A Murder in Wellesley: The Inside Story of an Ivy-League Doctor’s Double Life, His Slain Wife, and the Trial That Gripped the Nation

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6 tom farmer and marty foley you to keep an eye out for the ambulance and the police officer,” Parillo instructed. “All right. All right.” “When you see them, get them,” she added. “I’m waiting. I’m waiting. I’m waiting,” the doctor stammered. “Go back to your wife. See if she’s okay,” Parillo ordered before hanging up. 2 Trooper Marty Foley’s pager began shrieking at 9:20 a.m. The Massachusetts State Police detective had been up early Halloween morning for a meeting at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in Boston, where his pager was now telling him to call his department’s General Headquarters. A state trooper for seventeen years, Foley was a homicide detective in the office of Norfolk County District Attorney William R. Keating. Being on call that weekend, Foley had to respond to any unattended or suspicious deaths in the affluent county aligned southwest of Boston. The day before, he had been paged to two unattended deaths, but neither involved foul play. Now he was at the ME’s office to ensure the necessary toxicology screens were done on them. Afterward he would head to the DA’s office in Dedham to write both case reports. The silver-haired former University of Massachusetts–Boston linebacker had wanted to clear some time for his two teenage sons and a blissful afternoon of watching NFL football, but when he saw the familiar number for his GHQ on the pager he had a sinking feeling. As he pushed the numbers on his cell phone, something told him he wouldn’t be watching any football with his sons that day. The dispatcher at State Police headquarters confirmed it. Foley’s footballplaying boys, Tim and Dan, would be watching the games without him. He was needed in the town of Wellesley, the dispatcher told him; the local police were requesting he respond to Morses Pond. Foley jotted down some a murder in wellesley 7 directions, and with an entrance to the Massachusetts Turnpike right down the street from the ME’s office, he was quickly rolling west toward Wellesley. A seasoned trooper, Foley had investigated white-collar crime for eight years while assigned to the Massachusetts Attorney General, but he had been in Norfolk County for less than a year and had never worked with the Wellesley Police Department. So he was a bit unsure of what to expect as he checked his directions and zipped through the sparse Sunday morning traffic. Wellesley Detective Jill McDermott had reported for duty at 8 a.m. McDermott was the only detective on duty, but she expected a typically easy Sunday shift. Scheduled to work just a half day, she was thinking about a Halloween party she had been invited to after work as she lazily thumbed through the Boston Globe. The daughter of Lieutenant William McDermott, of the Brookline Police Department, McDermott had found herself following her dad’s career path almost by accident. Never aspiring to be a cop, she was a sophomore at Pine Manor College studying biology in 1994 when her father paid the $35 registration fee for her to take the Massachusetts Civil Service exam. When McDermott walked into Brookline High School the morning of the exam, she found the bedlam of hundreds of anxious police hopefuls, including her older brother Billy. McDermott “flew in, took the test and never thought about it again.” Eighteen months later, she was preparing to graduate with her biology degree and contemplating a career as a physical therapist when postcards arrived from the Brookline and Wellesley police departments offering jobs pending additional testing. McDermott talked it over with her father and decided on a career change. She sailed through the added qualifying requirements before choosing Wellesley. As a rookie uniformed officer, McDermott was assigned to the four-to-midnight shift, but less than two years later, at the age of twenty-five, she made detective. With her radio on to monitor the patrol units on the street, McDermott had flipped through the bulky Sunday paper in rare seclusion. She hadn’t thought much of Shannon Parillo’s dispatch to Morses Pond until she heard an update that a woman might not be breathing. If photographs had to be taken or other specialized services provided, it would be McDermott’s 8 tom farmer and marty foley responsibility. She shuffled the newspaper aside and started to gather...