A Perfect Husband

by Aphrodite Jones

  In the meantime, Caitlin Atwater’s attorney would file a separate claim, contending that if Fred Atwater was not named the life insurance beneficiary, then the $1.45 million should go to Caitlin, that she should be the sole beneficiary of her mother’s life insurance policy, not Michael Peterson. The claim would mention that under North Carolina’s “slayer statute,” if Peterson was to be convicted of killing his wife, he would be prohibited from any economic gain.

  Forty-one

  It would take months, but eventually Margaret and Martha Ratliff would sign a document allowing Durham prosecutors to exhume the remains of their mother. DA Hardin would ask Art Holland to fly to Bay City, Texas, to oversee the two-hour exhumation process of a woman who had been dead for nearly eighteen years.

  Because the medical examiner’s office in North Carolina had no way of knowing the size or weight of the coffin, or the condition of the remains, arrangements were made through the Durham DA’s travel coordinator, John Hutchinson, to fly Art Holland to Texas, and then have him drive back, following Elizabeth Ratliff’s coffin to Chapel Hill.

  As it happened, the DA’s office was watching every dime, expenses were adding up in the case against Michael Peterson, so the coffin was not placed in a separate trailer. Instead, it was placed in an SUV, driven by an employee from the funeral home in Bay City. In order to maintain the chain of custody of her remains, Art Holland had two members from the Durham police as backup. The casket could not be left alone for a minute. The remains had to be kept under guard throughout the twenty-four-hour period it would take to deliver Elizabeth Ratliff’s body to the custody of state medical examiner Dr. Deborah Radisch.

  Several weeks of planning had gone into the decision to drive the remains. Hutchinson had originally called all the airlines, hoping the casket could be flown back, but ultimately directions were provided from Texas to Mississippi, where the detective and his men would stay overnight, eventually making their way to North Carolina in a slow procession. David Rudolf had sent an investigator from his defense team down to Bay City, so that Michael Peterson would have representation at the exhumation, and the French crew, Maha Productions, had also tagged along to document the ordeal. Everyone was concerned about what they would find in the casket. No one had any idea what degree of deterioration the body would be in.

  When Elizabeth Ratliff was delivered to the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner at Chapel Hill on April 16, 2003, Dr. Deborah Radisch was accompanied by a team of medical examiners as the coffin was opened. Among them were Chief Medical Examiner Dr. John Butts and Dr. Aaron Gleckman, both of whom would later testify at the Peterson trial. Also present at the autopsy examination were representatives from the Durham Police Department, the Durham District Attorney’s Office, and the law office of David Rudolf.

  After the yellow police tape was removed, as the silver-gray metal casket was jarred, everyone stood in amazement. After almost eighteen years, the corpse of Elizabeth Ratliff was entirely intact. Present with her in the casket were several personal items: a white stuffed toy lamb, a metal charm of ballet slippers, a metal unicorn, a seashell, a children’s book, The Little Rabbit, and a card with a photo of a church in Frankfurt marked “George and Elizabeth Ratliff.” Inside the card was a color photograph of their two small girls.

  Her wedding gown had yellowed, but the off-white gauzy cotton dress with lace inserts was still completely preserved. Underneath, Elizabeth was clothed in a white full slip, white knee-high hose, and a matching white lace bra and panties. Once her clothing had been removed, the medical examiners noted that her skin had discolored, but everything about the corpse looked immaculately preserved. Elizabeth’s hair, her makeup, and her nail polish were all in place. She lay with a soft smile on her face, looking peaceful and rested. The autopsy examination revealed that the embalmed body was in an excellent state of condition, and with the exception of portions of the brain, her internal body cavities were largely complete. It was hard to imagine her body would have been in such perfect shape. It was as though her corpse was speaking.

  It was as though Elizabeth Ratliff had something to say.

  It would take two weeks for the findings of the new autopsy report to be made public. The public would be shocked to learn that the medical examiners had noted seven lacerations to Elizabeth Ratliff’s scalp—the same number of lacerations found on the scalp of Kathleen Peterson. The death was ruled a homicide and Dr. Radisch’s diagnosis was confirmed by a neuropathology consultation. Medical examiners Dr. Stephen Smith and Dr. Aaron Gleckman would file a report that stated “the inflicted trauma was clearly from a homicidal assault.”

  In addition to the subarachnoid hemorrhages, there were contusions to Elizabeth Ratliff’s left hand and left forearm. So, like Kathleen Peterson, she showed signs of defensive wounds, signs of trying to fend off her attacker. And there were unexplainable contusions to her lips and left eyelid.

  When Elizabeth Ratliff’s death was ruled a homicide, the local media jumped all over it. Reporters wondered how the two Ratliff autopsies could have had such drastically different results. David Rudolf attacked the Chapel Hill medical examiners for making statements concluding that Ratliff was murdered, asking, “Since when do forensic neuropathologists offer gratuitous comments?”

  Rudolf told local newspapers that the new autopsy findings were unscientific. He noted that Elizabeth Ratliff’s brain tissue had deteriorated, which, he said, was critical, because the original autopsy exam had concluded that Ratliff died of a stroke. The first autopsy exam, Rudolf reminded the press, had been based on an examination of brain tissue that was now missing. The attorney argued that the publishing of the new findings was inflammatory and outrageous.

  But the new autopsy report had also revealed a linear fracture at the base of Elizabeth Ratliff’s skull, which was associated with one of the lacerations on her left posterior scalp. To the team of North Carolina medical experts, the forty-three-year-old woman had suffered a blunt trauma to her head. It was clear that Elizabeth Ratliff had been beaten to death.

  Forty-two

  The length of Michael Peterson’s 2003 trial would surpass everyone’s expectations; it would be the longest-running trial in Durham history. The jury selection process alone lasted from May 5 to June 23—all those weeks being used to whittle down 124 prospective jurors to a panel of 12 and 4 alternates. The main issue for the prosecution was to make sure that jurors understood that a motive was not essential for conviction. There was no murder weapon, no eyewitness, and the motive would be speculative.

  The case being entirely circumstantial, DA Jim Hardin and ADA Freda Black had mentioned the existence of the new autopsy on Elizabeth Ratliff, noting that the cause of death was changed from accident to homicide. Freda Black would tell jurors that if the Ratliff evidence were to be allowed in, the state would not have to prove that Michael Peterson was involved in Ratliff’s death. It was enough, Black would explain, under the 404 (b) provision, that the defendant had been present at an identical crime scene, that the defendant had specific knowledge about how to set up that identical crime.

  David Rudolf would tell prospective jurors that Kathleen Peterson fell backward on a step, at the lower part of the stairwell, and split her scalp open. He asserted that Mrs. Peterson had tried to stand up, but had slipped on the bloody floor and had hit her head again, her blood loss causing her death. Rudolf would further contend that the case was going to hinge on forensics. He promised to offer evidence that the police took an hour to secure the crime scene, that police had allowed Michael and Todd Peterson to embrace Kathleen’s body and spread blood in the kitchen, the laundry room, on a diet Coke can, and on a couch.

  Rudolf also attacked the Durham forensic investigation unit, telling prospective jurors that the unit did not take detailed pictures or notes, had not drawn sufficient diagrams, and could not be counted on for its findings pertaining to the events of December 9, 2001. David Rudolf would continue to characterize the upcoming case as “a batt
le of the experts,” assuring prospective jurors that the defense would show that both deaths were accidental. Rudolf was confident that Mr. Peterson had absolutely nothing to do with either death.

  David Rudolf would not say whether Michael Iver Peterson would be testifying on his own behalf, and to prospective jurors, little was known about the life of Michael Iver Peterson. The son of a military career man who grew up moving from place to place, Michael Peterson was indeed known to Durham’s upper-crust social circles, but he was a nonentity to the majority of the population. Peterson had never been elected to any political office, and most folks didn’t pay enough close attention to know that he had once written a political column for the Herald-Sun. In the era of modern, fast-paced living, most people didn’t have time to read newspapers, no less novels, so the majority of people in the jury pool had no idea who Peterson was.

  As for Peterson’s books, it turned out that only a handful of folks were enamored with them. Peterson had a narrow following, mostly among military personnel, but his books had never garnered him much national acclaim. He certainly wasn’t a household name. In fact, Michael Peterson wasn’t even in the category of certain “noted” Southern authors.

  All the efforts that Peterson had made over the years, trying to parlay the name recognition from his books, from his columns, and from his local community involvement, just hadn’t worked out for him. But jurors would never hear how Peterson’s bids for public office had ended badly; they would never hear about all the rejection letters Peterson had received from editors over the years; they would never hear about the hopeful movie options that had amounted to nothing other than thin air.

  Instead, they would be told that Peterson had a wonderful and fruitful existence, continuing his grand writing career at his million-dollar home, where he lived with his wife, Kathleen, who worked long hours as an executive at Nortel. The prospective jurors would be given a portrait of the kindhearted and generous Michael Peterson, who had helped raise five children, and who, along with his wife, was a patron of the local arts.

  Days before his trial began, Court TV ran a profile on Michael Peterson, taping him sitting in his vast eleven-thousand-square-foot home, surrounded with trinkets and expensive Chinese artworks. The novelist had collected his thoughts; he was in fine spirits, and was very optimistic about his upcoming case. Peterson sat politely and chatted with a Court TV reporter from his comfortably furnished office, where the homegrown roses on his desk seemed to breathe fresh life into the air.

  Down the long corridor, along another wing of the house, the Court TV crew would notice the cheap unpainted plywood that concealed the bloodstained staircase where Mrs. Peterson had died. The Court TV crew was not allowed near the bloodstains, not early on, before the trial started. But they would ultimately take a stroll through the remnants of Kathleen Peterson’s blood, before the trial was all over. In the interim, the Court TV reporter was assured that the forensic experts, hired by Peterson, would be able to explain exactly what the bloodstain patterns in the stairwell meant—poor Kathleen, beloved wife, had taken a tragic fall.

  Michael Peterson told the TV reporter that he and his wife had the kind of marriage that other people envied. He spoke of his grief for his deceased spouse. His son Todd told Court TV that his father’s upcoming murder trial was “incomprehensible.” Todd asserted that his dad and his stepmom had “the most loving relationship” he could imagine.

  “They never fought,” Todd told the reporter, promising that he would be sitting behind his father when the opening statements began. Todd assured the reporter that he, along with the rest of the family, including his biological mom, Patricia, would make their daily presence in court known. They all believed wholeheartedly in Michael’s innocence. David Rudolf also participated in the family’s Court TV interview, telling the reporter that, while his client was not a perfect man, Peterson’s faults didn’t mean he was capable of murdering the woman who was “the love of his life.”

  There was one thing Rudolf was concerned about, he admitted. It was the graphic nature of the autopsy photographs. He would tell Court TV that he expected jurors to have “a gut reaction” when they faced all that blood. But even so, the attorney seemed confident. He was certain he would be able to get people to see beyond that.

  Forty-three

  On the day of opening arguments, July 1, 2003, two scenarios were presented to jurors in Peterson’s murder trial. David Rudolf, who was reportedly paid over $1 million by Peterson, would use high-tech resources—large screens, PowerPoint, an array of expensive audio-visual equipment—to make his case. On the other side of the courtroom were two unpretentious prosecutors, Jim Hardin and Freda Black, who chose to present the facts the old-fashioned way—using charts, metal pointers, and photos mounted on cardboard.

  It was a high-stakes trial. Court TV would cover the entirety of it, and before it was over, programs like Good Morning America would host Kathleen’s family members and Oprah would be calling. Amid the high drama, the national exposure, and the public interest, the case had followers arguing for each side. Many onlookers believed that David Rudolf and his team were winning the battle. The defense had poked many holes into the prosecution’s case, and there seemed to be so much reasonable doubt.

  People who were behind the scenes, those working for the prosecution, and even the presiding judge, the Honorable Orlando Hudson Jr., thought the verdict could go either way. The journalists covering the trial, after sitting through five months of voir dire and testimony, felt that there had been convincing closing arguments from both sides, but were taking bets that Michael Peterson would walk. After the tremendous battle David Rudolf and his team had waged, the courtroom bystanders felt that the best anyone could hope for was a hung jury.

  For the defense, there were four men representing Peterson: the notable David Rudolf; Thomas Maher, Rudolf’s partner, who was listed among the best lawyers in America; Ron Guerette, a private investigator, who had been to Germany and Texas and back again; and Guy Seaberg, a former prosecutor, who, because of his own run-in with the law, had been disbarred and had moved to Durham, where he was operating various Web sites, including Hizzoner.com.

  For the prosecution, there was the elected official, DA Jim Hardin, a lifelong resident of Durham, and the county’s top prosecutor; ADA Freda Black, a topgun who handled the county’s most violent felony cases; ADA David Saacks, a veteran litigator, who was working on the case in the capacity of researcher, and Art Holland, the lead detective in the case, with twenty-two years of experience on the Durham police force.

  From day one, as the drama began to unfold, Jim Hardin opened with what was considered to be an ace: a replica of the alleged murder weapon, a unique fireplace tool called a blow poke, which the public had never seen before. Standing in front of the jury, Hardin reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a four-foot-long hollow brass pole, a hollow fire poker, which he alleged was identical to the possible murder weapon. It was a fireplace tool that had been omnipresent in the Peterson home. Throughout the years, Kathleen’s sisters had helped her use the tool to build a warm and cozy family atmosphere, her sister Lori recalling that the fireplace poker was in the home when she visited there in 2001.

  The fireplace tool was a gift, given to Kathleen by her sister Candace, in 1984. It was an antique-looking item, a very handy object, which Kathleen kept in her kitchen area. The tool always sat next to the fireplace in the kitchen, and it was useful because it was a blower and a poker all in one. The blow poke, a tool that no one had ever really heard of, was apparently used to fan flames.

  Kathleen had built many fires, she had enjoyed the tool for many years. But mysteriously, Hardin alleged, the unique gift, the blow poke, was missing from the Peterson household after Kathleen’s untimely death.

  “They say it was an accident, a fall down the stairs,” Hardin told jurors, “and we say it’s not. We say she died a horrible, painful death at the hands of her husband, Michael Peterson.”

>   Jim Hardin then showed the jury two carefully selected photos. He wanted them to see two opposing sides of Kathleen Peterson. From the first photo, the jury could see a very genteel, warm person, a woman with a smile on her face. They could see that she was a woman of substance and presence. Kathleen was a very graceful lady, and her expression was full of charm.

  But as the image of the lovely woman faded from view, as Kathleen’s beautiful face was removed from the posterboard, the jury would be aghast at the next photo the prosecutor placed in front of them. It was a crime scene photo, showing Kathleen Peterson lying on the bottom of the steps, and the photo was so gruesome, Hardin deliberately shielded it from the courtroom audience, holding it directly before the jury.

  The picture was eerie. It showed a bloody and battered Kathleen, her white sweatpants covered with red spatter, her legs spread in an odd position. The picture had a strange look about it; it was almost a still-life representation of horror and gore. Kathleen’s body seemed to be oddly propped up against the stairwell door frame, and her battered face was frozen in an expression of sheer agony and terror. The twisted corpse of Kathleen was surrounded by bloody paper towels, bloody rags, and the bloody shoes and socks of Michael Peterson.

  Hardin would tell jurors that when the emergency crews first arrived, at 2:48 A.M. on December 9, 2001, the sight of Kathleen Peterson had horrified them. The prosecutor mentioned that at least one person at the scene would testify that the positioning of Kathleen’s body at the bottom of the stairs just didn’t make any sense.

  Jim Hardin knew he would be fighting an uphill battle against David Rudolf for weeks and weeks to come. Rudolf had already filed motions to try to stop the evidence from coming in; he had argued that the police hadn’t served proper search warrants, that the police had contaminated the scene. Hardin knew that Rudolf was prepared to destroy the credibility of every state witness, that Rudolf was a meticulous defense attorney who had done all his homework. With ABC and other news crews taping, with Court TV airing the event, Hardin would be facing the battle of his career, and Rudolf would be pulling out all the stops.