I nodded and looked at her as she stared down into her coffee cup. I had the feeling that she might have been a different woman five years ago. Probably a little happier and maybe more spirited. What had happened on July 17, 1996, had traumatized her, and what happened afterward had disappointed her and made her resentful, and perhaps fearful. And then there was Mark Winslow, whose face I could see behind the windshield of his Mercedes. And she was still here, five years later, and she knew she’d be here for a long time. Life was a continuing series of compromises, disappointments, betrayals, and what-ifs. Now and then, you get it right the first time, and more rarely, you get a chance to do it over and get it right the second time. I was going to give Jill Winslow a do-over, and I hoped she took it.
She seemed composed again, and I said to her, “So you saw the explosion through the viewfinder.”
She nodded.
“And Bud was driving.”
“Yes. I said to him, ‘Pull over. You have to see this,’ or something like that.”
“And he said?”
“Nothing. I said to him, ‘We have the whole thing on tape.’”
I sat there for a while, wanting to ask. And not wanting to ask. But I was here to ask, so I asked, “Did you see the streak of light on the tape?”
She looked at me and replied, “Of course.”
I looked out her bay window, which faced the backyard. There was a big slate patio, then a swimming pool, then about an acre of landscaped gardens. The roses still looked good.Of course.
I poured myself another cup of coffee, cleared my throat, then asked her, “And this streak of light was not a reflection of a stream of burning fuel on the water?”
“No.” She added, “I saw the… whatever it was rise from the ocean… I mean, I saw it inperson, before I saw it again on the videotape.”
“You were standing on the beach?”
She didn’t reply for a few seconds, then said, “I was sitting on the beach, and… I saw this streak of light rising into the sky… I said something to Bud, and he sat up and turned toward it. We both watched it as it rose, then a few seconds later, there was this huge explosion in the sky… and pieces of burning debris or something started falling… then this huge fireball started to fall… then, maybe a minute later, we actuallyheard the explosion…”
This was not quite what Mr. Bullshit Artist had told me about what this couple had seen. But I wasn’t exactly shocked to discover a major discrepancy. I said to her, “The report I read said you were still making love on the beachwhile the plane was exploding, and it was thesound of the explosion, about forty seconds later, that caught your attention.”
She shook her head and said, “We’d finished making love. I was sitting”-her face flushed-“on top of him, looking out to sea.”
“Thank you. I know this must be uncomfortable for you, and I’ll only ask those kinds of details if I need to.”
She nodded, then said, “It was very embarrassing five years ago answering these questions, and describing it all, but I’m over it now… It’s almost as though it didn’t happen, or happened to someone else.”
“I understand. Okay, so after the aircraft exploded, you did what?”
“We ran back to the sand dunes where our things were.”
“Because?”
“Because we knew the explosion would bring people to the beach, or to Dune Road… we were naked, so we ran to the dunes, got dressed, grabbed the camera and tripod, and ran to the car.”
“Bud’s Ford Explorer.”
“Yes.” She thought a moment, then said, “In retrospect, if we’d taken just a few more minutes to gather up the blanket, ice chest, and all of that… and we didn’t realize we’d left the lens cap on the blanket… we really weren’t thinking about anything except getting out of there.”
I replied, “I’m sure Bud has thought about that many times since then.”
She smiled and nodded.
Apparently me making uncomplimentary remarks about Bud made Jill happy, so I added, “He might as well have left his business card.”
She laughed.
And more important, I didn’t have to divide and conquer; Jill and Bud were already divided, and there were no issues of loyalty to worry about, which made my job easier. I asked her, “What were your thoughts when you looked in the viewfinder and realized you’d videotaped everything you’d seen?”
She stayed quiet a moment, then replied, “Well, I was stunned to see… to see it all on tape. Then… I know this sounds self-serving, but I wanted to go back and see if we could help…”
“You were fairly sure you’d seen an aircraft exploding?”
“Yes… not positive, but I wanted to go back, but Bud said no. Then, when I was watching the tape through the viewfinder, I said that this was evidence, and that someone, meaning the authorities, needed to see this. And he said no. No one has to see us having sex on videotape. He wanted me to erase it, but we decided to play it on the TV in the hotel room, then decide.”
“Okay. So you got back to the room.”
“Yes. And we played the tape-”
“From the video camera through the VCR?”
“Yes. We’d brought the cable with us to do this… for later, when we got back to the room after the beach… so, we played the tape, and we could see it all very clearly on the TV screen, with the sound…”
“And you saw this streak of light again?”
“Yes. And we saw ourselves on the beach, watching the streak of light as it rose in the air… then the explosion… and we jumped to our feet and watched this huge fireball as it rose higher, then the fireball and pieces started to fall… then we heard the explosion, and we turned toward the camera and began running back to the sand dune. On the TV, in the background, we could see what we hadn’t seen when we were running… the flames spreading on the water…” She again closed her eyes and sat motionless. With her eyes still closed, she said, “You can see Bud running right up to the camera, then the image shifted all over the place…” She opened her eyes and forced a smile and said, “He was so panicky, he never shut off the camera as he ran to the car and threw the camera and tripod in the rear seat. You can hear us on the tape, and we sound pretty scared.”
“So, the camera was running in the backseat of the Explorer.”
“Yes.”
“And recorded your conversation?”
“Yes. This is when I was trying to convince him that we should go back to see if we could help.” She added, “Sometimes I wish we hadn’t erased that tape.”
“Me, too.”
I played with the Band-Aid wrapper, and we looked at each other for a few seconds. I said, “So, you watched the tape on the TV screen, then erased it.”
She nodded and said, “Bud convinced me… and he was right… that dozens of other people had seen this… had seen the rocket, and the explosion… and that our tape wasn’t needed as evidence… so why should we give the videotape to the authorities…?” She paused. “It’s very explicit. I mean, even if we weren’t married and having an affair… even if we were single, or married to each other… why should anyone see this tape?” She asked me, “What would you have done?”
I knew that question was coming, and I said, “I’d have held off on erasing it that night. I’d have waited, I’d have discussed it with my partner, I’d have examined my own marriage and asked myself why I was involved in an affair, and I’d have followed the investigation, to see if my tape was a critical piece of evidence in a horrendous crime. Then I’d have made my decision.”
Jill Winslow sat staring out the window, then brought a tissue out of the pocket of her robe and dabbed her eyes. She took a deep breath and said, “That’s what I wanted to do.” She looked at me and said, “I really did… all those people… my God… and I did follow the investigation, and hundreds of people came forward saying they’d seen that streak of light, and everyone thought it was a missile attack… then… it started to change.”