Double Image by David Morrell Page A

I’d just gotten home from the hospital and I needed to sleep?”
    “You’re a friend.”
    “I hope you didn’t mind my bringing in Jennifer. I couldn’t think of anybody else I could count on to help.”
    “Mind? Not at all. Things are working out great.”
    “Admit it — you missed having her around. The three of us had a lot of good times. If Jennifer tried too hard, it’s because she cared.”
    “Or
I
didn’t try hard enough.” Coltrane changed the subject. “Tell me about these boxes.”
    “A man from a limousine service was camped outside your door. I noticed him when I was going out for some much-needed exercise.” Daniel patted the slight protrusion at the belly of his blue jogging suit. “The boxes must have gold in them or something — they certainly weigh enough. The delivery guy was reluctant to let me sign for them. He only agreed when he saw I had a key to your town house.”
    “A delivery on
Sunday
?”
    “The driver said the man who sent them was very insistent.”
    “There isn’t a label. Did the driver say who—”
    “Randolph Packard.”
    “
Packard
?”
    “Why should that name mean something to me?”
    Coltrane quickly explained as he opened one of the large boxes. Inside, an envelope lay on top of a generous amount of bubble wrap. He broke the seal, finding a handwritten card.
     
I trust you know what to do with this.
     
    Baffled, Coltrane pulled away the bubble wrap, his bewilderment changing to amazement when he discovered a tripod and a foot-square black box whose front and back were connected by bellows.
    “What
is
it?” Daniel asked.
    “A camera.”
    “I’ve never seen any camera that looks like a miniature accordion.”
    “It’s called a view camera.” Realizing the significance of what he was holding, Coltrane felt awestruck. “These days, only studio photographers use them, but in the old days, in Packard’s prime, it was the standard for every serious photographer. Packard would have taken one with him everywhere.”
    “How come it looks so weird?”
    “I guess you don’t know anything about f-stops and shutter speeds,” Coltrane said.
    “Thank God. Just give me my ‘point and shoot’ Kodak and I’m a happy camper.”
    “Right.” Coltrane chuckled. “You can’t imagine what it was like to take pictures when a camera didn’t come equipped with a built-in light meter and automatic focus and all the rest of the bells and whistles.”
    “Progress.”
    “Maybe, but don’t you sometimes get frustrated with the pictures those automatic cameras take? They often look overexposed. There’s no texture to the image. The colors are harsh.”
    “They’re good enough for snapshots.”
    “But if you want a first-rate photograph, you have to go a different route. You need to use a meter to judge the light as accurately as you can. Then you need to adjust the lens opening and the shutter speed so the correct amount of light strikes the negative. This view camera has precise controls that allow you to do that. Its focusing is just as precise. You expand or contract these bellows, like an accordion, pulling the lens closer or farther away from the view plate at the back, until the image is perfectly crisp. A camera this large takes an eight-by-ten negative. You can print the image as an eight-by-ten transfer, with none of the graininess you get when you enlarge an image from a dinky thirty-five-millimeter negative. You get an image so sharp and clear, you won’t be able to tolerate snapshots from an automatic camera.”
    “Looks awkward.”
    “Worse than you think. Hold this while I pull the tripod from the box.” Coltrane expanded the tripod’s legs and locked them, then secured the camera to the tripod. He draped a black cloth over the back. “Now stoop under there and look at the viewing screen.”
    Daniel did so, then quickly reappeared from the cloth, rubbing his eyes in discomfort. “Everything’s upside down.”
    “And reversed,” Coltrane