of talk and promises from Hollywood, but none of these things had ever materialized. Of course, when the deals would first happen, when the producers and agents would be calling, the whole family would stay excited for a while, dreaming and making plans about film stars. But now, with her mom gone, those dreams had died as well. As Caitlin began to cry herself to sleep, she had to come to the realization that Michael’s career wasn’t even worth thinking about anymore.

  As she woke up to a lonely Christmas with her siblings still asleep, she faced the deserted house on Cedar Street in a quiet fog. Without the Christmas music playing, without the smell of French toast, Caitlin sat in the living room by herself with a cup of coffee. She stared over at the few gifts Kathleen and Michael had placed under the tree, and got a sick feeling in her stomach.

  But when her brothers and sisters arose, they wanted to make an attempt to celebrate. Martha had wrapped everything, she had tried to make the Christmas tree look nice, and Margaret and Todd and Clayton were each making a strained attempt to look happy. They were all hoping that somehow things could return to normal for them, all except Caitlin, who couldn’t even bring herself to eat. She didn’t want breakfast; she didn’t care about presents.

  But for that day, at least, her brothers and sisters had decided to live their lives in a bubble. Caitlin had wanted to join a family of her Jewish friends, who had invited her out for a big Chinese dinner, but her siblings wouldn’t hear of it. They insisted that they start a fire in the kitchen, and they began to prepare a big Christmas brunch.

  Their house, now with one of the staircases boarded up, was one of the few places they could grieve their mother’s loss in peace. They tried to find comfort in the decorations their mom had put up around the house for Christmas. Caitlin tried
to find little things to laugh about, but she couldn’t stand being in the house at all. She finally broke away from her siblings, insisting on visiting with her friends, whom she wound up joining at the Chinese buffet. For a few hours, Caitlin had tried to move on, to not think about death and sorrow, but once she returned back to Cedar Street, after the hours of daylight had passed and the night encroached, she, like her brothers and sisters, became filled with tears and rage.

  The police were not letting up on their dad, which was just another horrible thing they had to deal with. They felt the world was conspiring against them, and they weren’t talking to the police. By the end of Christmas night, each one of them retreated to their own bedroom, tearful and unhappy. It was hard to be in such a large empty home, to be there among the ruins of what was once Michael and Kathleen’s place, a home with fires going, a home filled with music and laughter, abounding with such love and warmth.

  The next morning, Bill Peterson came to the house to have a chat with Caitlin. He needed to talk to his niece about a few things, and the two of them sat alone together on the couch in her bedroom. Bill explained that Kathleen had died intestate, which meant she didn’t have a will. He said that normally Michael would have been the administrator of her estate, but with all the legal accusations, there was no way Michael could fill that role.

  “Todd said he would do it,” her uncle Bill explained. “But it makes sense that you would do it, because you’re her lone surviving child.”

  “Well, I’ll do whatever I can,” Caitlin said. “But I don’t really know that much about it.”

  “Well, logistically speaking, we might have to sell the house,” Bill told her. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but we all have to pull together to get through this.”

  Caitlin listened as her uncle attempted to explain certain aspects of North Carolina law. She tried to understand what her responsibilities would be as the administrator of her mother’s estate. After a while, Caitlin said she wanted to talk to her dad about the details. She felt she needed the common sense of her biological father, Fred, to help her understand all the legal jargon. And then, just as their conversation was wrapping up, her uncle Bill told her he had one other important thing to say.

  “Caitlin, I’ve talked to Margaret and Martha about this last night,” he began, “and this is something that I’ve known since I was fourteen years old, and since Michael was eighteen.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know, in life, everyone has skeletons in their closet, and no one wants them to come out,” Bill said. “And Michael wants you to understand with all the stuff that’s coming out in the press, there might be certain things coming out about his life that he wanted to keep a secret.”

  “What are you saying? Is it about my mom?” Caitlin asked.

  “No. This is something that I’ve known about. It’s something that’s a part of Michael. And Michael wanted you to know. He wanted you to become comfortable with this because the media might try to make a big deal over it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Caitlin, Michael is bisexual.”

  “Well, I don’t really care,” she said flatly. “I mean, what does that have to do with Mom?”

  “It’s not that,” Bill assured her. “It’s the media. You know how they can be. Look, I want you to talk with Margaret and Martha. I want you to all get comfortable with the idea before the media starts blowing it up, out of proportion.”

  Caitlin listened to her uncle’s words, but they hadn’t really fazed her. She was more concerned about the loss of her mom. She was more worried about Michael being in prison and how she would handle all the work around the Cedar Street house without either one of them being there to support her.

  “I felt, like, the way Bill said it to me, that Michael maybe had an experience or two,” Caitlin later confided. “I knew he had been in the marines, and I walked away thinking that maybe Michael had an experience at an early age. I thought maybe he still watched gay porno every once in a while. That was because of the tone and the way Bill said it. There was no explanation. Bill made me feel like it was just a casual thing that people might start talking about. And he didn’t want me to think of Michael as a different person.”

  When Caitlin did go to Margaret and Martha to discuss it, each of the girls reacted the same way. They didn’t really want to think about it. In part, they thought it was funny. They each snickered for a few minutes as they recalled a thick book Michael had in his library entitled Short Gay Fiction. When they were younger, each of them would take turns stealing it off Michael’s bookshelves, hiding it in each other’s rooms so they could accuse each other of being gay.

  Back then, it was just silly teen stuff.

  But now, with this news from their uncle Bill, the girls started to piece together a few other things. Michael had always been an eccentric person. That was part of his artistic side. But they realized that in his office, he had some weird artwork. There were certain items that glorified the male body . . . and then there was a pink flamingo displayed prominently by his fireplace.

  Sixteen

  David Rudolf, unsatisfied with the court’s ruling that Peterson be held without bail, filed a motion asking for Peterson’s bond hearing to be held at an earlier date. He began to compile a file of letters regarding Michael’s character, letters that would be mailed to superior court judge Henry Hight, who would be taking over the bond hearing.

  Among the supporters were Mary Clayton, a friend and neighbor of the Petersons for twelve years, who said she had many occasions to witness Michael, Kathleen, and their children in loving circumstances, at birthday parties, at dinner parties, on walks in the neighborhood. Mary Clayton hoped that the judge would allow Mr. Peterson to return home before his trial. She said he was a wonderful father and an ideal husband to Kathleen. She mentioned that just a few weeks before her death, while having lunch with Kathleen, the two of them had a conversation in which they both agreed that their husbands were perfect for each of them.

  Another neighbor who wrote in was Bob Cappelletti. He said that he and his wife of twenty-four years had been entertained by the Petersons on many occasions. Mr. Cappelletti and his wife considered Michael and Kathleen to be dear friends. In his view, it was impossible to think that Mr. Peterson would commit the crime for which he was charged. In fact, after having witnessed the way Michael and Kathleen interacted, each being the perfect foil for one another, it would be hard to imagine how Michael could go on living without Kathleen.

  This list went on, and many people planned to testify at the bond hearing, preferring to speak for themselves in person. What struck most of these people was how happy Michael and Kathleen were as a couple. One of her employees at Nortel had noticed that Michael and Kathleen would always stand very close to each other in social situations. Another friend would remember the parties the Petersons held for the North Carolina School of the Arts, parties they were happy to host at their spectacular home.

  One person who distinctly stood out from the list of supporters was Patricia Peterson. Patricia was aware of Kathleen’s sudden death. She had been contacted in Germany almost immediately, and had grown extremely concerned about the ramifications of Kathleen’s horrible accident. Worried about the emotional state of her sons and her ex-husband, even from such a distance, Patricia had become a fervent supporter. Over the phone, Patricia Peterson had been interviewed by police, and David Rudolf had incorporated her statement into a motion seeking a new bond date for Michael Peterson.

  According to Rudolf’s motion, Patricia Peterson told police officers that Mike Peterson had never been violent toward her, that she never knew him to be violent toward anyone. Patricia asserted that Michael was never physically or psychologically abusive, and in her opinion, he was not capable of doing any harm to Kathleen, regardless of his frame of mind. Patricia Peterson characterized Michael and Kathleen Peterson as “intertwined.” According to Patricia, they were a couple who “needed each other.”


  In the first week of January 2002, as her ex-husband sat in jail, Patricia Peterson took it upon herself to write an editorial to the Herald-Sun newspaper to remark about the breadth of Michael’s character. In a very brief note, Patricia attested to her strong marriage with Michael, which had lasted thirty years. She commended Michael’s dedication to the welfare of their children. She offered her sympathy for the death of Kathleen, stating that she, along with Michael and the rest of the family, deeply mourned Kathleen’s loss. Above all, Patricia stated her belief in the absolute innocence of Michael Peterson.

  On Friday, January 11, 2002, on a freezing night in downtown Durham, a group of forty people gathered outside the county jail to show support and seek Michael’s release on bond. Members of the group included Todd and Clayton Peterson, their sister Martha Ratliff, a number of friends, and, of course, Bill Peterson, who spoke to the press on behalf of the family. An attorney from Reno, Nevada, Bill was questioning a process in which a DA was able to claim he would seek the death penalty, hold a man in jail for weeks, then suddenly declare that the case against Michael Peterson would not involve capital punishment.

  Bill Peterson had been informed that the DA had decided not to seek the death penalty in the case. Without knowing any further details, Bill was among the outraged members of Peterson’s support group, who were equipped with picket signs and candles. One unusual character after another seemed to fill out the crowd. There were local political activists, people who had supported Peterson’s campaigns, and then there were those who were there strictly out of loyalty and love for Michael Peterson.

  Mr. Peterson’s former housepainter, Francisco Garcia, was at the vigil to light a candle for the man who had been such an unbelievably fair person. According to Garcia, Peterson had been a gracious employer, a man who offered nothing but kindness. Garcia stood outside in the ice cold of winter, happy to do whatever he could to support Peterson, because he truly believed in Michael as a good and honest man.