Chapter 16 - THE WOMAN WHO SAID SHE WAS HELPING
Judith testified.
Against advice perhaps.
She wore navy.
No headscarf.
No pearls.
She looked smaller.
The prosecutor asked:
“Did you put your prescription medication into Noah and Caleb’s bottles?”
“Yes.”
The courtroom changed.
“Were you their physician?”
“No.”
“Did any physician authorize this?”
“No.”
“Did Rachel authorize it?”
“No.”
“Did Trevor?”
She hesitated.
“He knew eventually.”
“Did he approve?”
“He stopped objecting.”
Trevor’s lawyer objected from audience? He was not party. No.
The prosecutor:
“Did Noah become unusually difficult to wake after an earlier occasion?”
“Yes.”
“Did Trevor tell you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stop?”
“For a while.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you give it again the night both boys died?”
Judith cried.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They had been screaming for hours.”
“Were you angry?”
“I was tired.”
“Rachel was asleep.”
“Yes.”
“Then why were you tired?”
Silence.
Because control is exhausting when nobody asked you to take it.
She said:
“I wanted everyone to rest.”
“Did you know it could be dangerous?”
“I knew Trevor worried.”
“That is not my question.”
“I didn’t think they would die.”
Important.
Not murder intent.
Then financial motive.
“Were you concerned Rachel would delay Northbridge?”
“Yes.”
“Did quiet babies make Rachel easier to deal with?”
Judith looked at me.
I wished she wouldn’t.
“Yes.”
There.
Not:
I drugged them to get the vote.
But family governance had infected everything.
The prosecutor showed her message:
Rachel needs to be less exhausted before the vote. She’s impossible when the babies scream all night.
Then:
I’m helping.
Judith whispered:
“I thought I was.”
The jury heard.
The defense later emphasized she had not sought information on lethal dosing.
No murder plan.
No insurance policy.
No desire to kill.
That mattered.
Then evidence tampering.
She admitted washing bottles.
“Why?”
“I panicked.”
“Because you knew what was in them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you then tell Rachel the babies died because God knew what kind of mother she was?”
Judith’s face collapsed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I hated her.”
Finally.
Not theology.
Not grief.
Hatred.
“Why?”
“She was going to take everything from us.”
“What?”
“Control.”
May you like
The word echoed.
That was as close to the center as the trial ever needed to go.
