Chapter 6
Maher climbed behind the wheel of Alice’s brand-new Ivory-colored 1976 Chevrolet Malibu Classic. Beth slid into the passenger seat. The forty-five-minute trip to Rikers Island was mostly silent. Then again, what was there to say? Robert Eschert, killer for hire, wanted to have a conversation with Kevin Maher, who already had seen more trouble than he ever expected.
Maher stared out the window and imagined what the meeting would be like.
ESCHERT: You fucked my wife.
MAHER: No, I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.
ESCHERT: You thought about doing it, didn’t you?
MAHER: Okay. Maybe I thought about it.
ESCHERT: You’re a dead man, kid. A dead man.
“Kevin?” Beth said. “Are you all right?”
Maher snapped back to reality. “Yeah, I am fine.” I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.
Maher parked the Malibu in a parking lot near Rikers and the two of them boarded a bus that carried them across the bridge to the prison island. They walked into the Rikers reception area, a large one-story building with hundreds of plastic seats bolted to the concrete floor. It looked much like a bus depot, which, in actuality, it was. This was where visitors boarded the prison bus, which wended it’s way around the island’s many structures. There were the cell blocks, of course. Administration buildings. Laundry facilities. Hospitals. Indeed, Rikers Island was a self-contained community.
The guard issued Maher his pass and instructed him to wait outside for the prison bus. Since prisoners were allowed only one visitor at a time, Maher would be making the trip by himself while Beth waited for him at “reception.”
The prison bus arrived, and Maher considered not boarding it. But he did. A few minutes later he was walking into the Rikers Island hospital ward where Eschert was having some tests. Maher was lead to the visitors’ area, which consisted of five cubicles divided by glass. He took a seat in one of the cubicles, staring at the empty chair across from him. Then Robert Eschert appeared, took a seat, and peered through the glass at Maher. His eyes were cold and emotionless.
“So you’re Kevin,” Eschert said evenly, his icy glaze moving slowly over Maher’s body.
Maher started to say something. But he couldn’t speak.
Eschert continued, measuring his words. “Beth has told me quite a lot about you. And every time I call the house and talk to Bobby, he’s always saying ‘Kevin and I did this, Kevin and I did that.’”
Maher slumped a little. He not only thinks I’ve stolen his wife, he thinks I’ve stolen his kid.
“Bobby is a great kid,” Maher finally said.
“Yeah,” Eschert said with a smile.
Eschert looked away for a long moment, then snapped back toward Maher.
“I’m in jail,” Eschert said, stating the obvious. “And you know the worst thing – the worst thing – that can happen to a man in jail?”
Maher knew the answer but wasn’t about to say it. He waited for Eschert to speak.
“Somebody fucking his wife,” Eschert finally said with a sneer.
Maher’s heart started to pound. Eschert is going to have me killed.
“Yeah,” Maher blurted out, “I know what you mean. I was in jail once and found out somebody was fucking my girlfriend.”
Maher laughed nervously. Eschert didn’t seem amused.
“What do you think of Beth?” Eschert asked.
Maher chose his words very carefully. “She’s very nice.”
“You think she is attractive?” Eschert pressed.
Maher held his breath. What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to tell him that his wife is unattractive and piss him off? Or am I supposed to say his wife is attractive and have him put a fucking contract out on my life?
“Beth is a very attractive woman,” Maher said.
Eschert smiled. “Beth is a beautiful woman. And you know what else she is? She’s human, flesh and blood. She has desires.” Eschert leaned close to the glass. “She tells me she’s attracted to you. Are you attracted to her?”
Maher felt like he was being maneuvered into a confession. It reminded him of an interrogation by cops in which they would ask a series of questions that built on each other like a stack of bricks until they walled you in. Maher sat stone-faced. Eschert stared at him.
Eschert pressed. “Are you attracted to her or not?”
“Sure,” Maher said, his voice barely audible. “I’m attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be?”
Maher looked directly into Eschert’s eyes. This time he didn’t see the coldness, he saw fear.
“I love Beth,” Eschert said. “I don’t want her running around, falling in love with someone. I don’t want to lose her.”
Suddenly Maher felt sorry for Eschert. But the pity was fleeting. Maher reminded himself that the man on the other side of the glass was a murderer.
“Let me ask you a question,” Eschert said. “If you find her attractive, how come you never made a move?”
Maher relaxed a little. At least Eschert knew ne hadn’t slept with Beth.
“I don’t do that kind of thing,” Maher insisted. “I don’t mess with somebody else’s woman.”
Eschert smiled. “Beth thinks it’s because you’re afraid of me.”
Maher shrugged. There was no way to respond to that.
“They’ll never convict me on those murders,” Eschert stated with arrogance. “But I figure I still gotta do four years. That’s a long time for a woman like Beth to wait.”
Eschert’s gaze dropped to the floor. He grimaced. Then slowly raised his eyes. “Kevin. I want you to take care of Beth until I get out.”
Maher frowned. Four years? That’s a long time to ask someone to take care of your wife.
Eschert elaborated. “I want you to take of her needs. Her sexual needs.”
Maher gasped slightly. Had he heard correctly?
“You’re a young man,” Eschert explained. “You don’t want to get involved with a woman who has a kid. And Beth would never fall in love with someone like you.”
Maher felt vaguely insulted.
“I would be forever in your debt if you would do this for me until I get out,” Eschert said.
Maher studied Eschert. He’s asking me to fuck his wife. Sullivan and Doherty wanted me to fuck his wife. Hell, everybody wants me to fuck his wife.
“Okay,” Maher finally said. What else could he say?
“And take care of little Bobby for me, will you?”
“Don’t worry, Robert. I’ll take real good care of Bobby.”
The visit over, Maher stood and walked toward the elevator. Although it was strictly forbidden for inmates and visitors to come in contact, a guard inadvertently led Eschert into the hallway at the same time Maher entered the hallway. Maher and Eschert stood face to face. They shook hands. And Eschert was taken back to his cell.
Maher stepped off the bus and rejoined Beth in the reception area.
Beth smiled. “Everything okay?”
Maher shrugged. “I guess so.”
Maher and Beth took the city bus back across the bridge and climbed into the Malibu. Maher steered the car out of the parking lot and onto 21st Street in Queens. Beth watched him for a moment, then placed her hand on the inside of his leg. He glanced down at Beth’s hand and recalled the many trips the two of them had made in Beth’s Volkswagen Beetle. Whenever Beth drove him around, it seemed she was always shifting gears. And the entire time her had would slide along Maher’s leg. Maher had chalked it up to the cramped confines of the Volkswagen, nothing more than unavoidable contact due to close proximity. But now, as he stared at Beth’s delicate hand exploring the inside of his leg, he realized it had never been an accident.
Maher took Beth’s hand a lifted it from his thigh. He looked into her eyes, just for an instant, but long enough for the taxi to dart in front of the Malibu. There was a sudden crunching sound as the hood of the Malibu buckled and the yellow cab slid sideways. As Maher peered through the windshield at the cab – which now resembled a large, banana-colored accordion – several things flashed through his mind, not the least of which was the fact that he had no driver’s license and probably a hundred outstanding tickets. Maher’s instincts took over. He jammed his foot on the accelerator and took off. The severely damaged cab followed .Suddenly Maher was involved in another car chase. However, this chase was brief. Maher blasted over the 59th Street Bridge and onto the FDR Drive North, quickly losing the cab. He continued to drive north on the drive, cross the Third Avenue Bridge into the Bronx, and took the Major Deegan Expressway to 230th Street. Then he turned right onto Bailey Avenue, where he parked the Malibu and removed the license plates.
“We can’t just leave it here,” Beth protested as Maher led her down the street.
“We can’t wait for the cops either,” Maher countered.
Maher and Beth climbed into a taxi and headed for New Jersey.
“Alice has insurance,” Maher noted. “When we get back to Fair Lawn we’ll have Alice report the car stolen.”
Maher and Beth entered the kitchen, where Alice was reading a magazine. Maher dropped the license plates on the table.
“What’s this?” Alice asked.
“License plates,” Maher said.
“License plates? For what?”
“They used to be in your car,’ Maher answered.
Alice was freaked. “My car? Where is my car?”
Maher explained what happened.
“I just bought it,” Alice said with a moan.
“Don’t worry,” Maher assured her.
“By tonight the car will be stripped. The insurance will declare it a total loss. And you’ll get a new car.”
Alice was too stunned to protest. “As long as you are sure.”
The patchwork clan that consisted of Maher, Beth, Bobby and Alice sat down for dinner. The gathering wasn’t exact Father Knows Best, but it had all the warmth of a traditional family. At about nine-thirty, Beth tucked Bobby in for the night. And at eleven, Alice went to bed. Then Maher and Beth ended the evening as they always did: They watched the news.
Until now, the nightly event was nothing more than what it appeared – two people sitting in front of a television. Maher would comment on a particular news story. Beth would offer her thoughts. But on this night, both Maher and Beth sat rigid, staring straight ahead. When the news ended, Beth stood.
“Good night, Kevin.”
“Good night, Beth.”
Beth turned to walk upstairs, leaving Maher sitting alone in the living room. It was quiet. The kind of quiet you could hear because it was so quiet. Then Maher heard the creaking of stairs and looked up. Beth was standing on the landing. She was holding a quilt loosely around her. And she was wearing nothing but a pair of panties.
“You coming to bed?” Beth asked.
Maher couldn’t speak. Nor could he move. He just sat there staring at Beth.
Beth continued down the stairs and walked up to Maher, taking his hand. “Come on Kevin, let’s go to bed.”
Maher stood and followed Beth up the stairs. When they reached the bed, she turned and allowed the blanket to drop to the floor. He took her in his arms and abandoned conscious thought, succumbing to the feeling. In a few moments it was over.
Minutes passed. Finally…
“Kevin?”
“Yes?”
“When did you first have feelings for me?”
“I guess that day at Green Haven when I saw you with that dopey blue bandana wrapped around your head.”
“It wasn’t a bandana, it was a scarf.”
“Whatever it was, that’s when I first felt something.”
Beth smiled. “Well I did notice that you kept dropping your eyes.”
“What about you? When did you first have feelings for me?”
“I supposed it was when I first saw you at Green Haven. But I really knew I had feelings for you when you took that blond bitch to the store.”
“What bitch? Who are you talking about?”
“Scofield’s sister,” Beth said.
Maher laughed. Beth pouted. “It wasn’t funny, Kevin. I was really pissed.”
“Yeah. You were.”
Maher and Beth locked eyes and then locked bodies. The long period of abstinence was over, and the pent-up desire would no longer be denied. All night long they alternately made love and talked. At dawn they drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by the sudden opening of a door and a bouncy little Bobby flinging himself onto the bed.
“Hi Mommy, Hi Kevin.”
Bobby curled up next to them, oblivious to the implications of discovering Maher in his mother’s bed.
The situation made Maher feel uneasy. He looked at Beth. There’s a person in there, Maher thought. A real person. So much of Maher’s life had seemed unreal. Then he looked at Bobby, and images played across Maher’s mind like a home movie. Little Bobby crawled around on the rug with his Hot Wheels. Little Bobby out in the yard in his hooded jacket. Little Bobby refusing to eat his dinner. Suddenly the uneasiness passed. And it felt like a family.
“You ever think about having a little brother or sister for Bobby?” Maher asked spontaneously.
“No!” Beth’s answer was both fast and final. “Childbirth hurts.”
Maher lay back and stared at the ceiling. I finally feel like starting a family, and the woman I am with says no.
The next few days were a blur of euphoria. Even Alice became caught up in the sunburst of emotion that brightened her house. But then – as quickly as a sudden squall can darken the sky – Brian Molese appeared at the door. He was home for a twenty-four-hour furlough.
“Alice!” Molese called out as he entered the house.
When she heard his voice, Alice rushed – sprinted as fast as an obese woman could- and greeted her husband with a bear hug. Molese stood limp, not returning her embrace. Alice stepped away and looked past him. Standing a few feet away was the man she had met on her last visit to the prison in Bedford Hills, Molese’s “new friend.” Roland Scofield.
The fact that Scofield had accompanied Molese home on the furlough was not, in itself, unusual. Prison buddies often spent furloughs together. But their behavior was unusual. They whispered constantly, engaged in frequent eye contact, and exhibited odd, girlish behavior toward each other.
At about 9:00 P.M., Molese and Scofield dressed for the evening and left the house. It was embarrassing to Alice. Her husband, whom she hasn’t seen for weeks, would rather go out for the evening with man that spend time with her.
“Good night,” Alice said at ten o’clock which was earlier than she normally went to bed. The pain was etched on her face, the humiliation clouding her eyes.
Maher and Beth went to bed around midnight. Maher was restless, unable to sleep. So he was awake when he heard the front door open at 3:00 A.M. He heard the sound of Molese’s voice and Scofield’s voice. They were drunk. Then Maher the sound of the sofa bed opening. And then he heard Alice’s heavy footsteps in the hall. And then Alice’s voice.
“Brian, aren’t you coming to bed?”
“I’m sleeping down here with Ron,” Molese said with a snarl.
“What?”
“I said,” Molese spewed, “I’m sleeping down here with Ron.”
Maher raised himself on one elbow. He heard Alice whimper. And then: “You get the fuck away from me!” Molese roared. “And stop that fucking sniveling, you fat bitch!”
The next thing Maher head was the sound of a fist smashing into flesh. A dull thud. And then another one.
Maher bounded from the bed and ran to the stairs. Molese had Alice by the hair and was slamming blow after blow into her face. Blood from flowing from Alice’s nose.
“Brian!” Maher screamed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Maher grabbed Molese and pulled him away from Alice.
“That fat whore!” Molese roared. He struggled to break free of Maher’s grasp. Maher tightened his grip.
Beth knelt and comforted the trembling Alice while Maher led Molese to the kitchen.
“I’m going to kill that fat fucking pig!” Molese said.
Maher frowned. “Why, Brian? What did Alice ever do to you?”
Maher left Molese and Scofield in the kitchen and went upstairs to the master bedroom, where Beth had taken Alice. Alice was shaking, whimpering. Beth rubbed Alice’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
Beth stepped into the hall with Maher and closed the door behind her.
“I’m getting Brian out of the house,” Maher said. “Cool him off a little.”
“This is so terrible,” Beth said, near tears herself.
Maher, Molese, and Scofield went to a nearby diner. Molese, his voice calm, said: “You gotta help me out, Kevin. You, too Ronnie. We gotta put Alice out of her misery. She’s a fat slob. All she does is smoke and eat.”
Maher looked at Scofield, hoping for an ally in reasoning with Molese. But Scofield say quietly, a smirk on his face.
This is sick, Maher thought as he studied the two of them. A pair of pretty boy smitten with each other. And one of them was a potential murderer.
“I am going to kill her,” Molese insisted. “You better believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you, Brian,” Maher said.
Molese smiled, seeming to gain some satisfaction from Maher’s response.
“Then help me kill her, Kevin.”
Maher grimaced. Yet another request from Molese to aid in the murder of his wife.
“I can’t do that, Brian.”
Molese glared at Maher for a long moment. Then he smiled.
“Let’s get something to eat, huh?”
The three of them at and then left the diner. Molese and Scofield dropped Maher off at Sanford Road.
“We’re going into the Village,” Molese said as Maher climbed out of the car.
The car screeched away, leaving Maher standing on the sidewalk. It was 6:00 A.M. Quiet. Dead quiet. The sky had an eerie grayish tint as the sun fought its way over the horizon. Maher stood there for several minutes before entering the house.
The following morning, Alice – her face swollen and discolored- shuffled around the kitchen.
“It’s my fault, you know,” Alice said. “If only I took better care of myself, Brian wouldn’t act like that.”
Maher sat silent as he listened to Alice make excuses for Molese. “I’m going on a diet,” Alice declared.
Alice left the kitchen. Maher went to the phone and called Doherty, explaining what had transpired the night before.
“He’s going to kill her, Sergeant Doherty,” Maher whispered into the receiver. “He really is. You’ve got to do something.”
But what could Doherty do? A husband threatens to kill his wife. So what? Happens every day.
“Sorry, Kevin,” Doherty told Maher.
“There’s no crime committed. There’s really nothing I can do.”
Maher hung up the receiver and was struck with one overriding thought: I’ve got to get out of this house before Molese really does kill Alice. Maher felt a pang of guilt. Am I being a coward? Can I let Alice die?
Then again, Alice couldn’t shake her pathetic obsession with Molese. She would never believe Molese would harm her, would never get an order of protection. So what could Maher do? What could Doherty do? What could anyone do?
On November 5, 1975, a Manhattan jury convicted Robert Eschert of the Hodge murder. Eschert was given a sentence of twenty-five years to life. His accomplice, John Hemmers, turned state’s evidence and received twenty-years to life. Beverly Hodge would serve fifteen years to life.
When Maher heard about Eschert’s conviction, he wondered what role the taped conversation between Eschert and Beverly Hodge had played in the verdict. Since ADA Sullivan had been under court order not to have any contact with Beth Eschert, the prosecution had opted not to enter the tape as evidence. It probably would have been rule inadmissible. Still, something had caused John Hemmers to have a sudden change of heart and confess. As far as Maher was concerned, the tape was the reason Hemmers caved in. It made Maher feel good to think he had helped put a killer away for life.
Beth’s reaction to her husband’s conviction was more emotional. She was stunned, then hysterical, then deeply depressed when the realization hit that her husband – the father of he child – would not leave prison for a long time, if ever.
“The truth, Beth,” Maher said as he walked with Beth down Sanford Road, “is that this guy is a fucking killer. You want this guy to come out and raise your kid?”
Beth didn’t respond. Maher placed his arms around her.
“You come and live with me, Beth, and we’ll see how it works out.”
Alice was heartbroken that Maher and Beth wanted to leave. Yet Alice, being Alice, was understanding. She asked only that they stay until she could find someone else to live with her. In short order, Alice found another woman to share the place – Marcia Ferrell, who had known Alice in college. Marcia’s husband had recently die and, since she wasn’t on speaking terms with her father, she needed a place for her and her three-year-old son, Harold, to live.
The search for an apartment was not easy. What could they afford? Maher had just lost his job. And Beth’s income consisted of welfare payments, small loans from Alice, and whatever cash her in-laws could spare each month. Thus both Maher and Beth began job hunting. Neither of them had the greatest resume. Beth’s previous experience ran the gamut from dental assistant to flight attendant at United Airlines. Maher’s employment history was, at best, spotty.
Beth was the first one to be successful. Aided by a head-hunter at an employment agency, she secured a job working in the circulation department of New York magazine. Her salary was $210 a week. Maher’s job, in which he would earn $180 a week, came courtesy of his uncle, Paddy Maher.
The history of the Maher family was nothing if colorful. In 1967 Paddy Maher was a middleweight fighter with three fights, two of them being knockouts. Paddy Maher happened to be in a tavern on night when a bar fight erupted and spilled out into the street. Three men began pummeling on man, and so Paddy came to the solo’s defense. Paddy threw a punch and knocking down one of the attackers. He threw another punch and knocked down the second attacker. Then he knelt to tend to the bloodied victim, and the third attacker went after Paddy. Paddy rose up and delivered a vicious uppercut. The attacker fell backward. Before the ambulance arrived, he was dead. Paddy panicked and fled to Fort Lauderdale, where he called and asked Kevin Maher’s father, Edward, to wire money via Western Union. The cops arrived before the money. Back in New York, a grand jury refused to issue an indictment. But as Maher would often say relating to that story about Uncle Paddy: “He was always fucked up over that.” Now Paddy Maher helped his nephew get a job as a laborer in the track department at Penn Central Railroad.
To avoid discovery that he was an ex-convict, Kevin Maher filled out the job application as, Edward Maher and gave a fake Social Security number that was, in part, his Zip code in the Bronx. While Maher knew they would eventually find out the Social Security number was bogus, he figured he would deal with the problem when it arose. For the moment, the fake number got him a job.
In January 1976 Maher and Beth found a nice apartment at a reasonable rent. In was in the Bronx, at 1634 Mayflower Avenue. One of the reasons Maher and Beth chose the Bronx, and Mayflower Avenue in particular, was the proximity to Robert Eschert’s parents, who lived ten blocks away. By living near the Escherts, little Bobby would have a change to see his grandparents on a regular basis. In addition, Maher and Beth would have a babysitter. Everything, it seemed, had worked out. However, there was something that bothered Maher a great deal. He was keeping a secret from Beth – that he aided in her husband’s conviction. Maher decided he had to tell her. If that ended the romance, so be it.
When Beth arrived home after work, she could tell that something was wrong. Maher took her into the living room and asked her to sit on the couch. He paced back and forth for a few moments and then sat next to her.
“Beth,” Maher began, “I have something to tell you.”
Maher stammered about knowing Doherty and what he owed Doherty and then launched into a diatribe about how Doherty always said: Do the right thing. Finally Maher got to the point.
“I helped the DA,” Maher said. “I helped the DA get the conviction on Robert.”
The words didn’t sink in right away. Beth half smiled. “What did you say?”
“I gave the DA some information that helped convict your husband.” Maher couldn’t bring himself to tell her he had copied the tape.
Bet sat stunned for several seconds. Then she began shaking her head no.
“Robert didn’t just kill Hodge,” Maher continued. “He’s suspected of at least fifteen contract killings.”
Beth became hysterical. Maher tried to console her. She pushed him away.
“You used me,” Bet said, sobbing.
Maher didn’t have a response. He watched Beth cry for what seemed like hours.
“I love you and you used me,” Beth said sniffling. “Every man I ever lobed has hurt me.”
Now Maher was the one who was stunned. They had never used the word “love”. In fact, they had danced around it like it was a profane thing to say. I have feelings for you, Beth might say. And Maher might answer back: I have feelings for you, too. But never love.
“I love you,” Beth said, no longer using the past tense.
Maher wrapped his arms around Beth, “I love you, too.”
Despite the unusual nature of the situation, Eschert’s parents – little Bobby’s grandparents – were fond of Kevin. If the Escherts harbored any resentment that Maher was living with the wife of their incarcerated son, they didn’t show it. Perhaps Eschert had explained to them that he had asked Maher to take care of Beth. Whatever the reason, the expanded family coexisted harmoniously and the Escherts treated Maher like an adopted son.
As the weeks fell away, Beths’ visits to Eschert dropped from three times a week to twice to once. Then she began missing a week here and there. Clearly, Beth was drawing away, distancing herself from her past, looking to the future.
But the future held some trepidation for Maher. Eschert had been given twenty-five years to life. As harsh as the sentence was, Maher was trouble by the fact that Eschert was sentenced on only one conviction. Although unlikely, Eschert might be successful in convincing a court that the sentence was “cruel and unusual”. In that case, he conceivably could be out in eight to nine years. Sure, eight years was a long time. But time can pass quickly, and Maher didn’t want his life to be thrown into chaos at some future date. The thought of Eschert walking out of prison represented a real threat for Maher. Often, he would stare off and watch the horror unfold in his mind.
Beth in the kitchen cooking dinner. Maher helped Bobby, now a teenager, with his homework. Suddenly a knock on the door. Maher answers it. He gasps. It’s Robert Eschert home from prison. “Thank you for looking out for Beth and Bobby,” Eschert says as he enters the apartment.
Bobby stands and runs to his father, embracing him.
“Hello, Dad,” Bobby says, sobbing.
Then Beth rushes from the kitchen and throws her arms around Eschert.
“I’ve missed you so much, Robert,” Beth says. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
Eschert then turns to Maher and says: “You can leave no Kevin.”
The scene made Maher sick, and he knew he had to find a way to prevent it. So he resolved to ask Beth to cooperate with Queens ADA Marty Bracken, who was about to take Eschert to trial for the two murders he committed in that borough. Indeed, two additional homicide convictions would ensure that Robert Eschert would never het out of prison.
Maher and Beth dropped Bobby at his grandparents’ apartment on their way to dinner at a local Irish pub. As Bobby hugged Beth, Maher felt a pang. I love that kid so much. How could something so good come from someone so evil?
One at the pub, Maher didn’t waste any time.
“You need to get your life in order, Beth. What are you going to be doing? Visiting jails the rest of your life?”
“He’s my husband,” Beth protested. “The father of my son.”
“That’s right,” Maher agreed. “And kids are impressionable. What happens if Robert gets out and teaches Bobby the tricks of his trade?”
A look of realization passed over Beth’s face.
Maher pressed. “Listen, this guy is a murderer. A fucking killer. He doesn’t care about human life. He’s a cold-blooded – “
But Beth was no longer listening. She was a mother. And her son’s wellbeing had been brought into question, placed in jeopardy.
“I’ll do it,” Beth interrupted Maher’s monologue.
The next day, Beth met for hours with Marty Bracken. While she didn’t have any specifics, she was quite helpful. Robert Eschert was convicted in late January 1976 of the two homicides in Queens. He was given two more life sentences.
Beth never again visited Robert Eschert in prison. Shortly after he was convicted in Queens, she filed for divorce.
With Eschert put away forever, Maher and Beth attempted to normalize a relationship that had begun in a most bizarre fashion. They tried to be just another couple making a life for themselves in New York City. Each morning, as they headed off to work, they would say hello to their neighbors. And the neighbors would smile and think: There goes Kevin and Beth , the nice young couple who live at 1634 Mayflower Avenue. No one could have guessed that on one brisk February morning, Maher was not going directly to his job. He was stopping off to see his parole officer, Brian Berg.
The meeting with Berg was routine. Indeed, Maher had all the right answers. Yes, I still have a job. No, I have not used drugs. Yes, I am still at the same address. But then, as the meeting wound to a close, Berg said: “Oh, by the way Kevin. A homicide detective wants to talk to you. Detective Louis DePasqaule.”
Maher jolted: “Why does he want to to talk to me?”
“It’s nothing about you, Kevin. It’s about a case he has been working on.”
Maher went directly to Doherty’s office.
“Sergeant Doherty,” Maher said, “some homicide detective wants to talk to me.”
Doherty smiled. “Yes, Kevin, I know all about it. Louis DePasquale. He called and asked if he could borrow you.”
“Borrow me? For what?”
“The Scofield case.”
Maher’s mind reeled. “Scofield? Ronald Scofield?”
“Yes,” Doherty said. “You’re a known associate of Ronald Scofield. DePasquale thought you might be able to help nail the bastard.”
Maher looked away for a moment, conjuring up the evening in Fair Lawn when Brian Molese and Ronald Scofield arrived on furlough from the prison in Bedford Hills. Maher winced as he replayed the events in his mind. Alice being beaten by Molese. Molese swearing he was going to kill her. But what did Scofield have to do with anything? He was Molese’s lover, that’s all. Then Maher put it all together. Oh, my God! I hope that son of a bitch Molese didn’t get Scofield to kill Alice. Maher turned slowly and looked at Doherty.
“Please tell me that Scofield didn’t kill Alice Molese.”
Doherty frowned: “Alice Molese? No, no. He didn’t kill Alice Molese.”
Maher was relieved. Doherty shuffled some papers on his desk.
“Scofield killed a prostitute in midtown.”
Maher slumped in his chair. He was not by nature superstitious. Yet he had always felt an evil presence swirling around the house in Fair Lawn. And now it seemed that the demons of 24 Sanford Road had been unleashed at last.
