34
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.”
35
Darnell’s Motor-Inn boasted nine “log cabins,” each with its own vibrating bed and color TV with hard-core pay-per-view. Brandon was staying in cabin five. The red sports car was gone. A black Jeep Cherokee was parked out front. Natalie knocked on the door and Brandon answered looking strung-out in gray sweats and blue athletic shoes.
“Come on in. Quick.” He closed the door behind them.
“What are you doing way out here?” Natalie asked.
“The media’s camped out at my dad’s house. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get some fresh air.”
“There’s nothing fresh about this air,” Natalie said.
Inside, it was dark and nasty-smelling. She took a seat in one of the matching tangerine vinyl armchairs angled in front of the TV. These places were all the same—bed, bureau, minifridge. The curtains were faded. The carpet was the color of lumpy mashed potatoes
In this confined space, she could feel the heat crawling up her neck—she was glad to see Brandon, but more than a little concerned. The queen-size bed was covered in survivalist gear—a bulging backpack, his off-duty revolver with extra ammo, his handcuffs, a Taser.
“What the hell is this?” she asked, pointing at the cache of weaponry.
“Dominic wants me dead. I gotta be careful.” Brandon opened the minifridge and took out two Coronas. “Want a beer, Nat?”
“I’ll pass. Couldn’t you find a safer hideaway?”
“Nobody knows I’m here. The owner’s a buddy of mine. Coke? That’s all I got.”
She studied him closely—he was a sweaty mess with bloodshot eyes and knots on his forehead. She shook her head and felt an inexplicable weight on her shoulders.
He sat down and cracked his beer. “Maybe this is karma. Maybe life is just one big cosmic joke.”
“Karma for what?”
He shrugged. “I’m a fuckup. Straight up.”
“Look,” Natalie said, “if Dominic breaks parole, we’ll be on his ass in a heartbeat, okay? Meanwhile, you’ve got yourself a killer lawyer. You need to listen to him. You can’t keep running around like some backwoods vigilante—”
“Did they get the tox screen results yet?” Brandon interrupted.
She took a frayed breath. “You need to back off and let us do our job. Listen to your attorney. Avoid Dominic.”
His eyes widened. “You think that’s all I care about? Dominic spreading lies to protect his punk-ass son? Fuck him. Nothing shocks me anymore, Natalie. Nothing rocks me. I’m just looking for the thread running through all these questions.…”
Natalie folded her arms. “Can I be honest?”
“Go ahead.”
“I watched you self-destruct before my eyes. And that was a horrible feeling.”
He gave a sullen nod.
“Right here in my gut,” she said. “Like you put a bullet through me. Like you chewed a hole through our ranks. And I hated you for that. Because I really care what happens to you, Brandon. We all do.”
His eyes glazed over. “I made some poor choices. But how can you not see this, Natalie? My wife was dead on the floor, and I’m supposed to make rational decisions? How is that in any way fair?” He was silent for a moment as he gazed out the motel windows at the evening sky, sprinkled with stars and dominated by the planet Venus. He looked down at his hands. “What did Jules say?”
“You know I can’t talk about that.”
He scowled at her. “Give me something, Natalie.”
“We’re working around the clock. That’s all I can say.”
He gave her a look of utter despair. “How’d we get here? Huh?”
She’d intended to hammer him with questions, but now she could feel herself softening and sympathizing. Brandon had lost his wife and their entire future together in one blow. He’d lost his whole world. How would she have coped? How would anyone? These thoughts were stuck like burrs in her mind. “Brandon, this is the second time we’ve met against the advice of your counsel,” she said. “So what’s up?”
He gave her a pleading look. “Can I trust you?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m your most trusted ally. I’m the only one who’s going to tell you the truth, even if you don’t like me very much. And so, yes, Brandon, you can trust me.”
The muscles of his back tensed as he released a sigh. “Okay, fine. Ask me anything. I’m an open book.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fuck my lawyer … go ahead. I want justice for my wife and baby.”
She leaned forward and said, “I know about your fling with Lindsey back in high school. I know you weren’t consulted about the abortion, and I was told you reacted with anger. So what happened, in your own words?”
He smoothed his greasy hair behind his ears and said, “Of course, I was pissed off. Who wouldn’t be? I wanted that baby. I wanted to marry her. But Daisy never let me know what was going on until it was too late. And that hurt like hell. She thought we were too young, and … you know what? She was right. Still, at the time, that didn’t make it suck any less.”
“Did you ever hit her? Lose your temper?”
“Christ, these are your questions?”
“You said I could ask you anything, Brandon. Why did you hire Lindsey to do your landscaping, when you knew how much it might hurt Daisy?”
“Lindsey’s the best in town.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t know what else to say. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“You weren’t thinking about Daisy’s feelings?”
“Our marriage wasn’t doing so great,” he said heatedly. “We were struggling to get back to a place of intimacy, real intimacy. Maybe there was a side of me that wanted to make her jealous,” he admitted. “Reignite those old feelings.”
“Old feelings of jealousy?”
“Passion,” he said, looking at her. “Love. Lust. Fun.”
She nodded.
“We don’t
always act rationally when it comes to love, do we?”
“No, we don’t,” she admitted.
His face had grown tense and expressionless. “I wasn’t paying attention, okay? I was thinking about our future together. What does it matter? I loved her, you know that. We were going to have a baby. Sure we argued. Things weren’t perfect. But I’ve been in love with Daisy since the fifth grade, and everybody fuckin’ knows it.”
“I know you love her, Brandon. That’s not in dispute here.”
“And now, come to find out … my wife’s been cheating on me.” He took a swallow of beer. “All this time, it turns out she was screwing around behind my back.” Brandon gazed blankly out the window. “With Ethan Hathaway.”
The hairs on her arms bristled. “How do you know it was him?”
“Are you kidding me? You think anyone can keep a secret in this town?”
“We have a leaker? Who told you?”
“Relax, Natalie. I saw it on the news. All those cameras in front of the police station. I spotted him walking up the steps behind the talking heads. One plus one equals a threesome. Besides, it was you who planted the idea in my head in the first place.”
“Jesus, Brandon.”
“Love sonnets, you said. Ever since you told me about those sonnets, it’s been eating a hole in me. Bottom line, some egghead was bonking my wife while I was agonizing about her and the baby. That’s the takeaway from this.” He wiped the sweat off his face.
Natalie steepled her fingers together and said, “Just tell me one thing. Why did you lie to me? You didn’t get to the gym until five thirty, according to the staff.”
“Who cares?”
“I do. Because it speaks to the timeline. You know exactly what I mean.”
Brandon stood up and balled his hands into fists. “I wasn’t lying to you, Natalie. I honestly don’t remember. My head’s been fuzzy for days. D’you realize what this feels like? It feels like a Valium-induced waking dream. It’s down to brain-dead levels now. My wife is dead. Do you have any idea what I did today? I had to go pick out the casket.” He ran his hands through his messy hair. “I had to fetch a copy of the death certificate. And you wonder why I can’t pin down the exact time I went to the gym?”
“It’s significant. You changed your story twice. First, you said you went to the gym at four, then at five, now it’s five thirty. So, fine. Now we know you drove to Chippaway at four—no witnesses, no stops for gas, no receipts. And that presents a problem for me. Because basically, there’s an hour and a half unaccounted for.”
Trace of Evil Page 23