“How long did the tape run?”
“The part on the beach ran for about fifteen minutes, from us walking down to the beach to when Bud ran back and grabbed the camera. Then about five minutes of darkness when the camera sat in the rear seat, and you could hear us talking.”
“Okay. And the part on the beach blanket when you first started recording?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes. I didn’t even want to see that. There was no reason to see it.”
“Right. So you ran the tape, paused, rewound, ran it in slow motion, and so forth?”
“Yes. It was… unbelievable.”
“Hypnotic. Mesmerizing.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do after you finished with the tape?”
“Bud erased it.”
“Just like that? You said you didn’t want to erase it.”
“I didn’t… we argued, but… he wanted to erase it. He also wanted to get out of the room in case someone had seen us coming from the beach. I didn’t think this was possible, but he wanted to leave and go home. Our cell phones were starting to ring now because people were seeing this on TV, and people who knew we were out there were trying to contact us, but we weren’t taking any calls. Then Bud went into the bathroom to call his wife-he was supposed to be fishing with friends.”
I commented, “Maybe he sloshed water in the bathtub and yelled, ‘Make for shore, me hearties.’”
She smiled and said, “He’s not that clever. But hewas paranoid.”
I said, “It’s not paranoid to cover your butt.”
She shrugged and said, “At that point, I thought we’d be found out one way or the other. It was a bad piece of luck that we both were out east with cover stories when this happened. Mark called my cell phone once, but I didn’t answer. When I got in my car and started driving home, I played his message, which said, ‘Jill, did you hear about the airplane crash out there? Give me a call.’ I called my girlfriend first, who I was supposed to be with in East Hampton, and she hadn’t heard from him. So, I called Mark back and told him I was upset and I was coming home.” She smiled and said, “It wasn’t even a close call.”
I said, “If I may indulge myself in some amateur psychology-you’d like to get caught. Or, at the least, you don’t care about the consequences.”
“Of course I do.”
“I speak from some experience when I say that getting caught is easier than breaking up. The results are the same, but getting caught only takes a subconscious desire, while breaking up takes a lot of courage.”
She reverted to her lady-of-the-manor tone and asked curtly, “What does this have to do with why you’re here?”
“Maybe everything.”
She glanced at the wall clock and said, “I should get ready for church.”
“You have time. Let me ask you this-after you and Bud watched the videotape, I assume you showered before you went home?” I added, “You had sand and salt on you.” Not to mention bodily fluids.
“We did shower.”
“And he showered first?”
“I… I think so.”
“And you watched the tape again while he was showering?”
“I think so… it’s been five years. Why?”
I think she knew why I was asking, so I asked her a setup question, “That afternoon, what did you do from the time you checked in at four-thirtyP.M. until you drove to the beach at sevenP.M.?”
She replied, “We watched TV.”
“What did you watch?”
“I don’t remember.”
I looked at her and said, “Mrs. Winslow, you haven’t lied to me yet.”
She looked away from me, pretended to think, then said, “I remember. We watched a movie on TV.”
“A videotape?”
“Yes…”
“A Man and a Woman.”
She looked at me and didn’t reply.
I said, “You took it out of the hotel lending library.”
“Oh… yes…” She kept looking at me looking at her, then to break the silence, she said in a light tone of voice, “Very romantic. But I think Bud was bored.” She asked, “Have you ever seen it?”
“No. But I’d like to borrow yours, if I may.”
There was a long silence during which she stared down at the table, and I looked at her. She was obviously fighting an inner battle, and I let her fight it. This was one of those moments in life when everything turned on a single decision, and a few words. I’ve been here many times, with a witness or a homicide suspect, and they need to reach their own decision-which I’ve tried to make easier by all I’ve said up until that moment.
I knew what was going through her mind-divorce, disgrace, public humiliation, children, friends, family, maybe even Bud. And if she thought further into the future, she’d think about public testimony, lawyers, national media, and maybe even some danger.
She spoke, barely above a whisper, and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I replied, “Mrs. Winslow, there are only two people in this world who know what I’m talking about. I’m one, you’re the other.”
She didn’t reply.
I picked up the Band-Aid wrapper and scooted it across the table at her. I said, “We found one of these in Room 203. Did you cut yourself?”
She didn’t reply.
“Or did you use the Band-Aid to cover the missing plastic tab on the library videotape? That’s how you recorded your videotape over A Man and a Woman. While Bud was in the shower.” I let a few seconds pass, then said, “Now, you can tell me that’s not true, but then I have to wonder why you kept that movie that you took out of the hotel library. Or, you can tell me that it’s true, that you did record your videotape over the movie, but later destroyed it. But that’s not what you did.”
Jill Winslow took a deep breath, and I could see tears running down her face. She looked at me and said, “I guess… I guess I should tell you the truth…”
“I already know the truth. But, yes, I’d like to hear it from you.”
“There’s really nothing to say.”
She stood, and I thought she was going to show me out, but instead she took a deep breath and asked, “Would you like to see the tape?”
I stood, and I could actually feel my heart speed up. I replied, “Yes, I’d like to see the tape.”
“All right… but… when you see it… I hope you understand why I couldn’t show it… or give it to anyone… I’ve thought about it… many times… I thought about it in July when I saw the memorial service on television… all those people… but does it matter how they died?”
“Yes, it does.”
She nodded, then said, “Maybe if I gave you this tape, you could continue to keep this quiet… is that possible?”
“I could tell you it’s possible, but it’s not. You know that, and I know that.”
Again, she nodded, stood motionless for a while, then looked at me and said, “Follow me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Jill Winslow led me into a big family room in the rear of the house and said, “Have a seat there.”
I sat in a leather armchair facing a plasma TV screen. She said, “I’ll be right back.”
She left the room, apparently to go to some secret hiding place. I should tell her that there are no secret hiding places in a house-I’ve never missed one in twenty years as a cop. But Mark Winslow was not a cop; he was a clueless husband. Or, as the old joke goes, “If you want to hide something from your husband, put it on the ironing board.”
I stood and walked around the sunlit room. There was a wall of framed photographs, and I saw their two sons, who were handsome, clean-cut young men. There were photos of family vacations from around the world, and a section of black-and-white photos of another generation standing in front of limousines, horses, and yachts, showing that the money went back a long way.