On the screen, Jill took off her bra and slid her panties off. She faced toward the camera, threw her arms out, gyrated her hips, and yelled, “Ta da!” then bowed for the camera.
I reached for the remote on the coffee table, but she grabbed it and said, “I want to see this.”
“No, you don’t.I don’t. Fast-forward it.”
“Be quiet.” She held on to the remote.
They were hugging, kissing, and caressing each other.
I said, “I don’t have a lot of time, Mrs. Winslow. Can you fast-forward to the scene on the beach?”
“No. You need to see this-to see why I didn’t give this to the police.”
“I think I get it. Fast-forward.”
“It gets better.”
“Don’t you have to get to church?”
She didn’t reply.
On the screen, Jill moved Bud at right angles to the camera, then looked back into the camera and said, “Blow job. Take One.” She dropped to her knees and began to perform oral sex on Bud.
Well. I looked at my watch, but my brain didn’t record the time. I glanced back at the screen and stupid Bud was standing there, getting a blow job from this gorgeous woman, and it looked like he was trying to put his hands in his pockets, then realizing he had no pants, he put his hands on her head and ran his fingers through her hair.
Jill asked me, “How would that look as evidence?”
I cleared my throat and replied, “I think we could cut this part-”
“They would want the whole tape. See the time and date in the lower-right-hand corner? Isn’t that important to show when this was happening?”
“I suppose… but I think we could scramble your bodies and faces-”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I’ve had enough of that.”
On the screen, Jill rocked back on her haunches and looked at the camera. She waved and said, “That’s a wrap. Scene Two. Wine, please.”
As a detective, I know you can learn a lot about people from their dens and offices, by the books on the shelves, the photos on the wall, their film library, and all of that. This, however, was more than I needed to know.
I looked back at the screen, and saw that Jill was lying on her back as Bud reached behind him and retrieved the wine bottle. Jill thrust her legs in the air and said, “A wife-tasting party.” She spread her legs and said, “Pour.”
Bud poured, then went down on her. I could hear her loud breathing over the sound of the wind, and she said, “I hope you have that camera pointed right.”
He lifted his head, looked into the camera, and said, “Yeah.”
She took the bottle from him and poured the rest of the wine over her body and commanded, “Lick.”
Bud began licking her body.
Mrs. Jill Winslow seemed to me a classic passive-aggressive in the sex department; bossing Bud around on the one hand, then performing sex acts that were submissive, perhaps even demeaning if you considered the context.
Another way to look at this was that she was exerting power over a man, while simultaneously fulfilling all his desires, and hers-hers being a desire for both sexual degradation and sexual control. Meanwhile, Bud is both servicer and servant. It was all a little complicated, and I doubted if Bud understood much beyond the length of his erection, which I really didn’t want to see.
Using her first name, I said, “Jill. Seriously. Let’s move on.”
She didn’t reply, but kicked off her slippers and put her feet on the coffee table.
I sat back in the chair, pointedly not looking at the screen.
She asked, “Is this making you uncomfortable?”
“I think I said that.”
“Well, it’s making me uncomfortable, too. And if I give you this tape, how many people will see this?”
“As few as possible.” I added, “They will all be professional, trained law enforcement officers and Justice Department investigators-male and female-and they’ve seen everything.”
“They haven’t seenme having sex on videotape.”
“I don’t think they’re interested in the sex. They’re interested in the scene of the aircraft exploding, and that’s what I’m interested in, so if you can fast-forward to that, I’d very much like to see it. Now.”
“You’re not interested in seeing me having sex?”
“Look, Jill-”
“Mrs. Winslow to you.”
“Uh… sorry. Mrs. Winslow-”
“Jill is okay.”
I reallywas becoming uncomfortable, and I thought maybe I had a loony on my hands, but then she said, “You understand why I’m doing this?”
“I do. I completely understand why you didn’t want to come forward with this tape. Quite frankly, I’d have second thoughts myself if it was me. But we can and will edit this tape, scramble the faces, and do our best to protect your privacy. We’ll focus on the events surrounding the aircraft-”
“We’re getting to that. Pay attention.”
I heard Jill, on-screen, say, “I’m sticky. Let’s skinny-dip.”
I glanced back at the screen, and she was sitting up. Bud’s face had emerged from between Mrs. Winslow’s thighs, and he said, “I think we should go. We’ll shower at the hotel.”
Jill said to me, “I wish I’d listened to him.”
On the screen, she was standing on the blanket and looking up at the dune rising from the valley. She froze the frame, took her feet off the coffee table, and leaned toward the big screen. She said, “I look younger. Maybe a little thinner. Don’t you think?”
I looked at her perfect naked body in the last of the sunlight, which made her look golden.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked again.
I was a little tired of her ignoring my gentlemanly suggestions to skip the little bangs and get to the big bang, so I took another approach and said, “I don’t think your face has aged at all, and you’re a beautiful woman. As for your body, it looks great on videotape, and I’m sure it’s still great.”
She didn’t reply and kept staring at the screen. Finally, she said, “This was the first and last time we’d ever videotaped ourselves. I’ve never seen myself naked in a photo or on film. I certainly never saw myself having sex on film. Have you ever done that?”
“Not outdoors.”
She laughed. “Did you look foolish?”
“Yes.”
“How didI look?”
“No comment.”
“Do you want this tape?”
“I do.”
“Then answer my question. Did I look stupid having sex on videotape?”
“I think everyone looks a little silly having sex on film, except the pros.” I added, “This wasn’t bad for a first time. Bud, however, looked very uncomfortable. Now, may I have the remote?”
She handed it to me and said, “We were supposed to take this back to the hotel and play it to make us hot again. But I think this would have turned me off.”
This may have been the first time in my twenty years of law enforcement that I felt I needed a chaperone to look at evidence. I hit Play, and Jill Winslow’s perfect, naked body came to life. She started climbing the dune, then disappeared off-camera, but I could hear her voice say, “Come on. Set the camera up here and get us skinny-dipping.”
Bud didn’t reply, but walked toward the camera, then disappeared. The screen went black for a moment, then the scene on the screen was of a beautiful red and purple sky at dusk, the white sands of the beach, and the golden red ocean sparkling in the setting sun. I heard Jill’s voice say off-screen, “This is so beautiful.”
Bud, also off-camera, replied, “Maybe we shouldn’t go down to the beach naked. There could be people around.”
“So what?” Jill said, “As long as we don’t know them, who cares?”
Bud’s reply: “Yeah, but let’s take some clothes-” and she interrupted, “Live dangerously, Bud.”
Without realizing it, I said, “Bud’s a wimp.”
Jill laughed and agreed, “Wimp.”
There was no sound for a few seconds, and no one on the screen, then I saw her enter the picture to the far left of the screen, running across the beach toward the shore. Still no Bud. Then she turned her head back as she ran and shouted, “Come on!” But I could barely hear her at that distance from the camera, with the background noise of the wind and surf.