trained investigator—see if you recognize it.”
V.T. flicked the projector switch and sat down. The white wall opposite lit up. The usual leader numbers counted down and there was a message informing the viewer that this film was copyrighted by Life magazine and a brief look at the seal of the National Archives. Then bright sunlight, a road, a crowd, a motorcade coming down a street, led by motorcycle cops, preceding an open limousine in which two men and two women are waving and smiling.
Karp realized that he had never actually seen the film shot by Abraham Zapruder on assassination day, although he had seen the grainy color stills made from it. It was different, more chilling, in motion. He asked, “This is the original?”
“No, that’s in a vault at Time-Life. This is the archival copy. Let me slow it down for you.”
V.T. turned a lever and the scene slowed to a nightmare crawl. The Kennedy limo passed behind a large sign and emerged, the president grimaced and snapped both his hands up to his throat, elbows high, then John Connally puffed his cheeks out in pain and slumped to the side, then Kennedy’s head exploded in a pink cloud. Jackie scrambled out onto the rear deck of the car, a big Secret Service man leaped up on the rear deck and thrust her back into her seat, the car accelerated and moved away until it vanished under a freeway overpass. The screen went white again and the most famous snuff film ever made was over.
“Like to see it again?” asked V.T.
“Yeah. Can you stop it on a particular frame?”
“No, not with this projector. I want to get us a Moviola for that and for some other film material I have. There are eight-by-ten prints of each frame, of course, but they’re not as … compelling as seeing the real thing. I’m also going to go back to the city and take a look at the original. What I hear is that it’s got detail you can’t see on the archival copies.”
“That’s interesting. I mean why take any trouble to make a good copy? It’s just the most important piece of film in history. If Zapruder hadn’t shot that film, we’d both be back in the city, eating bagels and putting asses in jail. There wouldn’t be an investigation. There wouldn’t be any single-bullet theory because you wouldn’t need one, because without the film to time the bullet impacts and show their order in detail, all you got is a dead guy, a wounded guy, and a rifle in a high building. Let’s see it again.”
V.T. rewound it and they watched the Zapruder film again at normal speed. It took twenty-two seconds. They were silent for the few seconds it took to rewind.
“Again?” asked V.T.
“Not right now,” said Karp. He rose, stretched, and turned on the lights. “We have a photo tech yet?”
“Uh-huh. I convinced Jim Phelps to join the cause. You don’t recognize the name? He’s the guy who liberated the Zapruder film and he’s done some interesting enhancements. He impressed me. A certain passionate sincerity that ought to balance my own blithe amateurism.”
“I’ll need to meet him.”
“I’ll set it up. Also, I have that list for the autopsy panel you wanted.”
“Murray’s heading it, right?” Newbury bobbed his head in assent, but with a sour expression on his face.
“What’s the matter, you have something against Murray Selig?” Karp asked.
“No, not as such. The credentials are fine. You can’t beat chief medical examiner in New York City. On the other hand, you and he have been pretty tight over the years. His objectivity may be called into question. It might have been better to give it to someone with whom we have no prior connection.”
“Come on, Murray’s the best in the business. You think he’s going to shave the findings to make me happy?”
V.T. shrugged. “You’re the boss. Okay, next: I’m going to set up an index for the materials we’re gathering. I’ll base it on the index Sylvia Meagher made in sixty-four, of course. We’d really be even
V.T. flicked the projector switch and sat down. The white wall opposite lit up. The usual leader numbers counted down and there was a message informing the viewer that this film was copyrighted by Life magazine and a brief look at the seal of the National Archives. Then bright sunlight, a road, a crowd, a motorcade coming down a street, led by motorcycle cops, preceding an open limousine in which two men and two women are waving and smiling.
Karp realized that he had never actually seen the film shot by Abraham Zapruder on assassination day, although he had seen the grainy color stills made from it. It was different, more chilling, in motion. He asked, “This is the original?”
“No, that’s in a vault at Time-Life. This is the archival copy. Let me slow it down for you.”
V.T. turned a lever and the scene slowed to a nightmare crawl. The Kennedy limo passed behind a large sign and emerged, the president grimaced and snapped both his hands up to his throat, elbows high, then John Connally puffed his cheeks out in pain and slumped to the side, then Kennedy’s head exploded in a pink cloud. Jackie scrambled out onto the rear deck of the car, a big Secret Service man leaped up on the rear deck and thrust her back into her seat, the car accelerated and moved away until it vanished under a freeway overpass. The screen went white again and the most famous snuff film ever made was over.
“Like to see it again?” asked V.T.
“Yeah. Can you stop it on a particular frame?”
“No, not with this projector. I want to get us a Moviola for that and for some other film material I have. There are eight-by-ten prints of each frame, of course, but they’re not as … compelling as seeing the real thing. I’m also going to go back to the city and take a look at the original. What I hear is that it’s got detail you can’t see on the archival copies.”
“That’s interesting. I mean why take any trouble to make a good copy? It’s just the most important piece of film in history. If Zapruder hadn’t shot that film, we’d both be back in the city, eating bagels and putting asses in jail. There wouldn’t be an investigation. There wouldn’t be any single-bullet theory because you wouldn’t need one, because without the film to time the bullet impacts and show their order in detail, all you got is a dead guy, a wounded guy, and a rifle in a high building. Let’s see it again.”
V.T. rewound it and they watched the Zapruder film again at normal speed. It took twenty-two seconds. They were silent for the few seconds it took to rewind.
“Again?” asked V.T.
“Not right now,” said Karp. He rose, stretched, and turned on the lights. “We have a photo tech yet?”
“Uh-huh. I convinced Jim Phelps to join the cause. You don’t recognize the name? He’s the guy who liberated the Zapruder film and he’s done some interesting enhancements. He impressed me. A certain passionate sincerity that ought to balance my own blithe amateurism.”
“I’ll need to meet him.”
“I’ll set it up. Also, I have that list for the autopsy panel you wanted.”
“Murray’s heading it, right?” Newbury bobbed his head in assent, but with a sour expression on his face.
“What’s the matter, you have something against Murray Selig?” Karp asked.
“No, not as such. The credentials are fine. You can’t beat chief medical examiner in New York City. On the other hand, you and he have been pretty tight over the years. His objectivity may be called into question. It might have been better to give it to someone with whom we have no prior connection.”
“Come on, Murray’s the best in the business. You think he’s going to shave the findings to make me happy?”
V.T. shrugged. “You’re the boss. Okay, next: I’m going to set up an index for the materials we’re gathering. I’ll base it on the index Sylvia Meagher made in sixty-four, of course. We’d really be even
Similar Books
