Tom Farmer - A Murder in Wellesley. The Inside Story of an Ivy-League Doctors Double Life, His Slain Wife, and the...

a MURDER
in WELLESLEY

THE INSIDE STORY OF AN IVY-LEAGUE DOCTORS DOUBLE LIFE, HIS SLAIN WIFE, AND THE TRIAL THAT GRIPPED THE NATION

Tom Farmer & Marty Foley

Northeastern University Press
Boston

Northeastern University Press

An imprint of University Press of New England

www.upne.com

2012 Thomas J. Farmer and Martin T. Foley

All rights reserved

For permission to reproduce any of the material in this book, contact Permissions, University Press of New England, One Court Street, Suite 250, Lebanon NH 03766; or visit www.upne.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Farmer, Tom (Thomas J.)

A murder in Wellesley: the inside story of an Ivy-League doctors double life, his slain wife, and the trial that gripped the nation / Tom Farmer and Marty Foley.

p.cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-1-55553-791-3 (cloth: alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-55553-797-5 (ebook: alk. paper)

1. Greineder, Mabel, d. 1999. 2. Greineder, Dirk. 3. MurderMassachusettsWellesleyCase studies. 4. MurderInvestigationMassachusettsWellesleyCase studies. 5. Trials (Murder)MassachusettsNorfolk County. I. Foley, Marty (Martin T.). II. Title.

HV6534.W45F37 2012

364.1523092dc232012006730

FOR MAY GREINEDER

AND ALL VICTIMS

OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

1 Dirks van parked

2 Storm drain: left glove found

3 Traffic circle

4 May Greineder crime scene

5 Sand pit

6 Pine tree forest

7 Knife, hammer, right glove found in beach access road storm drain

NESTLED IN THE MIDDLE OF NEW ENGLAND is the affluent community of Wellesley, Massachusetts, a prosperous town of twenty-six thousand residents where the quality of life embodies the best of what the six-state region has to offer. Located just thirteen miles west of Boston, it is home for many of the states captains of industry and its professional elite.

Dirk and Mabel May Greineder embodied all the desirable qualities of a typical Wellesley family. Highly respected medical professionals he a renowned allergist and asthma researcher and she a nurse they had raised three accomplished children, Kirsten, Britt, and Colin, who like their father had all graduated from Yale University, with Kirsten and Colin embarking on medical careers of their own. Now empty-nesters, Dirk and May were basking in the recent news that Kirsten had become engaged.

Even though the clocks had been turned back an hour for Daylight Savings Time, and despite having been up late the previous night, the couple rose before sunrise the Sunday morning of October 31, 1999, as was their usual practice. Eating breakfast in their modest split-level home at 56 Cleveland Road, Dirk and May were looking forward to getting out of the house on what was emerging as a glorious fall day. Weekend mornings at the Greineder home were reserved for walks with their German shepherds, Wolf and Zephyr, at nearby Morses Pond, although in recent months their male dogs aggressive behavior had prevented them from bringing him to the expansive public recreation area. Only the smaller female, Zephyr, was now allowed to romp through the ponds wooded trails and swim at its beach.

With bright sun and unusually warm weather stretching into the seventies, the only thing marring the perfect Indian summer day were wind gusts of thirty-two miles an hour from the southwest. Still, for the last day of October, no one was complaining. Loading Zephyr into their silver Chrysler Town and Country minivan just before 8:30 A.M., Dr. Greineder backed out of his driveway and headed up Cleveland Road for the two-minute ride to Morses Pond.

In the summer, residents are allowed to drive down a winding access road and park in a sandy parking lot where a spacious beach beckons a thousand feet away. Surrounded by woods and a large open sandpit, the pond was used year-round by joggers and walkers, many like the Greineders finding the serene surroundings perfect for exercising their dogs.

After Labor Day, the town locked the steel barrier at the top of the access road, so after making a U-turn at the end of Turner Road just in front of the padlocked gate, Dr. Greineder backed the van into his regular off-season parking spot. After letting out Zephyr, Dirk and May slipped around the gate and strolled a short distance down the access road before veering right onto a trail in the woods the locals called the pine tree forest.

Across town at the Wellesley Police Department, dispatcher Shannon Parillo was almost an hour into her daylong shift, thankful she would be leaving at 4 P.M. before the annual Halloween nuisance calls started after sunset. The phones had been quiet that morning with many residents taking advantage of the extra hour to sleep or ease into their Sunday morning routines.

When a police line rang at 8:56 A.M., Parillo was not prepared for the hysterical, blubbering caller on the other end. After offering a friendly, Wellesley Police. This call is recorded, Parillo was greeted with rapid-fire, nasally pitched pleas for help from a male caller.

Help. Im at the pond. I need some, someone attacked my wife, trying to get the breathless caller sputtered as Parillo struggled to understand him.

Sir, where are you?

Im at, at the pond, at Morses Pond. Walking

At Morses Pond? Parillo asked, still confused by the man.

Walking the dog, someone attacked. I left her cause she hurt her back.

Okay, you just need to relax because I cant understand what youre saying, Parillo said soothingly.

Please, please, please send a car.

Okay, youre at Morses Pond?

Pond, yeah, the caller panted.

Whereabouts at the Pond? Whereabouts at the pond, Parillo shot back, trying to stop the callers rambling.

Im, Im outside my, my cars outside the gate.

Okay. Hold on one second, okay, Parillo instructed, now knowing where to send Patrolman Paul Fitzpatrick, whose patrol sector that morning included Morses Pond.

Wellesley Control to fourteen zero five, Parillo radioed to Fitzpatrick.

Oh my God, the caller gasped, interrupting Parillos dispatch.

What, what happened, she asked.

I, I, I, we were walking the dog, the caller answered.

Fourteen zero five, Fitzpatrick responded, Parillo now trying to maintain separate conversations.

She hurt her back, the caller said, his voice still hurried and high-pitched.

Is she injured?

I think shes dead, the caller replied excitedly. Im not sure. Im a doctor. I went back. I

Can you start over to Morses Pond, Parillo radioed Fitzpatrick, the caller stating simultaneously, She looks terrible.

For an unknown medical at this time, Parillo continued, now sending Fitzpatrick to the pond along with Wellesley firefighters and an ambulance.

The dog heard something. She went back, the caller continued.

Now able to focus on the caller, Parillo continued her effort to calm him. Okay. Just relax. Is this your, is this your, is this your daughter? Parillo said, trying to interrupt the man.

My, my wife, the caller gasped.

Youre right at the entrance to Morses Pond? Parillo inquired, now slowing the callers breathless delivery.

Im right at the entrance where, where its blocked. And, and you got to have someone unlock the gate so the cars can get in, the caller replied, growing frantic again.

Okay, whats your name? Parillo asked.

Dirk, Dirk, Greineder. G-R-E-I-N-E-D-E-R, he responded, out of breath as he spelled his last name.

Okay. Listen. Listen to me, Parillo ordered sternly.

Yeah, the caller obeyed.

You need to relax, Parillo ordered, finally gaining control of the conversation. I have people on the way. But I cant understand you. So you need to just relax.