I've Got My Eyes on You

by Mary Higgins Clark

  As she questioned him, she became more and more frantic.

  12

  After dropping Jamie at the high school, Marge drove down the block toward her home. Grace, her next-door neighbor, was watching for her from the patio on her front lawn. As soon as Marge parked the car, Grace waved her over.

  “Can you believe it? That poor girl, Kerry, was murdered. She had one of those teen parties the kids have when their parents are away. The police are talking to all the neighbors. They rang your doorbell. They asked me if I knew who lived in your house. I told them about you and Jamie and said I didn’t know where you were.”

  Marge tried to conceal her anxiety.

  “Grace, did you say anything about Jamie?”

  “I told them that he is a very nice young man with special needs and didn’t go to the high school anymore. I guess they want to talk to everybody in the neighborhood who might have seen something.”

  “I suppose so,” Marge agreed. “I’ll see you later.”

  When Jamie came home a few hours later, Marge could see that something was disturbing him. She didn’t have to ask him what it was before he said, “The girls on the soccer team were sad because Kerry went to Heaven.”

  “Jamie, a policeman is going to come and talk to us about Kerry because she got sick in the pool and went to Heaven. Remember you won’t tell him that you went over to the pool.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before the bell rang. Jamie started up the stairs to his room. When Marge answered the door, it was not a policeman in uniform but a man in a suit.

  “I’m Detective Mike Wilson from the Bergen County Prosecutor’s Office,” he said.

  “Yes, come in, Detective,” Marge said, as she gestured toward the living room. “We can sit in here and talk.”

  After they settled into two chairs facing each other, Mike said, “As I’m sure you are aware, Mrs. Chapman, your neighbor Kerry Dowling was found dead in her family’s swimming pool this morning.”

  “I did hear about it,” Marge sighed. “A terrible tragedy. Such a lovely young girl.”

  “Mrs. Chapman, my understanding is that you and your son live in this home?”

  “Yes, just the two of us.”

  “Were the two of you home last night after eleven o’clock?”

  “Yes, we both were.”

  “Was anyone else with you?”

  “No, just us.”

  “Let me tell you why I am particularly interested in speaking to you and your son. When I was called to the Dowlings’ home this morning, I stood at their backyard pool and looked around. Above the tree level I could clearly see the upstairs room in the back of your home. That means anyone who was in that room might have seen something that could be helpful to our investigation.”

  “Of course,” Marge said.

  “I’d like to see that room before I leave. How is that room used?”

  “It’s a bedroom.”

  “Your bedroom?”

  “No, it’s Jamie’s bedroom.”

  “May I speak to him?”

  “Of course.”

  Marge walked over to the stairs and called up to Jamie.

  Detective Wilson interrupted her. “If it’s okay with you, Mrs. Chapman, can I talk to Jamie in his room?”

  “I guess that would be okay,” Marge said as she began to climb the stairs with the detective one step behind her. She knocked tentatively on Jamie’s door and then opened it. He was sprawled on his bed watching a video.

  “Jamie, I want you to meet Detective Wilson.”

  “Hi Jamie,” Mike said, extending his hand forward.

  Jamie stood up. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” he said as he shook hands. He turned to Marge for her approval. Her smile confirmed to him that he had used good manners.

  Jamie and Marge sat on the bed. Mike went over to the window. The Dowlings and the Chapmans were backyard neighbors. He looked down at the Dowling swimming pool, then sat in the chair opposite the bed.

  “Jamie, I just want to talk to you for a few minutes. You know Kerry Dowling, don’t you?”

  “Yes. She’s in Heaven.”

  Wilson smiled. “That’s right, Jamie. She went to Heaven. But her parents and the police want to find out what happened before she went to Heaven. There was a party last night at Kerry’s house.”

  “Kerry didn’t invite me.”

  “I know you weren’t there, Jamie, I just—”

  “It was for the kids who just graduated. I’m older. I’m twenty years old. I just had my birthday.”

  “Well, happy birthday, Jamie.” Wilson went over to the window. “Jamie, I can see Kerry’s backyard and pool from here. So that means if you were in your room last night, you could too.”

  “I didn’t go swimming with Kerry,” Jamie said as he looked at his mother with a conspiratorial smile.

  Mike smiled. “I know you didn’t, Jamie. Did you see Kerry in her backyard cleaning up last night?”

  “I help clean up at the Acme, where I work from eleven o’clock to three o’clock.”

  “So you didn’t see Kerry in her backyard or see her go into her pool last night?”

  “I did not go swimming with Kerry. I promise,” Jamie said as he put his arm around his mother and kissed her.

  “Okay. Thank you Jamie. Mrs. Chapman, I’m going to leave you my card. Sometimes people recall things later. If you or Jamie think of anything that might be helpful to our investigation, please contact me.”

  They walked downstairs and accompanied Wilson to the front door. After Marge closed it behind him, Jamie gave her a triumphant smile and exclaimed, “I kept the secret!”

  Marge put her finger to her lips and uttered “Shhhhhhh.” She was terrified that the detective might have lingered on the porch and heard Jamie. Heart in her throat, she walked over to the front window. With a sigh of relief she watched Wilson step off the end of her driveway, open the front door of his car and get in.

  Mike started the car but paused before he started driving. Why did he have the feeling that something about Jamie’s answers sounded rehearsed?

  13

  While Mike Wilson focused on the four girls whose text messages were on Kerry’s phone, detectives from the Prosecutor’s Office met at the homes of Kerry’s other friends who had been at the party. In most cases the mother or father or both sat in. Usually they sat on the couch on either side of their son or daughter, so tightly together that their arms were squeezing each other.

  Detective Harsh, who began the questioning, started with a statement to put them at ease. “I want you to know right off the bat that this investigation is not about trying to charge or arrest anyone who was engaged in underage drinking that night. We know that a lot of people were. There were vodka and beer bottles all over the Dowling home and property. We don’t know if anyone was using drugs that night. We do have to ask if you were drinking or using any drugs because it’s possible that that could have affected your perceptions that night or your memory today. But again, we’re not looking to get anyone in trouble for those reasons. What we do want to know is if there were any arguments or fights that night, particularly any that involved Kerry Dowling.”

  There had been thirty-one individuals at Kerry’s party. Eight girls had witnessed Alan and Kerry having an argument. None of the girls admitted to having anything more than a couple of beers. They all adamantly denied that there were any drugs at the party.

  One of the girls, Kate, who described herself as Kerry’s best friend, cried as she spoke. “Alan got furious because Chris Kobel kept hanging around Kerry and talking about all the fun they were going to have at Boston College. It was clear that he wanted to go out with her. I hoped they would start going out. I thought Alan was being a jerk.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “Because he’s so possessive of Kerry. In June, when he heard Chris had asked Kerry to go to the senior prom, he told Chris that Kerry was his girl and never to ask her out again. I told Ker
ry that Chris was a much nicer guy than Alan and she should smarten up and dump Alan.

  “Then at the party Alan had been drinking a lot of beer. He picked a fight with Chris. Kerry stepped between them and started yelling at Alan. He took off and slammed the door behind him.”

  “How did Kerry react to that?”

  “She looked upset for a minute but then she shrugged it off and said, ‘Forget it.’ ”

  “What time did Alan leave?”

  “I’m not sure. It was ten-thirty, maybe quarter of eleven.”

  “Did Alan come back?”

  “No.”

  “And what time did the party break up?”

  “We all got out by eleven. That’s when neighbors call the cops if there’s any noise.”

  “Did anyone help Kerry clean up?”

  “She said she’d do it herself. She wanted all the parked cars off the block by eleven o’clock. Kerry was very nervous about what she would do if a cop showed up when the party was still going.”

  “I have two last questions. Did you go out on the patio at any point in the evening?”

  “Oh, sure I did.”

  “Did you notice a golf club out there?”

  “Oh, yes. I did. The Dowlings are big golfers. They have a practice putting green on the side lawn. A couple of the guys were putting with it.”

  14

  The unreality of what had happened to Kerry was a nightmare that dominated the few hours that Aline managed to doze on Sunday night. The events from the first moment she had found Kerry’s body in the pool were a soundtrack running at fast-forward speed.

  The cop doing CPR and then shaking his head.

  The detective herding them into the house.

  Trying to absorb the unspeakable.

  Father Frank trying to make sense of the senseless.

  Neighbors pouring in, offering to help in any way they can. Help with what?

  Grandpa Dowling in the nursing home in Florida, who would be too sick to make the trip.

  Mom’s mother and father would be flying in tomorrow.

  People bringing in food that they could only pick at.

  Mom’s constant sobbing.

  Dad, white-faced, lips tight. His expression grief-stricken, trying to offer comfort to Mom and me.

  The exhaustion of the flight home and the time change made it possible for me to fall asleep for an hour or so.

  And then the kaleidoscope began.

  At seven o’clock Aline sat up, threw aside the covers and dragged herself out of bed. The day, cloudy and promising rain, was in keeping with the way she felt.

  She had tied back her long brown hair with a scrunchie, but it had slipped off during the night. She went over to the mirror on the dresser opposite the bed. It was as though Kerry was standing beside her, staring into it. Kerry looked like Mom with her golden blonde hair. Sparkling blue eyes. Perfect features.

  Aline was her father’s child, with hazel eyes, a thin face and deep brown hair. “Mud-colored,” she told herself.

  Her eyes were filled with grief, and she could see that she was very pale. Her pajamas were hanging loosely on her. She knew that Kerry would have taken one glance at her and said, “Look what the cat dragged in!” An involuntary smile came to her lips and disappeared.

  She tiptoed down to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Ted Goldberg, a doctor and friend of her parents’ from the golf club, had come over late yesterday afternoon and given her parents sleep aids. Aline hoped that the pills they had taken before going to bed last night had worked and were giving them a measure of peace.

  She had taken on the task yesterday afternoon of phoning family members and close friends about the tragedy. Some were already aware after seeing news reports. It had been a comfort to read the stream of tributes that came pouring onto her sister’s Facebook page. In the evening their next-door neighbor had brought in dinner. No one had been hungry, but they had all nibbled and felt better for it.

  Her father had turned on the television at six-thirty. A picture of their house was on the screen. The lead story was about Kerry’s murder. He had rushed to click it off.

  Ordinarily Aline would have turned on the morning news the moment she entered the kitchen. But she didn’t want to watch stories about Kerry. Not yet. Not ever.

  She had left her cell phone in the dining room after making the calls. Coffee cup in hand, she went over to get it. She saw there was a voice message from a number she did not recognize. It had been left only an hour ago. It was from Mike Wilson, the detective who was handling Kerry’s case. His image flashed into her mind. Handsome, a little over six feet tall, intense dark brown eyes, a slender athletic frame. A way of leaning forward, hands clasped as though to avoid missing any word that was said.

  She tapped on the message. Ms. Dowling, I know how rough everything is for you at this point, but I need your help. I hope I’m not calling too early. I understand that you are a guidance counselor at Saddle River High School. I think you could be a great help to me. Please call me as soon as you get this message.

  Without trying to analyze the reason she could be of help to him, Aline returned the call. When he heard her voice, Mike Wilson went straight to the point. “Based on what I have learned so far, there were about thirty individuals at the party, and I have most of the names. I believe most of them were Kerry’s year, which means they will be leaving imminently for college. I want to find out which colleges they are going to and when they will be leaving. For obvious reasons, I want to talk first to those leaving earliest. Can you help me with this?”

  “I’m glad you called. I had totally forgotten I’m supposed to be at the high school at one o’clock today for an orientation meeting. I may be able to help you. Today’s training would include instruction on how to use the computer system.”

  “Are you planning to go?”

  “Frankly, I could use a little distraction. You asked about when colleges start. Here’s a quick rule of thumb. Southern schools in mid-August. They’re back already. Catholic schools around Labor Day. The Ivies in mid-September. Most of the others around now, the last week in August.”

  “I really appreciate this. I’m sorry to ask you to go in only a day after—”

  She cut him off. “I’m glad to have something helpful to do. Text me the names and I’ll get you the schools.”

  “That would be great, Ms. Dowling.”

  “Please call me Aline.”

  “Okay, Aline. And one last request, would you also have the dates of birth in your records? I have to know which ones are adults and which are minors.”

  “I can get those too. You’ll have them by late afternoon.”

  • • •

  Aline felt strange as she maneuvered her car into a space reserved for FACULTY at the high school. The parking lot was nearly empty.

  She knocked on the half-open door to the principal’s office. Pat Tarleton quickly rose from her desk, walked over and embraced her. “I’m so sorry, honey. How are you and your parents doing?”

  “We’re all in shock trying to absorb what happened. I thought it would be good to force my mind to focus on something else, so I wanted to keep our appointment.”

  Pat guided Aline over to a chair next to hers where they could both see the large screen on her desktop computer. She handed her a piece of paper with some scribbling on it. “This is your password to access our computer system. Let me show you how it works.”

  Aline quickly absorbed Pat’s instructions. Fortunately, the system was very similar to the one she had used at the International School. When they were finished, Pat handed her a list she had printed out. “These are all the teachers and personnel at the school and their contact information.”

  As Aline skimmed the list, she was pleasantly surprised to see that many of the teachers she’d had were still at the school. “It feels like old home week,” she told Pat as she attempted a smile.

  15

  Marge didn’t know what to do. Had tha
t detective been able to see that Jamie wasn’t telling the truth? The way Jamie kept looking at her for approval might be misinterpreted. That Detective Wilson seemed very smart.

  As always when she was upset, Marge reached for her rosary beads. Before she began to recite the first Sorrowful Mystery, the Agony in the Garden, she began to think of Jack. His image was never far from her heart and mind. She had met him at an amusement park in Rye. He was a senior at All Hallows High School and she was a junior at St. Jean’s. She lived in the Bronx and took the subway to school on East 75th Street in Manhattan. He lived on West 200th Street and would be going to Fordham in September. She told him that she was planning to go to Marymount in two years.

  We didn’t leave each other’s side even for a minute until his group got back on the boat and the nuns called us to our bus.

  I thought Jack was the handsomest man I had ever laid eyes on, tall and with that blonde hair and blue eyes. Jamie is the image of him. He told me the Chapman name was on very old tombstones at Cape Cod, where his ancestors were buried. They weren’t on the Mayflower, but they arrived not much after, Jack told me. He was so proud of that, she thought tenderly.

  My Irish father was from a farm family in Roscommon. He was younger than his brother, which meant his brother would inherit the farm. So when he was twenty, he said goodbye to his parents, sisters and brothers and sailed to New York. He met my mother there, and they got married when she was nineteen and he was twenty-two.

  Like us when we got married, Marge thought. I was twenty and left college after my sophomore year. Jack was twenty-four. He had left college after his freshman year, deciding instead to get his electrician’s license. He liked working in construction.

  Oh, Jack, I wish you were here now. We had given up hope of having a baby, and then when I was forty-five I became pregnant. After all those years of hoping and then accepting that God didn’t want to send us children, it was a miracle. We were so happy, she thought. Then we almost lost Jamie when he was born. He was deprived of oxygen, but he was ours.