Chapter 11 - Erica’s Bargain
Erica contacted Margaret the next morning.
Not Sophie.
Not me.
The attorney.
That told us almost everything.
“She wants to talk,” Margaret said.
“Then tell her to talk to police,” Sophie replied.
“She says she will, but she wants counsel first.”
“Of course.”
Margaret watched Sophie.
“She also says she has information about the incident with Ava.”
That silenced the room.
“What information?” I asked.
“She won’t tell me by phone.”
Sophie stood.
“No.”
“No what?”
“No deals.”
“You don’t control what prosecutors offer her.”
“I control whether I sit in a room and listen to her pretend she suddenly has a conscience.”
Margaret’s voice stayed even.
“This is not about conscience.”
“Then what?”
“Information.”
Sophie folded her arms.
“I don’t want to see her.”
“You don’t have to.”
I looked at Margaret.
“Do you think we should?”
“I think the police should hear whatever she has. Whether either of you attends is another question.”
I went.
Sophie did not.
Erica arrived at Cavanaugh’s office with a defense attorney named Frank Bell.
She looked different.
No makeup.
Hair pulled back.
Plain black coat.
For years, she had moved through rooms like a person who believed everyone else was stupid.
That morning, she watched every door.
Cavanaugh began.
“You requested the meeting.”
Erica’s attorney spoke first.
“My client is prepared to provide information relevant to several ongoing investigations.”
Cavanaugh’s face revealed nothing.
“In exchange for?”
“Consideration.”
Of course.
I almost laughed.
Erica finally looked at me.
“How’s the baby?”
I leaned across the table.
“Do not say her name.”
Bell raised a hand.
“Mrs. Carter—”
“Do not say her name.”
Erica looked down.
For the first time, she obeyed.
Cavanaugh asked about the kitchen.
Erica took a breath.
“Mason wanted Helen recorded attacking him.”
“Why?”
“Because of the trust.”
“What specifically?”
“He wanted Sophie declared temporarily incapable. Then he wanted Helen removed as trustee.”
“How?”
“By showing the court they were both unstable and feeding each other’s behavior.”
“And the infant?”
Erica’s mouth tightened.
“He needed Helen to react fast.”
My hands turned cold.
“So he used Ava.”
Erica did not answer.
I leaned closer.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“You stood at that door.”
“Yes.”
“You knew what he was going to do.”
“I knew he was going to scare you.”
“He held a newborn over boiling liquid.”
“I told him it was too far.”
“But you stayed.”
Her face hardened defensively.
“I didn’t think he would drop her.”
“What a generous standard.”
Bell interrupted.
“Helen.”
I ignored him.
Erica looked at Cavanaugh instead.
“Mason said the steam would look worse on camera than it really was. He had the pot farther back than it looked from the door.”
My heart pounded.
“You think that matters?”
“No.”
Her voice was barely audible.
That surprised me.
Cavanaugh asked about the hidden camera.
Erica admitted knowing it existed.
About the draft petition.
She knew.
About the surveillance.
She participated.
About Rachel.
Her mouth tightened.
“We made mistakes.”
Rachel would have killed her if she heard that sentence.
Cavanaugh did not react.
“How many women?”
Erica stared at him.
“Three serious ones before Sophie.”
“Names.”
Her attorney touched her arm.
She whispered with him.
Then gave the names.
Rachel Dunn.
Melissa Grant.
Catherine Hale.
Sophie had been number four.
I felt nauseated.
“What happened to Catherine?” Cavanaugh asked.
Erica looked at Bell.
He nodded reluctantly.
“She found out.”
“And?”
“She threatened to expose us.”
“What happened?”
“Mason paid her.”
“With what money?”
“Melissa’s.”
The layers of theft crossed from one woman to the next.
Cavanaugh asked about the storage key.
That was the question I had been waiting for.
Erica’s face changed.
“I hid it.”
“Why?”
“I needed insurance.”
“Against Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Why under the refrigerator?”
“Because he searched my apartment.”
My pulse jumped.
“You hid it in Sophie’s house?”
“He never cleaned. Sophie was in the hospital. I knew it would stay there.”
“And the flash drive?”
“I mailed it.”
“Why now?”
“Because Mason is going to blame everything on me.”
I sat back.
There it was.
Not guilt.
Not redemption.
Fear.
“What makes you think that?” Cavanaugh asked.
“Because the guardianship plan was supposed to be mine.”
Everyone went still.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Erica looked directly at me.
“Mason wasn’t supposed to be the petitioner.”
“Who was?”
May you like
She swallowed.
“You.”
