A Perfect Husband

by Aphrodite Jones

  However, the children suspected, even though they hadn’t made any public statements, that Kathleen and Michael had been drinking quite heavily on the night of her death....

  On December 12, 2001, the obituary of Kathleen Hunt Peterson appeared in Durham’s Herald-Sun newspaper. Born in Greensboro, North Carolina, Kathleen had relocated with her family, and had spent her grade-school years in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, near the Amish Country. She’d been voted “Girl of the Year” in high school, and she was quite the star. Not only was she the valedictorian of her class and the president of the debating club, Kathleen was the editor of the school magazine as well. After her graduation in 1971, Kathleen had chosen to attend Duke University, where she had been accepted as the first female student into Duke’s School of Engineering. She had been a young woman of great initiative.

  In her professional career, Kathleen Peterson had landed executive positions at Pritchard, Merck, and, ultimately, at Nortel Networks. For her achievements at Nortel, Kathleen had received countless awards. As a top executive at Nortel, she had traveled throughout the world, to Russia, China, Europe, and even to Vietnam. Beyond that, Kathleen Peterson was the only person—in the entire Research Triangle—to have received the honor of having a conference room named after her.

  Kathleen was survived by her mother, two sisters, her brother, her five children, and her successful novelist husband, Michael. Knowing that Kathleen had so many admirers and supporters, and knowing that Michael held such a place of prominence in the community, the family made sure to mention that they didn’t want any money to be spent on flowers. They requested that any donations be made to the Durham Arts Council in Kathleen Peterson’s name.

  But behind the scenes, with the police still present outside the mansion, with reporters still snooping for tidbits, things had gotten strange around the Peterson house. Michael had announced that he wasn’t going to attend the public viewing at the funeral home. He had called his siblings, Bill, Jack, Ann, and Christensen, and had asked them not to attend Kathleen’s wake.

  Michael felt that the wake was a place for strangers. He didn’t want the family subjected to all the public hoopla. He asked his sister, Ann, to contact the three girls in person. He wanted Ann to knock on their hotel room door, to advise them that the family would hold their own memorial in the privacy of their home.

  When Caitlin was told about Michael’s request, she called her stepdad immediately. She felt strongly about attending her mother’s viewing, about honoring her mother’s memory. She told Michael that she wanted to be reminded of all the people who loved her mom. Caitlin knew there were a lot of people who were planning to be there, and she couldn’t really understand Michael’s thinking.

  “I want you to be at the house,” Michael insisted. “I’m not going to the viewing. I don’t want to intrude on you, but I would prefer for you to come home to be with me and your brothers and sisters.”

  “But I want to go,” Caitlin told him. “I want to see my mother’s friends. You know, my dad will be there, and my aunts and everyone.”

  “Well, I don’t plan to be there. I’m not going because it’s not something I believe in. If anything, I might go for the last five minutes,” Michael said, “but it’s not something your mother would want.”

  Michael asked to talk to Margaret or Martha, and Caitlin watched as Margaret picked up the receiver. Margaret listened to her dad, and didn’t say much at all. Martha took the phone next. Neither of them said a word to protest their father’s wishes.

  But Margaret was visibly upset by Michael’s demands. Caitlin could see that Margaret felt awkward, that her older sister wanted to attend the wake. Even though she wasn’t saying much, Caitlin could tell that Margaret wasn’t happy with Michael’s request. Caitlin thought that Michael, as usual, was being too over-protective. But in this case, his reasoning didn’t make sense.

  “Margaret, you should do what you want to do,” Caitlin urged. “If you want to go to the viewing, these are Mom’s friends.”

  “But Dad says we should all be at the house, as a family,” Margaret told her. “He wants all of us to be together.”

  “This is our Mom,” Caitlin said. “You should do what you want to do.”

  But there was no room for further discussion. Caitlin watched her sisters with a sense of confusion and disbelief. Margaret and Martha, whom her mom had raised as true daughters, were planning to honor their dad’s decision.

  Ten

  Caitlin spent a lot of time crying at the wake. She had been accompanied by her grandmother Veronica and her aunts Candace and Lori. There was much sadness, and that was compounded by the number of people at the funeral home. There was a long line of people waiting to pay their respects, folks who had known Kathleen for years and years.

  As the hours melted away, Caitlin felt she couldn’t look at her mom. She had been aware of the dress her mom was wearing, she had chosen the particular coat and pearls to match, but she just couldn’t get near the coffin. It wasn’t that her mom looked horrifying. In fact, her makeup was wonderful. The day before, her brother Todd had even seen to the final touches.

  But finally, as the procession of people began to dwindle, as people started to leave the viewing room, Caitlin began to inch her way over toward her mother. When she actually got close, standing beside her mom, she felt the need to look at all the flowers and photos that had been placed around her. Being close to her mom for the last time, Caitlin suddenly felt comforted by her mother’s presence. Caitlin couldn’t help but remain there. She absolutely didn’t want to leave her mother’s side.

  With everything else fading into the background, Caitlin stayed frozen, just communing with her mother. Her mom looked at peace. She looked pretty. Instead of feeling afraid, Caitlin loved being there beside her.

  Then, the next thing she knew, Caitlin was informed that the funeral home would be closing. As much as it hurt her, Caitlin had to say her good-byes. It was so hard for her to walk away, but Caitlin knew she had to.

  As she approached the funeral directors downstairs, ready to make her way out of there, Caitlin was told that Michael had placed a last-minute call. Michael and the rest of the family were on their way down to the wake. The funeral home had agreed to stay open for an extra few minutes. Caitlin was kind of upset about it.

  Caitlin had already been through the trauma once. She had been through all the tears with her grandmother, her aunts and uncles, and cousins. But now, for Michael’s sake, she would have to relive all of it again. She really didn’t want to stay for Michael’s arrival, but she had to. It wasn’t just for Michael. It was for her brothers and sisters that Caitlin would endure.

  Michael and his children arrived, all of them escorted by his brother Bill, and Caitlin joined along, being led upstairs again. By that time, the funeral directors had already taken Kathleen’s jewelry off her, those things would be left to Caitlin, and they had already closed off most of the hallway lights.

  It felt odd, the way the family had this moment of utter silence at the side of Kathleen’s coffin. With the room as cold as ice, Margaret and Martha began to cry. Todd and Clayton looked shaken.

  But it was Michael who was unquestionably the most physically upset at the sight of Kathleen. He was just so overcome with grief. He was shaking; then he began sobbing, holding on to the casket, where he knelt near his dear wife. Caitlin felt how much Michael was connected to her mom. She could see his pain. As she reached over to Michael to comfort him, Michael called her the “vision of her mother.” Caitlin began to cry, and the other children stepped back.

  Finally it was Caitlin alone at the coffin with her stepdad. Neither one of them had the strength to pull away. It seemed like forever, but Caitlin realized that Michael needed his private time to say good-bye to his wife, that he had to be the last one to see her , so she joined her brothers and sisters, who were already downstairs, waiting outside by the car.

  The next day, for the funeral, Caitlin wore a dress that
her mom had insisted she buy for her. Caitlin thought it was weird, the way that had worked out. She recalled going shopping over at the mall in Raleigh with her mom, the summer prior. There were two black dresses on sale, stunning dresses really, but Caitlin had liked one, and her mom had liked the other. In the end, Kathleen opted to buy both, even though Caitlin really never expected to wear the more conservative choice.

  Yet, suddenly here she was, just months later, wearing that very dress that her mom so dearly loved. It wasn’t black, actually, more midnight blue, and Caitlin was glad it was something her mom liked. She was glad that she wasn’t wearing the same black sheaths that the rest of the family donned.

  But the funeral became surreal, especially for Caitlin. Just as soon as she stepped out of the limo, it didn’t matter what anyone wore, or what words were said. It was all just too unbelievable. There was no way for Caitlin to reconcile with the facts. It just didn’t seem possible that her mom was never coming back.

  For all of them, without doubt, Kathleen’s service was painful. Nothing any preacher could say would lessen anyone’s shock, would make their hurt go away. All the talk of Heaven, of all the angels in the universe, was of no consolation to the Petersons.

  Kathleen’s burial at the Maplewood Cemetery, right in the heart of Durham, was even more difficult. Michael hadn’t wanted a burial; he had wanted cremation. So it was only the immediate family in attendance, and with no headstone yet to mark the grave, there was this sense of overwhelming disbelief.

  Immediately after the burial, the family went over to Manno’s, a local home-style restaurant, where they ate a quiet meal. It was an uncomfortable time, really, especially because everyone knew that the police had come back to the Peterson house. The police had been there on the very night of Kathleen’s wake; they had served a third search warrant. The Durham police seemed to be so uncaring about the family—they were indecent, really, as far as the Petersons were concerned. The way the police mishandled things, having the audacity to interfere with Kathleen’s wake and funeral, it was as though they had no heart.

  Most of the family had been made aware that the police had gone to test Kathleen’s body prior to her wake. The police had actually served a fourth search warrant at the funeral home. It was unthinkable to them, but the police apparently had reason to administer a sexual assault kit on Kathleen. No one wanted to discuss it. There was an intruder theory that had become a part of the local media reports. It was just unreal to all of them that Kathleen’s death would be so full of public speculation and rumor.

  Kathleen’s sisters, Candace and Lori, were anxious to leave the restaurant as soon as the meal was finished. They were exhausted, still in shock, and wanted no further part of the public attention their sister’s death had brought them. Candace and Lori had already checked out of their hotel rooms. They wanted to get back to their lives in Virginia, to feel the safety of their homes, of their own beds. And as much as anything, they were concerned about their poor mom. Veronica, a woman in her eighties, who was going to take turns being hosted by her two remaining daughters.

  As the day began winding down, it was Michael and Caitlin who slowly walked Candace, Lori, and the others out to the parking lot. Caitlin was saying very little, but Michael wanted to talk to Veronica, just once more. He wanted to share a private moment with her, to console her about the loss of her daughter, before she left the Durham area.

  “I know how much you miss Kathleen. No one knows that as much as I do,” Michael told her, his voice quivering.

  “Yes, I miss her. I miss my daughter,” Veronica said, breaking down into tears.

  With that, Veronica leaned on Michael’s shoulder. As Michael began to cry, Veronica’s sobbing became tenfold. Michael was very emotional, trying to tear himself away, not wanting to say good-bye. Michael was feeling increasingly sorry for the whole family, but he was particularly sorry for Kathleen’s mom, who never should have had to bury her own beautiful child. Michael promised to call Veronica in a week or two.

  As he hugged Veronica one last time, Michael wanted her to know that she was always welcome back to his home. He wanted her to come back to visit him and the kids whenever she felt up to it.

  “You know, I’ve always called you Ronnie,” Michael said. “But now, if it’s okay, I’d like to call you Mom.”

  The comment made Veronica cry all over again. She was already haunted by the idea that her daughter had died in that great big house. The thought of returning to that home—once filled with such life, such love—was too much for her.

  Caitlin couldn’t stop crying as she waved good-bye to her grandmother and aunts. Trying to break the sorrow, Candace asked her niece if she’d be up to Virginia to visit sometime soon. Caitlin thought she might drive through Virginia on her way back home from Cornell, so the family would have some kind of get-together.

  Caitlin didn’t really want to think about it, but Christmas was only two weeks away.

  Eleven

  It was not that Michael Peterson was being charged with any crime. It was just an investigation the Durham police were conducting, trying to conclude what, exactly, had happened to his wife.

  As it was, the police had entered the Peterson mansion on the night of Kathleen’s wake. They hadn’t expected anyone to be home. They hadn’t wished to confront Michael Peterson, his two sons, two of his daughters, or his brother Bill. The police had been blamed by the family for interfering with their going to Kathleen’s viewing, but police had not requested that the family stay at the house that evening.

  Kerry Sutton, Peterson’s attorney and friend, had blasted the actions of police in the press, stating she was stunned by their behavior, by their insensitivity. But actually, it was Sutton who had advised Michael Peterson to stay in the house during the search.

  The Durham police had a job to do. They were still investigating Kathleen’s fall. And that job would continue, even while Kathleen’s family mourned at her wake, even while they mourned at the Duke Chapel during her funeral service.

  Most of Kathleen’s family had found a way to put the police business on a back burner. Most of her family had found the strength to stand up and speak on Kathleen’s behalf, especially on the day of her funeral. There was Caitlin, who said her mother’s impeccable character was enough to give each of her children the strength to fulfill their dreams. There was Maureen Berry, who spoke of Kathleen’s nonjudgmental nature, who said Kathleen was a uniquely upbeat individual, particularly with her husband by her side. There was Reverend Joseph Harvard, who told the congregation to keep the image of Kathleen dancing in their minds. The Reverend wanted people to remember Kathleen as she was, on the Friday night before her death. On that night, Kathleen had danced, until the early hours of the morning, in the arms of her beloved husband, Michael.

  There were many testimonials about the love Kathleen shared with Michael. There were many people who felt the couple had been soul mates and they grieved for her widowed husband. As for Michael, he was so distraught about having lost his best friend, he was unable to get up and speak.

  But regardless of the family’s loss, regardless of the media coverage, the fact remained that it didn’t matter how cold or calloused people believed the Durham police to be. The lead investigator, Art Holland, had observed a few curious things on the night of Kathleen’s death, and the detective had reason to pull a number of search warrants.

  In fact, a number of the responding officers and paramedics had some misgivings about the death scene. For one thing, there was blood on the sidewalk leading to the Peterson home, which didn’t make sense. Mr. Peterson hadn’t spoken to police at all that evening; he had been too distraught. But having blood outside the door, and having blood outside on a can of diet Coke as well, that didn’t quite add up with Michael Peterson’s claims in his 9-1-1 calls.

  Beyond the blood in strange places, there were other discrepancies. When Peterson placed the first emergency call, he reported that his wife was still breathing. Bu
t the paramedics at the scene noted that most of the blood around Kathleen was dry. According to the paramedics, Mrs. Peterson had been dead for some period of time . . . long before they arrived.

  And there were other things that seemed out of place: a series of odd e-mails in Michael Peterson’s desk, a broken crystal wineglass, Michael’s athletic shoes and socks, which were all bloody, next to Kathleen’s body, and an unwrapped condom that was filled with fluid that didn’t appear to be semen.

  After the initial police inventory was logged, the next search, which had been conducted the night of Kathleen’s wake, turned up items in Mr. Peterson’s home that were even more out of the ordinary. There were wild pornographic materials found in Peterson’s office. There were unusual pornographic Web sites listed on his main computer. And hidden among Peterson’s bookcases were strange things such as the O.J. Simpson Notebook and packs of unused condoms.

  Not that Detective Holland was ready to charge Mr. Peterson with anything, but the detective was in a “conversation” with Jim Hardin, the Durham district attorney. And while Michael Peterson was asserting that Art Holland and Jim Hardin were treating him unfairly—showing people the newspaper columns he had written, columns in which Peterson had attacked DA Hardin and police officials for the gang violence and drug problems in Durham—the fact was, Jim Hardin was being very methodical about his job, as was Detective Holland. They were under an ethical obligation to determine what had happened in the Peterson home in the early morning of December 9, 2001. And they were in no rush to judgment.