The Phantom Photographer: Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 3 (Murder in Marin Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Martin Brown
his things and made sure to leave when he knew Fred would be at work. He wanted to have as little contact with the man as possible.
Milton gave Michael a step up in three important ways: he identified a perfect garage apartment at a reasonable rent, he connected Michael with one of his Novato chapter Rotary pals, who sold him an aging Honda Civic for twelve easy monthly payments, and unwittingly gave Michael some advice that allowed him to strike back at the man who had stolen his mother away and crushed what Michael had told himself was an otherwise happy home.
During that rainy afternoon when Michael shared the story of his mother’s desertion, Milton put an arm around his shoulder and said, “I’ve known guys like this Fred character. Their behavior always catches up to them.”
“How so?” Michael asked with red-rimmed eyes.
“They’re philanderers, son. I’d bet my home that he’s cheating on your mom right now. Believe me, this Fred guy is someone who does whatever the hell he wants. For God’s sake, you think a decent man seduces a friend’s wife and then leads her astray like that? I might be an old fashioned guy, but trust me, this guy’s rotten. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. Just you watch; people like him always come to an unhappy end.”
For the first time, Michael began to wonder: If this were indeed true, how could he use Milton’s theory to assure Fred found himself with at least some of the pain he had caused others? There had to be some way to do that.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mid-morning on the first Sunday after he began life on his own, Michael parked his car a quarter of a mile from Fred and Barbara’s home. From there, he walked out onto the green pastures of the Mt. Burdell preserve and found a comfortable and secluded spot behind a rock outcropping. He opened his camera bag and removed the Nikon 35mm camera that Milton had sold him at his cost and then placed on a twelve-month payment plan. He unscrewed its regular lens and replaced it with a high power telephoto lens. He unwrapped a turkey sandwich and began to enjoy his lunch, while he waited patiently for Fred to come out onto his deck to enjoy his Sunday paper, while sitting in the sun and sipping his coffee.
The night before, Michael thought back to the year he spent living at his home and observing, among other things, Fred’s Sunday routine. He began with a late breakfast, around ten-thirty. Then, sometime between eleven and noon, he sat down with the Sunday paper out on the back porch, weather permitting, until the early afternoon. That was followed by a visit to the nearby YMCA for a workout, a swim, and a visit to the sauna.
If Milton was right and Fred was possibly having an affair, his rendezvous might occur in two places: at work, or at the gym. At both locations, he would not run into Barbara; she did not work at his office, and she loathed the noise and the smell of a gym. Fred had given up the job of being a traveling salesman more than three years ago. Office affairs are certainly common, but a good deal riskier than a casual hook-up with an aerobics classmate.
Michael used the time, while Fred read his Sunday paper, to practice with his new telephoto lens and see the degree of clarity he could get in pictures from three hundred feet from his target.
Whenever using a lens this powerful, the shooter has one of two options, either bring a tripod, impossible while attempting to do what he was now doing, or have a steady surface to lean your camera on. In this case, the flat rock behind which he had burrowed was perfect.
By two-thirty, Fred had put down his paper, gone inside, and was likely preparing to leave for the gym. Michael packed his things, got back to his car, and drove beyond Fred’s home and parked near the intersection of San Andreas and San Marin Drive.
Michael knew Fred’s truck, but Fred had never seen Michael’s recently acquired used car. Approximately twenty minutes
Milton gave Michael a step up in three important ways: he identified a perfect garage apartment at a reasonable rent, he connected Michael with one of his Novato chapter Rotary pals, who sold him an aging Honda Civic for twelve easy monthly payments, and unwittingly gave Michael some advice that allowed him to strike back at the man who had stolen his mother away and crushed what Michael had told himself was an otherwise happy home.
During that rainy afternoon when Michael shared the story of his mother’s desertion, Milton put an arm around his shoulder and said, “I’ve known guys like this Fred character. Their behavior always catches up to them.”
“How so?” Michael asked with red-rimmed eyes.
“They’re philanderers, son. I’d bet my home that he’s cheating on your mom right now. Believe me, this Fred guy is someone who does whatever the hell he wants. For God’s sake, you think a decent man seduces a friend’s wife and then leads her astray like that? I might be an old fashioned guy, but trust me, this guy’s rotten. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. Just you watch; people like him always come to an unhappy end.”
For the first time, Michael began to wonder: If this were indeed true, how could he use Milton’s theory to assure Fred found himself with at least some of the pain he had caused others? There had to be some way to do that.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mid-morning on the first Sunday after he began life on his own, Michael parked his car a quarter of a mile from Fred and Barbara’s home. From there, he walked out onto the green pastures of the Mt. Burdell preserve and found a comfortable and secluded spot behind a rock outcropping. He opened his camera bag and removed the Nikon 35mm camera that Milton had sold him at his cost and then placed on a twelve-month payment plan. He unscrewed its regular lens and replaced it with a high power telephoto lens. He unwrapped a turkey sandwich and began to enjoy his lunch, while he waited patiently for Fred to come out onto his deck to enjoy his Sunday paper, while sitting in the sun and sipping his coffee.
The night before, Michael thought back to the year he spent living at his home and observing, among other things, Fred’s Sunday routine. He began with a late breakfast, around ten-thirty. Then, sometime between eleven and noon, he sat down with the Sunday paper out on the back porch, weather permitting, until the early afternoon. That was followed by a visit to the nearby YMCA for a workout, a swim, and a visit to the sauna.
If Milton was right and Fred was possibly having an affair, his rendezvous might occur in two places: at work, or at the gym. At both locations, he would not run into Barbara; she did not work at his office, and she loathed the noise and the smell of a gym. Fred had given up the job of being a traveling salesman more than three years ago. Office affairs are certainly common, but a good deal riskier than a casual hook-up with an aerobics classmate.
Michael used the time, while Fred read his Sunday paper, to practice with his new telephoto lens and see the degree of clarity he could get in pictures from three hundred feet from his target.
Whenever using a lens this powerful, the shooter has one of two options, either bring a tripod, impossible while attempting to do what he was now doing, or have a steady surface to lean your camera on. In this case, the flat rock behind which he had burrowed was perfect.
By two-thirty, Fred had put down his paper, gone inside, and was likely preparing to leave for the gym. Michael packed his things, got back to his car, and drove beyond Fred’s home and parked near the intersection of San Andreas and San Marin Drive.
Michael knew Fred’s truck, but Fred had never seen Michael’s recently acquired used car. Approximately twenty minutes
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