Natalie escorted Ethan Hathaway into the interview room and offered him something to drink. “Coke, Pepsi, Dr Pepper…?”
He declined them all.
“Have a seat.” She turned on the video recorder. The interrogation room was windowless and sparsely furnished, with a table, two chairs, and a camera on a tripod. Some of her fellow detectives were content to talk for hours about nothing in an attempt to relax the suspect and catch him off guard, but Natalie preferred a more direct approach.
“You’ve known Daisy for how long now?” she asked.
“Three years.”
“Only three?”
“Well, I’m four years older than Daisy,” he said, “so our paths never crossed until I started teaching at JFK, which was about three years ago.”
“Where did you work before JFK?”
“I got my teaching degree in English from Syracuse and my master’s from NYU. After that, I taught creative writing at a boarding school in Albany. The Gilchrest School. About five years ago, my mother became seriously ill, and as her illness progressed, I decided to apply for a teaching gig closer to home. Fortunately, something opened up.”
She nodded. “Tell me about your relationship with Daisy.”
He stared down at his hands. “First of all, she’s a terrific person. An inspired teacher and a caring human being. We were on the same wavelength, I guess you could say.”
“When did you realize you were attracted to her?”
“We started out as colleagues. Friends. We had a lot in common … just two teachers jawboning about our crazy profession. Daisy’s pretty much an open book—very honest and plainspoken. Whatever she wants in her life, it’s plastered all over her face, like a billboard. To tell you the truth, I felt an instant attraction to her, but then I noticed the wedding ring. As the years progressed, however, so did we.”
“Tell me again … when did it begin specifically?” Natalie asked.
“June of last year.”
“And you’ve never been married?”
Ethan shook his head. “Never found the right person, I guess.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and looked around. There was no place to rest your eyes, except on the detective seated opposite you. “I’m a writer, so that makes me … I won’t say antisocial exactly. But solitary. Some people can’t stand to be alone with their thoughts, but I can. Daisy was drawn to that private side of me.”
“And Brandon had no idea about the affair? You’re sure about that?”
Ethan shook his head. “We were very discreet.”
“But there were rumors among the faculty members…”
“There are always rumors flying around school.” He shrugged. “People talk. Grace and Daisy squelched those rumors pretty quickly. Grace gave it legitimacy.”
“And Daisy was okay with that? Lying to her best friend?”
“Not okay with it,” he said. “Out of necessity.”
Natalie noted his bloodshot eyes. He’d been grieving, possibly self-medicating, not getting much sleep. His shirt wasn’t tucked in, and there was a smudge on his collar. “How did it make you feel when Daisy broke up with you?” she asked.
“Terrible.”
“Did you try talking her out of it?”
“Of course. We discussed it for hours. But in the end, I accepted her decision.”
“But the two of you had temporarily split up once before. Why did you accept her decision this time?”
“She was never pregnant before.”
“But she could’ve been pregnant with your child.”
“It also could’ve been Brandon’s.”
“That didn’t bother you?” Natalie pressed.
“I wanted to be … respectful of her decision.”
“What would you have done if Brandon had found out about you and Daisy before she got pregnant? Would you have fought for her then?”
“I’m not a fighter.”
“So then—you just gave up?” she said.
“I don’t understand the question. That’s not what happened.”
“Maybe the thought of confronting Brandon influenced your decision to respect Daisy’s wishes? Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with her decision, as much as it had to do with avoiding a showdown with her husband?”
Ethan heaved a frustrated sigh. He took a throat lozenge out of his pocket. It was covered in lint, but he popped it in his mouth anyway. “I’m not naïve, Detective. I understand when someone’s calling me a coward. Like I told you, I’m not a fighter.”
“Those love sonnets are full of bravado,” Natalie said, egging him on. “And I could’ve sworn that the person who wrote them would’ve fought for Daisy’s hand to the death.”
He looked at her with utter contempt. “Then you read them wrong.”
“Oh? Explain it to me.”
“Shakespeare was known for turning the traditional sonnet on its head. He often wrote about unrequited love, more specifically … between a poet and the lady he worshipped who was above his station and who, in the end, abandoned him. In many of his sonnets, the poet ends up blaming himself for the loss of her affection.”
“So you blamed yourself?” she asked.
He nodded. “Brandon’s an imposing presence. He’s loud and annoying, but he lives life fully in the present. He’s a kind of eat-drink-and-be-merry type of guy. Whereas I have a tendency to dwell inside my head. I think that’s why Daisy ultimately chose him over me.”
“That’s very chivalrous of you.”
“Chivalry means courtesy, generosity, and valor.”
“So you consider yourself a generous man. Not an angry, jealous man?”
“What you feel and how you behave are two different things,” he said.
“But you were confused that she chose Brandon over you?”
“I was angry, jealous, confused, sad, bitter, and heartbroken.”
“Okay,” she said. “That’s a lot of emotional baggage.”
“And I carry it well. With a heavy heart.”
Natalie nodded. He was a little arrogant and standoffish, and he liked to play word games. He came across as humorless, but the dry wit was there. “Tell me about last Wednesday,” she said. “Walk me through it.”
“Like I said, there was an after-school meeting—fairly boring procedural stuff. I went home around four fifteen and started grading papers. Not the best way to spend your evenings, but hey, it’s a living.”
She smiled. “Did anyone contact you during that time? Between four fifteen and let’s say, six thirty?”
“No. I turn off all my devices when I’m grading papers. Better concentration.”
“All?”
“You should try it.”
“Are you right-handed or left-handed?”
“Right,” he responded.
“What kind of soft drink do you prefer?”
“Soft drink?” He shrugged. “I prefer bottled water.”
“And if you had to pick between Coke, Seven-Up, Dr Pepper, Pepsi, Fanta…?”
“Coke or Pepsi, I suppose.”
Natalie nodded. “Did you kill Daisy Buckner?”
“No.” He winced.
“Ever hit or strike her?”
The corners of his mouth drew down. “No. Never.”
Lies took effort and concentration. Hathaway seemed too worn-out to be lying, but the extraction of truth was a tough business. Even well-intentioned adults lied about some things. Joey had taught her to look for clues. Defensive posture. Furtive glances. Sweaty foreheads. Shallow breathing. Everything was a tell.
“Did you and Daisy argue a lot?”
“We disagreed on occasion. Just like any other couple.”
“But you weren’t like any other couple.”
“No,” he agreed.
“Did you ever lose your temper with her?” Natalie asked.
“I’m pretty even-tempered.”
“Ever yell? Shove? Maybe an argument that got physical?”
“No.”
She observed him carefully. “Are you willing to take a polygraph?”
“Yes,” he said, his face drawing into a blade of pain. “Jesus. Why would I hurt her? I was deeply in love with her.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe because she broke your heart? Maybe because you couldn’t stand the idea of another man raising your child? These are just a few of the possibilities that pop into my head.”
“Look, I’ll take a polygraph test,” Ethan said in a stressed tone. “But you have to believe me. I loved her. I never would’ve hurt her. I don’t know who killed her. I don’t know whose baby it was.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “All I know is … Daisy wasn’t happy in her marriage, Brandon’s a loudmouth drunk, Riley Skinner was behaving in a threatening manner, and Daisy insisted she could handle it.”
“Handle what?”
“Everything. Riley, her marriage, the baby. She wanted to do the right thing. She told me that getting pregnant changed everything for her.”
“Meaning what?”
“I don’t know. But she was unyielding, once she’d made up her mind.”
“Did Riley ever show signs of hostility or aggression toward Daisy that you witnessed personally?”
“No. I only heard about it secondhand from her.”
“About Riley. Any outward signs of pathology? Any interest in witchcraft, Satanism, animal mutilation?”
“Animal mutilation?” he repeated with disgust. “No, not that I recall. Although he was into rap, death metal, Goth, and horror flicks. He wrote violent rap lyrics instead of poetry and drew disturbing pictures in the margins of his test papers, but that isn’t unique for a teenage boy.”
She could feel her phone buzzing in her pocket. “I’ll introduce you to Detective Labruzzo, our polygraph expert,” she said. “He can schedule an appointment for you. Excuse me a minute, I have to take this.”
She took the call outside. “Brandon?”
“Natalie,” he said breathlessly, “we need to talk.”