Scott Peterson, murdered wife, dumped body in ocean.
When Rundle reached into the store of legal knowledge she had acquired from People magazine and outted with "Steve Pederson" to demonstrate the mental agility she possessed that enabled her to take a short-cut to a precise understanding of the case, Jose Arrojo, who was sitting to my right, said "Scott Peterson" in a whisper that Rundle couldn't here and that was not directed at me. I quickly glanced at his face to seek meaning. His eyes were wide, his lips barely moved and his cheeks were reddening, prefatory to a full blush and he repeated several more times in the same whisper "Scott Peterson," similar to the tone in which Marlon Brando repeated "The horror. The horror" in Apocalypse Now.
I didn't say anything. After the meeting Arrojo and I walked back to the second floor together and in the hallway I said without looking at him, "Steve Pederson." He didn't reply. He looked straight ahead and kept walking.
I was unfair.
I was wrong.
And I apologize.
To Abraham Laeser, who is smarter than anyone else and who will tell you he is, Molotov home-boy, Molotov. You are a truth-teller.
To Rundle's fiance, formerly known as The First Laddie. From now on, you're Mr. Something.
-David Ranck
