ROB WESTERFIELD had been nineteen years old when he murdered Andrea. Within eight months, he had been arrested, indicted, tried, convicted, and sent to prison. Though he had been out on bail prior to his conviction, I could not believe that during those eight months he would have risked killing someone else.
That meant the earlier crime had been committed between twenty-two and twenty-seven years ago. I had to cover those five or six years of his life to try to find a connection between him and a dead man whose first name was Phil.
It seems incredible to think that at thirteen or fourteen, Rob might have committed a murder. Or was it? He’d been only fourteen when he viciously assaulted Christopher Cassidy.
I reasoned that in those years he had been at Arbinger in Massachusetts for a year and a half, then spent six months at Bath Public School in England, two years in Carrington Academy in Maine, and a semester or so in Willow, a nondescript college near Buffalo. The Westerfields have a house in Vail and another in Palm Beach. It seemed to me that Rob must have visited those places. He also may have gone on class trips abroad.
That was a lot of territory to cover. I knew I needed help.
Marcus Longo had been a detective with the Westchester County District Attorney’s Office for twenty-five years. If anyone could track down the homicide of a man with only a first name as a clue, my money would be on him.
Fortunately, when I phoned Marcus, I reached him instead of an answering machine. As I suspected, he had flown to Colorado to pick up his wife. “We stayed a few extra days to look at some houses,” he explained. “I think we found one.”
His tone changed. “I was going to tell you all about the baby, but that can hold. I understand a lot of things have happened since I’ve been gone.”
“I would have to agree with that, Marcus. May I buy you lunch? I need some advice.”
“The advice is free. I buy the lunch.”
* * *
WE MET AT THE DEPOT RESTAURANT in Cold Spring. There, over club sandwiches and coffee, I filled him in on my eventful week.
He stopped me regularly with questions.
“Do you think the fire was set to scare you or actually to kill you?”
“I was more than scared; I wasn’t sure I’d get out alive.”
“All right. And you say the Oldham police think you set it?”
“Officer White has done everything but cuff me.”
“His cousin used to be in the D.A.’s office when I was there. He’s a judge now and a member of the same country club as Rob’s father. In fairness, he always thought Paulie Stroebel was guilty of Andrea’s murder. I bet he’s the one who has White riled up about you. That Website is mighty provocative to anyone who’s hand-in-glove with the Westerfields.”
“Then it’s a success.”
I looked around to make sure that I could not be overheard. “Marcus—”
“Ellie, do you realize your eyes keep darting around this place? Who or what are you looking for?”
I told him about Rob Westerfield showing up at the inn. “He didn’t get there until I’d almost finished dinner,” I said. “Someone called him and tipped him off. I’m sure of it.”
I knew that next Marcus would either warn me to be careful or ask me to stop putting inflammatory material on the Website. I didn’t give him the chance.
“Marcus, I received a call from someone who was in prison with Rob.” I told him about the deal I had made to buy information and then about the phone call last night.
He listened quietly, his eyes searching my face.
He heard me out, then asked, “You believe this guy, don’t you?”
“Marcus, I knew I might be suckered into losing five thousand dollars. But this is different. This man was in fear of his life. He wanted me to know about Phil because he wanted revenge on Westerfield.”
“You say he referred to the sign you were holding up outside the prison?”
“Yes.”
“You’re assuming he was a convict, so that means he probably was released that day. You were only there once, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Ellie, that guy could also be a prison employee who was entering or leaving the prison while you were standing outside. Money buys favors from some guards as well as from other prisoners.”
I hadn’t thought about that. “I was hoping that you could get a list of the prisoners who were discharged the day after Westerfield. Then you could see if anything happened to any one of them.”
“I can do that. Ellie, you realize this also could be some nut playing games.”
“I know that, but I don’t think so.” I opened my pocketbook. “I’ve made a list of the schools Rob West-erfield attended, both here and in England, and the places where his family has homes. There are databases listing unsolved homicides that took place between twenty-two and twenty-seven years ago, aren’t there?”
“Of course.”
“Westchester County has one?”
“Yes.”
“Can you access it, or get someone else to do it for you?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Then it shouldn’t be too hard to learn if there’s a victim whose name is Phil?”
“No, it shouldn’t.”
“How about checking an unsolved crimes database in the areas around the schools and homes where Westerfield spent time?”
He looked at the list. “Massachusetts, Maine, Florida, Colorado, New York, England.” He whistled. “That’s a lot of territory. I’ll see what I can do.”
“One more thing. Knowing the way Rob Westerfield operates, is there a database for solved crimes that would list Phil as the victim and someone claiming innocence as serving time for it?”
“Ellie, nine out of ten people convicted at trial and behind bars claim somebody else did it. Let’s start with unsolved homicides and see where we go.”
“Tomorrow I’m going to put Christopher Cassidy’s story about Rob on the Website. No one would question Cassidy’s integrity, so his account should carry some weight. I never did get up to Carrington Academy. I’ll see if I can make an appointment there for Monday or Tuesday.”
“Check the student roster for the years Westerfield was there,” Marcus said as he signaled for the check.
“I’ve thought of that. One of the schools might have had a student named Phil who tangled with Westerfield.”
“That opens the territory,” Marcus warned. “The students in prep school come from all over the country. Westerfield could have followed one of them home to settle a grudge.”
“ ‘I beat Phil to death, and it felt good.’ ”
Who were the people who loved Phil? I wondered. Were they still grieving? Of course they were.
The waitress was placing the tab in front of Marcus. I waited until she was gone before I said, “I can call my connection at Arbinger. He’s been pretty helpful. When I go to Carrington and Willow College, I’ll ask about students from Westerfield’s time. Philip isn’t that common a name.”
“Ellie, you’ve told me you believe Rob Westerfield was tipped off that you were at dinner the other night?”
“Yes.”
“You told me that your informant claimed to be in fear of his life?”
“Yes.”
“Ellie, Rob Westerfield is worried your Website could influence his grandmother to leave her money to charity. Now he may be terrified that you could uncover another crime that might send him back to prison. Don’t you realize how precarious your situation is?”
“I honestly do, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Damn it, Ellie, yes you can! Your father was a state trooper. He’s retired. You could live in his house. He could be your bodyguard. Trust me, you need one. And something else: If that guy’s story is on the level, helping to put Westerfield back in prison would help your father have closure, too. I don’t think you understand how tough this has been on him.”
“He’s been in touch with you?”
“Yes, he has.”
“Marcus, you mean well,” I said as we stood up, “but I don’t think you understand something. My father got his closure when he let us go and never lifted a finger to bring us back. My mother needed and expected him to do that, but he did nothing. Next time he calls, tell him to watch his son play basketball and leave me alone.”
Marcus gave me a hug as we separated in the parking lot. “I’ll call you as soon as I start getting answers,” he promised.
I drove back to the inn. Mrs. Willis was at the desk. “Your brother is waiting for you in the sunroom,” she said.