When Rachel mentioned after service one Sunday that she volunteered with the church’s food pantry program, Derek started showing up to help sort donations and pack boxes when Emma’s soccer team’s regular coach had a family emergency in mid- November and couldn’t fulfill his commitment for the rest of the season.

Derek volunteered to step in, spending Saturday mornings running drills and encouraging the girls without ever being inappropriate or overbearing.

He treated Emma exactly the same as the other girls on the team.

Didn’t give her special attention or try to use coaching as a way to bond with her, just focused on helping all the girls improve their skills and have fun.

He helped Rachel’s elderly neighbor fix a broken fence in late November, spending an entire Saturday afternoon repairing posts and replacing boards, refusing to accept payment or even compensation for materials.

When Rachel caught a cold in early December and had to miss two days of work, Derek appeared at her apartment with homemade chicken soup, cold medicine, and a stack of magazines, leaving everything on the doorstep with a note saying he hoped she felt better soon.

He sent flowers to her classroom on her birthday with a card that said simply, “Happy birthday from a friend who appreciates all the good you do.

” a gesture that touched Rachel deeply because it acknowledged her work rather than focusing only on her appearance or their relationship.

By December, Rachel realized she had feelings for Derek that went beyond friendship.

He was everything Michael had been.

Kind, stable, thoughtful, present, but he was also his own person with his own interests and perspectives and way of being in the world.

He never forgot to text good morning, usually with a funny observation about something he had seen on his run or a news story he thought Rachel would find interesting.

He never canceled plans at the last minute.

Always arriving when he said he would and staying as long as he said he could.

He never made promises he couldn’t keep.

Never overpromised and underdelivered.

Never said things just to make Rachel feel good in the moment.

When they finally kissed for the first time on Christmas Eve in Rachel’s driveway after he dropped her off from the church’s candlelight service, it felt natural and right and terrifying all at once.

Rachel went inside and cried, not because she was sad, but because she felt guilty for moving on from Michael, for allowing herself to feel happy again, for giving her heart to someone new.

She felt like she was betraying Michael’s memory by falling in love with another man.

She felt like she was being disloyal to the 15 years they had spent together.

She felt like she was abandoning her identity as Michael’s wife, which had been such a core part of who she was for so long.

But she also felt alive in a way she hadn’t since Michael died.

Excited about the future instead of just surviving the present, open to possibilities she had thought were closed to her forever, Derek proposed on Valentine’s Day 2019 at Riverside Cafe, the same place where they had their first date 4 months earlier.

He had arranged with the cafe owner to reserve their usual corner table, decorating it simply with a small vase of white roses and two candles.

When Rachel arrived, nervous because Derek had made it clear this was a special occasion, but hadn’t explained what made it special.

She found him waiting at the table looking more nervous than she had ever seen him.

He didn’t make a public spectacle of the proposal.

Didn’t hire photographers or organize a flash mob or put it on social media.

He simply got down on one knee at their regular corner table, pulled out a simple gold band with a small diamond, and asked Rachel if she would marry him.

He told her he knew it was fast, that they had only known each other for 5 months, that he understood if she needed time to think about it or if the answer was no.

But he said he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

He loved her.

He loved Emma.

He wanted to build a life together, to be a partner to Rachel and a positive presence in Emma’s life, to create a family built on mutual respect and genuine affection.

He said he didn’t expect to replace Michael, that he knew Michael would always be Emma’s father and always be part of Rachel’s history, that he wasn’t asking Rachel to forget her past, but to consider building a future with him.

Rachel said yes.

They were married 6 weeks later on March 30th, 2019 in a small ceremony at Riverside Community Church where they had been attending services together since November.

Rachel wore a simple cream colored dress she found at Nordstrom.

Elegant but understated, appropriate for a second marriage for a woman in her late 30s.

Emma was the maid of honor, wearing a purple dress she picked out herself, holding Rachel’s bouquet and standing beside her mother with a mixture of happiness and protectiveness that made Rachel’s heart ache with love.

Derek wore a dark gray suit and seemed genuinely emotional during the vows.

His voice breaking when he promised to love and honor Rachel for the rest of his life.

His eyes bright with what looked like tears when he slipped the wedding band onto her finger.

About 50 people attended the ceremony.

Rachel’s sister, Jennifer, and her husband and three kids.

Colleagues from Lincoln Elementary, including Rachel’s closest friend and fellow third grade teacher, Margaret Torres.

Neighbors from their street who had watched Emma grow up.

Friends from church who had gotten to know Derek over the past few months, Rachel’s principal and several other staff members, and a few of Derek’s work associates from the commercial real estate firm.

Derek explained that most of his family was on the east coast and couldn’t make the trip on short notice, that his daughter Jessica was in the middle of midterm exams at Berkeley and felt terrible about missing it, but would visit over the summer.

Everything seemed normal, believable, reasonable.

After the ceremony, they had a small reception at Season’s Restaurant, a local favorite known for its Pacific Northwest cuisine and views of the Willilamett River.

Derek gave a toast thanking everyone for coming on relatively short notice.

Thanking Rachel for giving him a second chance at happiness after his divorce, thanking Emma for welcoming him into her family, promising to be the husband Rachel deserved and the father figure Emma needed.

People clinkedked glasses, ate salmon and roasted vegetables and wedding cake from a local bakery, danced to music from a Spotify playlist that included songs from both the 1980s when Derek would have been young and the 2000s when Rachel and Michael had been dating and then married.

Rachel’s sister, Jennifer, pulled her aside at one point and said she was genuinely happy for her, that Derek seemed like a truly good man, that Michael would want Rachel to be happy again and would approve of someone who treated her so well.

Rachel cried and hugged her sister and felt for the first time in years like her life was moving forward instead of just continuing in the same patterns of work and parenting and quiet grief.

The original plan was to wait a few months before taking a honeymoon, to give Rachel time to arrange for a substitute teacher at school since it was the middle of the school year, and to make sure Emma was comfortable staying with Jennifer and her family for an extended period.

But Derek surprised Rachel 2 weeks after the wedding with plane tickets to Costa Rica for the last week of April.

He had already arranged everything, booked a beautiful resort in Manuel Antonio, gotten approval from Rachel’s principal for the time off by finding and vetting a qualified substitute teacher, coordinated with Jennifer to have Emma stay with them during spring break week, which aligned perfectly with the trip dates, even gotten Emma’s input on the trip to make sure she felt included in the decision and didn’t feel abandoned or pushed aside by the new marriage.

It was thoughtful, organized, romantic.

Rachel felt overwhelmed by how lucky she was to have found someone who cared so much about doing things right, who thought about every detail, who made sure everyone involved was comfortable and informed.

They flew out of Portland on April 22nd, 2019.

Rachel had never been to Costa Rica, had never been anywhere particularly exotic except for a trip to Cancun for her and Michael’s 10th anniversary 7 years ago.

She was excited but nervous.

Worried about leaving Emma, even though Emma had stayed with Jennifer many times before, worried about being away from her students in the last months of the school year, even though the substitute teacher seemed very qualified.

Worried about all the small anxieties that had defined her life since becoming a widow and single mother, Derek held her hand during the flight, reassured her that Emma would be fine with Jennifer’s family, who loved her like their own daughter, that her students would be fine with a substitute for one week, that sometimes it was okay to do something just for yourself without feeling guilty about it.

Rachel relaxed, let herself believe that this trip would be the beginning of a new chapter in her life.

a chance to finally let go of the past and fully commit to the future.

They landed in San Jose, Costa Rica on the evening of April 22nd at 7:15 pm local time.

Derek had rented a car, a white Toyota RAV 4 that he said would be good for the mountain roads they would be driving on to get to Manuel Antonio.

The drive took about 3 hours through winding roads that climbed into mountains before descending toward the Pacific coast.

Rachel took pictures on her phone of the sunset painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, of the lush green landscape so different from Portland’s urban environment, of Derek driving with one hand on the wheel and one hand holding hers.

She texted Emma to let her know they had arrived safely and were heading to the resort.

She texted Jennifer a picture of the view from the highway with a caption that said, “Can you believe this is real? So beautiful.

” She posted a photo on Facebook of her and Derek at the airport with the caption, “Honeymoon bound, feeling blessed.

” With several heart emojis, she seemed happy.

She seemed safe.

She seemed unaware that in exactly 72 hours she would be dead.

The resort in Manuel Antonio was everything the website had promised and more.

Vista del Pacificico Resort was a small luxury property with only 30 rooms, each with a private balcony, ocean views, and tasteful tropical decor.

Their room was on the third floor with a view of the Pacific Ocean stretching endlessly toward the horizon.

a king-size bed with white linens and decorative pillows, a balcony with two chairs and a small table perfect for morning coffee, and a bathroom with a rainfall shower and luxury amenities.

Derek carried their suitcases inside, tipped the bellhop $20, and immediately suggested they go down to the hotel restaurant for dinner since they hadn’t eaten since the plane.

And it was now after 1000 pm They changed into casual clothes and walked hand in hand down to the open air restaurant that overlooked the beach.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a constant backdrop to the soft music, playing through speakers hidden in the tropical plants that surrounded the dining area.

They ordered fish tacos and mango margaritas, toasting to their marriage and their honeymoon and their future together.

They talked about their plans for the week.

A ziplining tour through the rainforest canopy.

A visit to Manuel Antonio National Park to see sloths and monkeys and other wildlife.

A sunset catamaran cruise with dolphin watching.

Maybe a cooking class to learn how to make traditional Costa Rican dishes.

Definitely several days of just relaxing on the beach with books and drinks and no schedule at all.

Derek seemed excited about all of it, pulling up information on his phone about different tours and activities, reading reviews out loud, asking Rachel what sounded most interesting to her.

He showed her photos of the national park, pointing out the trails they could hike and the beaches where they could swim.

He found a cooking class taught by a local chef that had excellent reviews and suggested they book it for later in the week.

He looked up the ziplining tour and showed Rachel videos of what to expect, assuring her that it was very safe and that she would love the views of the rainforest from above.

Everything felt perfect, romantic, exactly what a honeymoon should be.

After dinner, they walked on the beach despite the late hour, taking off their shoes and feeling the sand between their toes, listening to the waves in the darkness.

It was dark except for the lights from the hotel behind them and the moon reflecting off the water in a silvery path that seemed to lead to infinity.

Derek stopped at one point, pulled Rachel close, and told her he loved her more than he ever thought possible.

He said he knew their relationship had moved fast, but that sometimes you just know when something is right, when someone is meant to be in your life.

He said he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy, being the partner she deserved, showing her everyday how much he valued her.

Rachel kissed him and thought about how different her life looked now compared to a year ago when she was alone and grieving and convinced she would never feel whole again.

She fell asleep that night in Derek’s arms, listening to the sound of the ocean through the open balcony door, feeling genuinely content and hopeful for the first time since Michael died.

The next day, April 23rd, was perfect in the way that honeymoon days are supposed to be perfect.

The kind of day that exists in memory as a string of small perfect moments rather than a continuous narrative.

They slept late, waking up at 9:30 am to sunshine streaming through the balcony doors and the sound of tropical birds chattering in the trees outside.

They ordered room service breakfast, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast with local jam, and Costa Rican coffee that was stronger and more flavorful than anything Rachel had ever tasted.

They ate on the balcony, watching other resort guests beginning their days.

Some heading to the beach with towels and books, others leaving for tours and excursions.

They spent the morning at the beach, finding two lounge chairs under a palm tree where they alternated between reading, swimming in the warm ocean water, and dozing in the sun.

Rachel read a thriller she had been saving for vacation, while Derek read a biography of Theodore Roosevelt.

They swam together, floating in the gentle waves, pointing out tropical fish they could see in the clear water.

Derek bought them coconut drinks from a vendor on the beach, and they laughed when Rachel couldn’t figure out the right angle to drink from without spilling.

Around 100 pm, they walked into town for lunch at a small restaurant Derek had researched online.

a casual place called Soda Tropical where they ordered casados, traditional Costa Rican lunch plates with rice, beans, plantains, salad, and their choice of meat or fish.

After lunch, they went back to the hotel for a nap, both tired from travel and sun and the general exhaustion that comes from being completely relaxed.

They slept for 2 hours, waking up in time to shower and get ready for the sunset catamaran cruise that Derek had booked for 5:00 pm The crews left from the marina in Kos about a 15-minute drive from their hotel.

Derek drove the rental car, and Rachel took more pictures of the Costa Rican landscape, the colorful buildings, the local people going about their daily lives, the mountains rising green and lush in the distance.

The catamaran cruise was magical.

There were about 20 other tourists on the boat, mostly couples in their 30s and 40s.

A few families with older children.

The crew welcomed everyone aboard, offering drinks from a cooler filled with beer, wine, sodas, and water.

They motored away from the dock and then raised the sails, cutting the engine so the only sound was the wind and the water and the conversations of passengers taking in the beauty of the Costa Rican coastline from the water.

Rachel and Derek sat at the front of the boat holding hands while the crew pointed out landmarks along the shore and explained facts about local wildlife and ecology.

Within 20 minutes of leaving the dock, they saw their first dolphins.

A pod of about eight animals playing in the waves, jumping and spinning and seeming to race alongside the boat.

Everyone on the catamaran rushed to that side, phones and cameras out, excited voices overlapping as people tried to capture the moment.

The sun began setting around 6:15 pm, painting the sky in shades of orange, pink, and purple that Rachel had only seen in heavily edited photos and thought couldn’t possibly be real.

But here it was, this impossible sunset reflected in the ocean so that the boat seemed to be sailing through colored light.

The crew served appetizers, small bites of local cheese and fruit and empanadas, while passengers stood on the deck taking photos and watching the sun slowly sink toward the horizon.

Rachel took dozens of photos, some of just the sunset, some of Derek silhouetted against the colorful sky, some selfies of both of them smiling with the sunset behind them.

Derek appeared in several of them, looking relaxed and happy.

his arm around Rachel’s shoulders, his face turned toward her rather than the camera in some shots, clearly more interested in her reaction to the sunset than the sunset itself.

Later, investigators would study these photos, looking for anything unusual, any sign of what was to come, but they found nothing.

Derek looked like every other husband on every other honeymoon, happy to be there, in love with his wife.

They returned to the marina around 7:30 pm As the last light faded from the sky, Derek drove them back to the hotel and they discussed dinner options.

They were both tired from the day and still full from the appetizers on the cruise.

So, they decided to skip a formal dinner and just get light snacks from the hotel bar.

They sat at a small table on the terrace overlooking the ocean, ordering nachos and more drinks.

talking about how perfect the day had been.

Derek suggested they just relax at the hotel the next day.

Maybe do the ziplining tour the following day instead.

Give themselves time to adjust to vacation mode without rushing from one activity to another.

Rachel agreed, looking forward to a lazy day of reading and swimming and napping.

But then Derek mentioned a restaurant he had read about for the following evening, a local place away from the tourist area that supposedly had the best ceviche in Costa Rica.

He showed Rachel the reviews on his phone, reading some of them out loud, explaining that the restaurant was familyrun and had been in the same location for 30 years.

He said it would be an adventure to eat somewhere that locals went rather than just sticking to tourist restaurants in the resort area.

Rachel, who loved trying new foods and had enjoyed their lunch at the casual restaurant in town, thought it sounded perfect.

Derek said he would make a reservation for 7:00 pm the following evening, April 24th, the meal that would be Rachel’s last.

The next morning, April 24th, they slept even later, not waking up until almost 11:00 am They had room service breakfast again, this time eating inside because the morning sun was too hot on the balcony.

They spent the afternoon exactly as planned, doing nothing in particular, just being together.

Rachel posted more photos on Facebook and Instagram, showing her followers the beautiful resort, the gorgeous beach, the tropical drinks.

Her last Instagram post was a photo of ceviche and plantains with the caption, “When in Costa Rica,” followed by several food emojis.

It was posted at 8:47 pm on April 24th.

By the time anyone saw it the next morning, Rachel was already dead.

The evening of April 24th began exactly as planned.

Derek and Rachel got ready for dinner around 6:00 pm Both showering and changing into casual but nice clothes.

Rachel wore a blue sundress and sandals, simple gold earrings that Michael had given her for an anniversary years ago, and the emerald ring from her grandmother on her right hand.

She packed a small purse with her phone, some cash, her ID, and lip gloss.

They left the hotel around 6:30 pm in their rental car with Derek driving and Rachel navigating using Google Maps on her phone.

The restaurant, El Pacificico, was about 20 minutes away in a more residential area, not far from the marina where they had started the catamaran cruise.

They arrived at the restaurant around 6:50 pm and immediately understood why locals loved it.

El Pacificico was small and casual with plastic chairs and handwritten menus, but it was packed with Costa Rican families and couples, always a good sign.

The owner, a woman in her 50s named Maria, greeted them warmly in Spanish and gestured to an open table near the back.

Derek and Rachel studied the menu, pointing at pictures since the descriptions were in Spanish.

And Derek ordered for both of them using the few Spanish phrases he knew.

Ceviche, plantains, rice, and beans, cold beer.

The food arrived quickly and was delicious, exactly the kind of authentic local meal they had been hoping for.

They talked and laughed and took photos of their food and the casual atmosphere.

Rachel posted the last photo to Instagram at 8:47 pm After dinner around 9:00 pm, Derek suggested they walk around the neighborhood for a bit before calling a taxi back to the hotel.

Rachel agreed, assuming they would just stroll for a few minutes to help digest the large meal and then head back to the resort.

But Derek led them away from the restaurant, down streets that became progressively quieter and darker, away from the main roads, into residential areas where houses sat behind chainlink fences and street lights were infrequent.

Rachel started to feel uncomfortable, that sense of unease that women learned to trust, but often talk themselves out of because they don’t want to seem paranoid or rude.

She asked Derek where they were going.

He said there was a small park nearby that supposedly had a beautiful view of the ocean at night, that he had read about it online and wanted to check it out.

Rachel trusted him.

Why wouldn’t she? This was her husband, the man who had spent 5 months proving himself to be kind and reliable and safe, who had integrated himself into her life and Emma’s life so carefully and thoughtfully, who had done everything right.

They turned down a street that was barely lit, lined with small houses behind chainlink fences.

Rachel could hear dogs barking in the distance.

She was about to suggest they head back when Derek stopped walking and turned to face her.

His expression had changed in a way that Rachel’s brain initially couldn’t process.

The warmth was gone from his eyes.

The gentle smile that had been so constant over the past 5 months was gone.

He looked at her the way someone might look at a problem they needed to solve.

Clinical and detached, completely devoid of the affection he had shown her just moments ago in the restaurant.

Rachel felt fear spike through her chest for the first time since meeting him.

A primal warning system that screamed danger even though her conscious mind was still trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Derek,” she said, her voice shaking.

Let’s go back to the restaurant.

I don’t feel comfortable here.

But Derek didn’t move.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe filled with clear liquid, holding it in his right hand like something completely normal, like a pen or a phone.

Rachel’s brain tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

Was Derek diabetic? Had he mentioned that and she forgot? Was this insulin? But the look on his face told her this wasn’t medicine for himself.

This was something meant for her.

She took a step backward, her body acting on instinct before her mind fully caught up.

Derek, what is that? What are you doing? Derek didn’t answer with words.

He moved faster than Rachel would have thought possible, closing the distance between them in one quick step, grabbing her arm with his left hand while his right hand brought the syringe toward her neck.

Rachel tried to scream, but Dererick’s hand clamped over her mouth before more than a small gasp escaped.

She tried to fight, tried to claw at his face with her free hand, but he twisted her around and pinned her against a concrete wall, using his body weight to keep her immobile.

She felt the sharp prick of the needle entering her neck.

Felt the cold sensation of liquid being injected into her body.

felt her limbs becoming heavy and uncoordinated within seconds.

She tried to stay conscious, tried to fight the darkness closing in around her vision, but whatever drug Derek had injected her with was powerful and fast acting.

The last thing Rachel Morrison remembered before losing consciousness was Derek’s face inches from hers.

Close enough that she could see herself reflected in his eyes.

His expression still completely detached and business-like.

He whispered something she would never forget.

Words that would haunt the nightmares of everyone who later learned about this moment.

I’m sorry, but this is just business.

Nothing personal.

Then everything went black.

When Rachel didn’t return calls or texts from Emma and Jennifer over the next 2 days, they assumed she was just enjoying her honeymoon and had limited phone service in some remote area of Costa Rica where they might have gone for a tour or adventure.

Rachel had mentioned potentially doing some off the grid exploring, maybe visiting a remote beach or taking a jungle trek, so her sister and daughter weren’t immediately concerned when messages went unanswered.

Jennifer sent several texts.

Hope you’re having amazing time.

And Emma wants to know if you’ve seen any sloths yet.

And call when you get a chance.

No rush.

Emma sent messages, too.

Mom, I got an A on my science project.

And Aunt Jennifer is letting us stay up late watching movies and miss you but having fun.

None of the messages were delivered.

Rachel’s phone had been turned off or destroyed shortly after she lost consciousness, ensuring that it couldn’t be tracked or used to establish a timeline of events.

For 2 days, April 25th and 26th, Rachel Morrison was missing while her family assumed she was just out of touch, enjoying her honeymoon, living her best life with her new husband.

Derek during this time was busy with the work of murder, following a process he had refined over 15 years and seven previous victims, a systematic approach to making people disappear that had worked flawlessly every time before.

When Derek called Jennifer on April 27th at 6:30 am Portland time, she was still asleep, her phone buzzing on the nightstand next to her bed.

She saw Derek’s name on the screen and felt a brief moment of confusion.

Why would Derek be calling her instead of Rachel before a spike of fear shot through her? Something was wrong? She answered the phone with her heart already racing.

Derek, is everything okay? Is Rachel okay? What followed was a performance that Derek had practiced and perfected over many years.

His voice was thick with emotion, breaking in places, heavy with what sounded like genuine grief.

“Jennifer, I’m so sorry.

There’s been an accident.

A terrible accident.

” He paused and Jennifer heard what sounded like a sobb.

Rachel, she we went hiking yesterday in Manuel Antonio National Park.

She was taking photos near an edge and she slipped.

I tried to grab her, but I couldn’t reach her in time.

She fell.

Jennifer.

She fell so far.

The park rangers found her body at the bottom of the ravine.

They said she died on impact.

She didn’t suffer.

Jennifer’s world collapsed in that moment.

The words didn’t make sense.

Rachel was dead.

Rachel had fallen.

Rachel was supposed to be on her honeymoon, supposed to be happy, supposed to be safe.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not again.

Not after Michael.

Not after Rachel had finally found happiness again.

Jennifer heard herself making sounds.

Not words exactly, just sounds of grief and shock and disbelief.

Derek continued talking, his voice breaking at intervals that sounded completely genuine.

I don’t know what to do.

I can’t believe she’s gone.

One minute we were looking at the view and the next minute she was gone.

I’ve been at the hospital dealing with Costa Rican authorities, trying to arrange everything.

I need your help telling Emma.

I can’t bear to break that little girl’s heart.

I don’t know how to tell her that her mother is never coming home.

Jennifer was too shocked to ask many questions, too focused on how to tell Emma that her mother, the only parent she had left, was dead.

She was too overwhelmed by grief to notice the inconsistencies in Derek’s story.

The lack of specific details about exactly where in the park this happened.

The strange calmness in his voice once he got past the initial emotional delivery.

The way he had already talked to hospital staff and authorities and made arrangements without contacting family first.

She asked through her tears when Rachel’s body would be returned to Portland for burial.

Derek said that Costa Rican law required local cremation in cases of accidental death to prevent disease, especially given the condition of the body after the fall from such a height.

He said Rachel’s ashes would be returned within a week that he would handle all the paperwork and arrangements that Jennifer just needed to focus on Emma and break the news as gently as possible.

Jennifer, who knew nothing about Costa Rican law or international death procedures, accepted this as true.

Why wouldn’t she? Derek was Rachel’s husband.

He was there dealing with the aftermath of tragedy.

He had no reason to lie about any of this.

She hung up the phone and sat on the edge of her bed trying to figure out how to tell her 12-year-old niece that the second parent was dead, that Emma would now be an orphan, that the universe was cruel enough to take both of the girls’ parents before she even finished middle school.

Derek returned to Portland on April 28th, 6 days after he and Rachel had left for their honeymoon.

He brought with him a small wooden urn that he said contained Rachel’s ashes, purchased from a funeral home in Costa Rica.

He brought a death certificate written in Spanish with official looking stamps and signatures printed on thick paper that seemed legitimate.

He seemed genuinely devastated by grief, moving slowly like someone in shock, his eyes red and swollen like he had been crying for days.

He wore dark clothes and spoke in a quiet voice.

He hugged Emma when he saw her, holding the girl while she sobbed, telling her how sorry he was, how much her mother had loved her, how they would get through this together.

He attended the memorial service that Rachel’s friends and colleagues from Lincoln Elementary organized for the following week, standing quietly in the back of the church during the ceremony, accepting condolences with humble gratitude.

never drawing attention to himself, just being present in his grief.

Margaret Torres, Rachel’s fellow teacher and close friend, gave a eulogy describing Rachel as the kind of teacher and friend and mother who made everyone around her better, who found joy in small moments, who loved deeply and completely.

Rachel’s principal talked about her dedication to students and her talent for making learning fun.

Jennifer read a letter Emma had written to her mother.

A heartbreaking collection of memories and things Emma wished she could still tell her mom.

Derek sat in the back pew with tears running down his face.

And everyone who saw him assumed he was a man destroyed by the sudden loss of the woman he loved.

In the days following the memorial service, Derek helped Jennifer sort through Rachel’s belongings in the apartment, packing up clothes to donate to charity, organizing documents and photos, making decisions about what Emma might want to keep and what could be discarded.

He was helpful and practical, approaching the task with the same quiet efficiency he had shown in integrating himself into Rachel’s life.

He boxed up Rachel’s teaching materials to be returned to the school.

He organized her books into groups, some for Emma, some to donate to the library, some to give to friends who might want them.

He carefully packed her jewelry into a wooden box, setting it aside to give to Emma when she was older.

It was Emma who first noticed something wrong, who saw what the adults around her had missed because they were too consumed by grief to notice inconsistencies.

She was in Derek’s bedroom, which used to be her mother’s bedroom, looking for a photo album she remembered her mother keeping in the closet.

The photo album contained pictures from Emma’s childhood, memories Emma desperately wanted to see, proof that her mother had existed and loved her, and documented their life together.

She found the album on a shelf in the closet.

But she also found something else that made her stomach drop with a feeling she couldn’t quite name.

Sitting on the same shelf, clearly visible, was a small wooden jewelry box that definitely belonged to her mother.

Emma recognized it immediately because her mother had shown it to her many times, explaining that it had belonged to Emma’s greatg grandmother and would one day belong to Emma.

Emma opened the jewelry box with shaking hands.

Inside was her grandmother’s emerald ring, the one that had been passed down through generations, the one her mother wore on special occasions.

Inside was her mother’s wedding band from her marriage to Michael, Emma’s father.

The ring Rachel had stopped wearing when she married Derek, but kept in this box.

Inside were a pair of diamond earrings that Michael had given Rachel for their 15th anniversary.

Earrings Emma had helped pick out even though she was only 5 years old at the time.

Inside were several other pieces.

A pearl necklace, a gold bracelet, a silver brooch shaped like a butterfly.

Emma knew her mother had taken most of her jewelry with her to Costa Rica.

She remembered specifically seeing her mother pack the emerald ring because Rachel had mentioned wanting to wear it to a nice dinner.

So, why was all her jewelry here in Derek’s bedroom in this apartment in Portland when it should have been in Costa Rica? Either lost in the fall that killed her mother or returned with her ashes.

Emma stood in the closet holding the jewelry box, her mind trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

Maybe her mom had changed her mind at the last minute and decided not to bring the jewelry after all.

Maybe she had been worried about it getting lost or stolen from the hotel room.

Maybe this made perfect sense and Emma was just looking for problems because she was angry at the universe for taking her mother.

But something felt wrong in a way Emma couldn’t articulate.

A feeling in her gut that told her this wasn’t right.

She brought the jewelry box to Jennifer, interrupting her aunt who was in the kitchen preparing lunch.

Aunt Jennifer, Emma said, her voice small and uncertain.

Look what I found in Derek’s closet.

Jennifer looked at the jewelry box, recognized it immediately as Rachel’s, remembered seeing it on Rachel’s dresser for years.

She opened it and saw all the pieces Emma had already inventoried, all the jewelry Rachel should have had with her in Costa Rica.

Jennifer felt something cold and uncomfortable settle in her stomach.

a feeling that made her pause in the middle of making sandwiches.

A sensation she had learned over years of parenting to never ignore.

She called Derek, who was at his apartment handling his own arrangements, packing up his life to prepare for whatever came next.

“Derek,” Jennifer said, trying to keep her voice neutral and friendly.

“I have a question about Rachel’s jewelry.

Emma found her jewelry box in your closet and all her important pieces are in it.

I thought Rachel took most of her jewelry to Costa Rica.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

So brief that Jennifer might have imagined it before Derek responded smoothly and confidently.

Oh, that he said, his voice carrying a tone of slight amusement like Jennifer was worrying about nothing.

Rachel actually decided not to bring most of her jewelry at the last minute.

She was worried about losing it or having it stolen from the hotel room.

You know how she was about those pieces, especially her grandmother’s ring.

She didn’t want to risk anything happening to them.

The explanation made sense.

Rachel had been careful with her jewelry, especially the pieces with sentimental value.

She had been known to change her mind about what to bring on trips.

overthinking and repacking multiple times.

Jennifer wanted to believe Derek’s explanation, wanted everything to make sense, wanted Rachel’s death to be just a horrible accident and nothing more sinister.

But then, Jennifer noticed something when Derek came over later that afternoon to drop off more of Rachel’s belongings that he had finished sorting.

He was wearing a chain around his neck that Jennifer had never seen before.

A thin gold chain that caught the light when he moved.

It was visible above the collar of his dark shirt, resting against his throat.

Jennifer asked casually to see it, trying to keep her tone light and curious rather than suspicious.

Derek hesitated for just a fraction of a second, a pause so brief that Jennifer might not have noticed if she hadn’t been paying close attention.

Then he pulled the chain out from under his shirt.

Hanging from it was a ring.

Not just any ring.

Rachel’s grandmother’s emerald ring.

The one that should have been in the jewelry box in the closet.

The one Emma had found less than 4 hours ago.

Jennifer stared at the ring, her mind refusing to process what she was seeing.

“Derek,” she said slowly.

“Why are you wearing Rachel’s emerald ring? the ring that’s supposed to be in the jewelry box.

Derek’s explanation came quickly, practiced, and smooth.

“I found this ring in my suitcase after returning from Costa Rica,” he said, tucking the chain back under his shirt.

Rachel must have packed it at the last minute without telling me.

“I know she decided not to bring most of her jewelry, but I guess she changed her mind about this one piece.

I’ve been wearing it to feel close to her.

Grief makes you do strange things.

I hope it’s not inappropriate.

I just miss her so much.

But Jennifer noticed something else when Derek moved to tuck the chain away.

Something she saw only because she was now looking for inconsistencies instead of accepting everything at face value.

Derek was wearing another ring on his pinky finger, a plain gold band that looked familiar in a way that made Jennifer’s heart start pounding.

She asked to see his hand, reaching out before Derek could refuse or hide it.

The ring on his pinky finger was engraved on the inside with initials and a date.

MLM plus RLM 6 to 15 2002.

Michael Lewis Morrison and Rachel Lynn Morrison.

Their wedding date.

It was Rachel’s wedding band from her marriage to Michael, Emma’s father.

Derek was wearing Rachel’s dead husband’s wedding ring on his pinky finger like it was his own.

Jennifer pulled her hand back like she had been burned.

“Why?” she asked, her voice shaking now.

“Why would you wear Rachel’s wedding ring from Michael? Why would you wear a ring from her first marriage?” Derek’s friendly expression faltered for the first time since Jennifer had known him.

He became slightly defensive, his jaw tightening, his eyes hardening.

He said grief made people do strange things, that he just wanted to feel connected to Rachel in any way possible, that he was wearing jewelry that reminded him of her because it brought him comfort in a dark time.

He asked why Jennifer was questioning him when they should be supporting each other through this tragedy when they both loved Rachel and both missed her and should be united in grief rather than interrogating each other.

But Jennifer couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

She asked to see Rachel’s death certificate.

Derek said it was with his lawyer being processed with other documents.

She asked for contact information for the Costa Rican authorities who had handled Rachel’s case.

Derek said he had lost the paperwork in his grief, but would find it and send it to her.

She asked if he had any photos from the honeymoon after the first 2 days, any documentation of where they had gone or what they had done.

Derek said his phone had been damaged during the hiking accident when he tried to climb down to reach Rachel and he had lost all the photos he had taken.

Every answer raised more questions.

Every explanation felt slightly off.

Reasonable enough to be plausible, but strange enough to create doubt.

Jennifer made a decision that night after Derek left.

She would verify the story herself.

She contacted the American Embassy in Costa Rica through their website and asked for information about Rachel Morrison’s death, providing Rachel’s full name, birth date, and approximate date of death.

The embassy responded within 2 days.

They had no record of an American citizen named Rachel Morrison dying in Costa Rica in April 2019.

They had no record of any American citizen dying in Manuel Antonio National Park during that time period.

They suggested Jennifer contact local police in Manuel Antonio for more information providing contact details.

Jennifer contacted the Manuel Antonio Police Department through an email address provided by the embassy using Google Translate to write her message in Spanish.

She asked about hiking accidents in the national park, providing Rachel’s name and the approximate date Derek had given for her death.

The police responded in English, saying they had no record of any tourist death in the national park in April 2019, that all accidents resulting in death or serious injury were thoroughly documented and investigated, that they would certainly have records if such an incident had occurred.

Jennifer’s world shifted in that moment, the ground becoming unstable beneath her feet.

If Rachel hadn’t died in a hiking accident in Manuel Antonio National Park, then where had she died? How had she died? And why would Derek lie about it? Jennifer sat at her kitchen table with these questions circling in her mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

She thought about Derek wearing Rachel’s jewelry, about his smooth explanations that made sense individually, but created a disturbing pattern when viewed together, about how quickly he had returned from Costa Rica with ashes and a death certificate, about how he had handled everything without consulting Rachel’s family or giving them a chance to be involved in the process.

Jennifer picked up her phone and called the Portland Police Department.

She asked to speak to someone about a possible murder.

She was transferred to Detective Lisa Chen in the homicide division.

Detective Chen listened while Jennifer explained everything.

Rachel’s honeymoon in Costa Rica.

Derek’s call reporting her death.

The jewelry that should have been in Costa Rica but was in Portland.

Derek wearing Rachel’s rings.

the lack of any record of Rachel’s death with either the American embassy or Costa Rican authorities.

Detective Chen asked careful questions, took detailed notes, and told Jennifer she had done the right thing by calling.

She said the police would investigate, that Jennifer should not confront Derek with her suspicions, that she should act normally while they looked into the situation.

The Portland police contacted the FBI, who had jurisdiction over crimes involving American citizens abroad.

The FBI contacted Interpol, who coordinated with Costa Rican authorities.

Within 72 hours, an international investigation was underway.

What they discovered would lead to one of the most extensive serial killer investigations in recent history.

Connecting cases across multiple states and spanning 15 years of systematic murder for profit, Costa Rican police, working with guidance from FBI agents, began reviewing security camera footage from the area where Derek said he and Rachel had stayed.

They found footage from a camera at a gas station showing Derek Morrison checking into Vista Del Pacificico Resort on April 22nd with a woman matching Rachel’s description.

They found footage from April 23rd showing Derek and Rachel leaving the resort together in the late evening.

But they found no footage of either of them returning that night.

Instead, they found footage from April 24th showing Derek returning to the resort alone in the early morning hours.

Around 400 am carrying what appeared to be a large duffel bag, he checked out of the resort on April 25th, 3 days early, declining housekeeping service for the days he had been there.

Security footage from the restaurant where Derek and Rachel had dinner on the night of April 24th showed them arriving around 700 pm, eating dinner, and leaving around 900 pm, walking away from the restaurant toward a residential area.

A private security camera on a nearby house captured footage that would prove crucial to the investigation.

At 9:37 pm on April 24th, the camera showed Derek Morrison carrying an unconscious woman positively identified as Rachel from her distinctive blue sundress and physical characteristics to a vehicle parked on the street.

The vehicle was a white Toyota RAV 4, matching the rental car Derek had obtained at the airport.

Derek placed Rachel in the back seat of the vehicle, covering her with what appeared to be a blanket, and drove away.

Costa Rican police, with assistance from FBI forensic teams, tracked the vehicle’s movements using traffic cameras and gas station footage.

The RAV 4 drove approximately 2 hours from Manuel Antonio to a remote area in the mountains far from tourist destinations or populated areas.

Police searched the area and found evidence of recent burial and exumation at a location matching soil samples found in the vehicle when it was later recovered from the rental company.

DNA testing on soil samples and trace evidence confirmed that Rachel Morrison had been buried in a shallow grave in this remote location while still alive but unconscious from the seditive Derek had injected her with.

She had suffocated to death underground, unable to wake or call for help, her body shutting down as carbon dioxide levels in the makeshift grave exceeded what a human can survive.

The forensic evidence suggested that Derek had returned to the site approximately 24 hours later on the evening of April 25th to exume Rachel’s body.

He had then transported the remains to an even more remote location where he used a portable cremation device, the kind that can be purchased online for thousands of dollars and is marketed for agricultural use or for people who want to cremate pets.

He cremated Rachel’s body over the course of several hours, reducing her remains to ash and bone fragments that he then placed in a wooden urn purchased from a funeral supply website.

He created a fake death certificate using templates available online, adding official looking stamps he had custom made from a printing company.

He returned to Portland with Rachel’s ashes and the fake death certificate, presenting himself as a grieving widowerower while actually being Rachel’s murderer.

But this was only the beginning of what investigators would learn about Derek Morrison, whose real name they soon discovered was Alan Jeffrey Parker, age 52, born in Oakland, California, and wanted in connection with at least six other suspicious deaths of women across multiple states dating back 15 years.

When FBI agents executed a search warrant on Derek Morrison’s apartment in Portland on May 3rd, 2019, they found evidence that would break the case wide open and reveal the true scope of Alan Parker’s crimes in a storage unit rented under one of several fake names he used.

Agents found six additional wooden urns, each containing cremated human remains.

They found six driver’s licenses belonging to six different women, all between ages 30 and 45, all from different states.

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