The Phantom Photographer: Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 3 (Murder in Marin Mysteries) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Martin Brown
had passed when he spied in his rear view mirror Fred’s GMC, a vehicle as ridiculously oversized as his ego. Michael started his engine, buried his face in a copy of the county’s free weekly paper, The Pacific Sun , and peered over the top as Fred drove by. There was no need to follow closely; Fred was a creature of habit, and it was highly likely he was on his way to his Sunday afternoon workout.
Michael followed at a relaxed pace, keeping an all but unnoticeable distance as Fred drove the couple of miles down to the entrance of Highway 101, and then the seven miles south to the YMCA, located off Los Gamos Drive. This particular location could not have been better for a discreet observer, the parking lot of the Y being down a steep slope about ten feet below the level of the main road that sits behind it. Michael sat in his car reading product feature information on his new Nikon telephoto lens, hoping it would prove useful before the afternoon was over. He then got out of his car and stood behind a row of bushes; behind him there was only the quiet of a deserted office building and an empty parking lot.
It was a typically busy Sunday afternoon at the gym, with people steadily going in and coming out. Michael, thinking it was near the time that Fred should be leaving, perched himself across the hood of his aging Honda and waited with his Nikon strapped around his neck and the lens elevated and balanced on the camera’s sturdy case.
To Michael’s delight, Fred emerged from the gym with his arm around a perky brunette, who looked to be ten years or more his junior. Michael squeezed off two quick shots as Fred’s friend slipped into her own car. He now had a good shot of her and the model, make, and plate number of her vehicle.
Michael slipped his camera onto the back seat of his car and watched as Fred pulled out of his space and waited for her to back out of hers. Michael started his car, and within moments, all three vehicles had entered 101, and in light Sunday traffic soon exited two miles south near the Marin County Civic Center.
There they went under the highway and up onto North San Pedro Road, where Michael, having no experience in following one, no less two vehicles, attempted to stay close but hopefully unnoticed.
Less than two miles later, they turned off the main road onto Vendola Drive, located in an all residential area that came to a dead end a couple of blocks down at Gallinas Creek. Michael knew where he was. In fact, he knew most areas within a fifteen-mile radius of the camera shop, because of occasional equipment delivery errands Milton sent him on.
Sitting at the corner of Adrian Way and Vendola, Michael kept an eye on Fred as he exited his car, which he parked in front of a home one door down from where his perky brunette pulled into a garage. Moments later Fred walked into that same garage and quickly the door rolled shut.
Obviously, he thought, I have no place to hide. Staying in the car, he could get another shot of Fred, or the two of them together, coming out of the house, but that was well short of the photo he was hoping to capture.
Michael gave serious thought to calling it a day. He had a great photo of their quick embrace in the parking lot. And thanks to his telephoto lens, he had a clear picture of the street number on her mailbox without having to get anywhere near the house. Monday on his lunch break he could drive back and check her mailbox, slipping in a flyer about a sale at the camera shop in case he got noticed. He was hopeful of finding her name and address on an envelope awaiting pickup.
But as he sat there, he thought of how empty the street looked and how wonderful it would be if he could capture Fred and his sweetheart in a cozy pose in the living room or even better in the bedroom.
Screw it, he decided; I’ve got a birder guide in the trunk that belongs to Milton. I can stick that in my pocket and it should give me some cover. It was
Michael followed at a relaxed pace, keeping an all but unnoticeable distance as Fred drove the couple of miles down to the entrance of Highway 101, and then the seven miles south to the YMCA, located off Los Gamos Drive. This particular location could not have been better for a discreet observer, the parking lot of the Y being down a steep slope about ten feet below the level of the main road that sits behind it. Michael sat in his car reading product feature information on his new Nikon telephoto lens, hoping it would prove useful before the afternoon was over. He then got out of his car and stood behind a row of bushes; behind him there was only the quiet of a deserted office building and an empty parking lot.
It was a typically busy Sunday afternoon at the gym, with people steadily going in and coming out. Michael, thinking it was near the time that Fred should be leaving, perched himself across the hood of his aging Honda and waited with his Nikon strapped around his neck and the lens elevated and balanced on the camera’s sturdy case.
To Michael’s delight, Fred emerged from the gym with his arm around a perky brunette, who looked to be ten years or more his junior. Michael squeezed off two quick shots as Fred’s friend slipped into her own car. He now had a good shot of her and the model, make, and plate number of her vehicle.
Michael slipped his camera onto the back seat of his car and watched as Fred pulled out of his space and waited for her to back out of hers. Michael started his car, and within moments, all three vehicles had entered 101, and in light Sunday traffic soon exited two miles south near the Marin County Civic Center.
There they went under the highway and up onto North San Pedro Road, where Michael, having no experience in following one, no less two vehicles, attempted to stay close but hopefully unnoticed.
Less than two miles later, they turned off the main road onto Vendola Drive, located in an all residential area that came to a dead end a couple of blocks down at Gallinas Creek. Michael knew where he was. In fact, he knew most areas within a fifteen-mile radius of the camera shop, because of occasional equipment delivery errands Milton sent him on.
Sitting at the corner of Adrian Way and Vendola, Michael kept an eye on Fred as he exited his car, which he parked in front of a home one door down from where his perky brunette pulled into a garage. Moments later Fred walked into that same garage and quickly the door rolled shut.
Obviously, he thought, I have no place to hide. Staying in the car, he could get another shot of Fred, or the two of them together, coming out of the house, but that was well short of the photo he was hoping to capture.
Michael gave serious thought to calling it a day. He had a great photo of their quick embrace in the parking lot. And thanks to his telephoto lens, he had a clear picture of the street number on her mailbox without having to get anywhere near the house. Monday on his lunch break he could drive back and check her mailbox, slipping in a flyer about a sale at the camera shop in case he got noticed. He was hopeful of finding her name and address on an envelope awaiting pickup.
But as he sat there, he thought of how empty the street looked and how wonderful it would be if he could capture Fred and his sweetheart in a cozy pose in the living room or even better in the bedroom.
Screw it, he decided; I’ve got a birder guide in the trunk that belongs to Milton. I can stick that in my pocket and it should give me some cover. It was
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