The Bridge at Chappaquiddick by Olsen Jack

Author:Olsen, Jack
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crime Rant Classics
Published: 2014-12-10T05:00:00+00:00

The Wheels of justice

On Sunday morning, events of varying significance piled one atop the other. Police Chief Dominick “Jim” Arena slept later than usual, then went to St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church with his wife and children to sing in the choir. A telegram from Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield was sent to the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port: DEEPLY SHOCKED AND DISTURBED OVER TRAGEDY WHICH OCCURRED OVER WEEKEND. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ANY ONE OF US. YOU HAVE OUR FULL CONFIDENCE AND IF IN ANY WAY I CAN BE OF ASSISTANCE PLEASE LET ME KNOW... The district attorney of Barnstable, Bristol, Nantucket and Dukes counties, Edmund Dinis, telephoned from his home in New Bedford to the home of his chief investigator, Lieutenant George Killen, and was told that the body of Mary Jo Kopechne had already been flown from Martha’s Vineyard. The Sidney Lawrences of Scarsdale, New York, owners of the Lawrence cottage, had arrived on Chappaquiddick and were borrowing vacuum-cleaner bags from neighbors to do the floors. Newscasts had begun to carry skimpy reports about the tragedy, and Sunday newspapers were on the stands with headlines like those in the local New Bedford Standard-Times: ISLAND PLUNGE KILLS GIRL; TED WAS DRIVER. When the On Time backed out for its first round trip of the day, a line of cars was waiting. Usually, at this hour on a Sunday morning, there were none. The skies were darkly purple, and it was threatening rain.

Shortly after noon, Jim Arena strolled into the police station to check the log, and a few minutes later he looked up from his desk to shake hands with a young man who introduced himself as Senator Kennedy’s aide, Dun Gifford. In the chief’s backroom office, the two men talked over the accident. Gifford said he was going to meet undertaker Gene Frieh at Martha’s Vineyard Airport at about I 2:30, and the body would be put on an airplane and flown to Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, the nearest airport to Plymouth, Pennsylvania, where the Kopechnes wanted their daughter to be buried. The body had been ready for the flight since the evening before, but the weather forecasts had been unfavorable for flying. Gifford inquired politely about the chief’s plans. “I don’t have much choice,” Arena said apologetically. “The senator admitted leaving the scene of an accident. First thing in the morning I’ll have to go to the clerk of the district court and ask for a complaint. Of course, there’ll be a hearing on that, and the senator is entitled to be represented.”

Momentarily, Arena thought of giving Gifford the citation slip to take to Kennedy, but he thought better of the idea. The usual procedure was to send the citation by mail, and in important cases, by registered mail. When one was dealing with the most popular political figure in the state, one went strictly by the book. He chatted briefly with Gifford and kept hoping that the handsome young aide would offer an explanation for what happened on Friday night, but none was forthcoming.

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