“Yes. And we saw ourselves on the beach, watching the streak of light as it rose in the air… then the explosion… and we jumped to our feet and watched this huge fireball as it rose higher, then the fireball and pieces started to fall… then we heard the explosion, and we turned toward the camera and began running back to the sand dune. On the TV, in the background, we could see what we hadn’t seen when we were running… the flames spreading on the water…” She again closed her eyes and sat motionless. With her eyes still closed, she said, “You can see Bud running right up to the camera, then the image shifted all over the place…” She opened her eyes and forced a smile and said, “He was so panicky, he never shut off the camera as he ran to the car and threw the camera and tripod in the rear seat. You can hear us on the tape, and we sound pretty scared.”
“So, the camera was running in the backseat of the Explorer.”
“Yes.”
“And recorded your conversation?”
“Yes. This is when I was trying to convince him that we should go back to see if we could help.” She added, “Sometimes I wish we hadn’t erased that tape.”
“Me, too.”
I played with the Band-Aid wrapper, and we looked at each other for a few seconds. I said, “So, you watched the tape on the TV screen, then erased it.”
She nodded and said, “Bud convinced me… and he was right… that dozens of other people had seen this… had seen the rocket, and the explosion… and that our tape wasn’t needed as evidence… so why should we give the videotape to the authorities…?” She paused. “It’s very explicit. I mean, even if we weren’t married and having an affair… even if we were single, or married to each other… why should anyone see this tape?” She asked me, “What would you have done?”
I knew that question was coming, and I said, “I’d have held off on erasing it that night. I’d have waited, I’d have discussed it with my partner, I’d have examined my own marriage and asked myself why I was involved in an affair, and I’d have followed the investigation, to see if my tape was a critical piece of evidence in a horrendous crime. Then I’d have made my decision.”
Jill Winslow sat staring out the window, then brought a tissue out of the pocket of her robe and dabbed her eyes. She took a deep breath and said, “That’s what I wanted to do.” She looked at me and said, “I really did… all those people… my God… and I did follow the investigation, and hundreds of people came forward saying they’d seen that streak of light, and everyone thought it was a missile attack… then… it started to change.”
I said, “At that point, when it was declared an accident, a mechanical failure, would you have turned over the tape if you had it?”
She looked down at her hands, which were shredding the tissue, and said, “I don’t know. I hope so.”
She didn’t reply.
I let a few seconds pass, then asked her, “Whose video camera was it?”
She replied, “It was mine. Why?”
“Were you familiar with videotape technology at that time?”
“I understood the basics.”
“How about Bud?”
“I taught him how to use my camera. Why do you ask?”
“Well, the report I have says that Bud physically destroyed the mini-cassette. Is that true?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you left the Bayview Hotel, you pulled over to the side of the road, and Bud destroyed the tape by running over it, then burning the tape.”
She shook her head. “No. He erased it back in the hotel room.” She added, “That’s what I told the FBI, and that’s what Bud told them. No one said anything about destroying the tape.”
Well, someone did. Mr. Nash, to be more specific. I asked her, “Did the FBI ask you or Bud for this erased tape?”
“Yes. They asked me, and I gave it to them.” She looked at me and said, “I learned afterward that a magnetic videotape that has been erased can be… the images can be retrieved in some way… I don’t know if they were able to do that… I mean, they probably didn’t, because if they did, they’d be able to see what Bud and I saw… and they would have come to another conclusion…” She looked at me. “Do you know if they were able to restore the tape?”
“No, I don’t.” In fact, I did know. There was no doubt that the FBI lab could pull up the images on a magnetic tape that someone thought was erased for all time, assuming nothing else had been recorded over it. I asked her, “Was the tape blank when you gave it to them?”
She nodded. “It was still in the video camera. When they came here, it was one of the first things they asked me about. I went into the family room, got the video camera, and brought it out to them. They were sitting at this table.”
“I see. And they questioned you, and you told them what?”
“I told them the truth. About what Bud and I had seen. They’d already spoken to Bud, but I didn’t know what he’d said to them because they told him not to contact me and not to take my calls.” She added with a rueful smile, “And he didn’t, the wimp. The FBI showed up here on the Monday after the crash and said they wanted to question me, and my story had better not be different from his. Well, it turns out he lied about a few things, including the fact that we’d had sex on the beach-he said we were just walking and talking-but I told the truth, from beginning to end.”
“And they promised you that if you told the truth, your husband would never know?”
“They did.”
I asked, “And did they return for another visit?”
“Yes. They asked more questions, as though they knew more about what was on the tape. In fact, I asked them if the tape had been totally erased, and they said yes, it had been, and that I had committed a crime by destroying evidence.” She added, “I was terrified… I was crying… I didn’t know who to turn to. Bud wasn’t taking my calls, I couldn’t talk to my husband… I thought about calling my lawyer, but they had warned me not to call my lawyer if I wanted to keep this quiet. I was totally at their mercy.”
I said to her, “The truth shall set you free.”
She sobbed and laughed at the same time and said, “The truth will get me divorced with the worst prenuptial agreement ever signed in New York State.” She looked at me and said, “And I have two sons who were eight and ten at that time.” She asked me, “Are you married?”
I held up my hand with my wedding ring.
“Do you have children?”
“Not that I know of.”
She smiled and dried her eyes again with the shredded tissue. She said, “It’s very complicated with children.”
“I understand.” I asked her, “Did they ask you to submit to a polygraph?”
She replied, “On their first visit, they asked if I would, and I said yes, I’m telling the whole truth. They said they’d bring a polygraph tester here the next time. But when they returned, there was no polygraph. I asked them about it, but they said it wasn’t necessary.”
I nodded. It wasn’t necessary because by this time, they’d restored the tape, and everything they wanted to know was on that tape. What they didn’t want were signed statements by Jill Winslow or Bud, or taped interviews, or a polygraph test-all of which might come to light later if Mrs. Winslow or Bud came forward, or were found by someone else-like me.
In effect, Nash, Griffith, and whoever were not trying to discover credible evidence of a missile strike on TWA 800; they were trying to suppress and destroy the evidence, which is what they accused Jill Winslow of doing.
I asked Mrs. Winslow, “Did these gentlemen from the FBI swear you to silence?”
She nodded.
“But after the official conclusion was announced-that it was an accident-didn’t you wonder why your eyewitness statement and Bud’s wasn’t taken into account?”
“I did… but then this man, Nash, called, and we met here again, and he explained that without the videotape, my statements and Bud’s had no more importance than the hundreds of other eyewitness statements.” She took a
