Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Seven
After four separate tries, Izzy finally answered the phone.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Leanne whipped into a parking space in front of the Marfa Chamber of Commerce.
“Where are you?” Leanne asked.
“Uh, in my car. Why?”
“Listen, you work in a darkroom, right? I mean, I know you do digital photography, but I assume you’ve used a darkroom, at some point?”
“Well, yeah,” Izzy said. “I worked almost exclusively in a darkroom when I was at school. Now I mostly do digital photos. Except when it comes to nature shots. Lately, I’ve been experimenting with—”
“So, you know the chemicals, then, right? Darkroom chemicals?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’ll explain later. I just need—” Leanne glanced at the sign in front of her.
No Unauthorized Parking. She fished the police hang tag from her glove box and hooked it onto the mirror.
She should have picked up an official car at the police station earlier, but when she had set out for El Paso this morning, she’d been determined to avoid crossing paths with the chief.
“Leanne? You there?”
“Yeah. Listen, Izzy, I need your input. I just got a report from a crime lab that says something about phenidone. You ever heard of it?”
“Sure. It’s a developing agent.”
“Do people still use that now? Or is it obsolete?”
“Depends,” Izzy said. “Personally, I don’t care for it for high contrasts. But some people like it because it’s less toxic to skin so less likely to cause dermatitis. I haven’t used it since I learned to develop film in the yearbook office, way back in high school. Why? What’s this about?”
Leanne turned to look back over her shoulder at Dark Sky Gallery.
The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, reflecting off the abstract metal sculpture in the center of the room.
Was Zach Olmstead there? Based on her previous legwork, she knew he drove a black Range Rover.
She didn’t see one parked on the street, but maybe he’d parked around back.
“Leanne?”
“Sorry, I’m just—” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to calm down. She needed to settle. She couldn’t go in there looking manic. “I’m a little scattered right now. This day’s been insane.”
“Is there any way I can help?”
“Maybe in a bit. I mostly wanted to know if that chemical was commonly used or if it was something rare,” Leanne said. “Will you be around later? At the station house?”
“I’m off this afternoon unless something comes up. I’m working on some personal stuff. But call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Leanne slipped her phone into her pocket. She smoothed her hair and slid from her truck. Traffic was light on Highland Street, so she crossed without going to the light and strode straight up to the gallery’s front door.
A wall of cold air hit her as she stepped inside. What was it with this place? It was always freezing.
No instrumental music today, only silence. A giant wooden crate sat near the back, Styrofoam peanuts scattered on the floor around it. A crowbar sat atop the crate, and it looked like someone was unpacking a shipment.
Leanne did a slow 360, once again taking in the enormous floor-to-ceiling nature photographs, all taken at night. Snippets of the criminal profile came back to her, and her stomach felt queasy.
He’s detail oriented and meticulous.
And what was it Zach had told her?
I’ve been out here eighteen years…. Before that, I moved around.
The timing fit. Ditto his height, his build.
A faint gurgling noise came from the back of the gallery. Leanne followed the sound to the break room, where she found Zach’s slender blond assistant standing in front of a shiny red cappuccino machine.
“Freya?”
She whirled around, and her eyes widened. Once again, she looked like a runway model, this time in a white cashmere sweater with camel-colored pants and boots.
“I’m Detective Everhart,” Leanne reminded her. “We met last week?”
“Yes, of course. May I help you?”
“I need to talk to Zach. Is he here?”
“No.” She stepped closer, and her body language indicated that she didn’t care for random members of the public popping into her break room. “He’s not in today.”
“Has he been in?”
Her perfect eyebrows arched, like she didn’t get the question.
“Have you seen him at all?” Leanne asked.
“No.”
Clearly, Freya was in gatekeeper mode, and Leanne realized she needed to lighten things up.
“Well, shoot.” Leanne put her hand on her hip. “I was hoping to catch him. I had something I wanted to ask him about. I guess I’ll try him at home.”
“He’ll be in later,” Freya rushed to add, and Leanne got the distinct impression she didn’t like the idea of another woman visiting Zach at his house—which confirmed Leanne’s take that not only did Freya and her boss have a personal relationship, but she didn’t trust him.
“May I give him a message for you?” Freya asked.
“No, thanks.” Leanne smiled. “But you can answer one quick question…. Do you know where he keeps his studio?”
“Studio?”
“His workspace. His darkroom. Where does he do his photography work?”
She stepped closer, looking puzzled by this new line of questioning.
“His darkroom is there.” She nodded across the hall at a closed door.
“Right here, on-site?” Leanne stepped toward the door and tried the knob before Freya could object. It was locked.
“That is his private workspace.” Freya folded her arms. “No one goes in there. Not even me.”
“I got it. Thanks.” Leanne nodded. “Anyway, I’ll try back later, see if I can catch him.”
Leanne started to leave and then paused beside the wooden crate, thinking about the sort of damage that crowbar could do to a human skull.
She glanced up, and Freya was staring at her, clearly perturbed.
“One last question, and then I’ll get out of your way,” Leanne said. “Do you know if Zach is right-handed or left-handed?”
She leaned forward. “Pardon?”
“Right-handed.” Leanne lifted hers. “Or left-handed?”
Freya said something that sounded like Swedish.
Leanne picked up a pen from the table. “Which hand does he use to write?” she asked, scribbling in the air.
“Which is his dominant hand, you ask?”
“Exactly.”
“He is right-handed.”
“Are you sure?”
Now she looked annoyed. And maybe a little smug.
“I know him quite well,” Freya told her. “Yes, I am sure.”