Page 19 of Saltwater

Monday, July20, 1992

Capri, Italy—The body ofSarah Lingate was discovered early Monday morning in an inlet south of the Faraglioni. A pair of fishing boats performed the recovery. Lingate was pronounced dead at the scene.

Since Sunday, the search for the missing playwright had consumed resources on the island. Local police found no trace of Lingate even as they expanded their search to Anacapri and the boats anchored around the island. By evening, Lingate still had not been located.

Monday morning, the family’s fears were confirmed: Sarah Lingate was dead below the cliffs of Capri. Her body, badly damaged in the fall, was easily identified by her clothing and wedding rings. While the Lingate family has been interviewed by police, local authorities do not expect to name a suspect in the case. All preliminary investigations indicate the likely cause of death was either accidental or self-inflicted.

Richard Lingate reportedly spent Monday in a state of shock following the news of his wife’s death. He has declined to speak with the press. An attorney for the family arrived by boat late this afternoon. Naomi Lingate, the playwright’s sister-in-law, did note that the whole family was devastated by the outcome of the search.

Richard and Sarah Lingate were married for almost six years, and their three-year-old daughter was at the couple’s home in Los Angeles with a nanny when the death occurred.

The family has agreed to stay on the island until a full inquest can be completed.

Sarah

Saturday, July18, 1992

Capri

“Your swimsuit’s on inside out,”Marcus said.

Sarah kept her eyes closed behind her sunglasses and lifted her face to the sun. They were lying on green-and-white-striped chaise longues around the pool. Patches of shade, cast by the fringed umbrellas, moved glacially across the stone deck.

“Are you really that hungover?” he pushed.

“Not any more than you,” Sarah said. She opened her eyes and reached for the plate next to her, but it was already picked clean. The fruit and pastries long gone. Only coffee grounds remained at the bottom of her white cup, but she tipped it back anyway, licked at the grains.

Shewasthat hungover. He was, too; they all were. Capri was like that—too many drinks, too many drugs, mornings that somehow slipped into afternoons. It was worse now, knowing this would be her last time.

She squinted into the sun—it had to be noon. Naomi slid into the pool, paddled for the far edge, as if their voices were too loud for her. Her long hair floated behind her. The cup in Sarah’s hand hit the table. It was an accident, but she liked how sharp it sounded, the ceramic against the marble.

“Renata, do you think we could get another pitcher of water and more coffee?” Richard asked from the table next to her.

“Certo, Signore Lingate,”Renata replied.

“Do you want anything?”

Sarah didn’t respond to her husband’s question. He repeated himself, his impatience pushing through the second time.

“Sarah?” he said.

It sounded like a command. It always did these days. It hadn’t started like that. She could still remember the way he used to whisper to her during performances, his lips brushing her ear. Even now, thinking about it elicited the same physical response, the same warmth flushing up her spine.

“Yes?” she said, lifting her sunglasses and looking at her husband. “Were you talking to me?” She could play, too. Keep it nice.

“Of course I’m talking to you,” he said. “Who else would I be talking to?”

Sarah shrugged, slipped the sunglasses back down. “I have everything I need. Thank you.”

It was so easy for him to offer the little things—Can I get you anything? Do you need help? Should I wait?—when he had taken away something so big.

Although she was desperate for another coffee, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking. Instead, she turned her attention to the tireless housekeeper and said:“Grazie, Renata.Come sta Ciro?”

“Meraviglioso,thank you,” she replied.

“He’s three now, isn’t he?”

“Sì, signora.”

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