jacket was worn since four were found in or near the boat, adding to official’s theory of why Mrs. Najarian was in the boat. According to a Coast Guard spokesman, even if she had worn a life jacket, exposure for a few hours even in warm water would lead to hypothermia. No sign of Mrs. Najarian has yet been found.Rose Najarian, a widow, was a research biochemist affiliated with MIT. Her two-year-old son, Jack, was found the next morning in the beach cottage in fair condition …The fast-moving storm caused coastal flooding and damage to homes on the islands and to southern Massachusetts …
Jack made a photocopy of the article, then scanned the next days’ papers. Two days later a second article appeared in the
COAST GUARD GIVES UP SEARCH FOR MASS. BOATERThe Coast Guard officially ended its search for a Massachusetts woman, which began Saturday morning after her sailboat capsized off Homer’s Island …Rose Najarian was apparently drowned when trying to secure her boat in anticipation of last week’s storm. The search included a Jayhawk rescue helicopter from Coast Guard Air Station Cape Cod and two rescue boats from Station Pt. Judith, R.I. “The decision to suspend a search is never an easy one,” said Petty Officer James Fagan of the First Coast Guard District Office.“However, we’ve saturated more than 125 square miles with rescue and air assets for 28 hours and, based on that information, we feel that if the victim was on the surface, we would have detected her … .”
Jack wrote down the officer’s name, although he didn’t need to. The details of the articles stuck to his mind like frost.
WHEN HE REACHED HOME LATER THAT day, Jack called the Massachusetts Coast Guard Station at Woods Hole and explained that he was investigating the disappearance of his mother some years ago. After two holds, he was connected to a public information officer who asked if he were a policeman on a cold case. Jack was tempted to say he was, only to avoid the obvious questions: Why do you want to know? And why now?
“I’m sorry, we don’t keep records from that far back.”
Jack then called Vince and explained that he needed a contact at the Coast Guard. In vague terms Jack explained that he was interested in how, exactly, his mother had died, and that he had time on his hands. Vince didn’t know what to make of Jack’s explanation, but half an hour later he called back with a name: Fred Barboza.
Two hours later, Jack reached Lieutenant Fred Barboza, who said that it could not be done over the phone, that Jack would have to come to the CG Falmouth office in person. And tomorrow was not a good day.
ON FRIDAY HE DROVE HIS RENTAL to Falmouth for an eleven A.M. appointment.
The Coast Guard station was located on the southwest shore of Little Harbor in Woods Hole. The administration building was a long, narrow, two-story cinder-block-and-brick structure that sat in the middle of a long dock along which several CG vessels were docked. Jack checked in at the security desk, and after a brief wait a man in a uniform appeared and introduced himself as Fred Barboza. He led Jack to a small office.
“It’s an unusual request—something police or other investigative agencies pursue when they’ve got a cold case involving foul play.”
“May I ask why you’re doing this?”
He wanted to say,
“It says that a storm was forecast and small craft warnings had been issued.”
“Yes.”
Barboza looked at him with a flat, uncomprehending stare. “Mr. Koryan, it’s been thirty years. We don’t keep records going back that far. Besides, this seems to tell it all. She got lost in a storm trying to tie down her boat.”
He was right, of course. But he also could have told him that over the phone and spared him the three-hour round-trip. “Maybe you can tell me about the kind of efforts that went into finding her.”
“I’m sure they gave it their all. The article says two search-and-rescue boats and a chopper.” Then he added, “Maybe it’s better to leave the dead in peace.”
“No.”
“But you didn’t even look.”
“He retired ten years ago.”
“And you have no records where he may have retired to? Nobody here who keeps up contact—old friends, guys who still keep in touch, retired officers’ clubs, reunion parties?”
Barboza had irritation scored across his brow. But he glanced at the wall clock, then pushed himself up and crossed the floor to a file drawer and ferreted through a thick batch of folders until he found one. He slouched back to his desk and ripped off the top sheet of his pad, then jotted something down and handed it to Jack.
A telephone number with a Massachusetts area code.
JACK HAD NO IDEA IF HE was chasing white rabbits, but he called Fagan and explained his request for a meeting. Fagan was either a generous man or desperate for something to do. Whatever the motivation, he agreed to meet the next day in the parking lot of Grasso’s, an Italian restaurant just off the Rockland exit of Route 3 South.
Jack said he’d be dressed in jeans and a black shirt and carrying a cane. Fagan met him at the door. He was a compact man about sixty with a ruddy broad face, and he was wearing a Red Sox cap.
The hostess led them to a table with a view of the parking lot. After some small talk about baseball, Jack showed him the photocopy of the newspaper article about the failed search operation. When Fagan finished reading it he asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, why after all these years are you looking into this?”
Again Jack anticipated how weak his reason sounded. “Because she was never found, and I’m wondering what efforts went into finding her.”
Fagan nodded and sipped his beer.
“The article doesn’t say anything about divers being sent out.”
“You’re talking thirty years ago. I don’t think the Coast Guard even had a scuba-ready search-and-rescue unit like today. Even if they did, where would you send them? It’s a big ocean, and there were ten or twelve hours before you had sunlight, and given the turbulence from the storm the visibility would be nil for days.”
“Sure. Do you remember searching for her?”
“Yeah, vaguely, but only because it was a new cutter, and one of my first search-and-rescue operations. We patrolled the coastline for a couple days—maybe two other boats out and a spotter plane. The thing is that the storm was a nor’easter, which didn’t make sense.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well, the storm came from the northeast, which means the winds were onshore and, like the article said, with strong gusts. Under those conditions, drowning victims almost always wash up. And when they don’t, it’s
