Natalie Borg didn’t fit the mold of the new occupants, having lived in the same apartment her parents purchased in 1950. Although the shops were different and NYU had taken over more and more of Washington Square, nothing changed for her. Nothing except she now had a male roommate. Ted Dale had moved in with her when his husband committed suicide.“It’s just proof of what I said all along about Ashton,” Ted said to Natalie shortly after they’d discovered his body. “He was so selfish; he didn’t care what this would do to me.”Although Natalie felt compassion for Ashton, she understood where Ted was coming from as he worked out his anger. “He was mentally ill, Ted. You can’t take your own life and not be sick.”Ted had tried to reach Ashton for two days, finally bracing himself for the possibility that he was dead.Ted took a cab uptown on the afternoon of the second day of silence. The doorman William tipped his hat.“Mr. Dale,” he said.“Have you seen Mr. Ashton today?”“No, sir.
