Linda Fairstein - Final Jeopardy

As soon as the three other reservations arrived, the counter girl announced the flight, helped an older man in overalls carry the luggage of the other passengers out to the tarmac, and then gave her clipboard to him and climbed up onto the wing of the plane and into the window-door of the pilot’s seat.

We started to board the Cessna, with Mike doing a soliloquy under his breath.

“Women are terrific… they can do anything… I believe in feminism… equal work for equal pay. But this is bullshit… this is a little girl flying an airplane… They ought to call this thing Cape Fear, not Cape Air.”

“Calm down, buddy. Women fly combat missions now.

Think of them, think of Meryl Streep you know, Karen Blixen in Out of Africa, think of Sally Ride, the astronaut, think…“

The only one I can think of is Amelia Earhart, and the last I heard, blondie, she still hasn’t landed.“

I bent down to walk the short aisle of the plane and sit in the empty copilot’s seat, knowing how great the view would be as we soared over the island on a clear morning.

Mike was coming in next as the pilot reminded him that she needed his weight near the front, and he seated himself directly behind me.

We taxied out and took off, the light craft shaking mildly as she was steered to a smoother flying altitude of four thousand feet, above the low-lying winds. I could feel Mike’s hands clutched on my seat back, but there was too much noise from the busy propellers to say much along the way. About fifteen minutes out of Logan, the Massachusetts shoreline came into view, and the distinctive outline of Cape Cod spread out below. If you were familiar with the landscape, it was easy to pick out everything along the way, from New Bedford and Woods Hole, to Hyannis and Provincetown.

And then Martha’s Vineyard rose across the sound, still green in late fall, as we crossed over the whitecaps and watched the ferries plying their regular routes to and from the mainland. I tried to turn my head and point out some of the landmarks to Mike I always became so animated when we got close enough for me to recognize the places that were such an indelible part of my emotional life. The pilot banked and began her approach from the east, instead of from ‘my’ end of the island, but she came in low over the shore with its exquisite stretch of white beaches and a seemingly endless array of ponds, which looked like fingers reaching out to the ocean to hold it in place and keep it lapping onto the sand.

Mike didn’t relax his grip until the plane had come to a complete stop next to the small wooden terminal and the propellers were shut down.

The pilot unlatched her window and started to climb back out onto the wing.

“Thanks for flying with us… not that you have many choices,” she chuckled.

“Going back with us tonight?”

“Yes, thanks. See you later.”

“You, too, Mr. Chapman. Wasn’t it like awesome?”

“Yeah, awesome,” Mike responded.

“Looks like we’ve got a greeting committee the Homicide Welcome Wagon,” I noted as I looked out my window, waiting for the other passengers to deplane down the narrow steps. “That’s Wally Flanders and one of his guys on the right, looks like a state trooper in the uniform next to them but I don’t know him and-‘ ”Who’s the one in the three-piece suit and the shades, thinks he’s going formal?“

“Don’t know him either, but I assume he’s FBI, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh no, federal sissies? I forgot we’d have to deal with them, too. Only for you, blondie, a Cessna and a feeble in the same day. No wonder I feel so nauseous.”

“Hey, Alexandra, awful nice of you to come on up here,” Wally greeted me as Mike and I rounded the side of the terminal building.

“This here’s Eb Mayhew I think you know him works with me in the office.”

“Hi, Eb. I’m Alex Cooper, this is Mike Chapman. I’ve known your sister for years, Eb used to baby-sit for my brothers’ kids when they vacationed here every summer.

Detective Chapman’s with the Homicide Squad in New York the D.A. has him with me on the case.“

“Finest kind,” said Wally, with a cheeriness in his voice at this reunion which made it hard to focus on the fact that we were all together because of a murder.

“And this fella is Trooper Lumbert, he’s with the state police. Been real helpful up at your place. Keeps all them tourists away from Daggett’s Pond, all looking for souvenirs of Miss Lascar.

Finest kind. Then we got Special Agent Luther Waldron, sent up here by the Federal Bureau. Real lucky to get him, never had a special agent on one of my cases before.“

I was too far away to kick Mike in the shins, but he was humming the theme song from that old TV show and being fairly obnoxious: “Secret a-gent man, secret a-gent man, they’ve given you a number and taken ‘way your name.”

Typical meeting between fed and NYPD cop, which was likely to take a bit of the joy out of Wally’s day.

We all shook hands and exchanged greetings while I asked Wally what he had planned for the day.

“Actually, ma’am,” interrupted Agent Waldron, “I’m in charge at this point, so we’ll be talking about my plans for the day, if you don’t mind. I thought we’d all go up to your place. Show you the crime scene, then have you take us through the house, tell us how you left it and whether there are any changes, anything you might notice about the deceased’s habits or belongings. Will that be all right with you?”

Mike had been trying to hold back but wasn’t good for much longer.

“When are you going to bring us up to date on what you’ve got so far? Leads, clues, evidence, theories?”

“Well, Mr. Chapman, my understanding is that you’re here in an unofficial capacity, sort of a shall-we-say hand holding function, for Ms. Cooper. I don’t think there’s much I can tell you in the way of evidentiary information.”

“Hey, Luther, let me tell you something. I’m here as a-‘ ”Forget it, Mike. Give it a rest. I’ll call Battaglia and we’ll straighten this out. I’m sure Agent Waldron has his orders, just like we do.“

Waldron turned to the three local investigators and suggested they go back into the terminal office with him to call their respective bases and inform the higher-ups of their next destination. I tried to smooth Mike over, but he and the fed were clearly off on the wrong foot.

“Isn’t Wally perfect?” I asked.

“You’d expect to see him working with Angela Lansbury in Cabot Cove, wouldn’t you?”

“How come he says ”finest kind“ after everything?”

“I don’t know it’s some kind of old New England expression Wally uses it all the time.”

“What do you guess Eb is short for?”

“Old Mayhew name, Mike. It’s Ebenezer.”

“Jeez, I feel like I’m in a time warp expect to see the Mayflower pull up any minute.”

“The Mayhews were the original island settlers. My house is part of one of the old Mayhew farms, built almost two hundred years ago. They’ve got classic names, wonderful old names: Zachariah, Zephaniah, Experience, Caleb, Patience, Ransford…”

“What’s the matter? Didn’t they ever hear of John and Mary…?”

“And Michael and Kathleen and Joseph? They got a little farther than your people on the names, Mikey. Much more interesting.”

Over Mike’s shoulder I could see Special Agent Waldron emerging to rejoin us. I was determined to make the day as pleasant as it could be under the circumstances, and so I smiled and asked how long he had been on the island.

“Just twenty-four hours this trip, ma’am. But I was here a few years ago doing advance for the President on one of his vacations. Beautiful spot. First time for you, Chapman?”