The Ex

For Lish Whitson and Joel Summerlin

June 17, 2015

TRANSCRIPT OF RECORDED

INTERVIEW WITH JACKSON HARRIS

10:27
AM
—recording starts

NYPD DET. JIMMY BOYLE

Boyle:
Okay, I’ve turned on the machine, Mr. Harris. Just to make clear, are you here at the First Precinct voluntarily?

Harris:
Yes.

Boyle:
And you’re willing to speak to me of your own accord?

Harris:
Sure.

Boyle:
Terrific. As you know, we’re tracking down folks who were at the waterfront this morning. We’ve spoken already, but if we could just get it down on tape real quick since we’re talking to so many people. Can you tell me in your own words when and why you were there?

Harris:
Sure. About seven
AM
. I was meeting a woman named Madeline.

Boyle:
And you don’t know Madeline’s last name or phone number.

Harris:
No, just her e-mail address.

Boyle:
You said you’d only seen her in person once, at the Christopher Street Pier two Saturdays ago. Pretty girl, huh?

Harris:
Sure.

Boyle:
But you said it was more than that. You said it was “surreal”—I think that was your word?

Harris:
You need this part?

Boyle:
The more detail, the better chance we have at identifying her. Since she was meeting you, she may have been in the area, too.

Harris:
Okay, yeah. I was on my morning run, and I see this woman in a party dress, sort of a pale pink color, strapless. But she’s sitting right on the damp grass. The sun was just beginning to rise. And she’s barefoot, drinking champagne straight out of the bottle. Yes, the whole thing was sort of surreal.

Boyle:
And you mentioned a basket?

Harris:
She had some kind of package on the ground next to her. When I got closer, I could see it was a picnic basket. I think she noticed me looking at her, because she held up her bottle like a toast when I ran by. Oh, and she was reading.

Boyle:
And you said it was the book that really intrigued you.

Harris:
Well, I’m a writer. So a beautiful woman in last night’s dress, drinking champagne, with a book. What’s not to like?

Boyle:
But you didn’t actually talk to her?

Harris:
Oh, God, no. But then I mentioned this woman to a friend.

Boyle:
Charlotte Caperton?

Harris:
Yeah. I should’ve known she wouldn’t let it drop. Charlotte’s kind of a busybody when it comes to running my life. Anyway, she’s the publisher of this website, like an online magazine all about the city. It’s called the Room.

Boyle:
Oh sure. Can’t call yourself a New Yorker and not know about the Room.

Harris:
So the next thing I know, Charlotte’s posting a missed-moment article online.

Boyle:
And that’s one of those “I saw you on the 6 train” kind of things, right?

Harris:
Or in my case, “I was the out-of-breath middle-aged jogger who saw you on the pier.” But Charlotte made it sound less pathetic.

Boyle:
And is that normal? Does your friend write personal ads every time you see a pretty woman?

Harris:
There’s no
every time
in my case. My wife—well, she’s gone, and there hasn’t been anyone else. I’ve got a teenage daughter. I’m not exactly a player. So, yeah, Charlotte figured it was a big deal that I even mentioned this woman. That maybe I was finally ready, whatever that means. Anyway, I guess a lot of people read the Room, because a few days later, this woman Madeline responded to the post. Turns out the book she was reading was one of my favorite novels. We started e-mailing back and forth, and last
night, she proposed that we meet in person. I feel bad taking your time with this corny story given what’s at stake.

Boyle:
I guess I’m curious. I’m single myself. The whole OkCupid, Match, Tinder game. And you’ve got to admit, this is pretty—

Harris:
Incredible, I know.

Boyle:
And you mentioned you also had a basket with you this morning at the waterfront?

Harris:
Really, I’m not sure why we need to get into this. It’s a little embarrassing.

Boyle:
Look, our conversation here is just one tiny part of figuring out who was where and when. So, you know, if another witness mentions seeing a man with a basket, we’ll know—yeah, that was Jack Harris. Onward.

Harris:
Sure, okay. Yes, Madeline’s e-mail said, you bring the picnic basket, I’ll bring the champagne. So that’s why.

Boyle:
And explain to me again why you were supposed to meet at the football field. Seems like the meet-up spot would be Christopher Street Pier where you first saw her in the grass. It’s only a couple of blocks away.

Harris:
She suggested the sports field. There’s a scene in the book I mentioned that’s set there. Meet at chapter twelve—sort of a puzzle.

Boyle:
Sounds complicated. And then after all that, she didn’t show up?

Harris:
Not that I saw. When I got there, a few people were milling around, but no one who seemed to be looking for me. I left when it started to pour.

Boyle:
Did you e-mail her asking where she was?

Harris:
No. Not yet, at least.

Boyle:
If it were me, I’d want an explanation after such a dramatic lead-in.

Harris:
It’s like reality set in with the rain. The whole thing seemed silly.

Boyle:
What happened to the basket?

Harris:
I left it outside the field with a note.

Boyle:
I see. Where outside the field?

Harris:
On a bench on the path leading to the street. I figured she’d see it if she showed up later.

Boyle:
What exactly was in the basket?

Harris:
Wow, you really want the details. Um, a few croissants and some grapes. And the note.

Boyle:
Where’d you get the paper for the note?

Harris:
I always have a reporter’s pad in my pocket. Tools of the trade, I guess.

Boyle:
When did you hear the shots?

Harris:
I didn’t know they were shots until later, when I got home and heard the news. Other people around me—we were all wondering what the sounds were. Like firecrackers. They seemed distant, so it was hard to tell.

Boyle:
Okay, but where were you when you heard them?

Harris:
Charles Street. On the opposite side of the West Side Highway. I’m surprised the sound carried so far.

Boyle:
Believe it or not, they’ve got acoustic sensors that can pick up gunfire two miles away. So, just to sum up, there’s no reason you went to the football field other than to meet this Madeline woman?

Harris:
No.

Boyle:
You don’t know anyone else who would’ve been at the field this morning?

Harris:
No. Other than Madeline, of course. I can give you her e-mail address.

Boyle:
Okay, so it’s just a coincidence that Malcolm Neeley was one of the shooting victims?

Harris:
I’m sorry. What—

Boyle:
You know the name, right? Of course you do. Malcolm Neeley was one of three people shot this morning at the football field, just
yards from you and your little picnic basket. Care to explain that, Mr. Harris?

Harris:
Wait, that doesn’t make sense.

Boyle:
You said yourself: The story sounded a little surreal. You even said “incredible” at one point.

Harris:
You don’t . . . you can’t possibly think I did this. [No response]

Harris:
I need a minute to think.

10:36
AM
—recording stopped