Page 51 of Wild Wolf
After about an hour, Judge Echols signed off on it, to my surprise.
Before long, we were back in the parking lot with the forensic team. With a Slim Jim, I unlocked the door. The alarm blared when I opened it. Lights flashed, and the horns honked.
Dietrich snapped more photos, and the forensic team went to work. They collected blood samples from the steering column, dashboard, the shift lever, and the cloth on the passenger seat.
We searched the car but didn't turn up any knives. She must have ditched them and her bloody clothes somewhere—a dumpster or trash bin. They were probably in a landfill somewhere now.
By that time, our commotion had drawn curious onlookers. I popped the hood and disconnected the battery to the alarm.
A wrecker driver was on standby to tow the vehicle to the impound lot.
Carolyn finally made her way out to the parking lot to see what the fuss was all about. Panic washed over her face, and she shrieked, "What are you doing? You’ve got no right to search my vehicle!”
I displayed the warrant. "Care to tell me why there's blood in your vehicle?”
Her face tightened, and her cheeks flushed. "I cut my finger. Is that illegal?”
"How did you cut your finger?”
"I don't remember. This is total bullshit.”
We didn't have enough to place her under arrest at the moment. It would take time for the DNA results to come back, but I was relatively confident the blood would match her sister Hannah’s.
"I'm going to give you an opportunity now that won't come around again,” I said. “Cooperate with us, and maybe the state’s attorney will offer a plea agreement. Right now, you’re looking at capital murder. I’m sure you didn’t go over there with the intention to kill your sister. You got into an argument. In the heat of passion, you grabbed a knife and stabbed her to death. Who knows, maybe you can get the charge knocked down to murder 2, maybe even manslaughter. You’d be looking at something like 15 years.”
That was the best-case scenario for her. The blood evidence would be strong, but the lack of a murder weapon would complicate the prosecution. The more I thought about it, the more likely she’d gone over there with intent. She had to have a fresh change of clothes in the car as well as shoes. She didn’t have a drop of blood on her during the initial interview. I ran through the scenario in my mind. She killed her sister, stripped down on the patio, changed clothes, stuffed the bloody ones in a bag, and dripped a few blood drops down the driveway that she had on her hands or from a leaky bag.
Carolyn’s eyes bugged out of their sockets. “I want an attorney.”
“You’re not under arrest yet,” I assured. “But you will be.”
Her car was towed, and we returned to the station to fill out more paperwork. Daniels put Mendoza on her to keep track of her movements.
I did the math and counted back 40 weeks from her expected due date, then called Isabella and asked her to track Carolyn’s husband's phone at the time. I had a theory, and it was about to pay off.
27
“Her husband’s phone was out of the country at that time,” Isabella said. “It was in Germany for two weeks.”
I had it on speaker so Jack could hear.
“Kinda hard to get pregnant when your husband is out of town,” he muttered.
“Not if you’re fooling around.”
“Hannah found out Carolyn was pregnant with someone else’s baby,” I surmised. “She threatened to tell Carolyn’s husband if she didn’t back down on the probate case.”
“Bingo.”
“But who’s the father?”
Isabella said, “Judging by the text messages and phone calls between Carolyn and Grant at the time, I'd say he's a safe bet."
Jack grinned. "This keeps getting better and better."
I thanked Isabella for the information and ended the call.
"You think people would be able to do the math," Jack said.
