The Night Before - Wendy Walker Page 0,87

spread across the table. Rosie cradled a cup of stale coffee in her hands, trying to pull together thoughts amid the exhaustion and emotional turmoil.

“Let’s go back to the very beginning,” Pearson said. Her voice was calm and soothing, unlike earlier when she was screaming at Rosie in the open room. Rosie felt like an idiot for going after that man, Edward Rittle, who wasn’t even with Laura Thursday night. But then she reminded herself of the other women he had lied to and used, and wished she’d gotten in at least one sucker punch. Laura would have done it. She would have leveled him and he would have deserved it.

At least now his wife knew. And his employer. The women he hurt got some payback for the pain he caused them.

“Okay,” Rosie said. “The beginning.”

“Start when she told you about the date.”

Rosie remembered it clearly. Laura had come downstairs from the attic, where she’d been working. She said she’d gone on a website, findlove, to look for older, divorced men. Men who had a proven track record for commitment. Men who were eager to settle down, and maybe one who already had his own children.

“She thought that would be perfect—a man with children who only came to visit every other weekend—”

Conway interrupted her. “Doesn’t she like children?”

“She loves my child. Mason—her nephew. But we had a complicated childhood. Our father left when we were barely teenagers. So she’s never been sure about wanting kids.”

“Okay—so she said she found one. Did she tell you his screen name?” Pearson asked.

Rosie shook her head. “No. But she described him. And that description sounds a lot like Edward Rittle, but I guess now that doesn’t mean much. All she really said was that he had a full head of brown hair, tall, in good shape. Handsome face. God, it could be a lot of men, now that I think about it. It sounded specific at the time, but it wasn’t really.”

“What about a picture? Didn’t you ask to see it?” Pearson had obviously been down this road with other women.

“No, honestly. She only had the site on her laptop upstairs, and I didn’t want to encourage it. I didn’t think she should start dating so soon. She’d just been back five weeks after leaving her entire life in New York. And it was over a breakup with a man. It seemed pretty extreme to me.”

Rosie’s cheeks started to burn. She had not told them about Laura’s breakup in New York. Shit. What if they asked? Would she have to tell them he was her therapist? That he was married and had children, and now—dead?

But Conway, mercifully, pushed ahead. “Did she say where he lived, what he did for work, anything more specific?”

“Only what I’ve told you—that he said his name was Jonathan Fields. That he worked for a hedge fund. Lived in Branston. Drove a black BMW. That all fits, right? With Jonathan Fielding? His company phone on Laura’s records—Klayburn Capital—is a hedge fund. And the car—you said you got a license plate number?”

“In Massachusetts,” Pearson said now. “A BMW. He doesn’t have an address here in Branston. But the company said he was living here now to open a new office.”

“So he lied to her—that’s something, right? He was lying. And if she found out…” Rosie paused then and looked at their faces. Conway’s was blank, but Pearson …

“You’re afraid she might have turned violent. That’s what this has been about all along,” she said. “Because of what happened eleven years ago.”

Rosie looked away then. Still, she defended her sister the way she always had, and the way she always would.

“Laura didn’t kill that boy. It was a homeless man with mental health problems. He lived in those woods for years. He used to chase us, dress up like a vampire. They found him in the car.…”

Conway then: “We’re not here to rehash that crime, Mrs. Ferro.”

Rosie stopped talking, though she didn’t believe him. Not entirely. That crime would never go away. She thought about the notes—more things she hadn’t shared with them. Maybe it was time. Gabe had them, didn’t he? She’d given them to him at the diner? So many questions, but her mind was shutting down.

“The night of the date, she took your car. The minivan, which you later found on Richmond Street with two parking tickets. One at seven forty-five p.m. and one at ten a.m. Correct?” Conway asked.

Rosie nodded.

“And then you went to the harbor with photos