Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Pretended to Be Me
By sunrise, the sixth USB drive had become the most important piece of evidence in the case.
Not because it proved I had helped Derek.
Because it proved how far he had gone to manufacture a version of reality that could survive after he lost control of the real one.
The video showed me at the kitchen island, sorting mail.
My face was tired.
My lips moved once, but no matching words could be heard.
Over the image, June cried in the background.
Derek's voice said, "Your mother said this is what you need."
Then another voice that sounded almost like mine said, "Do whatever you have to do."
At first, even I felt sick hearing it.
Then the lab technician separated the audio channels.
The room tone changed halfway through the sentence.
A refrigerator hum disappeared.
A wall clock tick appeared.
The audio had been stitched together.
The words "do whatever" came from a conversation I had with Derek about fixing a leaking pipe.
The words "you have to do" came from a voicemail about a tax document.
My image came from a home-security recording made three weeks earlier.
He had built the clip one piece at a time.
Dana Keene watched it with her jaw clenched.
"He wasn't just threatening her with lies."
Detective Price nodded.
"He was preparing exhibits."
"For court?"
"For whoever he needed to convince."
I thought of the motel receipt again.
Derek did not improvise when he could rehearse.
He did not simply deny facts.
He manufactured substitutes.
Dana turned to me.
"Has anyone ever accused you of approving his discipline before?"
"No."
"Any social worker?"
"No."
"Doctor?"
"No."
"Teacher?"
I hesitated.
"There was one strange call last spring."
Price looked up.
"From who?"
"I don't know."
I searched my memory.
"A woman said she was following up on a family matter."
"Did she identify an agency?"
"I thought she said child services, but the call was bad."
"What did she ask?"
"Whether I was comfortable with Derek handling discipline."
Dana's eyes sharpened.
"What did you say?"
"I said I was at work and asked her to call back."
"Did she?"
"Not that I know of."
Price asked for my phone records.
Within an hour, they found the call.
It came from a prepaid number that had been active for twelve days.
The same number had called Robert Kline twice.
It had also called Derek six times.
Price stared at the pattern.
"This was not a social worker."
I felt my stomach drop.
"Who was it?"
"We need subscriber records."
The answer arrived that afternoon from store surveillance.
The prepaid phone had been purchased with cash at a pharmacy across town.
The buyer was a woman in her late sixties with short silver hair and a red raincoat.
I recognized her before Detective Price enlarged the image.
"That's Carol."
Derek's mother.
I had known Carol Rowan for thirteen years.
She mailed handwritten birthday cards.
She brought casseroles after surgeries.
She called June her "little sparrow."
She also believed that family problems should never leave the family.
The last time I told her Derek scared June, Carol stared at me over a cup of tea and said, "Men correct differently than women comfort."
I had hated the sentence.
I had not understood it as a warning.
Police brought Carol in for questioning.
She arrived with a lawyer and the same red raincoat folded over her arm.
Detective Price let me watch part of the interview from another room.
Carol denied impersonating me.
Then Price showed her the pharmacy footage.
Carol changed her story.
She said Derek asked her to buy a phone because he was planning a surprise for me.
Price showed her the call log.
Carol changed her story again.
She claimed she called the school to discuss June's anxiety.
Price played a voicemail recovered from Derek's phone.
Carol's voice said, "I spoke to the woman and used Tessa's name like you said."
The room went still.
Carol closed her eyes.
Her attorney whispered something.
Then Carol looked at Price.
"You don't understand my son."
Price did not blink.
"Help me understand him."
Carol leaned back.
"He was trying to keep the family together."
I nearly laughed from the observation room.
Even now.
Even with recordings.
Even with a child in a hospital.
The story was still about Derek's intention, never June's pain.
Price placed a photograph of June's irritated eyes on the table.
"Did keeping the family together require this?"
Carol looked away.
"He said Tessa exaggerates."
"Did you believe him?"
"She's always been emotional."
The sentence was so familiar that my hands curled into fists.
Derek had given her the language.
Or maybe she had given it to him.
Price continued.
"Did you ever see him hurt June?"
Carol's eyes flicked toward her attorney.
"No."
"Did you ever see him frighten her?"
"Children are frightened by consequences."
"Did you ever hear him threaten Tessa?"
"Couples say things."
"Did you help him alter June's school contact information?"
"No."
"Did you help him impersonate Tessa?"
Carol said nothing.
Price waited.
The silence stretched.
Finally Carol whispered, "I made one call."
"Why?"
"Because Derek said the counselor was trying to destroy his family."
"Did you know June had reported being locked in a pantry?"
Carol's mouth tightened.
"He said she was lying."
"Did you ask June?"
"It was not my place."
Price leaned forward.
"You were willing to pretend to be her mother, but asking her whether she was safe was not your place?"
Carol's face changed.
For the first time, she looked ashamed.
It did not last.
"You people do not know what mothers sacrifice for their sons."
I stopped watching.
I walked into the hallway and put both hands against the wall.
Mallory found me there ten minutes later.
"What happened?"
"She helped him."
Mallory's expression went cold.
"Carol?"
I nodded.
"She pretended to be me."
Mallory closed her eyes.
"Of course she did."
I looked at her.
"What does that mean?"
She hesitated.
"Nothing."
"Mallory."
"Not now."
"What does that mean?"
My sister looked down the empty hallway.
Then she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.
"Three months ago, when you first gave me the duplicate file, Carol came to my house."
I stared at her.
"You never told me that."
"I didn't want you confronting Derek before you were ready to leave."
"Why was she there?"
"She asked what you had told me."
"And?"
"I told her nothing."
"What did she say?"
Mallory unlocked her phone.
"I recorded part of it."
My heart started pounding.
She played the audio.
Carol's voice came through quietly.
"You think helping Tessa leave is helping her."
Mallory replied, "I think keeping June safe is helping her."
Carol sighed.
"Derek will never let that child be taken from him."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It is advice."
Then Carol said something I had never heard before.
"There are things about Tessa that can be made to look very ugly if this gets public."
Mallory's voice hardened.
"What things?"
Carol laughed softly.
"Ask Derek about the final file."
The recording ended.
I stared at Mallory.
"You knew about the final file?"
"I knew the phrase."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were already terrified."
"You don't get to decide what I can handle."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Mallory's eyes filled.
"And I am sorry."
I turned away from her.
For months, Derek had controlled information around me.
Now even the person helping me escape had decided what I should and should not know.
The difference was motive.
But in that moment, it still felt like another locked door.
Detective Price came into the hallway.
"We have a problem."
I wiped my face.
"What now?"
"Someone accessed your family cloud account thirty-seven minutes ago."
My blood turned cold.
"Derek is in custody."
"Yes."
"Carol is in this building."
"Yes."
"Then who logged in?"
Price held out a printout.
The login location was only six blocks away.
The username was mine.
And the password used was one I had created that morning.
I stared at the printout until the numbers stopped looking like an address and started looking like a message.
Derek was in custody.
Carol was downstairs with detectives.
The house was sealed.
Still, someone had reached through all of those walls and used something that should have existed only inside my head.
For a few seconds, the old instinct returned.
Maybe I had reused a password without remembering.
Maybe I had typed it where someone could see.
Maybe this was my mistake.
Then Detective Price tapped the page.
"Do not do his work for him."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"You are already trying to explain how this could be your fault."
She was right.
Derek had trained me so well that even with him behind concrete walls, I could still supply the accusation myself.
I folded my hands to stop them shaking.
"Then find out who used it."
Price nodded.
"We will."
May you like
For once, I let the unanswered question belong to the investigation instead of turning it into a judgment about me.
