I wrote the message with shaking hands.
Son, everything is fine. We decided to give each other a surprise, and we are at a hotel. We will be back tomorrow. Love you.
The answer arrived in seconds.
Oh, that is cool. Enjoy yourselves, you two. Love you guys.
Love you guys.
The words that once warmed my heart now seemed empty and cruel. How could he write that while planning our deaths?
Finally, at dawn, I managed to sleep out of pure exhaustion. My sleep was agitated, full of nightmares where David appeared with different faces. Sometimes as the loving boy I knew, others as a stranger with cold eyes.
I woke up early with my cell phone ringing. It was prosecutor Saints.
“Mrs. Barbara, I need you and your husband to come to the station now. We have important news.”
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in the prosecutor’s office. He had a gloomy expression.
“We got preliminary results from Mr. Robert’s toxicology tests. Traces of toxic substances were found in his blood, specifically small amounts of arsenic and another chemical compound that usually causes neurological symptoms.”
Robert turned pale.
“So it is true. He was really poisoning me.”
“Yes. And there is more. We got in touch with Florida. The case of Victoria Fernandez’s parents’ death is being reopened. At the time, there were suspicions of poisoning, but the bodies had been cremated before more detailed tests could be done. Now, with the evidence you brought, we have grounds for a new investigation.”
“And David?” I asked. “What is going to happen to him?”
The prosecutor took a deep breath.
“We are going to need to arrest him, Mrs. Barbara. We have enough proof of attempted homicide. The question is, do you want to be present when we make the arrest?”
The prosecutor’s question echoed in my head. Did I want to be present when they arrested my son?
Part of me wanted to confront him, look him in the eyes, and ask why. Another part of me wanted to be as far away as possible. I wanted to wake up and discover that everything was nothing more than a horrible nightmare.
“I want to be there,” said Robert, surprising me. His voice was firm, determined. “I need to look him in the eyes and know why.”
The prosecutor nodded.
“I understand. We plan to make the arrest this afternoon. We are going to summon him to the station under the pretext of clarifying some points about an alleged robbery in the neighborhood. He will not suspect.”
We spent the morning in a state of unbearable tension. We had breakfast at a nearby coffee shop, but the food seemed to have no taste. Robert barely touched his toast. I forced a few bites, more out of necessity than desire.
“Barb,” said Robert suddenly, “do you think we made a mistake somewhere as parents? Where did we fail?”
It was the question that had tormented me since I discovered everything.
“I do not know, Robert. I reviewed our entire life in my head. We gave him love, education, limits when necessary. He never went hungry. He was never mistreated. I cannot understand.”
“Maybe it is Victoria,” suggested Robert. “Maybe she manipulated him, transformed him into something he is not.”
I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe my son was a victim, that he had been seduced by a sociopath.
But his notes were too detailed, too calculated. He knew exactly what he was doing.
At two in the afternoon, we returned to the station. Prosecutor Saints took us to an observation room with a two-way mirror. From there, we could see the interrogation room without being seen.
“David should arrive in a few minutes,” explained the prosecutor. “We are going to start with routine questions about the alleged robbery. When he is comfortable, we will show him the evidence.”
My heart was racing. My hands were sweating. Robert held my hand so tight it hurt, but I did not complain. We needed each other in that moment.
At 2:15, the door to the interrogation room opened. David entered, wearing jeans and a casual T-shirt. He seemed relaxed, even curious.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted the people in the room. “I received a call saying you wanted to talk to me about a robbery.”
“Yes, Mr. David. Please sit down. This will not take long.”
David sat down, crossing his legs casually. He was so calm, so confident. He had no idea what was coming.
The officer started with banal questions about where David was on a certain night, whether he knew certain people from the neighborhood. David answered with patience, finding everything kind of strange, but he did not suspect.
Then the officer changed tactics.
“Mr. David, do you know a person named Victoria Fernandez?”
I saw David’s body tense up for a fraction of a second before he composed himself.
“Yes, I know her. She is my girlfriend. Why? How long have you been together?”
“About eight months.”
“But what does that have to do with a robbery?”
The officer ignored the question.
“You have a laptop, correct? An old laptop that recently went for repair?”
David’s expression changed. First confusion, then the beginning of worry.
“Yes, I do. My mom took it to get fixed, but I do not understand.”
“The technician who fixed your laptop found some interesting files, Mr. David. Files that suggest you are planning to murder your own parents.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
David stayed completely motionless, the color fleeing from his face. For long seconds, he said nothing. He just looked at the officer with wide-open eyes.
“That… that is ridiculous,” he managed to say finally, but his voice was weak. “There must be some mistake.”
The officer put a folder on the table and started taking sheets out of it. Printouts of the files Jason had copied. The spreadsheets. The conversations. The detailed notes.
“This is your laptop, is it not? This is your access password. These are your files.”
David looked at the papers, and I saw the exact moment he realized he was finished. His face went from pale to gray. His hands started to shake.
“I… I can explain. Please.”
