Friday, September 26, 2008

By JEFF JARDINE
jjardine@modbee.com

last updated: December 24, 2007 06:51:14 AM

A few times each month, Scott Peterson walks from his cell in San Quentin's East Block to the death row visitation area.

Along the way, he gets a glimpse of the very top of Mount Tamalpais in Marin County.

Modesto's most famous killer once enjoyed much greater panoramas: the state's finest golf courses, the Pacific Ocean, lakes and streams. Oh, and yes, the very same stretch of San Francisco Bay where the 35-year-old former fertilizer salesman discarded the bodies of his wife, Laci, and their unborn son, Conner, five years ago this morning.

Now, to Peterson and the 621 other residents of the state's most notorious purgatory, that limited window to the world might as well be a glimpse of Yosemite's El Capitan.

"If they've been here 25 or 30 years, it's the only thing they've seen," said Eric Messick, a lieutenant for the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. "And there's no breach anywhere where (inmates) can see the bay."

Barring a successful appeal, this is your life, Scott Peterson.

Peterson's case captivated the nation and mesmerized people worldwide. Laci, with her infectious smile, and Scott, hailing from a well-to-do San Diego-area family, appeared to be the perfect couple in the perfect marriage, with baby about to make three.

But his veneer began to peel soon after she vanished Christmas Eve 2002, revealing a man who had lied to his pregnant wife while carrying on an affair with a woman in Fresno. He lied to his girlfriend, too. And he lied to police investigators. Those lies quickly made him the prime suspect in Laci's disappearance, and led to his arrest.

The jury determined that Prince Charming, indeed, was truly a cold and calculating killer who simply erased his wife and unborn son from his life to get them out of his way.

Found guilty with special circumstances (multiple victims), Peterson then became a resident of another American fascination: San Quentin's death row.

Peterson has not responded to repeated interview requests by The Bee.

His days are compartmentalized into sleeping, meals and TV in his 6-by-8-foot cell, along with exercise time in one of death row's small and segregated yards.

The notoriety he experienced throughout the case began to dissipate pretty much the moment he entered East Block in August 2005, after a few months in transitional housing as he adjusted to prison life. To the state, he's just another murderer -- no different than dregs such as Richard Allen Davis, Charles Ng, Richard Ramirez, Cary Stayner and others who made misery and headlines on their way to death row.

"(Other death row) inmates knew who he was," Messick said. "But it wasn't like he showed up on death row and was anything special among his peers. They might have had a bit of curiosity and animosity -- especially because he doesn't seem underprivileged. The vast majority of these guys come from underprivileged backgrounds."

There's no star treatment among the 622 guests of death row -- only grades of A, B or C, based on their behavior in captivity.

Peterson is a grade A.

"He's actually pretty well-behaved," Sgt. Rudy Luna said. Luna spent years working on death row, and has had many talks with Peterson. "He's very polite. His cell's clean. He follows the rules. He doesn't cause any drama. He's a very boring person as far as being an inmate."

During his trial, Peterson bore the expression not of a murder defendant but of a casual observer. He seemed emotionless and detached.

"He does his time that way, too," Messick said. "Like he's in Disneyland (in a dream world)."

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