Chapter 4 - The Widow Who Needed Me Cremated
Police searched our Beacon Hill home.
Olivia had already moved into a hotel.
Her attorney advised her not to return.
The kitchen became evidence.
Coffee machine.
Honey jar.
Supplements.
Medication organizer.
Wine bottles.
Bathroom cabinets.
Nothing instantly produced the answer.
Then detectives found a small locked cosmetic refrigerator in Olivia’s dressing room.
She claimed it held injectable skincare products.
Some did.
One unmarked vial contained residue chemically consistent with the same compound found in my toxicology testing.
Her attorney said she had never seen it.
Fingerprints were inconclusive.
Mason’s were not present.
That sounded good for him.
Then detectives searched his rehabilitation clinic.
No matching substance.
No secret poison laboratory.
Reality was less convenient than television.
But they found my records.
Two versions.
The official electronic chart.
And handwritten notes in Mason’s locked desk.
Dates.
Blood pressure.
Heart rate.
Next to several appointments:
good response
too much — reduce
O says sleepy all evening
“O.”
Olivia?
Mason said it meant “observation.”
Detectives did not believe that automatically.
They didn’t need to.
They obtained text records.
Olivia and Mason had deleted many messages.
Cloud backups preserved fragments.
Olivia: He almost fell after lunch.
Mason: How long?
Olivia: Maybe 20 sec before he could stand.
Mason: Better.
Another:
Mason: No more until Friday.
Olivia: You said we need consistency.
Mason: We need believable, not dead.
I read that line from my hospital bed.
My body began shaking.
Mara reached for my hand.
“They were practicing.”
Daniel looked grim.
Not practicing murder exactly.
Practicing symptoms.
Building a history.
The final dose had gone farther.
Whether intentionally or because of miscalculation remained a legal question.
Then detectives uncovered Olivia’s calls after I collapsed.
She did not call 911 first.
She called Mason.
Four minutes.
Then Dr. Nolan Pierce.
Then 911.
Four minutes sounds small until you realize someone is supposedly dying on the floor.
Olivia later told investigators she panicked.
Mason claimed she called because of my medical history.
Dr. Pierce said he came because I was his patient.
Everyone had an explanation.
Then police obtained my home-security audio.
The kitchen camera had no visual coverage of the breakfast table.
But the microphone caught Olivia’s voice after I collapsed.
“Mason, it worked.”
Silence.
Then:
“No, he’s breathing.”
Another pause.
“Tell me what to do.”
May you like
The call ended.
Only then did she dial Dr. Pierce.
