Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN NO ONE SUSPECTED
Natalie Sloan was thirty-two.
A pharmaceutical sales executive.
Elegant.
Quiet.
She had attended Bertha’s funeral.
I remembered her now.
Back row.
Black dress.
No tears.
She had hugged Christopher after the service.
I assumed she was Derek’s grieving wife comforting a friend.
I had been wrong.
Again.
Detectives found photographs.
Hotel reservations.
Messages.
Christopher and Natalie had been having an affair for nearly two years.
Derek knew.
That was the strangest part.
He knew and did nothing.
Because the affair gave him leverage over Christopher.
Everyone in that circle had leverage over everyone else.
Nobody had friends.
Only secrets.
Natalie’s confession note appeared simple.
Too simple.
She claimed she entered Christopher’s office during the argument, injected Bertha, and left.
She claimed jealousy.
She wanted Christopher free.
Detective Mercer did not believe it.
Neither did I.
“If she wanted Bertha gone,” I said, “why confess now?”
Mercer nodded.
“Exactly.”
The note had no fingerprints except Natalie’s.
Her phone was off.
Her car was discovered at the airport.
No evidence she boarded a flight.
Then officers searched Derek’s devices.
They found messages he thought had been deleted.
Derek to Natalie:
Ross says the body has to be gone quickly.
Natalie:
C isn’t holding together.
Derek:
Then handle him.
Natalie:
What about the child?
Derek:
She saw nothing.
My hands shook when I read that.
Veronica had seen something.
They just did not know how much.
Another message, sent the morning after Bertha died:
Natalie:
Evelyn will push for an autopsy.
Derek:
Christopher controls disposition.
Natalie:
And if she fights?
Derek:
Make her look unstable too.
There it was.
The attack on my credibility had begun before the funeral.
Mercer looked at me.
“They knew your nursing background made you dangerous.”
“I was her mother.”
“That too.”
Christopher was confronted with the affair.
He admitted it.
Then admitted more.
Natalie supplied some of the false medications Ross used.
Derek handled money.
Ross falsified records.
Christopher controlled Bertha.
A four-person conspiracy.
But still, nobody agreed on who administered the fatal injection.
Each blamed another.
Then Veronica remembered the bracelet.
We were eating breakfast when she suddenly dropped her spoon.
“Grandma.”
“What?”
“Mommy scratched him.”
“Who?”
“The man in the office.”
My pulse increased.
“What man?”
She touched her own wrist.
“He had the black bracelet.”
I called Mercer.
Derek Sloan wore a black braided leather bracelet almost every day.
At his arrest, photographs showed it.
On his right wrist were healing scratches.
Too recent to be from Bertha, who died more than a week earlier?
Possibly.
But forensic photographs from the day after Bertha’s death existed because Derek had attended a charity event.
Zoomed images showed scratches then too.
DNA had never been collected.
Now detectives swabbed him.
Under Bertha’s fingernails, the medical examiner had preserved trace material.
The DNA matched Derek Sloan.
Not Christopher.
Not Ross.
Derek had been in physical contact with Bertha while she fought for her life.
He stopped talking.
His attorney took over.
Then Natalie resurfaced.
Not voluntarily.
She was found unconscious in a roadside motel eighty miles away.
Alive.
Drugged.
When she woke, she told police Derek had forced her to write the confession.
“He said Christopher would protect me.”
Mercer asked,
“Would he?”
Natalie laughed bitterly.
“No.”
Natalie finally told the truth.
The scheme began as financial fraud.
Christopher lived far beyond his means.
Derek covered losses by borrowing against trust-linked assets.
Bertha noticed.
Christopher panicked.
Ross created a false medical record in case they later needed to portray Bertha as incompetent.
Natalie provided access to medication samples through her work.
The goal, according to Natalie, was control.
Not murder.
Until Bertha secretly met a lawyer.
She prepared divorce papers.
Requested emergency custody.
And scheduled a meeting with federal investigators.
Christopher found out.
That night, he confronted her.
Derek came to the house.
Natalie arrived later.
Ross stayed available by phone.
According to Natalie, Bertha told them she had already copied everything.
Christopher begged her.
Then threatened her.
Bertha refused.
Derek said,
“If she talks, all of us go down.”
Christopher replied,
“Then make sure she doesn’t.”
Natalie cried while recounting it.
I felt nauseated.
“What happened?” Mercer asked.
“Derek had a syringe.”
“Who gave it to him?”
“Gavin prepared it.”
“Did Christopher know what was inside?”
“Yes.”
My eyes closed.
There it was.
“He grabbed Bertha.”
Natalie continued.
“She fought.”
“Then?”
“Christopher pinned her arms.”
Derek injected her.
Bertha screamed.
Then became weak.
Derek panicked because she did not lose consciousness quickly.
Christopher pressed his forearm across her upper chest and neck to hold her down.
Those were the bruises.
Derek told him to stop.
Too late.
Her heart went into a fatal rhythm.
They called Ross.
Ross told them what to say.
They moved Bertha upstairs.
Christopher called 911.
Natalie left through the garage.
Derek wiped the office.
Ross later signed the death certificate.
Then Christopher arranged cremation.
Every piece locked together.
I sat outside the interrogation room after hearing the summary.
Mercer joined me.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
A useless question deserved an honest answer.
She sat beside me.
“Will they convict him?”
“We have a strong case.”
“Strong isn’t the same as certain.”
“No.”
I hated that.
Life had become a place where nothing was certain except Bertha being gone.
Natalie agreed to testify in exchange for consideration.
Ross agreed too.
Derek faced murder.
Christopher faced murder conspiracy, financial crimes, evidence tampering, and more.
The prosecutor refused to reduce Christopher’s homicide exposure.
Then came the custody hearing.
Christopher remained jailed.
His mother, Lorraine Weller, filed for custody of Veronica.
I had met Lorraine perhaps twenty times.
She had never shown much interest in her granddaughter.
Suddenly she wanted full guardianship.
Her petition argued I was too old.
Too emotionally involved.
And psychologically encouraging Veronica’s “visions.”
There it was again.
The same strategy.
Different face.
Lorraine entered court in a white suit.
She looked at me as though I had stolen something from her.
“My son is innocent.”
I said nothing.
She lowered her voice.
“Bertha destroyed this family.”
I turned.
“My daughter is dead.”
“And my son’s life is ruined.”
“Your son helped ruin it.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You think you’re getting Veronica?”
“She isn’t a prize.”
“She’s a Weller.”
“No.”
I looked through the courtroom doors where my granddaughter waited with her advocate.
“She’s Veronica.”
The judge reviewed Bertha’s guardianship document.
My home evaluation.
My medical history.
Veronica’s therapist.
The criminal case.
Then she asked the child advocate for a recommendation.
The woman stood.
“Veronica has consistently identified Mrs. Brooks as the adult with whom she feels safest.”
Lorraine scoffed.
The judge continued.
“Temporary guardianship will remain with Evelyn Brooks pending final disposition.”
I exhaled.
Lorraine looked furious.
Then the judge added something none of us expected.
“Additionally, based on financial records submitted under seal, Mrs. Weller’s petition raises significant concerns.”
Lorraine’s face changed.
“What records?”
Her lawyer whispered.
Too late.
Investigators had discovered Christopher transferred $480,000 to his mother two weeks before Bertha died.
Lorraine had told the court she knew nothing about his finances.
She had lied under oath.
Outside court, federal agents waited.
Lorraine was not arrested.
Yet.
But the wall around Christopher’s family had cracked.
That night, Veronica came into my room.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Mommy is mad?”
My heart broke.
“At you?”
She nodded.
“Why would she be mad at you?”
“Because I told.”
I pulled her close.
“No.”
“But Daddy said I betrayed him.”
I held her face.
“Listen to me.”
Her eyes filled.
“Telling the truth about someone hurting another person is not betrayal.”
She cried.
“What if Daddy goes away forever?”
“That will be because of what Daddy did.”
“Not because of me?”
“Never because of you.”
She hugged me.
Then whispered,
“Mommy doesn’t scream anymore.”
I stroked her hair.
“What does she do?”
“She stands far away.”
“Is she sad?”
Veronica thought.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“She’s waiting.”
“For what?”
My granddaughter looked at me.
May you like
“For us to stop being scared.”
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