“Do you remember what time they got to the restaurant?”
“Three of them, not the boyfriend Alan Crowley, came in around ten o’clock. The Yankees were playing, so they took a table near the bar so they could watch the game.”
“When did Alan join them?” Mike asked.
“It was about ten-thirty. You should have seen the look on his face.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mike asked.
“He looked so angry. You’d think he wanted to kill somebody. He was so rude to me. He didn’t ask for anything. Just pointed to the pizza the other boys were eating, indicating that’s what he wanted. Just between you and me, I think he avoided talking because he had been drinking. When I brought his order, he was texting on his cell phone.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “He arrived at ten-thirty. Let’s say you took his order at ten-thirty-five. How long does it take to make the pizza?”
“About ten minutes.”
“So you brought him his order at ten-forty-five. What happened next?”
“When he finished it, he just walked out without paying.”
“If you can remember, what time was that?”
“Let’s see. He talked to the boys for a while. I noticed he was on his phone, texting some more.”
“What time do you think it was when he left?”
“I know it was a little after eleven, not later than eleven-fifteen.”
“Let’s focus on his three friends. Do you remember what time they left?”
“They stayed until the end of the game.”
Mike had checked. The game had ended at 11:46.
“Thank you, Glady. You’ve been very helpful. I may ask you at a later date to come down to my office and give an official statement.”
A delighted smile came over Glady’s face. “I’d love to. I can make it anytime you want.”
As Mike was getting up to leave, he asked, “Did you ever get paid for Alan’s pizza?”
“One of his friends took care of it.”
• • •
Mike went to the Prosecutor’s Office, where Assistant Prosecutor Artie Schulman was waiting for him. Artie was the Chief of the Homicide Unit. “Artie, can we talk in my office?” he asked. “It will be easier.”
On his wall Mike had a series of whiteboards. The first showed in alphabetical order the names of the kids who had been at Kerry’s party. Most of the names were written in black. The seven names written in red were under eighteen years old.
To the left of each name was the date Mike or a member of his team had questioned the student or a big “R.” R, Mike explained, meant they refused to be interviewed, or if they were minors, their parents had refused the interview. Eight names were preceded by an “R.” To the right of each name was a date in August or September. It was the date of the student’s departure for his or her respective college.
On the second whiteboard there were eight names. These were students who claimed they had witnessed the argument that took place between Alan and Kerry at the party. A “T” to the right of their names indicated the girls who had sent a text message to Kerry after the party.
The third whiteboard listed the names of Alan Crowley’s three supposed alibi witnesses.
Artie looked at the whiteboards.
“Two of the students who witnessed the arguments are headed for schools in the Midwest and another is going to California,” Mike said. “I’m assuming that for budget reasons, Matt Koenig will want me to complete these interviews in New Jersey versus flying across the country,” he added, referring to the County Prosecutor.
“You’ve got that right,” Artie agreed.
Mike updated him on the progress of his investigation. “We got the court order to go through Alan Crowley’s cell phone records. He is lying about how long he stayed at the restaurant. His phone pinged a tower right by the victim’s home on the other side of Saddle River at 11:25 P.M. It’s pretty clear he went back to the victim’s home after he left Nellie’s.”
“What about Crowley’s friends who gave him an alibi?”
“It looks like he asked them to lie for him, and they did. I’m going to contact the three of them and have them come down here to give a formal statement. After I read them the riot act about what could happen when you lie to an investigator, I’m sure their memories will improve.”
“We’ve confirmed the golf club was the murder weapon,” Schulman said. “Any progress on identifying the fingerprints on it?”
“Yes, but that’s going to be a problem,” Mike told him.
“Why?”
Mike picked up a report on his desk and flipped the page. “According to the lab, there are five separate, identifiable prints on the putter. All of these are on the steel shaft. The numerous prints on the rubber grip are so smudged that they’re unusable.”
“Anything on the putter head?”
“No.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Alan Crowley’s thumbprint is on the putter. The victim’s parents, the Dowlings, gave us their prints. Each has one fingerprint on the putter. That leaves two we still have to match.”
“Where do we go from there?”
“That is the problem. In my interviews of the party guests, a number of them who spent time outside in the backyard either admitted to using the practice green or gave me the names of boys who were taking turns putting.”
“So we have a lot of kids who actually handled the murder weapon?”
“Correct. Of the eight males who I can identify as having handled the putter, not a single one has a criminal record.”
“And therefore we don’t have their prints on file?”
“Even though most of the students who were at the party consented to be interviewed, I’m pretty sure we’ll get a lot of resistance if we ask them to give fingerprints.”
Artie nodded. “We can’t ask a judge to compel them to give us their prints because they aren’t suspects.”
“That’s right.”
“Have you been able
