When I Looked Away Read online

  “It’s probably nothing,” the lieutenant cautioned. “But one of our informants says there’s some young guy, a drifter, who’s been talking a lot lately about the murder, nothing specific, just a lot of nervous talk, so we’re sending somebody in to check things out.”

  “What do you mean, ‘sending somebody in’? Are you going to get a warrant? Search his room?”

  “We need a little more than what we’ve got before we can go searching his room. Just because some guy shows interest in a recent murder doesn’t mean we can just—”

  “So what exactly are you going to do?”

  “We’ll send someone in undercover.”

  “What do you mean, ‘undercover’?” Gail interrupted, recalling the word from the funeral. “You mean like on television?”

  Lieutenant Cole laughed. “Sort of. Undercover work isn’t quite as exciting in real life, I’m afraid. It works a lot slower than what you see on TV.”

  “What exactly will this man do, this undercover man?”

  “He’ll move into the same rooming house as this fellow, follow him around, try to make friends with him, gain his confidence, that sort of thing. If we think there’s anything, we’ll go in, make an arrest if we can. But don’t count on it, Gail. We follow through on tips like this one every day. Usually nothing comes of them.”

  “I understand. I appreciate your keeping me involved.”

  “I know you do. And one of these days, hopefully soon, something will pan out. I promise.”

  Jack phoned just after Gail sat down to her second cup of coffee. The little mutt he had rushed in to save that morning had died. Gail tried to comfort him, knew how depressed he always felt when he lost an animal, especially one that had been run over by a car as this one had because its owners thought it cruel to keep him on a leash. “I’ll try to be home early,” he told her.

  Gail informed him of her conversation with the police, and he told her the same thing Lieutenant Cole had, not to get her hopes up. She didn’t try to explain that her hopes for finding Cindy’s killer were all that were keeping her going, that while the rest of them had returned to the semblance of normal life she had advised, for her normal life had largely consisted of taking care of a six-year-old child, and now both that child and that normal life were gone.

  Mommy, when we die, can we die together? Can we die holding hands? Do you promise?

  Oh, Cindy, my sweet angel, Gail cried silently, the image of her beautiful daughter before her still-dry eyes, don’t you see I did keep my promise? When that monster killed you, he killed me too. When he took your life, he took what was left of mine. We did die together, baby. Just like I promised.

  Gail let these thoughts sink in, realizing she had been denied the right to hold her daughter’s hand. The killer had denied her that right along with everything else he had summarily taken from her.

  Gail let her eyes drift toward the kitchen window. She pictured the killer walking freely past her house, a lazy grin across his face.

  She stood up abruptly, her hand knocking over her coffee cup, its dark contents spilling across the white of the table and dripping, like blood, to the floor. Gail made no move to wipe it up, her mind still focused on her daughter’s killer. She would find him and bring him to justice, she told herself with fresh resolve. It was all he had left her. She glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall beside the telephone.

  Thirty days had passed since Cindy’s death. Thirty days remained in her deadline.

  Chapter 8

  Gail pulled the morning edition of the Newark Star-Ledger across the kitchen table toward her. What was she going to do? She had no plan. She knew nothing of the criminal mentality or the minds of madmen. Where would she start? The police followed “leads.” She had none, she realized, her eyes falling across the front page of the paper and quickly focusing on a story of an assault on Raymond Boulevard.

  An eighty-year-old woman was in critical condition in the hospital after an attempted purse-snatching. Her youthful assailant, described by onlookers as tall and fair-haired, had fled without the woman’s purse—which had contained three dollars—after repeatedly kicking the woman in the head and ribs. It was doubtful the victim would survive.

  Without stopping to consider why, Gail jumped up and ran into the small den off the living room, searching through the built-in bookshelves which lined the wall opposite the television for the place where Jack stored his maps, locating them and rifling through them until she found an assortment of New Jersey street maps. She promptly returned with them to the kitchen. Quickly, she unfolded the map of Newark, and several seconds later, she had located Raymond Boulevard. Somewhere on that street, a young, fairhaired boy had left an old woman to die.

  She turned the page. A robbery on Broad Street had left two men wounded. Gail immediately located Broad Street on the map. James Rutherford, age nineteen, of no fixed address, had been charged with the crimes and later released on bail.

  Gail read the paper from cover to cover, from the initial black headlines to the final advertisements, poring over each crime story as if she were a detective, marking on her maps the spots where an attack had taken place, carefully reading to secure a description of the assailant.

  There had been no further attacks on children in the last month; articles on what had happened to Cindy had virtually disappeared. As far as the public was concerned, a little girl named Cindy Walton had existed only as long as she was newsworthy, and then only in small black letters and a few smiling photographs. It was sad, tragic even, they would have conceded, but then it was also old news.

  *

  It became a daily routine.

  As soon as she was alone in the morning, Gail would get out her maps and go through the morning paper. Even after only a few days, a pattern was beginning to emerge: certain areas of her maps were more marked up than others; definite concentrations of high crime activity could be found.

  “What are you doing?” Carol asked her, catching her off guard one morning.

  Gail hurriedly folded up her maps and pushed aside the paper. “There’s a new condominium complex going up in Newark,” she lied, keeping her face turned away from her sister, feeling the lie blush red against her cheeks. “I wanted to locate exactly where it was.”

  “Any more coffee?” Carol asked, accepting the untruth easily.

  Gail poured her a cup.

  “Mom call?” Carol asked.

  “Mom called,” Gail answered. “And Jack. That little poodle he was so worried about pulled through okay, but a relatively healthy Dalmatian, which was just in for a routine clean-out or whatever, died under the anesthetic.”

  “Was Jack upset?”

  “He didn’t sound too bad,” Gail realized out loud. “I guess the poodle made him feel better.” She paused. “The police phoned.”

  “And?”

  “That lead they were following—the drifter in East Orange—didn’t pan out. Turned out the guy was in jail the day Cindy was murdered.” Gail let out a deep sigh.

  “Do you remember that I have to go into New York this afternoon?” Carol asked after a lengthy pause. “I have that audition I told you about, for Michael Bennett’s new musical. Do you want to come with me?” Gail shook her head. “I don’t like to leave you alone.”

  “I won’t be alone. Jennifer will be home studying.”

  “I won’t be late.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “I’ll be home in time for supper.”

  “I’ll have it waiting on the table,” Gail smiled.

  “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” Carol asked again as she was getting ready to leave the house.

  “I’m fine,” Gail told her, settling herself down in the den to watch the new television that had replaced the one the thieves had stolen.

  Gail flipped on the remote-control unit, hearing the front door close, carelessly changing the channels with a repeated flick of her finger. She tried to concentrate on what she was watch
ing, but the problems of the soap operas bored her, and the hysteria of the game shows alarmed her. She continued to change the channels, suddenly hearing the familiar music and gasping audibly at the sight of Ernie and Bert cavorting on “Sesame Street.”

  Gail sat transfixed for the better part of an hour, lost in the show Cindy had so loved, her arm around her daughter’s imaginary shoulder, laughing where she knew Cindy would have laughed.

  “What are you doing, Mom?” a worried voice asked from the doorway.

  Gail turned to face Jennifer. She said nothing. She didn’t know what she was doing, so how could she answer. Gail watched as Jennifer walked into the room and took the remote-control unit out of her hand, pressing the television off. For several seconds, no one spoke.

  “Are you finished studying?” Gail asked as soon as she could find her voice.

  “I thought I’d go over to Eddie’s for some help. This math is a real bitch.”

  “They always save the best for last,” Gail smiled.

  “I’ll be glad when this week’s over.” Jennifer put the remote control unit down on the coffee table. “Maybe I shouldn’t go out.”

  “Don’t be silly. You need help in math. I’ll be fine. In fact, I was thinking of going out for a walk myself.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Jennifer said rather too loudly, noticeably relieved. “You can walk me over to Eddie’s.”

  They walked side by side, not speaking, lost in the warm summer breezes, totally absorbed in the movement of their feet.

  “Here it is,” Jennifer said suddenly, and Gail found herself staring at the red brick house, startled to realize how close to them Eddie Fraser lived.

  “Study hard,” Gail called after her as Jennifer ran up the front steps.

  Jennifer waved and disappeared inside the front door. Gail caught a fleeting glimpse of Eddie before the door closed. His hair was brown, she thought, wondering if anyone would ever describe it as dirty blond. Perhaps if the sun were to catch it in a certain light, she decided, striding with seeming purpose down the street.

  A few minutes later she passed Riker Hill Elementary School, where Cindy had been a first-grade student. A minute or two after that she found herself in the small park where Cindy’s body had been found on that April afternoon.

  The sun was shining brilliantly and the soil was dry and firm. Gail took a deep intake of breath, feeling like a trespasser on hallowed ground. It wasn’t much of a park, she thought, more like a parkette, if such a term existed. Just a clump of bushes and a freshly painted bench, its dark green surface glistening in the sunlight.

  Gail approached the bench gingerly, as if it were still wet. She lowered herself slowly onto it, feeling her breath released in equally measured exhalations. She sat there for the better part of the afternoon, not moving, not aware of any movement around her. And then suddenly the park was full of children returning home from afternoon classes, of boys running boisterously past her, of curious eyes upon her. She got up quickly and returned home, rushing to make sure she had supper ready for everyone’s arrival.

  Carol came back with the dispiriting news that her audition had not gone well, that she had forgotten the lyrics to a song she could sing in her sleep, for God’s sake, and that the rest of the audition had proceeded downhill after that. Jack was still brooding about the Dalmatian that had died that morning, and Jennifer was nervously fretting about her math exam. As a result, no one was very hungry, and the dinner that Gail had prepared sat largely untouched.

  *

  On the afternoon of Jennifer’s last exam, Gail sat nervously waiting for her to return.

  “She’s late,” Gail told Carol, reluctantly acknowledging the new clock on the wall.

  “She’s probably discussing the exam with her friends,” Carol said casually.

  “She was never this late after her other exams.”

  Carol shrugged. “It’s her last exam today. Maybe some of the kids went out celebrating.”

  “Did she say that’s what she was going to do?”

  “No,” Carol smiled. “But you know teenagers. They probably decided to go somewhere on the spur of the moment.”

  “That’s not like Jennifer,” Gail said, panic edging into her voice. “She’d call if she was going somewhere. Oh God, Carol, do you think something could have happened to her?” Gail’s face went from its natural pallor to stark white in the space of a second.

  “Gail,” Carol began slowly, moving toward her, “come on, calm down. Jennifer is perfectly fine. She’s just a little late coming home from school, that’s all. Now sit down and I’ll get you some lemonade.”

  “You know there are a lot of crazy people out there,” Gail said, as if she hadn’t heard her sister’s words. “Some lunatic who decides he’s already killed one sister, so he might as well finish off the other one—”

  “Gail . . .”

  “Or some monster who’s read about Cindy, and decides it would be fun to go after her big sister . . .” She walked quickly toward the front door.

  “Gail, for God’s sake, where are you going?” Gail opened the door and stepped outside. “Come on back in the house. I promise you that Jennifer is all right.”

  “I’m going to find her.”

  “What? Where are you going to look?”

  It was too late. Gail was already halfway down the street. She heard a door close and a second later she felt Carol right behind her.

  “Oh God, oh God,” Gail was muttering over and over.

  “Gail, please, calm down. You can’t do this to yourself every time Jennifer is a little late. Do you know where you’re going?”

  Gail said nothing, turning the corner onto McClellan Avenue. Carol had to walk quickly to keep up, abandoning her attempts at conversation. Though Gail said nothing, she felt grateful for her sister’s presence. She turned another corner, then another, walking briskly up the front stairs of the neatly structured red brick house and banging on the door.

  “Where are we?” Carol asked.

  “Maybe she’s with Eddie,” Gail said by way of a reply. She knocked loudly, frantically, on the front door, but it soon became obvious that there was no one there. Even so, Gail continued to knock.

  “There’s no one there,” Carol said finally. “Gail,” she repeated, touching her sister’s arm, “nobody’s home.”

  Gail said nothing. She looked around helplessly for several seconds and then hurried back down the front steps. “Where are we going now?” Carol asked, following close behind, running to keep up.

  They passed a small shop called Anything Goes that had recently gone into receivership. Everything Went, Gail thought through her panic, and quickened her stride. They were soon standing in front of Jennifer’s school, but even as Gail ran up the front steps, she knew the doors would be locked. The grounds were deserted. Gail raced from the yard, seeing a small gathering of teenagers smoking by the side of the road.

  “Have any of you seen Jennifer Walton?” she asked desperately.

  The two girls and the boy regarded Gail anxiously, frightened by the tone of her voice. They shook their heads in unison.

  “You’re sure?” Gail persisted.

  “I don’t even know who she is,” the boy said, and Gail noted that he was slim and his hair a light brown that might qualify as dirty blond.

  “Gail,” her sister beckoned. “Come on. They don’t know her.”

  Gail turned on her heel and fled down the street, disappearing around first one corner, then another in rapid succession until even she was confused. And suddenly, there it was, the small park, the clump of bushes, the newly painted bright green bench.

  “Is this where—?” Carol began and quickly broke off.

  Gail said nothing, her eyes locked on the ground behind the bench.

  “Let’s go home,” Carol said.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Gail told her, her voice suddenly, eerily calm.

  “I’m not afraid,” Carol said. “I
just don’t think that it’s a good idea for us to stay here.”

  “It’s quiet here.” Gail sat down on the bench, not seeming to hear the noise of a nearby group of boys who were tossing a ball back and forth. “I came here a few days ago, when you were in New York. I sat here all afternoon.” She could see the startled expression on Carol’s face.

  “For God’s sake, why?”

  “There weren’t any kids playing here then,” Gail said, ignoring Carol’s question. “I guess their mothers have told them to stay away from here. So only a few brave kids cut through. But now it’s more crowded again. Soon even the dirty old men in raincoats will begin coming back. I’ll have to start keeping track of who comes and goes.”

  “Shouldn’t you leave that to the police?”

  “How many policemen do you see?” Gail asked.

  “I don’t think that you should come here anymore,” Carol told her, sounding more like the older sibling than the younger.

  “What’s wrong with here?” Gail asked.

  “What’s right with it?” Carol demanded in return. “Why torture yourself? Why go looking for trouble?”

  “I’m not looking for trouble.”

  “If the rock hits the pitcher or the pitcher hits the rock,” Carol said, “it’s not so good for the pitcher.”

  Gail stared at her sister for several seconds and then burst out laughing. “Where did you hear that one?”

  “Mom used to say that all the time.”

  “Really? I never heard her.”

  “Maybe she only said it to me,” Carol said, reluctantly sitting down beside her sister. “I was the one who was always getting into trouble, remember? Couldn’t keep my big mouth shut. ‘Don’t go looking for trouble,’ she used to tell me, and I’d say that I never went looking for trouble, it always came looking for me. And then she’d say, ‘if the rock hits the pitcher or the pitcher hits the rock . . .’ And now here I am, carrying on the proud family tradition.”

  Gail smiled and put her head against her sister’s shoulder. She allowed Carol to put her arm around her and slowly pull her up beside her. They walked side by side out onto the street.