Carla Dimkoff

At that point, I became afraid physically of my father and emotionally of him, and I was afraid to be alone with him after that.

I just said, oh my God.

I had an overwhelming feeling that my father had killed someone.

And I just needed to tell what I knew.

This is the letter I wrote to Detective Foster, and it says, Mr. Foster, I would like to speak with you concerning the death of Christy Ringler.

I do not have a car.

If you could possibly stop out to my house after 3 p.m.

today, it would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you, Mrs. Tarrow.

That evening, there were two detectives that actually came out.

They were dressed in plain clothes.

They knocked on the door.

They came in.

I told them the whole story about my dad had been here.

He had been gone all night.

Gave them just a little bit of a history of my dad, not a whole lot of history.

And they were like, okay, well, we have this information.

Thank you.

I had the feeling when they came in the door that they thought they were wasting their time.

I don't even think they sat down.