departed and the little island regained its tranquillity, much to the delight of the locals.
“It becomes much more difficult to get to the island after the Labor Day weekend,” I explained to Mike.
“For example, all summer long, there are direct flights to Martha’s Vineyard from New York. Lots of flights, several times a day, from both La Guardia and Newark airports.
This time of year they’ve been eliminated. From now until next June, there’s only one scheduled airline that flies from Boston nine-seater planes, a few times a day and small private or chartered planes.
“Same with the ferry. The ferry goes from Woods Hole, on Cape Cod, to the Vineyard, but fewer times a day after the holiday weekend is over.”
“Where are we going with this travelogue, Coop?” Mike asked.
“You know what we’re looking for,” I responded to Mike.
“Who was with Isabella on the island, and was that guy or woman the one who killed her. Or maybe he witnessed the killing and fled, but knows who did it.”
“All right, do you know when she went up to your house?” It wouldn’t take much to draw Chapman into an investigation, I knew that from years of experience.
“She told me she was going at the end of last week, when she finished some business in Boston, probably Thursday or Friday. I assume Chief Flanders has already contacted the Ritz and knows when she checked out,” I offered.
“And she told me that if she had enough time, instead of flying, she was going to try to have a driver, a limo, take her down to Woods Hole it’s only ninety minutes by car from Boston and she wanted to arrive the ”old- fashioned“ way, by sailing across to the island.”
“Yeah,” laughed Mike.
“Just like the Pilgrims the limo, to the ferry, to the rented Mustang, to the chintz-lined cottage. The rental agency people should be able to tell us when Isabella picked up the car. Then, the next thing I do, if Flanders hasn’t, is to check the passenger manifests for the airline, starting at least a week ago. What’s it called?”
“Cape Air. Exactly. And there’s a tiny office at the airport for private planes, which all have to register and submit flight plans in order to come and go. The air arrival and departure part of this won’t take much time at all. The local police will know most of the names of islanders and regular commuters, you’ll have a few honeymooners and golf outings for the weekends, and then Isabella’s manager can look at the unknowns for familiar names that he might recognize, but which wouldn’t mean anything to us, right?”
I suggested to Mike.
“That covers the air, Sherlock,” Mike replied.
“But what about the water? Does the ferry take cars onto it, as well as foot passengers?”
“Yes, it does. Look, the big problem is boats. There are lots of marinas and plenty of little coves. A private boat could come from the Cape or the Hamptons, drop anchor, discharge and pick up a killer with no way to trace it.
That’s how most of the drugs get to an island, as you know. Anyway, you could even walk onto the ferry with a shotgun inside a Vuitton tote there’s no such thing as metal detectors on the boats.“ I was getting a second wind by this point, suddenly thinking that I knew of a way, even though a long shot, of tracking Isabella’s arrival.
“But, Mike, if she came by ferry, and she wasn’t alone, there’s another possibility,” I suggested.
“On a beautiful fall afternoon, most people who travel on the ferries head topside. There are hundreds of seats, a snack bar binoculars to scan the horizon the views of the Vineyard, crossing the sound from the Cape, are absolutely spectacular. Isabella Lascar would have been just like every other tourist on that boat, and whether it’s a first trip or the thousandth, I don’t know anyone who isn’t captivated by the beauty of that vista.”
“I’m afraid to ask what’s next. You’re gonna Want us to find and canvas everybody who was on the boat to see if they saw a movie star standing next to them and whether they can describe the person with-‘ ”No, much easier. Every single tourist and half of the regulars, make that trip with a camera, Mike,“ I said.
“People are always taking pictures of each other against the boat railing, like it was the QE2, or feeding the seagulls or just staring at the view.”
“You think people recognized Isabella and took her picture?” Mike asked.
“Hard to tell. I had seen her when she wasn’t preening for her public. We had gone all over Manhattan together and people failed to recognize her when she was casually dressed, without makeup and a serious hairdo.
“I mean, she looked absolutely beautiful whether or not she tried to hide it. She’d turn heads, even if people didn’t know exactly who she was.”
“So, how does that help?”
“Two possibilities. One is that someone did take her picture, recognizing Isabella Lascar, the movie star. The other,” I thought out loud, ‘is that she simply was captured in the frame of some photographs you know, people taking amateur shots of the scenery usually have bodies in the foreground, whether they intend to or not. Even if Isabella was trying to be incognito, she may be in somebody’s snapshots along with her weekend guest.“
“Which might give us a key witness,” said Mike, ‘and a motive, and maybe even a perp.“
”Call the chief. While you work the airlines, have him do this angle. There’s only one radio station on the island. WMVY great oldies, lots of Carly Simon and James Taylor, and all the local news, so everybody listens to it at some point. Do a public service announcement, immediately.
Urge anyone with film from the ferry at the end of last Week, with pictures of Isabella, to come forward, and if it leads to any information about the identification of her killer… then we get the police to offer a reward. There’s a shot at coming up with something. I’d even check the camera store near the ferry landing they do developing in several hours, and probably have the names and numbers of everyone who has brought film in to be developed during the past week.“
‘I’ll make a deal with you, Alex,“ Mike offered, as he threw out the remains of his sandwich and pushed away from my desk.
”You take care of these weenie-waggers here in Manhattan, and I’ll work with your Chilmark boys on the murder. This isn’t a bad way to begin. I’ll get started on it in your paralegals’ office and you keep occupied on your own cases.“
I sorted through the phone messages that had accumulated and gave most of them back to Laura, knowing they could wait till the next week. I kept the ones I wanted to handle.
Jed’s secretary had called. No way for him to leave Paris until the business meetings end on the weekend he’ll call me at home later and come straight from the airport on Saturday. Shit, I thought, not exactly the response I had craved. But I knew my own priorities when I was in the middle of a major investigation which had to come before any personal considerations, so I understood Jed’s position -1 guess.
Call Congressman LaMella’s office. They want to know our position on the legislative package changing the evidentiary requirement for child abuse cases. Better late than never. Gina Hemmings will call back from Part 82, where she’s on trial. The judge is about to charge her jury and she wants to know if you can cite any cases on whether the crime of ‘sexual misconduct’ is a lesser included count in a rape case. Well, I mused as my annoyance grew, once again Gina has avoided the burden of over preparation.
Ellen Goldman called to confirm tomorrow’s appointment. Battaglia had given her permission to do a big story on the innovative work of our Sex Crimes Prosecution Unit for the USA Lawyer’s Digest, the premier glossy legal journal. I had already spoken with her several times on the telephone and we were ready for the first interview.
She’s smart and pushy, but I’d have to move her back to next week. I knew she’d try to weasel Isabella’s death into the piece so I decided to call her back myself in an effort to show I was still in control. Slightly. I got her machine and left a message kicking our appointment back until Monday afternoon.
Sarah Brenner will wait for callback. Has a witness coming on Monday and doesn’t believe the story. Wants help breaking it down. Boy, am I in the mood to do that – I’d love to make someone else cry. Schedule that one for Monday morning.
Pat McKinney called to see if there’s anything he can do to help. Translation: he knows I’m miserable and the boss is pissed off, and he wants me to know that he knows.
Response: yeah, you can help me go fuck yourself.
