I've Got My Eyes on You

by Mary Higgins Clark

  The phone rang. It was Father Frank. “Marge, I’m just calling to check in and make sure you are okay.”

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  For Marge, the two days before attorney Greg Barber returned from Atlanta were interminable. She had told Father Frank that Detective Wilson had insisted on talking to Jamie without her being in the room. “I don’t know what Jamie told him or how the detective could have twisted it,” she said, “but I’m so frightened.”

  “Marge, the appointment with Greg Barber is the day after tomorrow at ten o’clock. I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty and we’ll ride over together. Greg is a top-drawer defense lawyer. I can assure you of that. I know you’ll feel better after you speak to him.”

  Jamie intuitively knew she was upset. Three or four times he asked her, “Mom, are you mad at me because I told our secret? Mike said it was all right.”

  “I’m not angry at you, Jamie,” Marge repeated each time. When he asked her that, it reminded her of how trusting he always is, and how easily he could be led when questioned.

  As he had promised, Father Frank picked her up promptly at 9:30. “Greg Barber’s office is around the corner from the courthouse,” he explained.

  When they passed the courthouse, Marge looked at it and cringed. This was where they brought Alan Crowley, she thought. She recalled seeing the pictures of him on television in the orange jumpsuit. She imagined Jamie wearing it and couldn’t bear the possibility.

  They arrived ten minutes early, but the receptionist brought them immediately into Greg Barber’s private office.

  Marge liked his appearance. He was about fifty years old, with thinning gray hair. His horn-rimmed glasses made him look more like a schoolteacher. He walked out from behind his desk to greet them and motioned them to a small conference table.

  After they sat down, Barber came directly to the point. “Mrs. Chapman, Father Frank gave me some information about your son. I understand he has special needs, an intellectual disability?”

  Marge nodded, then burst out, “Father Frank and I were planning to go with you to the police and tell them what Jamie saw, but then that blabbermouth Tony Carter started bragging about the fact that he had solved the murder, that my Jamie had killed Kerry Dowling. Because of that, the detective came to our house and insisted on talking to Jamie in his room upstairs while I was downstairs. God only knows what he tricked Jamie into saying.”

  “Mrs. Chapman, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Miranda warnings. Did the detective ever tell you or Jamie that you didn’t have to speak to him?”

  “I don’t remember him saying anything about that. I have no idea what he said to Jamie upstairs.”

  “How old is Jamie?”

  “He’s twenty.”

  “Did Jamie go to school?”

  “Oh, yes. He went to the local high school, Saddle River. He was in special classes the four years he was there.”

  “What is the nature of his disability?”

  “When he was born, it was a difficult delivery. He was deprived of oxygen. The doctors told us he has brain damage.”

  “Jamie lives with you now?”

  “Of course. He couldn’t be on his own.”

  “Jamie’s father?”

  “He died when Jamie was fifteen.”

  “Does Jamie work?”

  “Yes. He bags groceries five days a week, four hours a day, at the local Acme. That’s where he told Tony Carter that he went swimming with Kerry the night of her party.”

  “Mrs. Chapman, parents of children who have intellectual disabilities often make a decision around the time the child turns eighteen. To protect the child they apply for a guardianship which makes their child, in the eyes of the law, a permanent child. Did you do this on Jamie’s behalf?”

  “At school they suggested I apply for a guardianship. I did.”

  “So you went to the courthouse, appeared in front of a judge, and he granted a full guardianship, you make all decisions for him?”

  “Yes, it was a few months after his eighteenth birthday.”

  “Good. Do you know where your guardianship papers are?”

  “I have them at home in the top drawer of my dresser.”

  Father Frank said, “Marge, give them to me when I drop you off.”

  “Why do you want them?” she asked Barber.

  “Because I want to determine whether the detective had a right to question Jamie outside your presence and without your permission. Beyond that, even though Jamie wasn’t under arrest or in police custody, I think I can make a strong argument that, since he was a suspect, he didn’t have to speak to the detective.

  “But that’s for later. Now, let’s start from the beginning, with the night your neighbor had a party and the young girl was murdered. Tell me everything you recall about that night and the following morning, right up until when the detectives came to your house last week.”

  Step by step Marge related everything that had happened. Finding Jamie’s wet clothes and sneakers in his closet. Seeing Steve Dowling carry Kerry’s body out of the pool. In a panic washing the clothes and sneakers. Making Jamie swear that he wouldn’t tell anyone about going in the pool that night. She told Greg Barber about Jamie telling her that he had seen Alan talking to Kerry and then leaving.

  And her concern about Jamie saying that the Big Guy hit Kerry and pushed her in the pool, and that she had felt guilty ever since Alan Crowley was arrested.

  She finished by saying, “Father Frank will back me up on this. I was planning to go to the police, but I wanted to speak to you first. But then that Tony Carter told everyone that he had solved Kerry’s murder and that Jamie did it.”

  “Mrs. Chapman, there are some circumstances in which I would be concerned that two family members whom the police are scrutinizing should have separate lawyers. I think, however, that for the time being, I can be the attorney for both you and Jamie. Do you have any issue with that?”

  “Oh no, Mr. Barber. I know you’ll do your best for both of us, but it is Jamie that I am worried about.”

  “All right, fine. We’ll work out the financial details later. For now leave it in my hands.”

  Barber turned to Father Frank. “Father, when you drop Mrs. Chapman off, would you please leave those guardianship papers in my home mailbox.”

  “Of course,” Father Frank said.

  “Mrs. Chapman, I cannot stress strongly enough what I’m about to tell you. If anyone contacts you or Jamie wanting to talk about this case, do not say anything. Just give them my name and phone number and tell them to contact me.”

  “Mr. Barber—”

  “Please call me Greg.”

  “Greg, I’m so relieved and grateful. Please call me Marge.”

  He smiled. “Marge, Father Frank speaks very highly of you and your son. We will get through this. I want you to come back tomorrow at one P.M. with Jamie. I need to go through everything with him.”

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  After her conversation with Fran, Aline was troubled. She had to speak to Mike Wilson about Jamie, but she knew it would not be a short conversation.

  He answered on the first ring. “Mike, it’s Aline Dowling. I have some information I want to share with you. By any chance are you free for dinner tonight?”

  “Yes, I am” was his immediate response.

  “Do you know Esty Street, the restaurant in Park Ridge?”

  “Sure. I love their food.”

  “Seven o’clock tonight?”

  “We’re on.”

  For the rest of the afternoon Aline had a sense of relief. She knew Mike Wilson was determined to find Kerry’s killer, but he didn’t know Jamie the way she did.

  When she arrived at the restaurant, Mike was already there. He waved to her from a table in the corner. She slid into her chair and saw a white wine waiting for her. This time there was a white wine in front of Mike as well.

  “Tonight I’m joining you,” he said.

  “If ever I needed a glass of wine, it’s now,” Aline tol
d him.

  “Then I’m glad you didn’t have to wait for it. By the way, how are your folks doing?”

  “They’re doing a little better. They’re planning a long weekend in Bermuda.”

  “Glad to hear that. They’ve been through a lot.”

  The waiter came over with menus. “Let’s take a look and get our order in before it gets crowded.”

  He could sense the tension in Aline. Her eyes looked strained, and he realized that in the last few weeks she had lost some weight.

  Mike said, “Aline, I asked how your parents are doing. I neglected to ask how you’re doing.”

  “Frankly, Mike, I just can’t believe what’s going on. I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know Alan Crowley very well. Most of the time Kerry went out with him I was in London. I met him a few times when I was home for a holiday. But whenever Kerry mentioned him in emails to me, it seemed obvious that she and Alan cared deeply about each other. I know that they had that spat at the party, but there’s a big difference between being upset with each other and killing somebody.

  “You certainly know that Tony Carter is telling everybody that Jamie killed Kerry. It drives me crazy to hear that. I started babysitting Jamie when he was eight years old. I can tell you right now that there’s no way in the world that he ever would hurt Kerry. Quite simply, he loved her.”

  “Aline, you just admitted to me that you don’t really know Alan Crowley that well because you were away during the time Kerry was dating him. Let me remind you, you were also away from Jamie those three years. That sweet young boy you babysat for is now a young man. People change over time. That may be the case with Jamie.”

  “Mike, people don’t change that much. I would swear on a stack of Bibles that Jamie is incapable of hurting anyone, especially Kerry.”

  “Aline, I’m going to share something with you that I really shouldn’t. I want your assurance that this conversation stays at this table.”

  Aline nodded.

  “I went to the Chapman home the other day and talked to Jamie. My office is currently processing several pieces of potential evidence. We’ll know a lot more when we get the results.”

  Aline knew she had to be satisfied with that. “Just to let you know, Mike,” she said, “my mother agrees with me that Jamie would never hurt Kerry. And she saw Jamie all the time in the three years I was gone.”

  “Aline, I want to find out what happened to Kerry. I’m going to pursue every lead to its conclusion.”

  He decided to change the subject. “What’s new at school?”

  “The usual. Right now the seniors are under the gun to finish their college application essays. I’m spending a lot of time working on them. As you can imagine, some of them are so torn between what schools to apply to.”

  “I’m not surprised. This is the first really important decision they’re making in their lives.”

  “I do have one student I’m worried about. She started at the school in January after moving here from Chicago. For no apparent reason her marks have gone down. She’s very withdrawn. Her parents are worried sick.”

  “Do you think drugs are involved?”

  “No, I don’t. But I can sense she’s holding something back. I just don’t know what it can be.”

  “Does she have any friends at school?”

  “Even though she’s two years younger, she was very close to Kerry when they played lacrosse last spring. I’m told that Kerry was her confidante on the team. And now she misses her very much.”

  “Are you worried she might hurt herself?”

  “Yes, and so are her parents. They tried to get her to see a therapist. She refused.”

  “Typical, unfortunately. I really hope the problem is homesickness and, with time, she’ll get over it.”

  Their orders came, and Mike was happy that as the meal went on, Aline’s spirits brightened considerably.

  Mike walked her to her car and opened the door for her. It was an effort to resist the urge to put his arm around her.

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  On Saturday morning when the doorbell rang at Marge’s home, she was surprised to see Mike Wilson.

  “Mrs. Chapman, I have applied for permission to take Jamie’s fingerprints. You and Jamie have the right to appear with your lawyer in court. A hearing is scheduled for Monday morning at ten o’clock, and then the judge will make his decision. Here is your copy of the paperwork.”

  Visibly flustered, Marge said, “Our lawyer is Greg Barber in Hackensack. He’s very smart. I’m gonna call him right now.”

  “Okay, here’s my card. If Mr. Barber wants to contact me before the hearing, he can do so.”

  As she watched Wilson drive away, Marge was already dialing Greg Barber’s number. His secretary connected them and Marge read the document she had been given.

  “Marge, let’s stay calm. I’m not surprised by this. Even though Jamie is not under arrest, the judge can order that he submit to fingerprinting. I’ll go to court with you and Jamie tomorrow. I’ll object, but I’m pretty sure the judge will order it.

  “And since we’ll be in court tomorrow morning, I want you to bring Jamie to see me tonight at seven.”

  • • •

  Monday morning at 10 A.M. Greg Barber appeared in the courtroom of Judge Paul Martinez, ironically the same judge who had arraigned Alan Crowley. Barber was with Marge Chapman, who looked dejected and frightened, and Jamie, who looked excited to be there.

  Greg had spent more than an hour speaking to Jamie and Marge the night before. Every instinct in his body told him that Jamie had not committed this crime. Those same instincts, however, told him that Alan Crowley had not committed the crime either.

  Barber spoke to the assistant prosecutor, Artie Schulman. He told him that he would object to the application for fingerprints, but he conceded that the judge would probably grant it. He indicated that he represented both Marge and Jamie, and that no one should speak to them without his permission.

  During the brief hearing, Schulman put on the record the reasons for the application and the interview of Jamie Chapman. While Chapman’s account admittedly was not entirely clear, it would, if true and accurate, exonerate Alan Crowley. It was obvious that the judge was taken aback by this new information. He ordered that Jamie submit to the taking of his fingerprints.

  Greg then gently explained to Jamie what would happen when he went downstairs, and that he would be there with him.

  Jamie and Marge quietly followed their lawyer as the detective walked them to the Prosecutor’s Office on the second floor of the courthouse. Marge waited on a bench outside in the hallway as Greg and Jamie went in.

  • • •

  Within thirty minutes of the end of the hearing, Prosecutor Matthew Koenig was inundated with calls from the media demanding to know more details about Jamie Chapman, the new suspect in Kerry Dowling’s murder.

  The angriest call he received was from Alan’s attorney, Lester Parker. “You know, Prosecutor, I recognize that you can’t immediately share every single development in the case. Obviously, your investigation has a long way to go. But I have an innocent eighteen-year-old who is so depressed that his parents are worried he’s going to harm himself. When you go into a public courtroom and admit to these developments and I have to hear it from a member of the press, that’s just not right, and you know it.”

  Koenig responded, “Look Lester, I took your call because you deserved an explanation. We were hoping that this would not be picked up by the press until after we got his fingerprints and we see if it helps the investigation one way or the other. We have no obligation to call you unless we come to the conclusion that Alan didn’t do it. And we are very far from making that determination. I’m going to end this call now. If anything significant develops, I will let you know.”

  “And I’ll let you know if my innocent client commits suicide while waiting for your call.”

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  With Jamie in the car Marge drove directly home from the hearing. T
hey were in the door a few minutes when he said, “Mom, I’m hungry. I want Chinese food for lunch.” Marge was about to call to order it and have it delivered when she opened the refrigerator and saw they were out of Diet Coke.

  “Jamie, I’ll get the Chinese food, and I have to stop at the store. I won’t be long. Why don’t you watch a movie while I’m gone.”

  Returning twenty minutes later, Marge drove up her block and was dismayed to see a news truck parked in front of her house. Jamie was on the lawn smiling. A woman with a microphone was standing next to him. A camera was pointed at them.

  Marge turned into the driveway and slammed on the brakes. As she got out of the car, she heard Jamie saying, “And then I went swimming with Kerry.”

  “Leave him alone!” Marge shouted. “Jamie, don’t say anything. Get in the house.”

  Startled at his mother’s tone, Jamie ran inside.

  With the cameraman struggling to keep up, the reporter hurried over to Marge. “Mrs. Chapman, would you like to comment on today’s hearing in Hackensack?”

  “No, I won’t. I want you and that guy with the camera to get off my property right now,” Marge yelled as she opened her front door and slammed it behind her.

  Feeling a little better in the safety of her home, but frantic about what else Jamie might have said, Marge collapsed into her favorite chair. How much more of this can I take? she asked herself as she looked around for her purse. She needed a nitroglycerine tablet.

  “Mom!” Jamie yelled from upstairs in his room. “Am I gonna be on TV like Alan Crowley?”

  “No, Jamie,” Marge said, even as she wondered if he would be.

  “Mom, I want to eat in my room. Can you bring up the Chinese food?”

  Marge realized that along with the Diet Coke and her purse, it was still in the car. She walked over and peeked out the window. The camera crew was gone. The coast was clear. She ran to her car.

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