Part 3: My Neighbor Knew Something Was Wrong
After copying the files and photographing every page of Dererick’s notebook, I carefully returned everything to its original place. I couldn’t risk giving him any reason to suspect that I had uncovered his secret, but I also knew I was far beyond the point where I could handle this alone.
My first call was to my sister, Clare. She was working an overnight shift at the hospital, so the call went directly to voicemail.
“It’s an emergency. Call me as soon as you can.”
While I waited, I thought about our elderly neighbor, Mr. Peterson. He spent countless hours sitting on his front porch, and if Dererick had really been leaving the house at two or three in the morning for months, there was a good chance Mr. Peterson had seen something.
It was almost five in the morning, but a light was still glowing in his kitchen. I crossed the street and knocked, and the moment he opened the door in his bathrobe, his expression changed when he saw my face.
“Anna, dear, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
We sat at his kitchen table while I struggled to steady my hands. I didn’t tell him everything immediately because I first needed to know whether what he had observed matched what I had discovered.
“Mr. Peterson, I need to ask you something. Have you noticed anything strange at our house at night? Anything unusual with Dererick?”
His expression became serious.
“Anna, I’ve been wondering when you were going to ask me that.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Peterson explained that for months he had seen Dererick leaving our house at two or three in the morning. Even more troubling, unfamiliar cars sometimes parked farther down the street before people got out and approached our house on foot after dark.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Apparently, Dererick had already prepared an explanation. He told Mr. Peterson that I suffered from serious sleeping problems and took powerful medication, claiming he occasionally needed to leave during the night for medical reasons or emergency appointments.
“He asked me not to mention it to you. He said you were embarrassed.”
Hearing that made me feel physically sick. Dererick hadn’t simply hidden his actions from me; he had created an entire cover story in advance so anyone who noticed something suspicious would have a believable explanation.
Fortunately, Mr. Peterson had never completely trusted it. He told me I had always seemed perfectly healthy, and the strangers arriving at unusual hours certainly hadn’t looked like doctors or medical professionals.
I showed him photographs of several pages from Dererick’s notebook. As he read through the entries, the color slowly drained from his face.
“Dear God, Anna, we need to call the police right now.”
We contacted 911, but the dispatcher initially treated my report cautiously, apparently assuming it was a complicated domestic dispute. They promised to send an officer when one became available, but Mr. Peterson immediately shook his head.
“Dererick could come back at any time.”
Then my phone rang.
It was Clare.
“Anna, I got your message. What’s going on?”
I told her everything, beginning with the tea and continuing through the hidden camera, the photographs, the other women, and the disturbing files on Dererick’s laptop. Clare remained completely silent until I finished.
“I’m coming over right now. And I’m bringing someone with me.”
About an hour later, Clare arrived with Detective Martinez, an investigator she knew through the hospital who had experience handling complex cases. I handed Martinez the flash drive, and after she reviewed only a portion of the evidence, her entire demeanor changed.
“This is much bigger than just what he was doing to you. Based on what you’ve found, he’s been running a criminal enterprise for years.”
Martinez immediately contacted additional officers and investigators. Within hours, they began identifying people in multiple states who appeared connected to Dererick’s operation.
But there was one serious problem.
Dererick was still free.
Worse, investigators discovered that his supposed three-day Chicago trip was ending much sooner than he had told me. He was expected back home that same evening.
Detective Martinez decided they couldn’t risk giving him time to disappear.
They were going to let my husband walk straight back into our house.
And this time, I would be waiting for him.
