Free Outfoxed: An Andy Carpenter Mystery by David Rosenfelt Page A

been Gerry Wright?”
    “Mr. Carpenter, what I do is come to work and do my job. Every day. One day at a time.”
    Brian had told me that Yates was the money guy, and that the head of the technology division, Jason Mathers, was the guy to talk to about the core product of the company.
    “I’d like to speak to Jason Mathers. Is he in today?”
    “He was,” Yates said. “But he isn’t now.”
    “Will he be here tomorrow?”
    Yates shakes his head. “It would be surprising if he was. He resigned this morning.”
    “Why?”
    “He said it was to pursue other opportunities. And he will certainly have those. He is a technology genius.”
    “Why do you think he left?”
    “I think he was disappointed that the board chose me to be the interim CEO. I think he felt it meant he would not ultimately get the job.”
    Brian had predicted this would happen; he said Yates was far better at internal politics than Mathers. “Are you going to get it?” I ask.
    He smiles. “I certainly hope so.”

 
    Joseph Westman didn’t have to tell anyone he was leaving early. It wasn’t a coincidence that he worked for a hedge fund called the Westman Group. He had founded it and built it from infancy into a thriving operation, managing over six billion dollars in assets.
    At sixty-two, Westman did not work the kind of hours he used to put in. He no longer got in at five thirty in the morning, not leaving until eight o’clock. There was no need for that anymore; he had an experienced, highly competent management team under him. The truth is the place could run quite well without him, though it was Westman’s prestige that was vital for bringing in new investments.
    It’s not that Joseph was not busy; there never seemed to be enough hours in the day. He was on three boards of directors and was one of Manhattan’s leading philanthropists. In fact, he had just announced a hospital donation that would result in a building to be named after his wife, Linda. Linda had survived a battle with cancer three years earlier and rightfully credited the doctors and hospital with saving her life.
    So there was no need to tell anyone he was leaving early, either in the office or at home. His two kids were grown and successful in their own right, though they had obviously benefited from family wealth and prominence.
    But they were good kids, worked hard, and succeeded in their chosen professions, medicine and the law. Certainly no one had ever said of them what Ann Richards had famously said of George W. Bush. Joseph Westman’s kids were not born on third base, thinking they had hit a triple.
    Westman always drove to work. It was certainly not out of necessity; in addition to public transportation, he obviously could have afforded a driver. He just liked the feel of being behind the wheel of his Porsche.
    On this afternoon, Westman got into his car, pulled out of his private parking space, and headed north. But instead of going to his apartment on Central Park West, he drove farther west and got onto the Westside Highway. Then he continued north until he entered the Saw Mill River Parkway, taking it well out of the city.
    His destination was Elmsford, a particular spot along the road that he had scouted out before, around the time the idea had first occurred to him. For a while, he thought he would never go through with it, but it became more real as time went on.
    And, finally, it became necessary.
    The area along the road was tree lined, a peaceful and serene setting that Joseph considered among the most beautiful he had been to. Some of those trees were majestic, and were in place long before anyone had ever imagined such a thing as cars driving by them. Westman sometimes wondered how many had been erased to make room for the road; he was glad he was not around to see it happen.
    There was almost no traffic at that time, as Joseph knew there would not be. He was able to go at whatever speed he wanted, and he gunned the Porsche up to almost ninety