REDWOOD CITY Her voice became more intense, her contempt and hatred building with each word.
Sharon Rocha looked into the eyes of the man who murdered her daughter and unborn grandson. She glared at the man who gutted her heart, who deprived her of being able to hold her baby's baby.
Scott Peterson appeared to stare back, but you never know with that guy. Throughout the trial, he seemed to look at the prosecutors, witnesses, judge and jury as if it were all happening to someone else.
This was perhaps Rocha's last chance to speak her mind, to tell Peterson exactly what she thought of him and to try to crash through the dull gaze he wore so routinely.
Peterson will go to San Quentin's death row within the next 10 days, if he isn't already there. He'll rot in prison until he dies by injection or a successful appeal gives him the new trial Judge Al Delucchi would not.
So Rocha, as did several other family members, walked to the lectern Wednesday to show Peterson the anguish and hurt he's caused, to paint a picture of the lives he's destroyed including his own.
"I entrusted him with her," she told the audience before locking in on Peterson. The rest of her comments were more like a private conversation, except that they took place at the sentencing in a death penalty case. She spoke directly to Peterson, and to him alone.
"You made a conscious decision," she told him. "You planned and executed this murder.
You decided to throw Laci and Conner away."
Peterson said nothing, acting more as if he were listening to the keynote speaker at a fertilizer convention than the mother of the woman and grandmother of the son he killed.
Over the next few minutes, Rocha called him spoiled, self-centered and a coward.
"Above all, you're a murderer," she said, her voice growing in volume and rage.
"I trusted you," Rocha said. "You betrayed me. You betrayed her. You betrayed everyone. I know you're nothing but an empty, hollow shell. No heart, no soul, no remorse."
And no emotion. Peterson just stared in her direction. She tried everything she could to elicit a response, and he just stared.
"Did she know you were going to kill her?" Rocha asked.
No reaction.
"Was she alive when you threw her in the bay?"
Nothing.
"It's time for you to take responsibility for murdering Laci and Conner, your own flesh and blood. You need to be put to death as soon as possible."
Nil.
She couldn't shock him into a blink.
"For a time," she told him, "I couldn't look at (Laci's) pictures. I had to convince myself to see her body how it was not as it is."
And still nothing.
Rocha then besieged him with questions that left many onlookers dabbing their eyes. She asked him about Laci and the horrific shock and fear the young mother-to-be must have endured as she realized her husband was going to kill her.
Did Laci say, "Scott, I want to live. I don't want to die?" Rocha asked.
He didn't flinch.
Did he hear the voice of Conner saying, "Daddy, please don't kill us! Daddy, why are you killing us? Please
stop. We don't want to die," Rocha pleaded.
Nothing. No reaction whatsoever.
Not that she really could have expected one not after he turned away so quickly from her family after Laci Peterson disappeared Christmas Eve 2002. Not after he called his girlfriend just before a candlelight vigil in Modesto, telling her he was in Paris as others were out looking for his pregnant wife.
Not after he went to Southern California to hand out fliers about the missing woman he'd already killed.
And not after sitting in court day after day, month after month, expressionless or worse yet, smiling.
No, Sharon Rocha, her family and many of Laci's friends realized long ago within weeks of Laci's disappearance that the man Laci thought was so right for her was so horribly wrong.
Rocha probably didn't expect anything more than she got from Peterson. Stares. Blank stares. No tears, no words, no denial, no nothing.
So the last words, like all the others in their one-sided conversation, belonged to the mother whose grief will outlive the man who killed her daughter and grandchild.
"Scott," she said. "You deserve to burn in hell."
He didn't argue.
Bee local columnist Jeff Jardine can be reached at 578-2383 or jjardine@modbee.com.