The Phantom Photographer: Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 3 (Murder in Marin Mysteries) (32 page)

“Okay, well one other thing, Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, Dr. Watson?”

“Who is keeping an eye on Walt Douglas? You don’t want another camera shop owner turning up dead.”

“He’s probably sitting at home right now watching TV with a deputy sheriff keeping him company. I might be a few steps behind our killer, but I’m not out of the game.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

By eight the following morning, Eddie was sitting with the crime lab’s technicians as they carefully opened the sturdy SentrySafe found under Michael Marks’ closet. They began by checking for prints and x-raying the box to assure that there was no detonating device or other surprises awaiting them. It was improbable that the box posed any such threat, since Michael frequently opened and closed the box, but their training had prepared them to always err on the side of caution.
 

Inside the safe was a worn envelope and a Walther PPK 380 handgun. Eddie, wearing surgical gloves, picked up the gun and admired its weight and size. Six inches long and about four inches high.
 

“Wow,” Eddie said, as Canning walked in and looked over his shoulder. “Marks was ready for something to go wrong if he felt he needed to carry around a piece like this.”
 

“Isn’t that known as the ‘James Bond’ gun?” Canning asked.
 

“It is,” Eddie said. “When you’re blackmailing people, I imagine they can get a bit prickly.”
 

“You think?” Jack said with a short laugh.
 

“Whatever protection Marks thought he was buying himself with this gun didn’t do him any good against a guy hiding above his house with a rifle and a scope.”

Of course, the anticipated highlight was what was inside the worn yellow envelope that lay beneath the gun. A tech lifted it carefully and put it under a light to detect fingerprints. There were many prints, all identified in minutes as belonging to Michael.
 

But what made Eddie and Jack gasp was the discovery of a narrow notebook. It looked like an accounting book used by a collections agent forty or more years ago. Small in size, approximately three by six, it was lifted gently and also checked for prints, both on its worn cloth cover and inside pages. Unfortunately, once again, only Michael’s prints were present.
 

But inside was an investigators dream come true. A separate tally of names and totals paid and remaining amounts due from what appeared to be all of Michael’s targets.

“Holy shit,” Jack and Eddie said in unison.
 

“Looks like a directory of suspects,” Jack said. “There are dozens of names here.”

“Lucky me. Looks like my list of suspects just grew by sixty or more. Mr. Marks was one busy guy.”

Two thirds of the way back in the small book was a paper clip, where a different accounting record was kept. Both Jack and Eddie stared at those pages for just a few moments and came to the same conclusion.

“I think this is a record of when and where he took money and transferred it out of holding and handed it over to someone else,” Jack said. “What do you suppose all the ‘MC,’ entries next to those figures might mean?”

“Jesus, only one thing comes to mind, the initials for Milton Cook,” Eddie replied.

“The camera shop owner Marks worked for when he first came to Marin? The guy that’s now in the chiller down in Max’s office?”

“One and the same, Jack.”

“I’ve got a total cash count on that envelope,” Debbie Salem, the county’s top forensics tech called over to Eddie and Jack. “Eighty-four hundred, all in hundred-dollar bills. Most appear to be in mint condition. Straight out of the bank.”

“So, what do you think?” Jack asked Eddie.

“I think he collected cash, and then dumped it off when it reached ten K or more. Look at these entries, eleven-five, MC; ten-six, MC. I suppose Cook had some way of laundering the money and transferring it into legitimate investments.”

Eddie thought for a moment, then looked across at Jack and said, “I thought Cook was squeaky clean; I guess I was wrong.

Eddie spent the balance of Thursday preparing his notes for a Friday trip down to Fresno, principally to interview Caleb and Christopher Marks. The balance of the day, he devoted to two interviews in Mill Valley. One was with Mrs. Fitzsimmons, the second was with Walt at his camera store.

For his brief interview with Michael’s still-fragile landlady, Eddie brought several photos of known family members and friends of her deceased tenant and patiently asked if she recognized any of them, and if she did, when she last recalled seeing them. It was a long slog going through them, but Eddie practiced patience, and was grateful for her assistance during what was still a difficult time for her.
 

When he arrived at Walt’s shop, it was empty, with the exception of Walt and the sheriff’s deputy, who was one of a detail of three attempting to ensure he remained unharmed.
 

“I want to follow up with you concerning Michael and Al D.”

“Gosh, I hope I didn’t get Al in trouble opening my big mouth about what he said to me about Michael.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m just doing my job. Besides, I’m sure you want me to catch this killer before he catches anyone else.”

“So, you’re thinking with Milton Cook dead, I might be the next victim.”

“I’m not sure what to think at this point, other than the fact that I’ve got two homicides in one week, and in Marin, that is what we call ‘a killing spree.’”
 

“I just can’t imagine those two being connected,” Walt said, shaking his head.
 

“Last week at this time, none of us could have imagined that Michael Marks had been blackmailing people for decades. Now we know that he was. And because he was so diligent at his work, I have a list of possible suspects that, placed head to toe, would stretch from here to San Francisco.”

“And I thought he was just a photography enthusiast.”

“Well, he was, just not in the way any of us would have guessed. Now, in all this time, you never saw any behavior that was strange on Michael’s part?”

“Strange in what way?”

“Questions he might ask. People you might have overheard him arguing with, here in the shop or over the phone? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Nothing that comes to mind. I guess I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I didn’t think he was much different than me. He was a quiet type of guy, who wanted to pursue his love of photography in a really special part of the world. There were times that he was really curious about some people in town.”

“Curious in what way?”

“Details about who they were, what business were they in, who they knew that I might know. Lots of questions about my customer base, but I assumed that was just him being both sociable and a good salesman.”
 

“You never saw him with Cook here at the store, or overheard him talking with Cook on the phone? No mention of Cook at all?”

“Not a thing. I suppose Michael kept his cards close to his chest. The only clue he ever gave any of us was all that extra money he had.”

“And you never pressed him about that?”

“Not really. I would have like to, but I figured, however he came by his money…that was his business. I asked him a couple of times if he wanted to buy a share of the business, but he seemed uninterested, so I didn’t pursue it. Michael was the best sales assistant I ever had. Why would I want to rock the boat by making him uncomfortable?”

“Did Al D. ever come into the shop, or did you ever see the two of them talking?”

“I don’t remember his asking anything about Al D. But he mentioned, on several occasions, how much he enjoyed the community history room down at the Mill Valley Library. I remember his mentioning that it was amazing how many successful people lived here.”

“Did he ever mention how he learned about all these people?”

“I know he enjoyed looking through the library’s microfilms of the
Mill Valley Standard
and the old
Crier
before it became the
Standard
. He said his favorite part was the society pages. I thought it was great that interested him. We sell some high-end equipment. People with extra money to spend are our best customers.”

“I suspect Michael was more interested in his side business than in your business,” Eddie said with a grin.

“One of his favorite expressions was, there’s gold in these hills. I think for the first time I understand what he really meant.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

At eight the following morning, Eddie was sitting on the tarmac at San Francisco International aboard a SkyWest commuter jet, awaiting takeoff for the seventy-minute trip to Fresno.
 

He took out the small pad he always carried in his side pocket. Although tech savvy, Eddie never lost his desire for the simple comfort of having a pencil and notepad buried in his jacket pocket. Tapping a pencil against a page, he was convinced that someone had helped Michael. He was deep in thought as to who that might be, as the regional jet taxied to the active runway.

Could it be possible that Michael had been engaged in the extortion business for all these years without his dad and brother knowing anything about it? For that matter, without Milton or Walt suspecting he was up to something odd? At the least, wouldn’t one of them been more curious about the good life Michael was enjoying while sucking money out of what was likely two-dozen or more victims?
 

Eddie thought deeply about all this while the now airborne jet raced through a mix of high clouds and blue skies, dipping its wing to the right, placing the plane on a direct course for the southeastern corner of California’s Central Valley.

How did Milton Cook fit into all this? If he was involved, he likely took a cut of Michael’s take. And if he was handling Michael’s money, perhaps he also helped him get started in the business, suggesting certain targets in Novato, where Michael, as detailed in his notebook, apparently began his life as an extortionist.
 

Eddie was so fixated on the many possible answers to these questions that he did not notice his plane arriving until its wheels bounced on the ground and the commuter jet’s engines reversed to slow the plane to a stop. The pilot welcomed the passengers to, “Fresno Yosemite International, where the outside temperature is currently one-hundred and six degrees.” Eddie, having been raised in the nearly constant mild temperatures of Southern Marin County, groaned, grabbed his jacket from the overhead bin, and headed to the car rental counter.

The full force of the heat didn’t hit Eddie until he arrived at Christopher Marks’ office at East River Park Circle, just a twenty-minute drive from the airport. The sun’s heat made its presence known as it pounded down upon him. A blast of air conditioning brought quick relief, as he pulled open the front door of the seemingly new four-story building.
 

Eddie was impressed by the successful appearance of “Christopher Marks and Associates, Investment Consultants.”

He had waited less than five minutes when Christopher came into the reception area and greeted him with an outstretched hand and a broad smile. He had a cool professional demeanor. Eddie was struck by the differences between the two brothers. Christopher slender, neat, and well dressed; Michael, his opposite in every apparent way.

Christopher led Eddie into a well-appointed office and invited him to take a seat in one of two wingback chairs that were separated by an antique mahogany coffee table.
 

“Did you just arrive this morning?” Christopher asked with a relaxed smile.
 

“Yes, less than an hour ago. It’s a lot faster going through Fresno’s airport than San Francisco’s.”

“I’m sorry we did not connect when I was in Marin for Michael’s funeral. I had to hurry back.”

“Did you catch a flight back here on Tuesday after the funeral?”

“No, I wish, but I had some business to attend to in the Bay Area before flying back, so I took the evening flight on Wednesday.”

“Well, no problem in my coming down here. I thought I’d take some time and get to know a little more about you and your dad and see the place where Michael and you grew up. Do you get to spend much time up in San Francisco or over in Marin?”