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

Caleb’s anger expressed itself in his clear displeasure when either of the two boys broached the subject of their mother. And so they adjusted as best as they could to her all but total disappearance from their lives. On occasion, Caleb considered asking a woman out on a date, but he was apprehensive as to the boys’ reaction. He committed himself to doing all things masculine with his sons; from weekends spent hunting deer, to learning camping, wilderness and survival techniques, to even setting up a target range behind the house where both boys became crack shots.
 

And as happens between a job and your children’s school, the next couple of years passed quickly. Michael did well in school and was accepted to UCLA, the campus of which was a three-hour drive due south of their Fresno home. Michael, for all his feigned enthusiasm for life at home with his dad and brother, was secretly thrilled to leave what he thought was a depressing environment. As for Christopher, two years away from his own high school graduation, he felt the disappointment and resentment of being the only child left in what was now a two-person household.
 

At Michael’s graduation from UCLA, Barbara made one of her rare appearances. She and Caleb carefully avoided coming within ten feet of each other. She promptly dismissed any inquiries Michael made regarding her sudden departure, more than seven years earlier. Barbara gave the casual and, by now, often stated self-assessment, “I was a lousy mother and you and your brother were lucky to be rid of me.”

Michael never believed that. He took it as her way of dismissing the consequences of her departure and assuming family life would have been worse with her than without. But he asked himself repeatedly: What was the point in confronting her about this or anything else? Instead, Michael told her that she was beautiful and that he would like to photograph her. Barbara was flattered and suggested that he come visit her at the home she shared with Fred in Novato.
 

Two months later, Michael, just shy of twenty-two, arrived at Barbara’s front door for what was intended as a brief two-week visit. He was surprised to discover that she and Fred, the man his father would only refer to as, “that treacherous traveling salesman,” lived in a comfortable home on a cul-de-sac off of San Andreas Drive, which backed up to the picturesque open pastures adjacent to the Mt. Burdell Preserve. Now, with several months’ worth of unanswered inquiries regarding job opportunities mailed to prospective employers in the Fresno area, and the inviting landscape outside his mother’s door, Michael began to wonder if Marin was not more to his liking.
 

Fred and Barbara had a three-bedroom house, how much of an imposition could it be, Michael reasoned, if he was to stay there for a time and look for work in the area? Degreed in anthropology, Michael applied for a position as a salesclerk at a camera store in a nearby strip shopping center, which was a manageable walk from Fred and Barbara’s home. He had no doubt that his presence would be at least somewhat of an imposition, so Michael carefully couched his desire to his mother and undeclared step-father in the most diplomatic terms possible.
 

“I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait for a teaching position to open up at the community college down in Fresno; meanwhile, I’d like to get a job nearby and at least cover my living expenses. I would not want to be a burden to either of you.”

Fred could tell by the quiet tears that Barbara shed that it was apparently and regrettably payback time, so although he preferred to have nothing to do with what he considered his wife’s past mistakes, he thought it wise to at least attempt a positive view of this development. Therefore, he took the lead, sensing Barbara wanted to hear his thoughts before she spoke.
 

“If it’s okay with your mom, Michael, it’s okay with me,” Fred said, in as loving a manner as he could muster.

And so it was resolved that Michael would pursue this position, and if he was happy there, it was further agreed that he would begin to look for a place of his own after three months’ time, in which he would make a “sincere effort,” Fred suggested, “To save a portion of his weekly earnings.”
 

Michael took to photography with the enthusiasm of a future composer hearing a symphony for the first time. He worked at the camera shop eight to ten hours a day, six days a week. At night, he studied books on photography that he borrowed from the shop.
 

The shop’s owner, Milton Cook, saw himself in Michael thirty years earlier when he first fell in love with photography.
 

“It’s addictive,” Milton warned, while enjoying Michael’s increasing passion.
 

Michael was particularly taken with black and white photography, which had a strange way of capturing a hidden truth that was often missing, he thought, in color photography.
 

This was all prior to the advent of digital photography. In addition to shooting film negatives, Michael learned the art of darkroom photography and the different aspects of a photo that could be teased out, simply by variations in the print process. Sharper contrasts often evoked more striking images, softer ones a more reflective reaction on the part of the viewer.

The power of photography was astounding. Less than a year after completing his studies in anthropology, Michael concluded that he could better understand the human condition through the lens of his camera than through any textbook.

When Milton began his introduction to the use of a telephoto lens, Michael’s world opened that much further. Between understanding different camera bodies, the quality and functions of various lenses and filters, and the artistry of the darkroom, Michael discovered a person inside himself he never knew was there. Part scientist, part artist. He learned that he was a lover of the many aspects of the human condition and a person who could be lost for hours in the fine details of capturing an evocative image.

Between his long hours at the store and the pursuit of his photography in most of his free time, an entire year passed for Michael, nearly unnoticed. That same year was a slow and uncomfortable one for Fred, who had disciplined himself to say nothing to Barbara regarding his growing discomfort over having Michael’s presence in his home. But with each week seeming to move slower than the last, and his growing weary of hearing about one more new thing Michael had learned about photography, Fred gave in to his desire to recapture the solitude of his life with Barbara and simply stated what had long been on his mind; it was time for Michael to move on.

As with most of his sales calls, before making his pitch to Barbara, Fred considered carefully what needed to be said.
 

“Michael’s a terrific kid, but his two-week visit has now extended beyond twelve months. I’d like us to get back to the privacy we had before he arrived.”

Barbara had silently wondered when Fred would raise this issue. She, too, had grown weary of her son’s enthusiasm and his presence, but could not bring herself to mention this to Fred. She’d also wondered for many years if he thought of her as a terrible mother. Suggesting it was time for Michael to leave might only serve as further evidence of that.

She was so pleased to have left the life she lived in Fresno, but she carried the weight of years of regret for the abrupt decision she had made.
 

Reluctant to simply agree with Fred, Barbara took the middle path and said, “Let me talk with him.”

Fred was sorely tempted to say more, but the salesman in him had sharply honed listening skills. He sensed the weariness in her voice with the situation. He told himself to wait two weeks and see if this intolerable situation might at last be on its way to a satisfactory resolution.

A few days later, Barbara arranged to come by the camera shop and take Michael out for lunch. She went through a series of delicate suggestions that the time had arrived for him to move out into a place of his own. With his lunch hour nearing an end, and the conversation mostly focused on what Michael called, “the coming revolution of digital photography,” Barbara decided it was time to stop her subtle suggestions and get to the point.
 

“Fred would like to know when you’re planning on moving out.”

“You mean getting my own place?”

“Exactly.”

“I had no idea he wanted me out. You guys have such a big place; I didn’t think I was in the way.”

“I think it’s more about his privacy. He’s just not used to having other people living with him. And to be fair, Michael, you were supposed to look for your own place within a few months of starting your job. It’s now over a year!”

“Yeah, sure, okay. Tell him I’ll start looking. Can you give me a couple of weeks?”

“Of course, dear. There’s three weeks until the end of the month. Why don’t I tell Fred that you’ll be out by the first day of next month?”