Written in Blood by Diane Fanning Read Free Book Online Page A

fluids—the same sampling often referred to as a “rape kit.”
    Kathleen’s brother, Steve Hunt, his wife, Cynthia, and their three children drove to Durham and arrived late Tuesday. They had been to the Cedar Street home on a number of occasions, but tonight they got lost. They called the home and talked to a woman who answered the phone. She told them to look for the TV satellite
trucks—they couldn’t miss it. The revelation jolted the Hunts.
    Candace took the phone and told her brother not to come to the house. She did not want his family seeing the blood. She sent them to the Washington Duke Inn.
    Kathleen haunted Candace’s sleep that night. Candace dreamed her sister approached her, grabbed her and shook her hard. All the while, Kathleen pleaded, “Don’t put me in there. Don’t put me in there.”
    On the morning of December 12, Candace woke up in a cold sweat, knowing that her sister wanted a headstone. She called the cemetery office and said that she was unhappy with the lot she purchased. She really wanted to honor her sister with a headstone. How could she do that?
    She was told she would have to purchase four contiguous plots to have the space needed. But she needed to select a new location that day.
    Candace’s to-do list was growing to an alarming length. This was a job she needed to delegate. She went to see Caitlin, Margaret and Martha. She told them, “I know your mother wants a headstone. Please go pick a place where we can do that.”
    The girls agreed to assume that responsibility and set out for Maplewood. It was a difficult task for these young women, but they had each other. They found a lovely spot shaded by a large, ancient tree.
    After talking to the girls, Candace went over to Cedar Street to tell Michael about what she had done. She sat down at the computer and opened Microsoft Word
again. This time, she wrote notices about the viewing and the funeral services to hang on the outside doors of the home. An endless line of friends, neighbors and members of the press corps had been rapping on the doors asking for this information. If she posted it, she felt the family would be left in peace.
    Sitting still at the computer, she soon got cold in the chilly old house. She asked Michael if he could turn up the heat or build a fire.
    He snapped back, “I can either turn the heat on or buy four plots. I can’t afford to do both.”
    Candace felt as if she had been slapped. She turned back to the work at hand, printing out the notices and posting them on the doors. That chore scratched off her list, she moved on to the most dreaded task of all, cleaning the back staircase. She could not put it off any longer. Her mother was coming that day, and Candace could not let her see it.
    A tiny smile flitted across Candace’s face as she remembered Kathleen—the queen of clean—telling her that bleach was the best thing. She recalled the intense pleasure Kathleen got when she power-washed the exterior of the house, and grinned. What a woman! For a brief moment, she felt as though her sister was still there by her side. Her burden lifted as memories of Kathleen’s voice teased her ears.
    She found the bleach, a mop and a scrub brush and was ready to take on the challenge. Before she could enter the stairwell, a photographer walked into the house. He set up extensive photographic equipment and lights.

    â€œWhat is this all about?” she asked him. “Are you with the police?”
    He told her he was not with the police, but would not tell her anything more. After an hour and a half, he packed up and was on his way. Candace again prepared to enter the stairway. This time, Michael stopped her. He told her not to clean the stairway; he was going to take care of it.
    Michael had lawyered up with Kerry Sutton and Barry Winston within hours of Kathleen’s death. Now, he raised the stakes. David Rudolf, a flamboyant, high-priced