“That is normal. Right now he represents pain. With time, maybe you will manage to separate the David you knew from the one who planned to kill you. Or maybe not. And that is okay too.”
Robert had his own issues. He blamed himself for not noticing the poisoning symptoms, for having trusted too much.
“How did I not realize?” he repeated constantly. “The dizziness, the tiredness, the forgetting. I thought it was just age, stress. How was I so blind?”
“You trusted your son,” replied Dr. Sarah. “That is not blindness. It is love. And he used that love against you. The fault is not yours.”
Two weeks after the arrest, Victoria’s mother looked for us. Mrs. Lords was a fragile woman of about 60 who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“I needed to talk to you,” she said when we received her at home. “I needed to say that I am so sorry. Truly sorry.”
I was bewildered.
“You are not to blame for what your daughter did.”
“But I should have seen the signs,” she said, tears in her eyes. “When Hector and Sylvia died, when my daughter inherited everything so quickly, I suspected. But I did not want to believe it. I did not want to accept that my own daughter could be capable of that.”
She told us Victoria was always different. Even as a child, she showed no empathy, manipulated people, lied compulsively. Mrs. Lords thought it was just a phase that would change with maturity.
“But it got worse,” confessed Mrs. Lords. “And when Hector and Sylvia died, I knew. Deep down I knew. But I did not have the courage to do anything.”
“And now she destroyed more lives,” I completed.
Mrs. Lords nodded, crying openly.
“I am so sorry. I am so sorry for not having had the courage to report her before. Maybe if I had done it, you would not be going through this.”
We did not know what to say to her. Part of me wanted to blame her, wanted to scream that yes, she should have done something. But looking at that fragile and shattered woman, I only managed to feel pity.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Robert.
“I am going to testify against her,” said Mrs. Lords with determination. “I am going to tell everything I know, everything I always suspected. It is the only thing I can do to try to make amends.”
The trial began on a cold January morning. Robert and I arrived at the court escorted by security to avoid the crowd of reporters and curious people gathering at the entrance. The courtroom was full. I recognized some neighbors, colleagues from David’s work, even people I had never seen before but who apparently had a morbid interest in the case.
When they brought David in, handcuffed and wearing the orange prison uniform, I felt my heart tighten. He had lost a lot of weight. His face was pale, marked. When his eyes met mine, I saw genuine pain in them, but I looked away. I was not ready to face him directly yet.
Victoria was brought in separately. Unlike David, she seemed composed, almost serene. Her hair was done, her posture erect. It was as if she were going to a business meeting, not her own trial.
Prosecutor Edward Martinez opened the case with a forceful speech.
“This is not just a case of attempted homicide,” he began. “It is a case of betrayal in its most basic and painful form. A son who methodically planned to murder his own parents. A woman who had already killed before and who seduced a young man to do the same. We are going to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that David Mendes and Victoria Fernandez are guilty of the crimes for which they are accused.”
David’s defense, Mr. Gomez, attempted a strategy of psychological manipulation.
“David Mendes is a victim,” he argued. “Victim of a manipulative woman who seduced him and convinced him to do things he would never have done alone. My client was a good man, a respected engineer, until meeting Victoria Fernandez.”
On the other hand, Victoria’s defense went in the opposite direction, blaming David for everything and claiming she was an innocent girlfriend who was being falsely incriminated.
The following days were torture. We had to listen to witnesses, experts, detailed accounts of how David had planned our deaths.
The toxicology expert explained in technical terms how the arsenic and the other compounds David used acted in the body, causing progressive damage to organs if they continued being administered.
“Mr. Robert Mendes would have approximately two months of life. The death would seem natural. Multiple organ failure, common in elderly people,” explained the expert.
Jason, the computer technician, was called to testify. He explained how he found the files, how he initially hesitated to tell us, but his conscience did not allow him to stay silent.
“I saw the spreadsheets, the notes, the conversations,” said Jason. “There was no doubt about what was being planned. I would have felt responsible if I had not warned Mrs. Barbara.”
When my turn to testify came, I went up to the stand with shaking legs. The prosecutor guided me gently through the account, from the day David asked me to take the laptop in for repair until the moment I saw the files.
“How did you feel discovering your son was planning to kill you?” asked the prosecutor.
I looked directly at David while answering.
“I felt as if they had ripped my heart out of my chest, as if the son I knew had died and been replaced by a stranger.”
I saw tears running down David’s face, but I continued.
“I carried this boy in my womb. I spent sleepless nights when he was sick. I celebrated every achievement of his. And he planned coldly to poison me, to kill me, just for money.”
The prosecutor then showed me some of the printouts of the files.
“Do you recognize this?”
“Yes. They are the spreadsheets David made calculating the value of our life insurance, of the house, of our savings.”
“And this?”
“The conversations between him and Victoria, discussing poison doses, symptoms, how to make it look like natural death.”
