Bud had gotten a grip on the camera, though not his nerve, and the screen became a crazy kaleidoscope of images that were hard to follow as our hero ran down the dune into the valley and dropped the camera. I heard Bud say, “Get dressed! Get dressed!”

Then, someone picked up the camera, and I saw a flash of the night sky. I could hear them breathing hard as they ran, and I saw indistinct images bouncing around. A car door opened, then slammed shut, followed by two more doors opening and closing, then I heard the sound of the engine starting, and saw some bouncing on the nearly black screen, and then more hard breathing, but neither of them spoke. She was probably in shock, he was trying not to pee his pants. I wanted to scream at him, “Say something to her, you useless piece of shit.”

I waited through about five minutes of black silence, and I was about to turn the TV off and rewind the tape, then I heard her voice. “Bud, I think a plane exploded.”

He replied, “Maybe… maybe it was a giant skyrocket… fired from a barge. It exploded… you know… a fireworks show.”

“Skyrockets don’t explode like that. Skyrockets don’t burn on the water.” Pause, then, “Something big exploded in midair and crashed in the ocean. It was a plane.”

He didn’t reply, and she said, “Maybe we should go back.”

“Why?”

“Maybe… people… got out. They have life vests, life rafts. Maybe we can help.”

I said to no one, “You’re a good woman.” Bud said, “That thing just disintegrated. It had to be a couple miles high.” Pause. “The cops are already there. They don’t need us.”

I thought, “The passengers don’t need you, but the cops need your videotape, stupid.”

There was a long silence, then Jill’s voice said, “That streak of light-that was a rocket. A missile.”

No reply.

Jill continued, “It looked like a missile was fired from the water and hit a plane.”

Bud replied, “Well… I’m sure we’ll hear about it on the news.”

There was another silence, then a movement on the black screen, then a black stillness, and I knew that Jill had taken the video camera from the rear seat and was rewinding the tape so she could look at it through the viewfinder.

That was the end of this videotape, but then an image filled the screen as background music came through the speakers. Jean-Louis said something in dubbed English, but I wasn’t listening.

I stopped the tape and pressed Rewind. I sat on the coffee table awhile, staring at the blank screen.

I was completely overwhelmed by what I’d just seen and heard, and I knew it would take me a while to process these images that were so completely out of the realm of everyday reality.

I stood motionless for a few seconds, then walked toward the bar, found a glass, and picked a Scotch bottle at random. I poured a few inches into the glass and stared at it. It was early on a Sunday morning, but I needed something to steady myself and wet my mouth. I knocked back the Scotch, put the glass down, and went into the kitchen.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Jill Winslow was not in the kitchen, but I saw her through a set of French doors sitting in a chaise lounge on the patio. She was still wearing her robe, sitting upright in the chaise, eyes open, staring off at something in her mind.

I went out to the patio and sat in the chair beside her. Between us there was a table on which she had a bottle of water and two glasses. I poured myself some water and looked out over the expansive yard and the big swimming pool.

After a minute or so, she asked me, “Did you take the videotape?”

I replied, “No. I want you to give it to me.”

She asked, “Do I have a choice?”

“No, you don’t. It’s evidence of a possible crime. I can subpoena it. But I want you to give it to me voluntarily.”

“It’s yours.” She smiled. “Actually, it belongs to the Bayview Hotel.”

I replied, “Bud left a five-hundred-dollar deposit behind. It’s paid for.”

“Good. That always bothered me. Stealing the tape.”

It didn’t bother me; that’s why I was here.

She stayed silent awhile, then said, “You’re a very clever man. You figured it out.”

“It wasn’t that difficult,” I said modestly. Actually, Iam clever, and itwas difficult.

She said, “I was very frightened when the FBI arrived. I thought they’d ask me if I made a copy of the tape before Bud erased it… but why would they think that? And how could they know about the video movie…”

Actually, as I discovered, theydid know about Jill Winslow borrowing a movie from the hotel library, but they were focused on destroying evidence that she’d been there, and it had apparently never crossed their minds that the weepy little rich girl had copied her mini-cassette tape over the borrowed videotape.

She continued, “I wasn’t ready then to show that tape.”

“I understand.”

“Poor Mark. Poor Bud.” She sipped her water and said, “They’re going to be very angry with me. For different reasons.”

I informed her, “This is not about them anymore, if it ever was. It’s about you, and about doing the right thing, and about truth, and about justice.”

“I know… but Bud is comfortable in his marriage. And Mark… well, he’s comfortable, too.” She paused, then said, “He’s going to be devastated… humiliated…”

“Maybe you can all work this out.”

She laughed. “Are you serious?”

“No.”

She took some water, then said, “And then there’s Mark Jr. and James. My children.”

“How old are they?”

“Thirteen and fifteen.” She said, “Maybe someday they’ll understand.”

“Someday they will. Maybe sooner than you think.”

She looked at me and asked, “Will I go to prison?”

“No.”

“Didn’t I withhold-?”

“Don’t worry about it. They’ll want your cooperation.”

She nodded, then asked me, “And Bud? Is he in trouble for erasing the tape?”

“Maybe. But you’ll both cut a deal.” I added, “I suspect his major problem will be with Mrs. Mitchell.”

Jill said, “Arlene will make his life hell.”

I said to her, “Stop worrying about other people.”

She didn’t reply. Jill Winslow sat up and looked at her house, then across the landscaped grounds and the pool. She said, “This was a prison with a life sentence.”

I didn’t reply. As I said, it’s hard to feel sorry for a rich girl drinking champagne on a yacht-or by a pool. But I understood bad marriages, and it didn’t matter how much money or fame you had-a bad marriage was the common leveler of all classes.

She said, more to herself than to me, “What am I going to do now?” She looked at me and asked with a smile, “Do you think I have a career in film?”

I smiled in return, but didn’t reply. I looked at my watch. I needed to get out of here before the Black Helicopter landed on the Winslow lawn, or a car pulled up with Ted Nash and friends in it. But I also needed to let Jill Winslow decompress.

She seemed to be thinking, then asked me, “Why did it take five years?”

“I just got on the case.”

She nodded and said, “When I heard the case was closed, I felt some relief… but I also felt some guilt. When was the case reopened?”

Actually, about an hour ago, but I said, “The five-year anniversary in July reawakened some interest.”

“I see.” She asked, “Would you like to go to church with me?”

“Uh… actually, I would. But I’m afraid I have to get moving.” I asked her, “Do you have any way to copy that tape now?”

She replied, “The same way I copied it the first time-but in reverse. VCR player to the video camera. Are you technologically challenged?”

“Worse than that.” I stood and said, “Let’s make a copy.”

She stood, and we went into the kitchen where I snagged the police radio, then back into the family room.