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

by Martin Brown

  “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?”

  “Some, but not nearly as much as the LA area. But as you probably know, there are a lot of financial firms located in the Bay Area, so certainly I come up on an average of once every couple of months.”

  “Did you get to spend time with your brother when you were last up in Marin?”

  “Michael and I were really not all that close. When I was a kid, just in the seventh grade, my mom left us, and dad was devastated for so long that I was pretty mad at Mike when he went off to school, and then after getting his degree, making his move up to Marin. I’ll tell you, it was no fun being around my dad during many of those years. And I went to Fresno State, about a fifteen-minute drive from here, and I lived at home all four years of that time. Getting Mike through UCLA blew a pretty big hole in my dad’s budget. All for Mike getting a degree in anthropology, a lot of good that did him,” Christopher concluded with a laugh.

  “Was it difficult living with your dad?

  “My dad’s a good guy; don’t get me wrong. He was just not much fun to be around back then. I think he always blamed himself for Mom’s desertion. I resented Mike for moving away and leaving me with Dad. Dumb when viewed through the eyes of an adult, but not every feeling you have as a kid is easily explained.”

  “So, you two hadn’t been close for many years. Had you ever gotten a chance to visit him at his place in Mill Valley?”

  “Not really, he came down here a few times for things like Dad’s seventieth birthday, but we have essentially lived separate lives.”

  “Funny how that can happen often in families. I suppose a little sad too. You ever talk with Michael about investing?”

  “Not that I recall; anyway, he was poor as a church mouse, from what he told me.”

  “Well, that’s where there’s an unexpected twist in your brother’s story.”

  “What do you mean?” Christopher said, leaning forward in his chair.

  “Well, it’s really peculiar. We’ve come across several victims of his, all of whom tell the same story about his extorting money from them.”

  “How could he do that?”

  “Well, he apparently took photos of people having affairs, or let’s just say misbehaving, and then after showing them the photos, he demanded monthly payments to keep them out of the hands of others. From what we can tell, he collected a very substantial amount of money. Did you know that while he lived modestly in certain ways, he spent lavishly in others?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” Eddie said. “He ate at all of Mill Valley’s best restaurants, even took vacations in Tahiti.”

  “Wow. He really was an odd character. Do you think this blackmail business of his had anything to do with his death?”

  “There is a distinct possibility. He certainly wasn’t hit by a stray bullet. Someone wanted him dead. In fact, you might not have heard this, but the day after his funeral, the gentleman who was Michael’s first employer in Marin, a Milton Cook was found murdered in his shop.”

  “A robbery?”

  “Possibly, but none of the obvious signs. Wallet left in the back pocket, cash register untouched, cash and a couple of checks inside.”

  “Strange.”

  “Of course, there is always the chance that the killer took something we had no idea was there.”

  “Do you think there was a connection between the two, or it was just coincidental?”

  “Can’t say with absolute certainty. My guess is that the killings are connected.”

  There was an awkward silence between the two of them for a few moments, as they both appeared to contemplate the possibilities.

  “Well, I’m certainly sorry for your loss,” Eddie said, as he stood up and reached out for Christopher’s hand. “I’ve got to head over to see your dad and, if I have a couple of more questions for you later, will you still be here?”

  “I plan to be here at the office all day.”

  “If and when you have something to discuss, or just a question, you can reach me at the number on this card.”

  “Absolutely, no p
roblem. I hope you have some answers for us soon. I know both Dad and Mom are pretty broken up over all this. It’s a terrible thing that has happened.”

  Eddie’s interview with Michael’s father was brief, sobering, and helpful. Caleb, who walked carefully while complaining of an arthritic hip, discussed the important role hunting played in the life of his sons after Barbara’s desertion.

  “It gave us something we could all bond over together. Barbara never wanted me to take the boys on hunting trips, but when she up and ran off, I figured it was my decision to make, so I had them join this local hunting club I’d long been a member of.”

  One photo he shared with Eddie showed his boys smiling with arms around each other’s shoulders. It was mounted onto a plaque with the inscription, “The Marks Brothers: 1977: Junior Hunting Champions.”

  Caleb proudly showed Eddie a number of mounted heads of multiple point bucks that he and his boys had shot over the years. All the kills were designated by an MM, MC, or CM. Out of curiosity Eddie asked Caleb, “Who is MC?”

  “Well, I had several kills of bucks before the boys got interested in hunting. Taking down the big bucks is what earns you the biggest trophies. So CM was my designation in the club records; the boys were listed as MM for Marks, Michael; and MC for Marks, Christopher. That’s why people called them the M and M boys.”

  Finally, Eddie asked Caleb about how the two brothers got along. He thought for a few moments and then explained, “I’d say thick as thieves. It was hard on Christopher when Michael went away to school and then moved to Marin. I’m glad, in recent years, that they grew close again.”

  “Close in what way?”

  “Talking a lot on the phone. Christopher even helped Michael with some of his investment planning.”

  “I imagine losing his brother has been pretty tough for him.”

  “I think he keeps a lot to himself. Both of them always did. Chris was pretty disappointed when Mike left home. I’m glad they got close again in recent years.”

  Before heading back to the airport, Eddie made a stop to see an old friend, Sally Sims, the Fresno County Sheriff. Sally, who grew up in Oakland, met Eddie when both majored in criminal justice at San Francisco State.

  “We miss you up in the Bay Area, you know,” Eddie said with a broad smile. He was weary from a long week, but happy to reconnect with an old friend.

  “I miss all of you as well. But you didn’t come down here to talk about old times. From what you said on the phone yesterday, it sounds like you’ve got your hands full. Two homicides less than a week apart! For Marin, that’s some wild shit. Canning, I guess, doesn’t get you much help.”

  “Jack’s a good guy. Everybody is working on tight budgets these days.”

  “Tell me about it, handsome; so what can I do you for?”

  Sally wasn’t all that pleased about assigning an officer in an unmarked car to “babysit” Christopher Marks, but she knew anything she needed in Marin, Eddie would be there for her, so she kept any complaints to herself.

  “We got your back, Eddie. Don’t worry; we’ll keep an eye on your boy and make sure he doesn’t get hurt or do anything stupid.”

  “I owe you one, Sally.”

  “You do, Eddie, and don’t worry, before too long I’ll come around to collect.”

  By the time Eddie landed back at San Francisco, it was shortly after nine that night. He got to his car at SFO’s domestic terminal parking garage after what seemed like a never-ending walk. After calling Sharon to say he would be home in a half-hour, if the evening bridge traffic coming out of the city, “was not too bad,” he next dialed Rob and suggested they meet Saturday morning at The Standard’s office at ten.

  “Invite the gang, if you like. This story has a lot of moving parts.”

  “You made an arrest?”

  “In the ongoing war against evil doers, there is no ultimate triumph; only a series of small victories.”

  “Fuck you,” Rob said, not able to suppress his laugh.

  “I love you too, brother.”

  “You made an arrest. Didn’t you?

  “Hey, I wouldn’t have to if people would just behave themselves. Details tomorrow at ten; see you then.” Eddie clicked off, knowing that Rob wanted to know more. But for Eddie, it had been his eighth long day in a row. At least he could go to bed tonight feeling quite certain that Michael Marks’ killer was in custody.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Rob, Holly, Ted, and Sylvia were all in place when a still-tired, but relieved Eddie Austin walked up the stairs and sat down at The Standard’s cramped conference table. Each one was surprised to get a call Friday night, and none of them would have been anxious to come into the office on a rare day off, but when Rob shared his suspicion that Eddie had made an arrest in Michael’s murder, they were excited to learn the story’s conclusion.

  Holly and Rob had stopped at Starbucks and picked up coffee and pastries for all.

  “I’m glad you did this, thanks,” Eddie said, looking at the spread of treats and coffee as he gave a long yawn.

  “Looks like you’ve had a hard week, Eddie,” Sylvia said, pushing a coffee cup toward him.

  “I did, but it was worth it. The man I believe is Michael’s killer is sitting in Fresno County Jail right now. He’ll be transported up here to Marin around noon tomorrow.

  “Who is it?” Holly all but shouted out.

  “Late yesterday, we arrested Christopher Marks at the Fresno airport. He was about to board an Aero Mexico nonstop flight to Guadalajara.”

  “His brother was the killer?” Rob said in shock.

  “Oh, my word, I can’t believe this,” Sylvia added.

  “Quite a family!” Ted said, while shaking his head with amazement. “This is going to leave a lot of people in Mill Valley absolutely stunned.”

  “Okay, give us the deets, Sherlock, the deets!” Holly insisted, as she waved her fingers, pleading with Eddie to share every last detail.

  Everyone leaned in toward Eddie, ready to hang on his every word.

  “It started with one simple truth,” Eddie began, “the Marks were a peculiar family. I couldn’t get past that fact. Around this time yesterday, I was sitting in Chris Marks’ office, and l was just amazed watching the show he was putting on. I think he was doing a good a job of convincing himself that he had me fooled, but that was never the case. When he told me that he was rarely in contact with his brother and that he had never been at his place, I knew that was a significant lie, because Michael’s landlady, a sweet woman, but not the sharpest tool in the shed, reviewed a set of photos that I brought her of people who might have visited Michael at his home, including his boss Walt Douglas. One after another, she was not sure, or said yes and then changed it to a ‘perhaps.’ But Christopher’s photo, she recognized immediately. That begs the obvious question why. If any of you were asked if you had a close relationship with the victim, why would you deny it? Why lie? So, that begs the obvious question: What was it he was hoping to hide?”

  For a moment Rob, Holly, Ted, and Sylvia looked at each other and shrugged. Then, anxious to know more, they all looked back at Eddie.

  “Joanne Hill, the teacher at Old Mill School, who had a two year relationship with Michael that ended around 1991, mentioned to Rob that she wanted to speak to someone investigating her ex-boyfriend’s murder. When I met with her, she wanted to tell me about a cash box that Michael kept hidden away under a floorboard in his bedroom closet.”

  “Did you find it?” Holly asked excitedly.

  “It was there, complete with a stack of hundred-dollar bills and a Walther PPK 380.”

  “What’s that?” Sylvia asked.

  “A handgun, known to collectors as the James Bond gun. It tells us that Michael understood that his business was likely a dangerous one. The envelope, in addition to eighty-four crisp one hundred dollar bills and the handgun, also contained a ledger, in which Michael tracked his income, and the transferring out of money to be laundered and inves
ted. Well, that begs the obvious question, where did all the money that he collected over all those years go…?”

  “Well, a lot of it went to food, booze, and travel,” Holly said.

  “True. I don’t know if we’ll ever know how much money Michael extorted over a thirty-year career, but that ledger he kept gives us a shot at making an educated guess. And from what we can tell, it appears that this record, all written in Michael’s small handwriting with a set of coded signals, kept track of the movement of hundreds of thousands of dollars, that over the years grew into millions. And that was one more important way in which Christopher Marks fit into this picture. In Fresno, he runs a financial consulting firm, but in truth, the biggest part of his business, if you want to call it that, is laundering money for a Mexican drug cartel. Therefore, the frequent trips, as told by his travel and passport records, to see his ‘real estate clients,’ in Guadalajara,” Eddie said, as he made air quotes.

  “I’m starting to think these two brothers were attached at the hip,” Sylvia said.

  “I know, and the worst part is that when I went to see their father yesterday, I really think the poor old guy had no idea what was going on.”

  “Really?” Rob asked, raising an eyebrow of doubt.

  “Well, he’s a pretty withdrawn soul. Seems to blame himself for everything, from his wife leaving the family, to Michael’s life, and by now, I suspect, he’s learned about Christopher being held at the Fresno County Jail as a suspect in his brother’s murder, so add this disaster to his list.”

  “Learning that Christopher is accused of killing Michael might be the final blow,” Sylvia said.

  “What did you learn from the old man?” Rob asked, as he busily continued taking notes.

  “Well, one essential was how the boys favorite thing was hunting and target shooting.”