If the witness proves to be credible—always a big if—his testimony might mean the difference between lethal injection and freedom for Scott Peterson. Despite a case once called a "slam dunk" by California attorney general Bill Lockyer, court watchers are now beginning to wonder whether the scarcity of hard physical evidence could be overwhelmed by even the most phantomlike defense scenario. In other words: Could Scott walk? Says Loyola (L.A.) law professor Stan Goldman: "It's the defense's biggest win to date. When combined with other evidence it may be enough to raise reasonable doubt."
As the trial finally gets under way in Redwood City, Calif., at least one sad truth has emerged: We may never learn exactly what happened to Laci, 27, and her unborn son, Conner, whose bodies washed up in San Francisco Bay in April 2003. That possibility, however, didn't stop the prosecution from coming out swinging. In his opening statement on June 1, deputy district attorney Rick Distaso began methodically picking apart Peterson's alibi. Along with describing Scott's affair with massage therapist Amber Frey—which Scott, 31, lied about to police—Distaso spelled out how Peterson's lies began just hours after Laci was reported missing—for example, telling neighbors, as well as Laci's uncle, that he had been off playing golf when Laci disappeared, when he told police he had been fishing. Distaso also talked about Scott's canvas boat cover, which had been soaked with gasoline; the prosecutor implied it could have been used as a cleaner. There may be "no smoking gun," as one knowledgeable source not affiliated with the defense puts it, but it was an effective presentation, with the promise of more to come. Said Distaso to the jury: "This is a commonsense case."
Those were merely the first jabs in a legal slugfest that may stretch as long as six months, an ordeal that is sure to take a heavy toll on the families of both the victim and the defendant. Laci's mother, Sharon Rocha, who has been given the use of a house in Redwood City for the duration, intends to be a fixture in court. She has already been getting advice from Carole Carrington, whose daughter and granddaughter were murdered near Yosemite National Park in 1999, and who two years ago sat through the trial of the man ultimately convicted in the killings. "We told her it wasn't going to be easy," says Carrington, "but the jurors told us it was really important that we were there every day during the trial."
For the Peterson family there will be a different kind of anxiety. Scott's parents, Lee and Jackie, as well as his six half siblings, hold an unwavering belief in his innocence. They acknowledge that he lied about his affair with Amber, but, says his sister-in-law Janey, "being an adulterer doesn't make him a murderer. Yes, Scott did lie about the affair. But there was not a pattern of lying in other areas." Says Lee: "Every step of the way we're shaking our heads saying, 'How could the case have gotten this far?'"
At the Redwood City lockup, Peterson—whose mother says he has lost more than 40 lbs.—is housed in a section of four cells, with no window to the outside. He gets two 45-minute periods a day outside his cell in a small common area. When not reviewing documents for his case, he passes time by doing yoga, writing letters to his family and reading. Recently, says Janey, he has been reading the classics—and Golf Magazine.
Fighting on behalf of their son is also taking a financial toll on the family. They won't talk about how much they are paying Geragos, except to say that he isn't doing it pro bono. ("We wish," says Lee, while Jackie rolls her eyes.) It is widely believed his fee for the case is around $1 million. Lee and Jackie last year sold their mountain cabin to raise money, and they, along with all the siblings, have taken out second mortgages on their homes. The clan has also run through much of their collective savings. "Money doesn't matter," says Janey, 36, matter-of-factly. "We'll sell the farm, we'll sell every car we own. If we end up living on a plot of land in tents and trailers, so be it. We're just going to do whatever it takes." What more it will take depends on how the case plays out before the six men and six women of the jury. But interviews with sources involved provide some insights into their respective strategies.
The prosecution, led by Distaso and deputy D.A. David Harris, will hammer away at Peterson along many fronts, starting with the fact that the bodies of Laci and Conner washed up in the same area where he said he had gone fishing. Then there is his remark to a police officer that he couldn't recall what type of fish he'd gone fishing for, followed later by the explanation that he was after sturgeon, a huge quarry that some fishermen say was too big for his 14-ft. boat.
According to Peterson's family, he was thrilled at the prospect of becoming a father. "The police were trying to say Scott didn't want the baby," says one member of the extended family. "Nothing could be further from the truth." They paint a picture of a devoted husband, who attended Lamaze classes with Laci and liked nothing better than puttering around the house, fixing and painting and building cabinets. They also insist that there was no domestic strife that anyone knew about. "One of the detectives interviewed the neighbor and said, 'I can't believe you never heard any fights or yelling,'" says Scott's brother John, 37.
But part of the prosecution case is likely to be devoted to the issue of Scott's character—namely, his adulterous affair with Frey. "Here is a guy who is not only far from being a family man, he is a sort of antifamily man," says David Conn, who successfully prosecuted the Menendez brothers and is now a defense attorney in Southern California. Count on prosecutors to paint a vivid portrait of Peterson as a self-absorbed heel who cheated, made 241 calls to Frey in three months, many after Laci disappeared—and lied about it all to police. "It's like a big puzzle," says one source sympathetic to the prosecution. "Piece by piece by piece they all fit together and show a picture."
Geragos's aim will be to scramble that picture as much as he can—and the forensics, or lack thereof, may help him. He will hit hard at the fact that investigators found only one hair, which may belong to Laci, in Peterson's boat. "If Peterson used the boat to transport the body," says Loyola's Goldman, "where is all the blood and other forensic evidence?"
It's the dearth of hard evidence, experts say, that gives the matter of the van—and possible kidnappers—increased significance. Prosecutors acknowledged last month that they had known about the witness, who called cops and even came in to file a formal report—but that somehow his account got overlooked. In any event, they contend that the clothes on the woman described by the witness don't match the outfit Laci was reportedly wearing when she disappeared. Still, Geragos is expected to call other witnesses to buttress the van theory, including Peterson neighbors Homer Maldonado, 60, a union painter, and his wife, Helen, 56, a homemaker. At about 9:30 a.m. on the 24th, the couple were gassing up their car at a nearby convenience store. There they noticed a beat-up, tan van with a scruffy-looking man. Driving in the neighborhood a few minutes later, they saw a woman they believe was Laci out walking her dog. Within days of the disappearance, they called police to tell what they had seen—but Homer says the cops told him it was probably just a truck belonging to a landscaper "The van we saw was definitely not a gardener's," Homer told PEOPLE at the time. "It was more like a camper van." Now under a gag order, the Maldonados are expected to be witnesses for the defense.
What's unknown for now is how the jury will come to feel about Peterson himself over the days and weeks in court. Even Geragos himself told one television interviewer last year before taking the case, "There aren't a whole lot of women that are going to be rallying to [Peterson's] defense." Some experts contend that Peterson could start by wiping the smile off his face. "I would tell him, 'Avoid eye contact,'" says George Bisharat, a professor at Hastings College of the Law at the University of California. "'Don't try to ingratiate yourself with the jurors, especially the female jurors.'"
For their part, the Peterson family says they have encountered little ill will as they have gone about their lives. "There were a lot of people, even when we were living in Modesto, who would come up and hug us," says Jackie. "We would get up in a restaurant and our meal would be paid for." Meanwhile, despite the legal expenses, the family has continued to pay the mortgage on Scott and Laci's home in Modesto, as well as the payments on Scott's truck. And they refuse to consider the notion that Scott could be executed. Says Lee: "We just can't consider that part."
While a conviction cannot bring Laci and Conner back, perhaps it would bring Laci's loved ones some much-needed comfort. At a vigil in March to raise awareness about missing persons, Sharon Rocha offered a description of how she has been faring since her daughter's murder. "I still cry every day," said Sharon. "I like to believe that I can cry as loud and as much as I want while I'm taking a shower, because the sound of the water drowns out the sound. Of course, that's only my fantasy, because I'm sure the entire neighborhood can actually hear me." In the coming months she can rest assured that people will be listening.
Bill Hewitt. Ron Arias, Vickie Bane and Lyndon Stambler in Redwood City and Champ Clark and Vicki Sheff-Cahan in Los Angeles
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