Amber Frey - Witness: For the Prosecution of Scott Peterson

I first met Scott Peterson on November 20, 2002, at the Elephant Bar, in Fresno, California. It was a blind datemy best friend, Shawn Sibley, had set us upand I got there before he did. I took a seat on a bench in the glass-walled foyer, within view of the walkway, and every time someone approached I looked up. I had butterflies in my stomach. I had a feeling my life was about to change. Scott Peterson sounded absolutely perfect.

Shawn had met him at a convention in Anaheim. She had been very impressed. Scott was intelligent, good-looking, and very funny, and he seemed eager to settle down. Do you think theres a special person that youre meant to be with forever? he had asked Shawn. From anyone else, the line may have seemed like a come on, but Scott was different. Shawn had told him that she was in a committed relationship, and he never once made a single flirtatious comment, never once tried to cross the line. At the end of the business day, she and Scott joined a few people for drinks and dinner. At one point he joked about putting the words Horny Bastard on his business card, thinking it might help him meet women, but mostly he behaved like a perfect gentleman. By the end of the evening, Shawn had a plan. Theres someone I want you to meet, she said.

Who? Scott asked.

My best friend.

Shawn called me the next day to tell me about Scott and to ask if she could give him my number. I was full of questions. What did you say about me? I began.

That you were beautiful and a good person, Shawn said.

What was he like? Is he nice? Is he cute?

Very cute. And he couldnt be nicer.

And hes serious?

Very . He said he was looking for someone special, and he asked if I knew anyone who was interested in a committed relationship.

And?

And I thought of you, of course.

I didnt hear from Scott for several weeks, and when we finally connected he couldnt have been sweeter. He asked if I was free for dinner the following evening, and we made plans to rendezvous at the Elephant Bar.

How will I recognize you? I asked.

Well, Im not very tall, he said. And I have long, greasy hair and a big, loose belly.

Thats good, I joked back. Im real tall and I weigh about a hundred and sixty pounds.

Really? he asked, laughing.

No, not really, I said. Im thin and small-framed, five foot seven and a half, with blond hair.

Good, he said. Then it wont be a problem if I walk up to every attractive blond in the place and ask if shes Amber.

Shortly after six on the appointed evening, Shawn came over to stay with my baby daughter, Ayiana. Just remember that I have to be at work tomorrow morning, Shawn said, only half-joking.

Dont worry, I said. I know.

I arrived at the Elephant Bar with time to spare. At exactly four minutes after seven, as I sat waiting for Scott, a man approached and made eye contact. I thought it might be Scotthe sort of fit the descriptionbut I had a bad feeling about him. Please God, I thought, dont let it be him. I looked away, andmuch to my reliefhe moved through the foyer and disappeared into the restaurant. A moment later, another man approached; in my heart I knew and hoped that this was Scott. He was a shade over six feet tall, in good shape, and he was wearing a well-cut suit. He stepped through the glass door and lit up when he saw me.

Amber?

Scott? I replied, getting to my feet.

He leaned close and gave me a small peck on the cheek. Am I late? Im sorry Im late.

Not at all, I said.

The plan had been to meet at seven, in front of the Elephant Bar, and to go to dinner from there, so we left and made our way to the parking lot.

I was a little nervous about meeting you, Scott said en route, but he didnt look nervous to me. He was smiling, and he seemed somehow relieved. Can I ask you a favor? he said.

What?

Ive been in this suit all day. Would you mind very much if we went to my hotel so I could check in and shower and change?

I didnt mind. It seemed reasonable. I left my car in the parking lot and we got into his Ford truck and drove to the Radisson in downtown Fresno. When we got there, he began to unload his things. There was a big green lock-box in the cab of his truck, and his luggage was stashed inside. Scott looked at me sheepishly, as if embarrassed. Look at all this stuff, he said. I practically live out of my truck.

We went inside and took the elevator to a room on the top floor. Scott put his luggage down and reached into a brown duffel bag and pulled out a bottle of champagne. He smiled, and I found myself thinking he had a very nice smile. He popped the cork and proceeded to pour each of us a glass. Clearly this was a man who planned ahead.

Scott had a sip and turned on the radio and excused himself and went off to take a shower. I nursed my champagne, singing to myself to pass the time.

When Scott emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he was wearing black slacks and a clean white T-shirt. He went off to get a blue dress shirt and was still buttoning it up when he rejoined me. I was wearing a black skirt and a blue top. We match, I said.

So we do, he said.

Then he seemed to remember something. He reached into the duffel bag again and pulled out a box of strawberries, and he dropped one into each of our glasses. I watched the champagne bubble up around it and I had another sip and looked at him. He was smiling again. It was a warm, friendly smile.

When we finished our drinks, we left the hotel and went to a Japanese restaurant on Shaw Avenue. We were led to a table, but Scott immediately excused himself. He returned a few minutes later to say he had arranged for a private room. He led the way over and we took our shoes off and stepped past the sliding bamboo door. The room had one table, low to the ground, and we sat next to each other on the floor.

In no time at all, we were in the midst of drinks and dinner, and our conversation flowed easily. Scott told me all about himself. He said he was a fertilizer salesman, that his travels took him all over the worldfrom Cairo to Parisand that he lived, alone, in Sacramento, in a big, 1940s single-family home. Id love to have pets, but I travel so much it wouldnt be fair to them, he said.

I told him that I hadnt traveled much at all, but that I hoped to some day. I know this sounds a little crazy, I said, but when I was in junior college, I took two years of Swahili.

I dont think thats crazy at all, he said. I think thats very cool.

Scott told me he had acquired a taste for wine and that he belonged to several wine clubs. This impressed me. I like good wine myself and have always wanted to know more about it.

I have a nice collection of good wine at home, he said. Every month, the various clubs ship me a few choice bottles.

As the evening progressed, Scott said that he was looking forward to settling down, but that he hadnt yet found the right person. The way he looked at me when he said that made me feel he might be wondering whether I was that person.