Eighteen
Just after Christmas Day, weeks after her mom died, Caitlin had gone to see her dad, Fred, in the eastern part of North Carolina. He lived near Beaufort, where things were peaceful, where the town seemed frozen in time. Caitlin always had a good visit with him and her stepmom, Carol, but this trip was different. Caitlin was restless. She couldn’t be comforted. She decided to go up to Virginia, just outside of DC, to visit her aunt Candace, because her grandmother was up there, and her aunt Lori lived nearby. Caitlin hoped that seeing her mom’s sisters, that seeing her grandmother, would somehow make things better.
But on her drive up there, she couldn’t get the conversation she had with her father out of her head. Her father had sat her down the day after Christmas to have a “talk.” He explained that Detective Art Holland was trying to get in touch with her, that he’d been calling the number at Cedar Street and was leaving messages. Caitlin hadn’t known anything about it. She wasn’t in charge of the phone machine, and most people called her on her cell phone. Fred didn’t want to scare his daughter, but there were some real issues to be sorted out, the police had questions, and none of the other Peterson kids were willing to talk about anything. Fred was of the opinion that Caitlin should meet with the Durham police.
For a sophomore in college, who was not quite yet twenty, Caitlin had a lot weighing on her already, just grappling with her own emotions, her schoolwork, and her immediate future. Even being mature for her age—the twists and turns of adulthood had come upon her too abruptly. Not only did she feel her whole family breaking down, not only did she have the responsibility of her mom’s estate, but now she had investigators calling. With this new thought—about her mother possibly having been murdered—her life had become difficult, beyond anything she could have imagined.
In many respects, Caitlin felt torn. Her siblings seemed content to keep their heads in the sand, listening strictly to whatever Michael had to say. When Caitlin ran through the chat she had with her father, she recalled that he mentioned something odd. He said that David Rudolf had called, that Rudolf had advised that the whole family stick together because the police were going to try to drive a wedge between them.
“What do you mean, ‘a wedge’?” Caitlin wanted to know.
“Well, I asked Mr. Rudolf,” Fred said, “and he was just concerned that the police might want to start a problem between you and your brothers and sisters.”
“But why would they do that?”
“Well, that’s just it. It doesn’t make sense. I asked Rudolf if he was advising us, acting as your attorney, or if he was acting as Michael’s attorney,” Fred told her. “And Rudolf said he was only representing Michael.”
“Well, then, why should I be listening to him?” she wondered.
“Well, I don’t think you should,” her dad said. “Rudolf doesn’t have your interests in mind. His interest is in Michael. You can do whatever you want. But I think it would be wise for you to listen to the Durham police.”
“But why do I have to be the only one?”
“Your mother’s estate is in your hands. There might be a question about her life insurance policy. Why don’t we drive down there together to see what they have to say?”
But Caitlin needed time. She asked her father to call Art Holland and stall. Fred Atwater delivered a message that Caitlin was thinking about returning to Durham, that he was hoping she’d be willing to listen to the facts. As soon as Caitlin felt open to it, Fred would call Detective Holland again to make an appointment.
On the ride to Virginia, Caitlin kept pondering the question. Deep inside, Caitlin felt nervous about it. She didn’t want to face the police at all, especially when she was still convinced that this whole charge was about a grudge. There were so many police who hated her stepdad. And Michael had kept warning her to stay away. Her brothers and sisters were convinced of a conspiracy. As she looked to the sky, Caitlin kept asking her mother for guidance, but she wasn’t getting any signs. For the first time in her life, it seemed she was truly on her own.
When she arrived at her Aunt Candace’s place, Caitlin could sense that Candace, Lori, and her grandmother were all uneasy. After their initial hellos, after everyone had their feet up with sandwiches and coffee, there was a tone in the air, a thickness that could be cut with a knife. At first, no one was saying anything outright. Everyone was talking around the situation . . . but as each of them started to open up—Veronica, Candace, and Lori—it became clear that the circumstance surrounding Kathleen’s death was more serious than any of them ever thought.
Her aunts and grandmother were trying to prod Caitlin, to find out exactly what she might know. They believed she might be aware of some foul play in the marriage. Having been the only one out of all of them who lived in that house with Michael and Kathleen, they were hopeful that Caitlin would have some answers, or at least some clues about the Petersons’ relationship.
“They sit me down, and they just say they’ve heard all this stuff about the bisexuality that they didn’t know about,” Caitlin recalled. “And one of the things that really freaked me out was when they asked me why I thought Michael was at the YMCA all those long hours every night, and all this stuff. And then, I was, like, the bisexuality thing was taking on a whole different level for me. And I didn’t really want to think about it.”
As her aunts filled her head, and her grandmother listened, Caitlin wasn’t laughing about Michael’s bisexuality anymore. When it had been just a book on a shelf, when it had been a joke that she and her sisters played as kids, that was one thing. But now, having to consider the idea that Michael could have been having affairs with men on a daily basis—Caitlin wanted it to be a fluke.
No one was pushing her. Her aunts were gently asking, just to see if Caitlin knew of any evidence that things were not happy in Michael and Kathleen’s marriage. They were hoping Caitlin would have some story to tell. They were hoping that the reason Caitlin hadn’t talked to the police was that she was hiding something, that she was frightened because she knew too much.
But Caitlin had nothing significant to relate about Michael’s sex life. She considered her mom’s relationship with Michael to be quite normal, quite loving, but it was also none of her business. In Caitlin’s view, there was never any hint that Michael and her mom had problems in the bedroom. But then, Kathleen wasn’t the type to discuss things such as that. Ever.
As for anything else unusual, there was a time when Michael hit her mother once. It was no big deal, but it was something her mom had mentioned. Caitlin said that was the only incident she could recall in the thirteen years her mom and Michael had been together. It wasn’t anything they ever talked about. It was just something Kathleen had mentioned once, a few years back. Caitlin hadn’t ever thought anymore about it.
“Well, honey, the thing is, there’s a lot of blood in that stairwell. I’ve seen it,” Candace said, “and we’ve all become concerned.”
“We’re going to go talk to Art Holland ourselves,” Lori told her niece, “and it’s not that we want to cause trouble, but frankly we think we need to do this. And we think you should be going back down with us to Durham to see what the police have to say.”
“Well, I don’t really want to look at the blood in the stairwell,” Caitlin argued. “I mean, it’s not something I really want to see.”
“We understand that, Caitlin,” Candace said. “We’re not asking you to do that. But we’ve been talking to the police, and there’s some questions that we have. . . . ”
But Caitlin couldn’t be convinced. She told her aunts that she might go, but she wouldn’t give them anything more than a “maybe.” Caitlin wanted to get down to Atlanta. She was meeting one of her best friends, Jen, in Virginia, and together they were driving to be with Becka and other buddies, close friends of Caitlin’s who were her biggest support system. They were all going to be together for New Year’s.
Caitlin didn’t want to jump to conclusions. She was thinking very factually. She was questioning everything, everything Michael said, everything Todd said.
She was trying to determine what facts she knew, and what facts she didn’t know.
“It was weird, because it felt like none of this had to do with my mom. It was already like a mystery, like a true crime novel,” Caitlin confided. “It wasn’t emotional to me at the time, because I was finding out facts, learning new information, and it was just like reading a book. My feelings were very separated. I was just working in the mode of, like, let’s just get to the bottom of this. Even when I read the autopsy report, it was just words. It wasn’t like it was my actual mom.”