A Deadly Game is considered to be the definitive book about the Scott and Laci Peterson case. In part, this is because it contains a whole lot of forensic information that was never released to the public. In part, however, it’s because this case hasn’t attracted the same kind of attention from book-length writers as other cases of comparable notoriety. This may be because the case was so heavily publicized at the time, or because it occurred in 2002, just when the rise of Google and Web 2.0 meant more and more people were going online for information, rather than resorting to books.
Catherine Crier’s account deals with the crime chronologically, starting with the moment that Scott Peterson arrived home in Modesto, California on Christmas Eve 2002 to find his wife Laci missing, and ending with his eventual imprisonment for first-degee murder. Crier works for Court TV, so the book has quite a pulpy, tabloid quality, with lots of editorializing, authorial interjection and broad moralizing about the nature of Scott Peterson. This made it quite an unusual read, since recent true crime often pits itself against this “Nancy Grace” kind of expose, whereas Crier invokes Gracy approvingly as a colleage and fellow sleuth.
The editorializing does sometimes detract from the book, especially whenever Crier is discussing Scott Peterson’s psychology. This is often a bit silly, whether because it’s hyperbolic (at one point she compares him to Hitler) or because it feels like a bit of an amateur, armchair response (especially in her discussions of sociopathy). Part of what makes Scott so disturbing is his normality, and the way he blends sociopathy and normality, and Crier’s lurid account sometimes takes away from his profouns ability to dissemble normality, which is, of course, one of the key traits of the sociopath in the first place.
Still, I appreciated this pulpy approach at times too. Reading around the case, I discovered that there was a backlash against Scott’s conviction in certain sectors of the true crime community. In a way, I can understand this, since the case is almost entirely based on circumstantial evidence, and even that is sometimes questionable. Crier does a really good job of leading the reader through all the different behaviours Scott demonstrated after Laci’s disappearance that point towards his guilt and his disinterest in finding her alive.
Crier is able to draw this composite portrait of Scott as a result of the pacing of the book, and two structural decisions in particular. First, she leaves the discovery of Laci’s body in the San Francisco Bay – the most sensational part of the case – until fairly late, so that she can establish Scott’s guilt before this critical evidence comes to light. Second, she leaves the trial even later, condensing it to a few short chapters. Having just read Joe McGinness’ Fatal Vision, which devotes hundreds of pages to trial transcript, it was quite refreshing to read a book that dealt with a trial as breezily and concisely as a courtroom drama.
Although it could sometimes be heavy-handed, I also appreciated Crier’s moral investment in the case. From what I understand, many of the objections to Scott’s incarceration came from a small but vocal minority of men’s rights activists within the true crime community. Whatever is at stake in Scott’s conviction, it is not a question of men being victimized. Crier does a good job of capturing all the ways in Scott painted himself as a victim, and turned himself into the protagonist of the story, rather than genuinely attempting to locate Laci.
This brings me to the most fascinating part of the book – the detailed descriptions of the tap placed on Scott’s cell phone. Much of this information had never been released to the public, and it goes a long way towards establishing his guilt. As might be expected, there are details of different conversations, as well as analysis of the “micro expressions” and “vocal stress” that indicate when appeared to be lying, or when he appeared to be under extreme duress.
More interestingly, however, Crier dwells on the way Scott relates to his cell phone outside of individual conversations. In what often approaches a surveillance narrative, Crier describes how Scott used his phone to manage and mask the situation, making me wonder whether this was one of the first sustained cell phone taps in American forensic history. I know that the Adnan Syed case was the first time that cell tower triangulation had been admitted at trial, so there can’t have been too many cell phone taps at this point in time.
Scott’s incriminating use of his phone falls into two broad categories. First, Crier focuses on the discrepancy between different conversations. In some cases, he cries profusely in one conversation, and then adopts a totally different register for another conversation immediately after. In other cases, there is a discrepancy between where he says he is during a phone conversation, and where the police tail demonstrates him to be. This is especially clear in his phone calls with his lover Amber Frey, who is led to believe that he is travelling around Europe, even though police know that he is still at home in Modesto.
Crier’s second focus is the way that Scott responded to voice mail. This was the most fascinating part of the book for me, since I’d never realized that a wire tap can focus on a phone user’s relation to their voice mail. This is also where the book gets really chilling, and where we start to glimpse the real Scott. At one point, he goes back and relistens twice to the “decoy” message that he left for Laci on the day she vanished, just as he repeatedly returns to the Berkeley Marina and stares out over the water after police narrow their search to the San Francisco Bay.
At other points, Scott’s response to the messages suggests his indifference to the search for Laci. Not only does he cut off a message about a vigil early, but he can be heard laughing while listening to a message about putting up posters in the local area. Later, he would be discovered to have hoarded these posters instead of distributing them to volunteers helping with the search. All of these factors understandably made the police suspicious of Scott’s motives, and led them to question whether he was really invested in finding Laci alive.
For me, the single most chilling moment comes shortly after an object is located by sonar in the San Francisco Bay in early 2003. At first, police think this might be Laci’s body, but it turns out to be a submerged anchor. When Scott receives the voice mail about this false lead, he whistles. Crier spends some time parsing that whistle – is it relief, amazement, incredulity? – and what it suggests about Scott’s confidence, arrogance and resilience in weathering out the first part of an investigation in which he is the prime suspect.
Of course, the whistle becomes even eerier once Laci’s body is discovered in the bay, and for me remains the most unsettling part of A Deadly Game, especially since Crier makes it central in her account. Only in this intimate and unconscious relationship with his own voice mail do we truly glimpse the sociopathic Scott – the person capable of committing a crime whose exact details will probably never be known. The ellipsis between Laci’s last movements, and her discovery in the San Francisco Bay, is thus converged with the space between Scott’s utterances and his voicemail messages, allowing Crier to eerily and evocatively capture the blank spaces that still remain at the heart of this shattering crime.