The Phantom Photographer: Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 3 (Murder in Marin Mysteries) (10 page)

Michael had to wait until Monday to find out. He placed in front of Milton, who was busy opening UPS shipments that arrived just moments after the store opened, two black and white eight by ten prints that he had made Sunday evening in the store’s darkroom.

“Sure, I know that guy. That’s John Walker, owns a bunch of businesses in town, including the Novato Bank over on Grant.”

“Wow, really? I’ve got an account there and I’ve never seen the guy. In fact, I don’t remember seeing him at a Rotary or chamber event.”

“Well, I’m not surprised by that; the guy keeps a pretty low profile outside of his church activities.”

“What do you mean church activities?”

“He’s the deacon at First Presbyterian.”

“Wow.”

“Good man. He’s been married to the same woman for thirty plus years and has a bunch of kids, I think one or two grandchildren as well.”

“Sounds like he’s quite the successful family man.”

“He certainly is; the chamber has wanted him to be involved for years, the Rotary too. I think he’s got a full plate, and like all of us, he’s not getting any younger. I think he’s smart enough to want to carve out some time for himself. How did you come by these photos anyway?”

“I met a friend Friday night at the Embassy Suites down in San Rafael. I was up on the third floor looking at all the people in the lobby. You know me, it’s all about interesting faces and angles.”

“Well, they’re great shots, but I hope you’re careful. A lot people get very uncomfortable when strangers take pictures of them.”

“I have no doubt. But I’m usually at a pretty good distance. And, you know, with all the business people and community profiles that I do for the chamber and the Rotary, it’s great to just be able to photograph interesting faces when they’re not posing and trying to smile.”

“I understand completely. Just try to be very discreet. I don’t want to hear about you getting, let’s just say, the wrong people upset. That wouldn’t do you, the camera store, or me any good. Remember, this is still a small town.”

Michael smiled, nodded in agreement, and returned to unpacking that day’s newly arrived stock. While he went about doing tasks that had long ago become routine, he thought about Walker’s position in the community.
 

It would seem awkward at this point if he were to ask more of Milton regarding John Walker’s business holdings, the part of town where he lived, and so forth. His employer had already chastised him for secretively shooting photos of Walker; prying for details into his background might set off alarm bells, which given his side business as an extortionist would clearly be unwise.
 

Besides, there were other ways to learn about Walker, starting with a trip to the library. Spending a couple of hours looking at microfiche of past editions of the local weekly,
The Novato Advance,
should provide a lot of answers.
 

Next a trip to the county tax assessor’s office would offer up what Michael wanted to know about his principle residence and whether John Walker owned any other residences or commercial properties in the county. While at the county offices, a visit to the clerk of the district court would reveal if there was any past or current litigation pending or settled involving Walker.
 

In total, considerably more information than Milton would be able to supply.
 

Michael checked in on Sheila’s pattern one day during the middle of the week and noted the same scheduled six-thirty departure from the bank, followed by her short drive home. On Friday night, however, Sheila again rendezvoused with Walker. With the precision of a Swiss timepiece, she performed flawlessly, meeting Walker at precisely the same time and place as the previous week.

Michael, finding, the pattern of the past Friday repeating, wondered if he needed to follow Sheila inside. After all, he was quite certain that he had stumbled onto the pattern of their tryst. But then he envisioned the day he would inevitably confront Walker and knew that his first defense would be to explain that they were longtime friends, and that this was a one-time meeting, and there was a great deal less here than met the eye.

To go inside and catch them a week later meeting at the same time and the same place would certainly place a question mark at the end of the story. It would remove any reasonable doubt that they had been caught in what was clearly a long-term affair.
 

So, Michael followed his movements of seven days earlier. Back up at his perch on the third floor, he photographed the two sitting at a different table at the same bar. Sheila wearing a different dress, and Walker, on a somewhat warmer day, sitting with his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up.

When they left the bar, apparently ready to go upstairs to their room, Michael was ready to head out, but decided on a different plan. He went down to the lobby, taking one of the stairwells from the third floor. Exiting into the lobby, he arrived just in time to see the two of them entering one of the hotel’s glass elevators. As it began going up, they embraced, and then kissed, apparently too eager for each other to wait for a little more privacy.
 

Michael caught their embrace from the lobby, smiling in amazement and delight over alcohol’s ability to overcome human inhibitions. He could see the elevator stop on the fourth floor. Because of the hotel’s open atrium, he was able to watch as the two lovers walked, somewhat unsteadily, down to their room. He was not sure of the number of the room they entered, but because he was certain of its position on the fourth floor, he was quite certain he knew their location.
 

Michael, flushed with the success of his past captures, was feeling particularly daring this night. He went back to his car, opened the trunk, and grabbed a Chewbacca mask, which he had thrown back there after a recent Rotary Halloween party. He then rummaged through his usually untidy trunk in the hope of finding a small spy camera that Milton had given him two weeks before.
 

“It’s a cute gadget and it’s supposed to capture a good quality image,” Milton said. “Do me a favor, shoot a roll of film, process it and see if you think we should offer them for sale.”

Michael played around with it for twenty minutes that afternoon, trying different ways of holding the camera while clicking its shutter. He was intrigued, tossed it into the trunk of his car, and then forgot about it. What better time to test it, Michael thought, as he shut the trunk and headed back into the hotel.
 

Moments later, standing in front of Room 408, he donned the mask, placed the small camera in the palm of his hand, and knocked on the door. When Sheila opened it dressed in a silk robe that barely reached to her upper thigh, she giggled and said, “You’re not room service, are you now?”

“No, ma’am,” Michael said innocently, and then asked, “Is this 308?”

“No, that’s one floor down, Chewbacca,” Sheila said, her speech slightly slurred from the impact of two vodka martinis.
 

“I can’t see too well with this mask on; sorry to bother you,” Michael replied, while squeezing down three consecutive times on the camera’s high speed and all but silent shutter. As Michael did this, he imperceptibly made slight adjustments of the angle at which he pointed the center of his palm.

“Sorry to bother you, Ma’am.”

“That’s all right, Chewie. You’re kind of cute.”

Michael gave a small laugh, apologized again, and turned to walk away…totally satisfied that he had gotten some wonderful photos of Sheila about to engage in another session of Friday night fun at the local Embassy Suites.
 

Michael was so excited that he went straight to the darkroom in the back of Milton’s shop to see what, if anything, he’d captured after this inventive use of the newest weapon in his arsenal.

In watching and waiting for the chemical wash to reveal its image, Michael felt that same rush of anticipation he felt two years earlier when he saw his wonderful photos of Fred and Nora appear. Using all his acquired skills to shoot his targets made his work fun, challenging, and most importantly, profitable.

And there in the tank, he watched as the perfect coda to weeks of surveillance and information gathering revealed its image. In addition to photos documenting the date, time and place of Sheila Grimes’ and John Walker’s liaison, here was Michael’s target, Sheila, scantly and seductively dressed, ready to engage with her lover in Room 408.
 

After that, the takedown was routine. Michael called John Walker, explaining who he was, and suggesting that he would like to be involved with the good deacon’s church; if possible, he’d like to volunteer to be the church’s photographer for their newsletter. He said that many people in Novato’s business circle knew of his work including, “the branch manager of the Novato Bank, Sheila Grimes.”

In his office at First Presbyterian, Deacon Walker went through what Michael had come to think of as the many shades of red. There were anger, embarrassment, regret, and fear, to mention four. Here was a man accustomed to controlling the meeting, who was quite lost in the moment. Walker knew he was being blackmailed, but his instinct was to take control of the meeting, at least to the extent that he could walk away from the negotiation having gotten something.

Michael, knowing Walker’s worth, asked for a “retainer” of five-hundred dollars per month.

“I’m, of course, greatly unhappy about this,” Walker explained in a ministerial manner and tone, “but I want two important concessions in return.”

Michael was intrigued and impressed. Here was a victim with the poise and sophistication to recover from his shock and embarrassment and propose additional terms to what was otherwise a straightforward deal.

“I want Sheila to never know about this, and I want our relationship to continue, if I choose to do so.”

“Let’s make that six hundred dollars a month, and we’ll call it a deal.”

“Agreed, with one caveat; I will not have you coming back here with any further demands. You’ll receive your money every month, sent to the address of the post office box you provided, but this is the end of our transaction. If, after this, you decide you want more money, I don’t want to hear about it. Tell a single person or tell the entire world our secret, and I will indeed be greatly embarrassed, but you will be ruined. Do we have an understanding?”

Michael thought for a moment and thrust out his hand, which Walker took and shook vigorously. “You’re an enterprising young man. I’ll pray for your soul.”

“As I will yours,” Michael said with a smile.

Both men thought they had shaken hands with the devil and hoped they would never meet again.

CHAPTER
TEN

Three years after completing college, Michael’s degree in anthropology had become a curious relic from a distant past. On top of his salary and sales commissions earned at Cook’s Cameras and More, the business of discovering dirty little secrets was now bringing in an additional income of over twenty-thousand dollars a year.
 

His father, Caleb, had taught him the value of saving and investing his money. “Always pay yourself first,” he would advise, when Michael earned money during the summers between his high school and college years.
 

“Whatever your goals, set aside money to help you meet them. There will always be bills, rent money, or mortgage and car payments, insurance, and more; if you want to do more, travel, get married, whatever, you’ll need money to do that with.”

“But what about credit?” Michael insisted.
 

“Credit was meant originally for buying big things that you could not afford all at once, the best example being a home or a car. Credit to buy a pair of shoes and a thousand other things that you can’t afford to pay when the bill comes due at the end of the month is just making the bankers and the credit card companies rich. Real wealth is extra money in the bank, set aside, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Caleb, Michael thought, would be delighted to see his son’s savings now. But certainly furious with him if he knew how most of his savings had been achieved. What would also displease him was the number of boxes he had scattered in hidden places containing cash. It was time that he found better ways of putting his money to use, other than hiding it away.