Milo kept silent.
“In point of fact,” Winterthorn went on, “she was the aggressor—she initiated, I was just stupid. We didn’t even have conventional sex—no, that came out wrong, I’m not implying anything weird or kinky, I’m just saying we didn’t have intercourse. Understand?”
“Not fully, Jim.”
“She went down on me, okay?” Winterthorn sprang up, walked to the French doors, looked out at impatiens, begonias, ferns, a cute little pathway fashioned from round pond stones. “And then it was over and we never talked about it and it’s not relevant because Elise wasn’t significant to me and I’m sure the same went for her.”
He faced us. “I was nothing to her. She made that clear.”
“How’d she do that, Jim?”
“After she finished, she wiped her mouth and laughed and said, ‘Don’t make a big deal of that, Jimmy. I was just in a mood.’”
“That kind of attitude could make someone mad.”
“The only one I was mad at was myself. I’ve always prided myself on being faithful and up until that point I had been. I was a total ass, no excuse. I still don’t understand how it happened but I certainly didn’t pursue her. Just the opposite, I wanted nothing to do with her.”
“She took you by surprise, Jim.”
“She sure as hell did but I was an ass, nonetheless. I know this sounds like something a woman would say but the entire episode made me feel dirty.”
“Feeling dirty could make someone mad.”
“I didn’t kill her!” Winterthorn pounded a pane. Rocked on the balls of his feet. “Goddammit!”
“Why don’t you sit back down, Jim?”
“I prefer to stand.”
Milo said, “I’m going to give you a time span and I’d like you to tell me where you were during that period.”
He outlined the parameters of the murder day.
Winterthorn said, “I was with—no, I wasn’t with Emily, thank God. I was with my mother. She wasn’t feeling well and my father was at a conference so I went and sat with her.” Facing us. “There’s no reason to drag Emily into this, right?”
“Hopefully not, Jim.”
“Please. I had nothing to do with Elise’s death.”
“Even though she made you feel cheap.”
“An isolated event,” said Winterthorn. “I put it behind me.”
“Something like that, a lot of guys would remember it fondly.”
“I’m not a lot of guys.”
“Guess not.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m a killer.”
Milo said, “Let’s go back to that event for a sec. You tell it as Elise coming on to you, she tells it as persistent sexual harassment.”
“That’s insane, I have no idea why she’d say that. Why me, of all people?”
“Who, then?”
Winterthorn looked to the side. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, Jim?”
Winterthorn slumped. “This is crazy, totally crazy. Dr. Helfgott pulls me out of class and now I’m being interrogated like a criminal.”
“Interviewed,” said Milo.
“I feel interrogated. Worse—intimidated. Like Guantánamo.”
“How did you and Elise get along after the ‘event’?”
“I avoided her.”
“She made you nervous.”
“Maybe that’s why she made those insane accusations. She felt rejected.”
“She came on to you again and you turned her down?”
“No, no, I’d avoid eye contact, she never had the opportunity. Maybe it annoyed her, I don’t know. But what was my choice?”
“Science teachers not hobnobbing with English teachers made it easier for you,” said Milo. “But general job stuff must’ve thrown you together.”
“What do you mean?”
“Gripe sessions in the faculty lounge.”
Winterthorn’s laughter was quick, too emphatic. Grateful for the opportunity to be other than scared. “There are no gripe sessions at Prep. They’d be considered unseemly.”
Milo said, “That sounds like a word Dr. Helfgott would use.”
“As a matter of fact, it’s one of his favorite adjectives.”
“Unseemly,” said Milo. “Guess that could apply to murder.”
“That Dr. H. would probably call abominable.”
“Hmm… okay, Jim, I’ll need your mother’s phone number and address.”
Winterthorn’s eyes bugged. “You’re kidding.”
“She’s your alibi, Jim.”
“I need an alibi?”
“Jim, look at the facts objectively: A woman accuses you of sexual harassment and now she’s dead.”
“I’m the only person she accused?”
“Should there be others, Jim?”
Silence.
“If there’s something you know,” said Milo, “now’s the time.”
Winterthorn sat down, lowered his head. “I’m probably opening a can of worms.”
“Sometimes that’s what it takes to catch fish, Jim.”
Seconds passed. A sparrow settled on a rock in the garden. A raven swooped down and scared the smaller bird away.
Winterthorn covered his mouth with one hand, moaned into his palm softly. The hand lowered. “If you want to pursue that angle, I’d have a look at Enrico—Enrico Hauer. I’m sure he and Elise were seeing each other.”
“Why?”
“They weren’t exactly subtle, Lieutenant. Long looks, smiles, brushing against each other.”
“Sounds like you were watching them, Jim.”
“No, no, that’s my point. It was hard to miss.”
“What else can you tell me about Mr. Hauer?”
“He’s from Argentina… he’s… self-assured. Teaches urban studies and psychology.”
“He and Elise had something going on.”
“That was my impression.”
“Problem is, Jim, that boils down to consensual hanky-panky, not harassment.”
“The same applies to me! It was totally consensual—she initiated for God’s sake—and it was only one time. Enrico, on the other hand…”
Winterthorn trailed off.
Milo said, “Okay, thanks for the help, Jim. Now, what’s your mom’s number?”
“What are you going to tell her?”
“That your whereabouts are part of a routine investigation.”
“That’s going to freak her out,” said Winterthorn. “Could you say I’m not a suspect, you’re checking out other people?”
“Hmm—if you’ve been totally truthful I guess I could do that.”
“I have been, I swear. And you won’t tell Emily, right?”
“Same answer, Jim.”
“Thank you. I meant that.” Winterthorn’s eyes misted. Milo held out a tissue. Men usually refuse the offer.
Winterthorn didn’t.
CHAPTER
12
Enrico Hauer smiled dreamily, as if aroused from a pleasant nap. “How bizarre.”
Windsor Prep’s head of social studies had arrived ten minutes late, giving Milo time to call James Winterthorn’s mother and inquire about the science teacher’s whereabouts. Martha Winterthorn, Esq., played lawyer for a while, finally filled in the time frame. Her account left an hour or so unaccounted for and mothers were dubious guarantors, but Milo hung up saying, “At this point, you see any reason to bust the poor bastard’s life wide open?”
“Not yet.”
Bell ring number two.