I've Got My Eyes on You(59)

“We’re on.”





73




Looking forward to seeing Mike, Aline showered and went to her closet. She chose a navy-blue silk blouse over fitted jeans. She had just finished her makeup when her phone rang. The name on the screen surprised her. “Hello, Mrs. Chapman.”

“Is this Aline Dowling?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Aline, my name is Brenda Niemeier. I’m a close friend of Marge’s. This is her phone. She asked me to call you.”

“Is Mrs. Chapman okay?”

Aline heard the woman fighting off tears as she spoke. “I’m over at Pascack Valley Hospital. It looks like Marge had a heart attack. She had instructions in her pocketbook that I should be called in an emergency and help make decisions if she can’t.”

“Oh my God,” Aline said. Part of her was not surprised. She could only imagine the strain Marge must have been under these past weeks. “Brenda, what can I do to help?”

“When I saw Marge before they took her in for surgery, she was so worried about Jamie. She asked if you could go over and be with him for a little while. Tell him everything will be all right. Maybe help him fix something for dinner. Marge is so worried that if anything happens to her now, who will be there for Jamie?”

“Tell Marge of course I will. Please call me as soon as you get any updates on her condition.”

“I will, honey. Marge always told me how nice your family is, and how lucky she is to have you as neighbors.”

Aline said goodbye, disconnected and immediately called Mike. She told him about Marge being in the hospital. “I’m going over to spend some time with Jamie. Meet me later at the Chapman house.”

“Okay, but meet me outside. Remember, I’m not allowed to talk to Jamie anymore.”





74




While driving to Valerie’s home, Mike called Detective Angela Walker, who was also en route. He explained the sequence of events that began with finding Kerry in her family pool. Mike told her that he strongly believed something had happened at the breakfast the morning of Kerry’s death that resulted in her sending Aline the very important text immediately afterward.

There was a specific reason Mike had reached out to Angela. An African American woman who had just turned forty, she had an extraordinary ability to push the right buttons to get young people to talk. He had personally observed her toughness in staring down an eighteen-year-old drug dealer during an interrogation and her incredible compassion when talking to a ten-year-old boy who had witnessed his parents’ murder. If there was a way to get Valerie to open up, she would find it.

Marina Long greeted them at the door. She showed them into the den where Valerie was sitting up on a couch with two pillows behind her back and a blanket over her. “Wayne and I will be in the other room if you need us,” Marina said as she left.

Mike and Angela settled in the two chairs opposite Valerie. Her eyes looked puffy and sad. After briefly making eye contact with him and Angela, she stared straight ahead.

“Valerie,” Mike said, “let me begin by asking, how you are doing?”

“I’m okay,” she said quietly.

“This is Detective Angela Walker. She’s working with me on the Kerry Dowling case.”

Valerie continued to stare straight ahead.

“Valerie,” Mike said, “I know that Kerry Dowling was your friend. I know how terrible it is to lose a friend. I’m sure that you want whoever hurt Kerry to be brought to justice.”

She continued to stare off into the distance, but her face grew harder.

“Valerie, at eleven o’clock in the morning on the day Kerry died, she sent a text to her sister Aline, who was in England at the time. Kerry said she had something very important to talk to her about. She sent that text right after she had breakfast at the Coach House diner in Hackensack. Did you have breakfast with Kerry that morning?”

“No,” Valerie said as she pulled the blanket higher, almost to her neck.

“Valerie, the waitress at the diner was shown pictures of Kerry’s friends. She identified you as the girl who was with Kerry.”

Valerie shook her head back and forth as tears began to form in her eyes. Her breathing became heavier. Her hands were balled into fists.

Mike was about to ask another question when he felt Angela’s hand on his arm. He knew without being told that it was her signal that she wanted to take over.

“Valerie, honey, would you mind if I sit with you on the couch? I like being close to people when I talk to them.”

Without waiting for an answer, Angela moved to the couch. Valerie slid over to make room for her.

“That’s better,” Angela said, facing Valerie from barely two feet away. “How old are you, Valerie?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen,” Angela said. “I have a daughter who’s seventeen. She’s a lot like you. A pretty girl. Really good at sports.”

“What’s her name?” Valerie asked.

“Penelope. She hates that name. Insists everybody call her Penny. She says Penelope is a clown’s name.”

A faint trace of a smile came across Valerie’s face.

“She’s like you in another way too. When she’s got something bothering her, it’s really hard for her to talk about it. She bottles things up inside her.”