of the earliest days of the trial, the defendant went a little too far to win the title of Mr. Congeniality. Entering the courtroom, he lit up a thousand-watt, Hollywood-love-me smile for a huge jury pool.
One potential juror summed it up beautifully as she was leaving the courtroom: “It was creepy.” After that misstep, Geragos likely advised Peterson to hold back all that charm and just look down and take notes.
Geragos tried out a series of theories on the public via statements and court papers to see if any would stick. At the beginning of the trial, we heard a host of stories about people and events that might be tied to Laci’s disappearance and murder. First came the story about a brown van and a missing shoe that would explain everything; then came a mysterious woman with important information. Those were followed by various and sundry tales, including “Donnie” the dope dealer, the evil burglars, the homeless killers, a besotted neighbor in love with Scott Peterson, a possible jewel heist, a deranged sex offender, a Hawaiian gang, and, of course, a satanic cult. A court-imposed gag order only added fuel to the flames of speculation.
An important word about leaks: Courthouse leaks can come from many sources, from calendar clerks to assistants who file documents to messenger services to the person responsible for collecting faxes off the courthouse machine. A leak could also come from a secretary at the defense lawyers’ firm, a courier, or a law clerk. Identifying the source of leaks is always difficult, and that is why leaking is rarely punished—
because so many people have the ability to get their mitts on court documents. The bottom line is, most leaks are highly favorable to the defense, just as we saw in the Kobe Bryant case, where things got so bad that the judge had to issue a written apology to the alleged rape victim. In most cases, logic clearly suggests that the leaks are in fact orchestrated by the defense. Although it’s pretty much impossible to stop leaks, I believe that 2 2
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if they were investigated as actual crimes against the court and then prosecuted, they would dry up pronto. This could easily be achieved through a contempt of court–like statute and proceedings.
Surprisingly, Peterson’s trial quickly became a made-for-television spectacle. Geragos first asked for a closed preliminary hearing, which included the barring of reporters from even sitting in the courtroom, much less a camera watching Peterson’s every move. When the idea of a closed courtroom was rejected, Geragos switched positions and argued the reverse—to allow television cameras to cover the entire proceeding live, a motion the judge also denied. Geragos is extremely savvy when it comes to working the media. We might never know why the telegenic defense attorney waffled on this issue, but, believe me, he had his reasons for switching gears, both in his representation of Peterson after pointing out his likely guilt on air and in his request not to allow cameras in court.
Although truth won out in the end, in Geragos’s first major battle, he scored a victory when the court agreed to a change of venue out of Laci’s hometown. After gauging the pulse of the Redwood City jurors, he asked for another venue change. That was denied, so Geragos dug in and the trial commenced. Shrewdly, however, whenever he got a chance, he renewed his dissatisfaction with the venue, announcing often that his client could not get a fair trial.
True to form, Geragos was charming and cordial in the courtroom.
As demonstrated throughout jury selection and trial, only occasionally did he let the jury see another side of him, when he bullied witnesses and other lawyers. Another less-than-winning quality of the usually smooth defense lawyer is his penchant for sarcasm. In late July 2004, Detective Dodge Hendee was on the stand testifying about what he found while searching Scott Peterson’s warehouse. During
Eden Winters, Parker Williams