Mike put down the phone. Using his dashboard computer, he accessed the Department of Motor Vehicles records. He typed in “Alan Crowley, Saddle River.” A moment later Crowley’s driver’s license filled the screen.
His next call was to the captain in charge of the homicide unit at the Prosecutor’s Office. He gave a summary of what he had found at the Dowling home and Kerry’s altercation with her boyfriend at the party. “Ordinarily, I’d want to talk to the kids who were at the party before interviewing the boyfriend, but I’m worried that will give him a chance to lawyer up. He lives here in Saddle River. I’m five minutes away. My gut tells me I should go have a chat with him right now and lock him into a statement.”
“You’re sure he’s not a minor?” the captain asked.
“His driver’s license says he turned eighteen last month.”
There was a pause. Mike knew that he should not interrupt his boss when he was thinking. Mike also knew that although Crowley was legally an adult, judges tended to give defendants latitude if they had only just turned eighteen.
“Okay, Mike. Call me after you talk to him.”
The Crowley home was on heavily treed Twin Oaks Road. It was a very large, white, shingled house with dark green shutters. Very impressive, Mike thought. From what he could see of the beautifully landscaped front and side yards, it was easily more than two acres. Big bucks here, he decided. A riding mower was parked on the edge of the driveway.
Mike rang the doorbell. There was no immediate answer. He waited for a full minute before he rang it again.
• • •
Alan Crowley had been mowing the lawn and was hot. He had gone into the house for a bottle of water. He glanced at the cell phone he had left on the kitchen table and saw there were a number of voicemail messages, missed calls and texts. Carrying his phone as he walked to the door, he only needed to read one text before the reality of the nightmare that was enveloping him sunk in.
The doorbell rang again. Kerry was dead. The rumor is she was murdered. The cops are talking to the neighbors and asking if they knew the names of the kids who had been at the party last night. They’re bound to find out he and Kerry had a fight.
Terrified, he went to the door and opened it.
The man at the door introduced himself while pointing to the badge on a chain around his neck. “I’m Detective Mike Wilson, Bergen County Prosecutor’s Office,” he said, his tone friendly. “Are you Alan Crowley?”
“Yes.”
From the expression on the young man’s face, Wilson was sure that he had heard that Kerry was dead.
“Are you aware of what happened to Kerry Dowling?” he asked.
“You mean that Kerry is dead?”
“Yes. . . .”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m going to find out what happened to Kerry. I’m starting by talking to everyone who was at the party last night. Would it be okay if we chat for a little while?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Do you want to come in?”
“Alan, let’s take a ride down to my office in Hackensack. We can talk there with no interruptions. You don’t have to go, but it will make things a lot easier. Come on. I’ll drive. Oh, Alan, before we go, do you remember what you were wearing at the party last night?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just procedure.”
Alan thought for a moment. I’m better off cooperating than looking defensive. I’ve got nothing to worry about. “I had on a Princeton T-shirt, shorts and sandals.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re in my room.”
“Would you mind putting them in a bag and letting me keep them for a few days? Routine procedure. You don’t have to, but we would really appreciate your cooperation.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Alan said reluctantly.
“I’ll go with you,” Mike said amicably.
Shorts, a T-shirt and a pair of underwear were the items at the top of the hamper. Alan put them in a small gym bag. He grabbed his sandals and put them in as well. Holding his cell phone in one hand and the gym bag in the other, he woodenly followed the detective out to his car.
• • •
Mike Wilson had no intention of interrogating Alan before they got to his office at the courthouse. He knew that the more he could put him at ease, the more Alan would say once the camera was recording.
“When I was at the Dowling property, Alan, I noticed a putting green. The Dowlings must really be into golf. Do you play?”
“I’ve gone to driving ranges and played a few rounds. I play baseball in the spring and summer so I really don’t have much time for golf.”
“When you were at Kerry’s party, was anybody using the putting green?”
“I saw some guys fooling around on it last night. But I didn’t use it.”
“I noticed you wore a Princeton shirt to the party. Any significance in that?”
“Oh, yeah,” Alan said while staring out the car window. “The day I found out I was accepted, my mother went on the school website and bought Princeton logo stuff for me and tennis clothes for her and my father. They were really excited about my getting in.”
“That’s a great accomplishment. Your parents and you should be very proud. Are you looking forward to college?”
“I’m looking forward to being on my own, Princeton or wherever.”
Their conversation was interrupted when Mike’s phone rang. After he answered, a voice came through the speaker. “Mike, we have a ninety-three-year-old male who was found dead in his Fort Lee apartment by a neighbor. No sign of forced entry.”
Mike hit a button on his cell phone that took the call off speaker. He put the phone to his ear and listened.
Alan welcomed the interruption. He needed time to think. In his mind he meticulously reviewed every minute of his activities.
The fight with Kerry at the party was because Chris was hanging
