Anne also attended Laci’s baby shower, along with nearly fifty other women. At one point, she recalled, Laci was stifling laughter over a close friend of Jackie’s who turned up in go-go boots. Anne recognized the woman from several pictures hanging in Jackie’s house. “Weird people,” she mouthed to Anne, as her sister-in-law tried to keep a straight face.
By the time the due date approached, Scott and Laci were spending money quite freely. They went all-out decorating the inside of their home, splurging on new furnishings, especially in the nursery. From the outside, however, the house looked unkempt and in need of repairs.
Scott still played golf regularly, and when his parents ponied up the $23,000 admission fee on December 1, he joined the Del Rio Country Club. (The $390 monthly dues were Scott’s responsibility.)
The couple enjoyed entertaining. Their friends knew Laci to be a gourmet cook. According to her friends, Laci put a great deal of effort into her appearance. Spa treatments, manicures, and pedicures were part of her normal routine. She also loved shopping, and was described as a clotheshorse. She used the Internet to search for Christmas presents, and scoped out the local malls on a regular basis. While she loved finding a bargain, she didn’t hesitate to pay full price if she wanted a particular item.
Laci kept a running list of new objects the couple had agreed to buy for their home. Her long-range goals included having more children and buying a larger house and new vehicle—even as she planned to remain a stay-at-home mom. During one conversation with Sharon, Scott joked that they might have to pitch a tent in his mother-in-law’s driveway if their spending habits were not restrained.
Two days before her disappearance, Laci’s brother Brent phoned from his home in Elk Grove to find out about the couple’s plans for Christmas. He asked if he could bring their grandfather, Robert Rocha, down from his nursing home in Sacramento on Christmas morning. Laci readily agreed. After her 10:30 brunch, everyone could open presents. She and Scott would purchase a fruit basket or something similar for their grandfather.
In hindsight, it all seems like a charade: Scott spent so much time and money decorating Conner’s room, taking Laci’s ring in to the jeweler for Christmas, rushing over to feel his baby kick, despite telling others that he was “hoping for infertility.”
But on December 23, 2002, Scott seemed to be planning nothing more than a quiet holiday entertaining family and enjoying his wife’s company.
CHAPTER FOUR
SEARCHES
Over the next three days, police conducted a number of searches of Scott’s house, warehouse, and boat. They initiated grid searches by air, and bloodhound searches on the ground. And their work yielded valuable clues, only some of which the jury heard about during the trial. The following pages are based on the complete record of those searches, along with unpublished conversations between police and Scott Peterson.
By December 26, 2002, Scott’s office on Emerald Street was under surveillance. No one could enter the business until the pending search warrant had been served. “I felt that if evidence was present at the Emerald Avenue location, evidence destruction at that location could be completed without witnesses in the remote and mostly un-occupied industrial area in the late evening and early morning hours,” Detective Craig Grogan reported.
Members of the Modesto Fire Department were combing the Tuolumne River area of Dry Creek Park, and a neighborhood canvas was underway, with officers going from house to house looking for individuals who may have seen anything out of the ordinary.
As per Grogan’s instruction, police also compiled a list of potential suspects, focusing on prior offenders and known sex offenders in the area. He told Officer Tom Rhea to highlight any transients with violent backgrounds.
Just before ten, Detective Grogan received a call. An officer in the field had just interviewed a woman who claimed to have seen a female in the early morning hours of December 24, dressed in black pants and white shirt. She said the woman was pregnant and walking a dog.
Another tip came in from a woman named Diana Campos, a 46-year-old custodian at Stanislaus County Hospital. At 10:45 A.M., while on a smoking break outside the hospital, Campos said she had seen three people and a dog together in the park, heading west. She watched the three as they walked roughly the distance of a football field. The dog, a golden retriever, was barking incessantly, and the female was tugging on the lead as if trying to calm him. One of the men, who had what Campos described as a “beanie cap” atop his head, shouted, “Shut the fucking dog up.”
Campos watched them as she puffed on her cigarette but did not sense any serious conflict among the individuals. In fact, she thought nothing of the sighting until December 26, when she saw a flyer de-scribing Laci Peterson.
“When I looked at the flyer, I said to myself, ‘I know the girl.’” She insisted that the woman she had seen in Moose Park was Laci Peterson, and told Detective Owen that she would not have called the police unless she was sure. Yet, Campos backpedaled slightly a few minutes later, saying only that she was “pretty sure.” “I am real good with faces,” she told the detective.
Campos described the woman as wearing a white top and sweat-pants, with dark shoulder-length hair; she appeared to be six or seven months pregnant. The golden retriever was medium in size, with brownish red fur, but Campos could not recall the color of its leash. She described both men as in their thirties, 5’7”, with medium builds. One wore a beanie-style cap, dirty clothes, a dark shirt and blue jeans. The second man had short brown hair and was dressed in jeans and a torn denim jacket. Campos said she was about fifty feet away from the group.
Over the course of the investigation there would be several more reports like these, but no time line was ever established. While Scott’s defense lawyer, Mark Geragos, promised to produce these folks at trial, he never did. He was able to inject some of the information during cross-examination of police officers, but during his case in chief, none of these people took the stand.
Around noon, Detective Al Brocchini began tracking Scott’s alibi. When he spoke with the Berkeley Marina Harbormaster, Ray Foresberg, the man was adamant: It had not rained at the marina on December 24. This information directly contradicted the story Scott had told Brocchini only twenty-four hours before, and prompted the men to secure a search warrant.
After hearing Foresberg’s report, Brocchini went straight to po-lice headquarters, where he and Detective Grogan completed search warrant applications for 523 Covena Avenue and 1027 Emerald Avenue. On the surface, these two officers seemed cut from the same cloth: short and stocky, each of them sporting the business suit of a plainclothes detective. Yet there were critical differences between the two. Brocchini, his dark hair cut in a military style, had a well-defined chin, broad facial features, and frameless eyeglasses; he was quicker to react, and to confront or challenge a witness. Grogan, whose brown hair was tinged with red, sported a thick mustache and bright observant eyes; the more seasoned of the two, he was much more lowkey. Early in the investigation, Scott would accuse Brocchini of trying to “trick” him. Grogan was much more likely to assume the “good cop” role, and it was he who proved better able to engage Scott in the cat-and-mouse game they would play in the coming days.
Applications in hand, the two investigators hurried to the court-house to obtain a judge’s approval for the searches. As they arrived, Grogan’s cell phone rang. A detective posted outside Scott’s ware-house was calling to let him know that a man driving a bronze Ford F150 had pulled up, wanting to retrieve a computer from the office.
The man, whom the police turned away, was Scott Peterson. The officer told him to contact Grogan or Brocchini for more information.
At 3:10, Judge Nancy Ashley signed the warrants, clearing the way for the search. Before Brocchini could get out of the room, his phone rang as well. It was Scott, asking why a warrant was necessary.
The detective explained that it was just a precaution, reminding Scott that he’d reneged on his agreement to take
a polygraph just moments before it was scheduled. Scott suggested that the detectives meet him at headquarters for the 3:30 press briefing; they could discuss the search then.
Moments later, the officers were standing in the hallway outside the press room. Then Scott called again, changing the rules. He’d left the news conference early, he said; now he wanted the men to come to his house. Before they could leave, Laci’s stepfather approached. Grantski said that his son-in-law had just gotten up and walked out of the press conference, obviously angry at reporter’s questions about his behavior.
At four o’clock, the officers edged their vehicle around a line of media satellite trucks and pulled up to the Peterson house. Dozens of journalists had staked out the home, waiting for updates on the case. The media was there at Scott’s disposal, but he had no intention of using them to find Laci. In fact, he was clearly avoiding them.
Cordoned behind Modesto Police Department sawhorses, the re-porters all missed what happened next. The jury was never allowed to hear what Scott and the officers discussed that afternoon—including a telling conversation with Jackie Peterson, Scott’s antics over the search warrant for 523 Covena, and the full details of the bloodhound searches conducted at his home and warehouse.
Through a window, the detectives could see Scott sitting alone at the dining room table, calmly perusing a newspaper. They knocked, and without rising Scott yelled “Come in.” He invited them to join him at the long wood table.
Scott had gone to the warehouse, he said, to get a photograph of Laci off his office computer for a flyer he was preparing. He was perturbed that he wasn’t told about the lockdown of his office or the pending search, and reiterated that he would have given permission if the detectives had simply asked. Just thirty-six hours into the investigation, Scott was already displaying his arrogance, trying to seize the upper hand and setting up confrontations with the very people who were there to help find Laci. He was telegraphing a mes-sage: This is my territory—I’m in charge here.
Grogan interjected, redirecting the conversation to the importance of a timely search. There might be evidence of a stranger entering the home, then cleaning up to eliminate signs of an attack. He also explained that searching Scott’s place of business, his vehicles, and his computers might provide clues of a stalker, or even Laci’s possible involvement with another man. Scott listened intently, nod-ding his head as if agreeing with the comments. From his demeanor, the investigators assumed he would agree to the searches. Producing waivers that eliminated the need for a warrant, the detectives asked Scott for his signature.
Scott read the papers intently, then looked up. “You don’t expect me to sign these right now, do you? I’m going to have to consult with an attorney before I sign anything.”
Grogan shrugged. “Have you retained an attorney?”
Handing back the waivers, Scott replied, “I’ve made some calls but have not hired anyone yet.”
At that point, Sergeant Ron Cloward entered the room and interrupted the exchange. He needed an article of Laci’s clothing to use in the canine search. Scott allowed him to take Laci’s brown hairbrush, a pink Jones of New York slipper, a pair of Ralph Lauren sunglasses, and a brown eyeglass case. Cloward also retrieved an item of Scott’s, a green and blue slipper from the Gap.
“Are you writing down the items that you’re taking?” Scott asked.
“Yes,” Grogan replied.
As a uniformed officer prepared the slip, Scott interrupted, sliding some papers across the table to prevent the cop from scratching the wooden tabletop as he wrote. As Detective Brocchini noted, it was just like Scott’s behavior with Laci’s Land Rover: However disengaged he may have seemed from his wife’s disappearance, he was clearly eager to protect property that had value to him. As the detective made another note of Scott’s “unusual concerns,” Cloward offered Scott his receipt for the borrowed items, and Scott readily accepted.
Around 4:30, Jackie and Lee Peterson arrived at the house. Scott’s mother had just left the news conference. She was complaining about Chief Wasden’s comment that it would be strange for Laci to go walking without her cell phone. “Everybody knows Laci’s cell phone had been dead for weeks,” she griped. “So why would she be taking it on walks with her?”
When I read this in the police report, I wondered why Jackie was interpreting this comment as an indictment of her son. She was already feeling the need to protect him. Was this because she knew something about Laci, or simply because she had done it so often in the past?
Brocchini knew that Laci’s cell phone was dead. He had checked it the previous evening. If what Jackie Peterson was saying was true, he asked, “then why did Scott leave a message on that cell phone Christmas Eve?”
“I was just repeating what other people said,” she snapped.
As the afternoon wore on, more officers were dispatched to 523 Covena to assist with crowd control. They were setting up wooden sawhorses to contain the growing throng when a woman ran out of the house across the street, screaming that she’d been robbed. Susan Medina excitedly explained that she and her husband, Rodolfo, had just returned from their holiday in Los Angeles to find their home ransacked. Officers Fainter and Meyers followed her to investigate.
The point of entry was clearly the south side of the Medinas’ home at 516 Covena, where a set of French doors had been kicked in. A shoeprint was visible on the right door below the handle. Drawers were open and closets tossed throughout the dwelling. Rodolfo Medina told the officers that a personal safe in the master bedroom, which had been concealed by maroon bedsheets, was missing.
A hammer and a glove were found inside the master suite; the burglar had apparently used the hammer to crack the safe. A hand truck stored inside the owner’s tool shop behind the house was now on the porch. The intruder must have used it to transport the safe to the front of the house. In the backyard, police found items taken from the toolshed, including an air compressor and a gas-powered leaf blower. A number of power tools were missing.
Officers wanted a list of people who knew about the Medinas’ holiday plans, and the names of businesses and persons who had been to the residence. They fingerprinted family members before leaving. This burglary would become important to Scott’s defense in the months to come.
Across the way at the Peterson residence, an attorney named Ross Lee was meeting with Scott in a rear bedroom. When Lee emerged, he introduced himself as Tradecorp’s corporate attorney, and told the officers that he had referred Scott to a criminal lawyer, Kirk McAllister.
Scott returned to the dining room and said he’d left a message for McAllister. He pulled up a chair at the table where his father, Lee, and his sister, Susan Caudillo, were talking with Captain Christopher Boyer. Boyer headed up the Contra Costa County Emergency Services Search and Rescue and was in charge of the canine team as-signed to search the area around the Petersons’ home. Linda Valentin, a dog handler, was also present.
While everyone waited for a call from Scott’s attorney, Captain Boyer interviewed Scott in preparation for the bloodhound search. Brocchini listened quietly as Scott responded to Boyer’s questions. He paid close attention as Scott detailed the items of clothing he said his wife had been wearing on the morning of her disappearance—the black maternity pants and white long-sleeved blouse with a crew neck.
“What type of shoes was Laci wearing?” Boyer inquired
Scott replied that his wife was barefoot when he left.
“What shoes does Laci normally wear before she goes walking?” “White tennis shoes,” he replied.
“Were any tennis shoes missing?”
Brocchini was surprised to hear Scott say he hadn’t yet checked. Nor had he looked to see if any of her jackets were missing. This critical information could help determine whether she had gone for a walk or was abducted from inside the home.
Captain Boyer left the residence to begin the search, and Brocchini followed him outside. Boyer commented that in his twenty years of ex
perience, this was the first time he had ever been asked for a receipt for items taken to help locate a missing person. Brocchini just nodded.
It was five o’clock before Grogan again asked Scott if he had talked to a lawyer about the search waivers.
“Not yet,” he replied.
Grogan then pulled some papers from his pocket and began to recite. “I have prepared a search warrant that covers your home, vehicles, boat, and place of work. The searches will be carried out over a period of a few days in a very slow and methodical way to hopefully find evidence that will aid in our investigation of Laci’s disappearance.”
Scott’s reaction was immediate. “Where’s the trust?” he demanded, looking directly at Brocchini. “Why did you fill out those forms and ask if you could search, if you already had a warrant?”
It was then that Scott accused Brocchini of tricking him on Christmas Eve. Brocchini had left his keys in Scott’s car that first night, and his notebook in Scott’s boat. Now Scott was suggesting that Brocchini had staged the whole thing to give him an excuse to go back and take a second look.
“Scott said I took his gun out of his car, and took his mop, mop bucket, and wet towels on Christmas Eve without telling him. I re-minded Scott that he consented to the evidence search on Christmas Eve, and I apologized [that] I did not immediately tell him what I had taken. Scott agreed, but said he felt betrayed since I did not tell him about the items I took until he asked,” Brocchini noted in his ongoing police report.
Grogan explained that he wasn’t confident Scott would allow the search, but had wanted to give him the opportunity to consent. Scott’s change of heart over the polygraph, after all, was the only behavior Grogan had to go on. Now the detective told Scott he would have to vacate the house within fifteen minutes, and would need per-mission to remove anything when he left.
A Deadly Game Page 9
