"That's what he said."
"About what? Did you ask him?"
"No. He didn't seem anxious to talk very much about it."
"Did you ever notice any kind of marks on Caryn? A black eye? Anything like that?"
She shook her head. "But I didn't see as much of her anyway."
"So you never found out why the police car was there?"
"Well, not from them." The answer seemed to embarrass her. She went on. "Have you talked to the Sutcliffs yet? The neighbors on the other side?"
"Not yet."
"Well, Harriet-Mrs. Sutcliff-she was the one who had called the police. She thought somebody was going to get killed over there."
Q: Three, two, one. Case number 07-232918. This is Inspector Devin Juhle, badge 1667. The time is quarter after fifteen hundred hours on Monday, September 12th. I am at a residence at 1322 Greenwich Street and speaking with a sixty-four-year-old Caucasian woman who identifies herself as Harriet Sutcliff, the owner of the residence. Mrs. Sutcliff, I appreciate your agreeing to talk with me. How long have you been neighbors with Stuart and Caryn Gorman?
A: Since they moved in here. That was, I guess, fifteen or so years ago.
Q: Did you find them to be good neighbors?
A: Yes. At first. We liked them very much. Especially Art-my husband?-when he found out that Stuart wrote those flyfishing books. Art's a fisherman himself. So it was really exciting for him getting to know a celebrity like that. But the last couple of years, we haven't seen too much of them.
Q: And why is that?
A: It just seemed that they changed. First they seemed to stop doing social things together. And certainly with us. Stuart would still come by sometimes and talk to Art, but we almost never saw them together anymore. And then, by the summer, they seemed to just be fighting all the time.
Q: You heard them fighting?
A: Yes.
Q: Just words, or more than that? A: More, I'd say. Q: Like what?
A: Well, I definitely heard some things breaking over there. As though they were thrown. It was hard not to hear when that happened. And then one day last summer, I didn't want to but I felt I had to call the police. I thought somebody was going to get hurt.
Q: And so you did, in fact, call the police?
A: Yes. And a car came. It stayed a short while, but I don't think anything ever came of that. And since then I haven't talked to either Stuart or Caryn very much. I think they must have figured out that I'd been the one that called and they were mad at me.
Q: Did there continue to be fights after that one?
A: A couple, I think. But none so bad.
Q: Did you hear anything like a fight last night over there?
A: No. We-Art and I-we went to a movie and got back about ten thirty, and it was all quiet over there. Dark. And we were asleep by the time Stuart got home.
Q: By the time Stuart got home?
A: Right.
Q: And what time was that?
A: I don't know exactly. I gather pretty late.
Q: You mean this morning?
A: No, I don't think so. I believe he got home last night.
Q: Why do you believe that? If you were asleep and didn't hear him?
A: Well, I didn't see it myself, but because that's what Bethany said. There was a bunch of us from the block that gathered at the corner this morning. We didn't know what else to do, so we were all standing there waiting for someone to tell us what had happened, although we knew it was probably bad, with all the police and everything.
Q: I'm sorry, Mrs. Sutcliff. Can we go back to Bethany for a minute. Bethany is who?
A: Bethany Robley. She lives across the street, that stucco place right there two houses up. She and Kymberly know each other.
Q: And Bethany told you that Stuart came home last night?
A: That's what she said. She said it was around eleven thirty.
Q: Why did she think that?
A: I got the impression that she saw him. Her bedroom's right in that upstairs front window. You can see it from here, see? I can't believe he actually killed her, though I guess somebody must have. He really seems like such a nice man.
Q: Well, that's still kind of an open question.
The door at the stucco house across the street opened to a heavyset, gray-haired African American woman in a brown jogging outfit. "Yes? Can I help you?"
Introducing himself, Juhle had his badge out, and held it up in his wallet. "Is this the home of Bethany Robley?"
"It is."
"I'd like to ask her a few questions, if you don't mind." "Maybe I do. I'm her mother. What's this about? What's she done?"
"She's done nothing, ma'am. It's about your neighbors across the street there. The Gormans. You may have heard that Mrs. Gorman died this morning."
"There wasn't any Mrs. Gorman. There was Dr. Dryden, Caryn, married to Stuart, if that's who you mean." Mrs. Robley had her arms crossed, and stepping forward, she completely blocked the door. "And that's got nothing to do with my daughter. She had nothing to do with them."
"I understand she was a friend of Kymberly's, their daughter."
"Okay, that. They know each other, all right, but Kym's gone up to school and she hasn't been over there since…"
Behind Mrs. Robley, Juhle heard a younger voice. "It's okay, Mom. I can talk to him."
"Not unless I say so, you can't." The mother came back at Juhle, holding her daughter back with an extended palm. "Are we going to be wanting a lawyer here, Inspector? You think my little girl had anything at all to do with Caryn's dying?"
"I've got no reason to think that, ma'am. I'd just like to ask her a couple of questions about what, if anything, she might have seen last night. From her window."
"And that's all?"
"That's all. Promise."
The mother half turned and Juhle caught a glimpse of a young woman of about his own height. She was wearing a Galileo High sweatshirt, a short black skirt, white tennis shoes.
"I'm gonna be with you the whole time," Mrs. Robley said.
"Fine with me."
A few seconds passed, and then the large woman sighed and moved to the side to let her daughter come forward. Bethany stepped up into the doorway-a clear, wide forehead and a solemn expression on her face. A keen intelligence seemed to emanate from a penetrating gaze out of deeply set eyes. To Juhle, she looked far too serious for a young woman of her age; she could easily have passed for twenty-five.
And Juhle immediately recognized a key truth: If Bethany was going to be one of his witnesses-and he thought that was a reasonable likelihood at this stage-he couldn't have asked for a better one. "I won't take up much of your time," he began. He looked behind Bethany to her mother, held up his tiny tape recorder. "I'd like to record what we say here." He shrugged apologetically. "It's just that I don't take really good notes, and I want to make sure I've got it exactly right. Is that all right with you, Mrs. Robley?"
"Ask my daughter."
Bethany shrugged with a slight awkwardness. "That's okay, I guess."
"Thank you." Juhle quickly dictated his standard intro into the device, then came back to his subject. "Well, Bethany, I was just over at Mrs. Sutcliff's house talking to her, and she told me that you were one of the people with her standing on the corner this morning when I pulled up. Do you remember that?"
"Sure."
"Well, she-Mrs. Sutcliff, I mean-she told me that you said you saw Mr. Gorman get home last night. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"Do you happen to remember roughly what time that was?"
"Actually, I remember exactly. He got home at eleven thirty. That's my lights-out time on a school night, and I was just finishing at my desk when I saw him turn into the driveway."
"And where's your desk?"
"Just under the window there that looks down on the street."
Juhle paused to consider his next question. "And you're sure it was Mr. Gorman? Did you see him get out of the car?"
"No. But it must have been him. He opened the garage automatically and went inside. Then closed it behind him. So I never saw him. But it was his car."