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By Root 183 0

with the Commonwealth’s attorney but that I and my parents had turned down this option in the presence of Dean Canevari. It also stated that all options had been offered to me and my family and that I refused them and was referred to counseling. The pages dropped to the floor as I sat in shock, looking at this document of lies—the lies of scared student witnesses (or, now I thought, possible perpetrators?) and of the university, trying to make this incident look resolved. (Later, interviewed by Worrell at her home in Texas, Dean Todd said she had written this report, although her name was nowhere on it. Sadly, Dean Todd passed away from pancreatic cancer before the trial, and she defended the university’s handling of the case to the end.) Since this document was the only official report from the time of the incident, the police and the attorneys clearly had a lot more work to do.

Worrell’s new information came through Beebe’s attorneys, and had been obtained by their team’s private investigator. Their team offered the investigator’s file to me in full for $30,000. It was a hefty price tag, and Mike and I were more than a little concerned that money could even buy such information; our own investigators were public servants, tied to bureaucratic purse strings. And who knew what was in the file? There was no guarantee that it was the kind of information we needed. I had to trust my own team to find the truth. Still, after the police had investigated all of the people I could remember from the party, the dorm, and the fraternity roster, they didn’t have much to go on. Few people stepped forward to volunteer information, and many refused to cooperate with the police. Without a subpoena, no one can be forced to answer police questions. I’d like to think that if I ever had information about a crime, I would willingly share it. In this case, however, we were dealing with a tight-knit fraternity, and even all these years later, their bonds were ironclad. Besides, many were now prominent members of their communities and didn’t want to touch this case. They maintained their silence.

After the bombshell about the gang rape, Worrell flew up to meet with me and prepare me for trial (scheduled for late November), a meeting we had planned even before this development. It was clear now that I had holes in my memory, which can be the kiss of death in the prosecution of a rapist, even one who has confessed. We would need to change our strategy as it related to my testimony.

When Worrell arrived, I was thrilled to see him and was burning with questions. We lunched at a restaurant two blocks from my home, taking a booth in the back, with both our notes spread on the table. He began to unravel the discoveries of the months since the preliminary hearing, based on the witness interviews.

The first was Hud Millard. Not surprisingly, I was very interested to hear his version of that night’s events, although I was worried he would not remember them clearly, as he had been pretty drunk. Hud was now a pediatrician. He said he remembered working the door that night, remembered me and Jim arriving at the party. But he claimed to have left the party at eleven thirty P.M. and recalled nothing more. It was certainly curious. This was a man who was carried to a room, deposited there, and padlocked inside—presumably because the other brothers suspected he would intervene to help me. Perhaps he was embarrassed to admit that his brothers had done this to him. In any case, it appeared he had no interest in helping me now.

We had also wondered what had become of Beebe’s roommate, Matt Westfall. Beebe had explained in his e-mail that what he did to me “he did upon Matt’s bed” and that Westfall had been away for the weekend. Detectives Nick Rudman and Bob Sclafani had met with Westfall on a bench in New York’s Central Park. He was disdainful toward them, and supportive of Beebe. He spoke of Beebe’s “broken childhood.” He didn’t want to get involved, he said, as he was a “businessman of the utmost standing.” Surely, Beebe would have had to explain to his roommate