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

by Martin Brown

  The first was a popular certified public accountant, Ward Wilson, who had just been elected treasurer for the chamber. Word had it that he and his wife were, “just the cutest couple,” but he had an apparently irresistible urge to pursue a male bedmate every now and then. Michael locked onto him at the chamber’s holiday party when he put his hand firmly on Michael’s thigh and said, “I’m guessing you’d be a fun guy to get to know better. Has anyone ever told you have a wonderful smile?”

  Michael had to dodge a couple of offers to join him at his office after hours for some “free pointers” on how to reduce his taxable income. He suspected this was a ploy Wilson used on other potential partners, who no doubt had equally wonderful smiles.

  He staked out the perfect location to shoot photos from a rooftop location across from his admirer’s one-man office, and found out that Wednesday, the night his wife had a standing date with three girlfriends to play mahjong, was the night he was most likely to be giving some gentleman, “free tax advice.”

  After a month of empty Wednesdays, Michael and his telephoto lens struck gold. Six weeks later, he received the first of Ward’s four-hundred dollar monthly payments. Given the long hours he worked at the camera store, Michael happily thought of this as the easiest money he ever made.

  The second was Sheila Grimes, who was married, had twin boys in the local middle school, was active in the Rotary, and was also manager of the Novato Savings Bank branch on Grant Avenue. There were rumors that her “behavior around other men was not always proper,” but no names and no details came attached to that speculation. If she was having an affair, she was being very discreet. Nothing like Fred or Marv, who were both too arrogant to consider the consequences of their actions; or Paul, who with his open marriage found it arousing that he was being secretly spied upon; or Ward, who was blind to the obviousness of his actions. If Michael were to achieve success uncovering Shelia’s secrets, he would have to be willing to invest the time of a private investigator.

  Michael, with little social life of his own, and having nothing he enjoyed more than tracking his prey, was up for what he told himself would be a more challenging assignment.

  He began by waiting in his car and watching as Sheila left the bank, usually about thirty minutes after its six o’clock closing time. Monday through Thursday, she followed the same road home, with Michael dropping his tail of her at various spots, then driving by her house minutes later to find her car parked on the left side of the home’s carport.

  But, to Michael’s surprise, that pattern changed on Friday. At about her usual time, Sheila left work, but once on her way, she quickly turned left rather than right. Michael, at first, was excited, but told himself that she was likely headed to pick up one of her boys or perhaps do some last minute grocery shopping. He followed her up DeLong Avenue and onto the southbound entrance to 101. Eight miles later, in moderately heavy traffic, she exited at Freitas Parkway and turned left and then right again onto Civic Center Drive. Sheila entered and circled the parking lot in front of the San Rafael Embassy Suites. Michael pulled up just outside the property and watched as she found a spot and walked inside.

  Michael drove into the lot, parked quickly, and hoped that he had not lost her. If it was a rendezvous, perhaps she had already vanished into one of the hotel’s many floors, but hopefully she was still in one of several public areas. He slung his camera over his shoulder, ready to tell Sheila, should they meet, that he was there grabbing a bite before a nearby photo shoot that was slated to start at eight.

  Once inside, he walked quickly to the elevator and rode to the third floor, where, because of the hotel’s open atrium design, Michael had an excellent view of the entire lobby. He carefully scanned the registration area and the business people standing with cocktail glasses, gathered around the coy pond. Then he found her, seated in the hotel lobby’s lounge, a popular destination because they offered two for one drinks from five to eight every evening. Sheila was relaxed and smiling as she patted the hand of the man sitting opposite her. He, like her, was dressed in business attire.

  Who was he? Michael lifted his camera and balanced its telescopic lens with his right arm, which was supported by the safety rail that wrapped each of the hotel’s floors. People with cameras photographing the center expanse of the hotel was a common site, although the size of Michael’s camera suggested that he was more passionate about photography than most.

  The man Michael was staring at through his lens was a distinguished late forty- something to Sheila’s late thirty-something. After just a couple of minutes of considering the numerous business people he had met doing monthly photo shoots at chamber and Rotary gatherings, he was reasonably convinced that Sheila’s close friend was not someone he knew from Novato. Well, fortunately, he had the equipment to get a close up profile of his face from over two-hundred feet away. Someone, he thought, must know this guy.

  After finishing a second drink and choosing not to order another round of doubles, they left their table and walked toward the elevators. Michael felt fine about running into Sheila in the hotel’s lobby, but in the middle of one of the guest floors, perhaps near the room where he assumed their tryst would take place, was entirely too awkward. Of course, the chance was remote in a hotel with many floors, but to play it safe, Michael quickly ducked into a stairwell and waited there for a few minutes before exiting and taking an elevator down to the lobby.

  Now what? He wondered. It was unlikely that Sheila and her gentleman friend would be in the lobby in the next hour, so Michael wandered into the hotel’s restaurant and ordered the Friday night special, an all you eat shrimp marinara pasta.

  Full after two and a half helpings, Michael looked at his watch. It was nearly nine. They’ve been at it for well over an hour, he thought. Michael walked out to his car and moved up to a closer spot, many of which were available now that happy hour was over and there were only a handful of diners left in the restaurant.

  He backed into his spot, giving him an excellent view of the hotel’s front lobby. While the exit was well-lit, his car, parked eighty feet away, was not. He didn’t know about her gentleman friend, but he reasoned that Sheila had a family to get home to and now, two hours after they left the bar, it was reasonable to assume their passion was played out. Approximately three hours after he had followed Sheila into the hotel, she left with the same distinguished man he had photographed her sharing drinks with at the hotel bar. They nodded, shook hands, looked about, and then kissed passionately in what appeared to be a quiet parking lot. Michael caught their kiss on film. He followed her home, mindful of keeping a respectful distance, splitting off a half mile from her home and then circling back around to confirm that Sheila was now home with her family. He then headed to his own home, fully satisfied that he had done a good night’s work.

  He played solitaire on his nearly new IBM PC, which came with an impressive 512K processor. Around eleven-thirty, he got into bed, clicked off the light, and went to sleep, wondering, who was Sheila’s lover?

  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 successf
ul 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.