dinosaur. Everything her father says and does is totally stupid. Do they ever get over that?’
Jessica had no idea. She certainly hoped so. Her daughter Sophie was just entering that phase. Hell looked to Byrne for an answer.
‘They do,’ Byrne said. ‘Colleen used to feel that way about me. Now she thinks I’m the coolest. She bought me an iPhone 5 for my birthday.’
‘Sweet.’
‘Now if I could just learn how to use it.’
‘Can’t help you there,’ Hell said. ‘I use Windows at work, of course, but at home I’m a Penguin.’
Jessica and Byrne just stared.
‘That’s what they call Linux users. Penguins.’
Getting no further reaction, Hell leaned back against the examining table. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
Byrne took out the paper evidence bag containing the photographs. He opened the flap, shook the pictures onto the examining table.
Hell glanced at the photograph on top, the picture of the nude older woman on the rusted cot. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘At least you
have
a social life.’
One by one Hell turned over the photographs, each one more disturbing than the previous. When he got to the last picture – the one with the couple on the bed, being watched by the trio of men – Jessica heard him draw a quick breath. ‘Wow.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Byrne said.
Hell looked up at the two detectives. ‘What’s the job?’
Jessica gave Hell a brief rundown on the Robert Freitag homicide.
‘A railroad spike?’ Hell asked. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ Jessica said. ‘Rusty, no less.’
Hell took a moment to absorb this. He pointed at the photographs. ‘And where did you find these?’
‘In the victim’s house,’ Jessica said. ‘They were in a shoebox, hidden in the ceiling.’
‘Was it humid up there?’
‘Not particularly. It seemed pretty dry.’
‘Were they inside anything?’ Hell asked. ‘By that I mean, were they in a plastic bag, or wrapped in newspaper?’
‘They were in a plain white envelope,’ Jessica said. ‘It was sealed.’
‘Did you bring it?’
‘We did.’
Hell picked up one of the photographs. ‘I take it these have been processed.’
‘Yes,’ Jessica said.
‘Who did them?’
‘Tommy D.’
Hell Rohmer nodded with something close to reverence. ‘He’s good.’
It was true. Tom DeMarco was the best print man in the PPD.
‘He said he’d red line them for us,’ Jessica added. A red line was a rush job. Jessica said this to give Hell a sense of urgency on the job, even though she had no idea if this material – these strange and grotesque pictures – was evidentiary or not.
Hell smiled. ‘By
us
you mean
you
, right?’
‘What can I say? Tommy likes me.’
‘Jezebel.’
Hell angled the overhead light, studied the specimens before him. He put his hands on his hips, his standard posture when standing at the precipice of a new puzzle.
‘What can you tell us off the top?’ Jessica asked.
‘Well, they’re Polaroids, of course,’ Hell said.
Holding the pictures by the edges, Hell spread out the photographs on the table. He rearranged them twice, perhaps looking for the order in which they were taken. In the harsh light of the document room the images were even uglier than before.
‘I’d say they were mid-seventies vintage,’ Hell said. ‘Maybe a little later. The film is certainly pre-SX70.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jessica asked. ‘What’s SX70?’
Hell looked slapped. ‘Don’t you remember those great Polaroid commercials for the SX70?
The age of miracles
…
a pocket-size, folding, electronically controlled, motor-driven, single-lens reflex camera that quite simply does the impossible
.’
Jessica did not respond.
‘Uh, Laurence Olivier?’ Hell added.
Laurence Olivier did commercials
? Jessica thought. ‘Oh yeah,’ she lied. ‘I remember.’
Hell shook his head, put on a pair of linen gloves. He held one of the photographs up to the light, one with an edge peeling away from the backing.
Jessica had no idea. She certainly hoped so. Her daughter Sophie was just entering that phase. Hell looked to Byrne for an answer.
‘They do,’ Byrne said. ‘Colleen used to feel that way about me. Now she thinks I’m the coolest. She bought me an iPhone 5 for my birthday.’
‘Sweet.’
‘Now if I could just learn how to use it.’
‘Can’t help you there,’ Hell said. ‘I use Windows at work, of course, but at home I’m a Penguin.’
Jessica and Byrne just stared.
‘That’s what they call Linux users. Penguins.’
Getting no further reaction, Hell leaned back against the examining table. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
Byrne took out the paper evidence bag containing the photographs. He opened the flap, shook the pictures onto the examining table.
Hell glanced at the photograph on top, the picture of the nude older woman on the rusted cot. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘At least you
have
a social life.’
One by one Hell turned over the photographs, each one more disturbing than the previous. When he got to the last picture – the one with the couple on the bed, being watched by the trio of men – Jessica heard him draw a quick breath. ‘Wow.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Byrne said.
Hell looked up at the two detectives. ‘What’s the job?’
Jessica gave Hell a brief rundown on the Robert Freitag homicide.
‘A railroad spike?’ Hell asked. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ Jessica said. ‘Rusty, no less.’
Hell took a moment to absorb this. He pointed at the photographs. ‘And where did you find these?’
‘In the victim’s house,’ Jessica said. ‘They were in a shoebox, hidden in the ceiling.’
‘Was it humid up there?’
‘Not particularly. It seemed pretty dry.’
‘Were they inside anything?’ Hell asked. ‘By that I mean, were they in a plastic bag, or wrapped in newspaper?’
‘They were in a plain white envelope,’ Jessica said. ‘It was sealed.’
‘Did you bring it?’
‘We did.’
Hell picked up one of the photographs. ‘I take it these have been processed.’
‘Yes,’ Jessica said.
‘Who did them?’
‘Tommy D.’
Hell Rohmer nodded with something close to reverence. ‘He’s good.’
It was true. Tom DeMarco was the best print man in the PPD.
‘He said he’d red line them for us,’ Jessica added. A red line was a rush job. Jessica said this to give Hell a sense of urgency on the job, even though she had no idea if this material – these strange and grotesque pictures – was evidentiary or not.
Hell smiled. ‘By
us
you mean
you
, right?’
‘What can I say? Tommy likes me.’
‘Jezebel.’
Hell angled the overhead light, studied the specimens before him. He put his hands on his hips, his standard posture when standing at the precipice of a new puzzle.
‘What can you tell us off the top?’ Jessica asked.
‘Well, they’re Polaroids, of course,’ Hell said.
Holding the pictures by the edges, Hell spread out the photographs on the table. He rearranged them twice, perhaps looking for the order in which they were taken. In the harsh light of the document room the images were even uglier than before.
‘I’d say they were mid-seventies vintage,’ Hell said. ‘Maybe a little later. The film is certainly pre-SX70.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jessica asked. ‘What’s SX70?’
Hell looked slapped. ‘Don’t you remember those great Polaroid commercials for the SX70?
The age of miracles
…
a pocket-size, folding, electronically controlled, motor-driven, single-lens reflex camera that quite simply does the impossible
.’
Jessica did not respond.
‘Uh, Laurence Olivier?’ Hell added.
Laurence Olivier did commercials
? Jessica thought. ‘Oh yeah,’ she lied. ‘I remember.’
Hell shook his head, put on a pair of linen gloves. He held one of the photographs up to the light, one with an edge peeling away from the backing.
Similar Books
