The Phantom Photographer: Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 3 (Murder in Marin Mysteries) (7 page)

“Michael,” Marv said, clearly by now on his second margarita. “Meeting a lady friend?”

“Actually, I was meeting a pal. We’re going to see
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
.”

“Oh, nice, I heard it’s really good. You remember my friend Sandy.”

“Yes, I remember shooting your photo the other day.”

“You’re cute, I should introduce you to my niece, Cathy; she’s trying to break into modeling and she could use a few good photos.”

Sandy, Michael thought, was just one drink away from slurring her words.

“Sure, here’s my card with my number at the camera shop. Tell her to call anytime. You know, I’ll bet I missed my buddy; I better get moving before I miss the start of the film too.”

Back in the parking lot, Michael pulled his car to the back and waited another thirty minutes. Marv and Sandy had to be on their last round, he reasoned. If something was going to happen tonight, now should be the time.

Michael quickly loaded in a roll of film that could maximize the resolution of an image taken in low light. Fortunately, Marv’s car was positioned across from the restaurant’s entrance, which was reasonably well lit. Naturally, he was uncertain as to what would come next. But, as he’d learned with Fred, if you’re unprepared to catch the moment, you’re certain to leave empty handed.

Michael steadied his telephoto lens on top of his steering wheel and started clicking rapidly as Marv and Sandy exited and walked the short distance to the car. Marv was obviously looped, because he was all over Sandy before opening her door. His hands rubbed the sides of her breasts as he gave her a hungry kiss. Then his hands moved down and around to cup her bottom. Michael was delighted by the show. Suddenly realizing that they were doing in public what they both wanted to do in private, Marv and Sandy ducked into the car and drove off, with Michael trailing a hundred feet behind.
 

As they began to follow the reverse path of their earlier drive from the auto parts shop, Michael wondered if that was where they enjoyed their late night trysts. To his surprise, that apparently was their hideaway. When they turned into the company’s parking lot, Michael drove a half block beyond and parked at a late night Wendy’s franchise. He grabbed his camera and walked back down the block. He knew he was taking a risk, but the thrill of the hunt was irresistible.
 

He looked in hope of seeing a light coming from one of the office windows that lined the back of the building. He was thrilled when he spotted what he thought might be the glow of a small desk lamp.
 

He hesitated for just a moment, and then thought, what the hell, they’re drunk and horny; what are the chances they’re going to be aware of anything other than their desperate need for one another?
 

Michael peeked up at the window that was directly over his head. Knowing full well he was not going to get what he now thought of as the money shot without a better angle on the action, he quietly walked to the rear of the property, where at the close of business all packing crates and cartons from incoming shipments were left for the early morning refuse pickup. As he hoped, there was a discarded four by six shipping pallet that provided the needed eighteen-inch lift to assure he captured what he jokingly thought of as that “special Kodak moment.” Before moving it into position under the window, he thought it wise to stand on the pallet and jump up on it a couple of times. Relieved that it was solid and not likely to crack under his weight, and thereby give his presence away, he carried his improvised photo stand through the unlit back lot and placed it into position.
 

Michael stepped up on the pallet, and rising slowly from a crouching position, he carefully moved his head up over the level of the window and was greeted by the sight of Marv with his pants down around his ankles, lunging at Sandy’s generous breasts. He took a deep breath, raised his camera, and began shooting away. He fired off a roll of twelve shots in a matter of moments, returned the trashed pallet to where he had found it, and was happily back at his car a few minutes later.
 

He stopped to celebrate by walking into Wendy’s and ordering a double cheeseburger, a chocolate shake, and a large order of fries. With his best friend, the high speed, nearly silent shutter, thirty-five millimeter Nikon comfortably resting at his side, Michael sat in the dark of his car and thoroughly enjoyed his dinner. An ice cream split at the Swensen’s on Redwood Boulevard finished off his late dinner. Dessert that night, he told himself, was on Marv.

Back in the car, filled with the thrill of a successful hunt, Michael quickly turned his thoughts to what these photos might be worth to his target. Before confronting Marv, he needed to carefully assess Marv’s financial standing. The last thing he wanted to do was set a price well below a monthly payment that Marv could comfortably afford, or above what he could possibly pay.
 

Certainly, Marv presented himself as someone comfortable with his financial standing, but that, of course, could be a deceit. There was little doubt about the quality and clarity of the images he captured, and tomorrow night in the camera shop’s darkroom, any questions would be settled.
 

The next morning, Michael greeted Milton with a few seemingly innocent questions.
 

“Marv seems like a really nice guy. I’ve enjoyed getting to know him. Is he a part owner in that auto parts business he manages?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard. Marv talks a good game, but the one who is the real breadwinner in that family is Marv’s wife. She’s a divorce attorney, a partner in a big firm in San Francisco. My wife has known her for years.”

“So, Marv’s not the big breadwinner? He sure acts like king of the hill.”

“I know he has a very high opinion of himself. He’s a nice enough guy, but I’ll be damned if I know what his wife sees in him. Maybe he’s a great lover,” Milton said and gave a short laugh.

“Well, maybe he is. I suppose you never know.”

Later that night, Michael pulled some beautiful photos out of the chemical soup that always gave the darkroom that particularly pungent smell. Even before they had completely set, he could tell in the glow of the darkroom’s red light that the photos met his own increasingly high standards. The parking lot shots were acceptable and helped to document the sequence of events, but that series of quick snaps that he caught from the high angle of the office window were all contest winners.
 

After Michael clipped the dozen eight by ten photos onto a wire to dry, he switched on the lights in order to fully appreciate his handiwork. He was still uncertain as to what Marv’s monthly penance should be, but he had no doubt that this collection of photos would provide a nice addition to his income. He was indeed a better hunter than his father and brother had ever thought.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Four hundred dollars a month seemed like a reasonable number. No doubt, forty-eight hundred a year would likely make a sizable ding in Marv’s discretionary spending, but from what Milton suggested regarding his divorce attorney wife, the pain of paying Michael should be a small compared to the financial pain his wife would inflict if she ever saw these photos.
 

The thought of inventing a plausible explanation as to why people were sending him a monthly check suddenly interrupted happy feelings of financial security. Should Marv and Sandy enjoy one too many margaritas one night and wrap their car around a telephone pole, it was likely that his attorney wife might take a closer look at his financial dealings. So, in every case, a cover story needed to be available.
 

For Fred, the three hundred dollar monthly payments could simply be ascribed as an act of kindness by a generous step-father. For Marv and the many others that Michael hoped would follow, their needed to be a more solid answer.

“Hi, Marv. Can you get away for lunch one day this week? I want to show you prints of the photos I took of your business for this month’s highlight section of the chamber’s newsletter.”

“Sure, kid, I’d love to see the photos. Where would you like to go?”

“I love Emilio’s. They make a killer lasagna.”

“Agreed. Noon Thursday work for you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, and to show my appreciation for the work you’ve volunteered to do for us and the chamber, I want to treat you to lunch.”

“That’s great; I appreciate it. See you Thursday.”

Michael arrived fifteen minutes prior to noon. He took a certain perverse delight in knowing that he would have lunch with Marv in the same restaurant, seated in the same booth, where he confronted Fred with the uncomfortable truth that he had documented the affair he was having with Nora Stephens.
 

He made a stack of the photos that were taken the day of his company’s photo shoot, and at the bottom of those prints he placed one shocking picture of Marv and Sandy “working” late at the office one night.

Lunch went by quickly. Michael talked about how much he enjoyed getting to know people in town through both the chamber and the Rotary. Marv discussed what a “great guy” Milton was and how happy everyone was that he’d brought in Michael, “who wanted to make such a significant commitment to the community.”

“Speaking of contributing, I wanted you to see these prints from that photo shoot we did at your place.”

Marv went through each of the eight by ten black and white prints, making comments as he went. “This is a great one of the guys in the inventory department; I love this one of the front counter guys; Geez, this one of me is really terrific; I love this photo you’ve got of Sandy…you really captured that cute smile of hers.”

“Oh, I’ve got another one of Sandy later that’s a real grabber.”

It took Marv several minutes, commenting as he went, to work his way to the bottom of the pile. When he did, his eyes widened, his mouth tightened, and for a surprisingly long time, he could not even look Michael in the eye.
 

The crisp black and white image he was looking at featured Sandy, nude, with her legs wrapped around Marv’s back. Marv was stripped, with the exception of his pants and underwear wrapped around his ankles as he leaned into Sandy…sprawled across his desk.