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 that 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.
Jack had the heart attack and died when Jamie was fifteen. The poor little guy kept looking all over for him and crying, “Daddy!”
Jack, I’m looking for you to help me now, Marge prayed. Maybe Jamie thought he was playing a game with Kerry, poor girl. But she had a blow on her head. He’d never do that. I’m sure of it.
But the cops could twist his story if they knew he had been in the pool with her. Can you imagine him going to prison? He’d be so frightened, and men take advantage of a boy like him.
It can’t happen. It just can’t happen.
Marge looked down at the rosary she was holding. As she began her prayer, Jamie came down from his room, where he had been watching television.
“I didn’t tell anyone about going swimming with Kerry,” he said. “Wasn’t that good?”
16