"Sure." Gretchen moved closer.
Nimrod's tiny face poked out of his poodle purse, and he seemed inquisitive rather than threatened. Possibly a good sign.
"Is that a real dog?"
Nimrod's ears perked up as though he knew he was the center of attention.
"Never saw a dog in a purse before."
"I hadn't either until my aunt started training them."
"What did you have in mind? Just dolls from that auction?"
Because Peter Finch had snapped pictures of dolls lying on the flatbed truck, she had used that fact to set up this appointment. A ruse.
She wasn't interested in doll pictures, unless…
"Did you take any pictures of Ginny dolls?"
"Refresh my memory," he said. "What does one look like?"
Gretchen described the doll and the box the best she could.
"I didn't shoot anything already packed in boxes." He started up the computer, and Gretchen heard the motor kicking in. His fingers flew on the keyboard, and photographs began popping up on the screen. "Grab a seat," he said, motioning to a chair next to him.
She sat down next to him with Nimrod still in her shoulder bag, and for the first time wished he was larger and more intimidating. A German shepherd or pit bull would be good.
"To be honest," she said, "I'm not really interested in the doll pictures."
Peter pushed back in the chair. "Well, what then? All I take is pictures of dolls."
"Yes, well, I was hoping you took a few pictures later when Brett was struck by the car. People pictures, maybe of the accident scene. You said on the phone that you were still at the auction when it happened."
"Awful, what happened. Unbelievable."
"Don't you have some pictures of the accident?"
Gretchen asked again. "Any at all would help."
"I know what you're thinking. I'm supposed to be a professional, and a professional would have taken pictures. But, frankly, I was so stunned I completely forgot. Brett was a friend. I still keep seeing it happening all over again in my head."
"I understand," Gretchen said softly. The image of Brett crumpled in the street like one of her broken dolls flicked through her thoughts often, too.
"As far as the boxed dolls, I didn't take pictures because Chiggy was firm about that."
"So you were there on Wednesday, too, the day before the auction?"
"I was. She said no pictures of the stuff in the boxes in the corner of her bedroom. The boxes were supposed to be taken out to the retirement community when she moved. That's why I was surprised to see one of them on the auction block."
Gretchen sat up straighter. "Are you sure?"
"Sure, I'm sure. She told me not to touch them, and I saw her boxing up those Ginnys you're talking about. Brett must not have been paying attention, because I heard somebody behind the flatbed the day of the auction giving him a hard time about it. Sounded like someone might of slapped him, and I heard a man say, 'You better get it back right now.' "
Peter shook his head. "Brett must have been so shook up, he ran right out in the street without looking."
"Did you tell the police that?"
"Oh, yes, an officer came by after the accident, and I told him just what I told you."
The photographer clicked on an icon, and one of Chiggy's dolls appeared on the screen. Gretchen wasn't past the wincing stage every time she saw one of Chiggy's poorly made copies.
"See all the stuff in the background," Peter said. "I haven't had time to play with the photographs, fading out all that extra stuff. These aren't scheduled to hit the Internet for a few more weeks. I like to play with light and color for a while first."
Gretchen studied the photographs as Peter scrolled through them. Not the best quality, she thought. And he hadn't been careful with his backdrops. Gretchen could see other dolls from the flatbed behind the posed doll. He continued clicking until pictures of the crowd appeared.
"I thought you said you didn't take pictures of the accident," Gretchen said, recognizing other bidders from that day's auction.
"I didn't."
"What are these then?" Gretchen pointed at the screen.
"You asked if I took pictures of the accident. I didn't. These are from afterward. See that one? That's the back of the ambulance as it drove off. Finally got my wits about me by then and started shooting."
"Could I have copies of these?" Gretchen asked, keeping any sign of eagerness out of her voice.
"I shoot quick and often. There must be a couple hundred shots. Do you want to go through them first?"
"No, I'd like to buy them all."
Peter looked surprised. "Tell you what, you have a computer at home, right?"
Gretchen nodded.
"I'll download all the pictures, and you can look at them on your own computer. I won't charge you much."
Gretchen nodded. "Great."
Peter efficiently zipped through the files.
"When did Chiggy tell you to stay out of the boxes in her room?" Gretchen asked while she watched him work.
"Wednesday night. She was bossing the mover around, and she gave everyone strict orders to stay out of her bedroom, because the only things in there were her personal belongings."
"Who else did she tell this to?"
"Howie was at the house, but he spent most of the time out by the truck getting organized. But I thought Brett heard her for sure. That's why I can't understand how he could have mixed up her personal boxes like that. He must have picked that box up before the mover got to it, and hauled it out to the truck. Like I said, he must not have listened. And me, I was there, of course. I called Chiggy up as soon as I saw the ad in the paper and asked permission to take pictures of the dolls."
"Anyone else?"
"That newspaper reporter, Ronny Beam, who wanted to write a story about the dolls." Peter tapped more keys, and the screen went blank. "Oh, yes, and that guy from Boston."
Gretchen, rising from a seat next to the computer, froze.
"What guy from Boston?" she managed to ask.
"Tall, blond, about your age, maybe a little older. Can't remember his name." Peter rubbed his rough face. "Steve something, I think it was."
29
It took Gretchen three tries before she punched Nina's phone number in correctly, only to learn that Nina had turned off her cell. Where could she be? Gretchen checked her watch. Six o'clock. Ah, yes, the big date with Eric Huntington at one of the Phoenician's exclusive restaurants. Cocktails beforehand in his suite. No wonder she found herself connected directly to Nina's voice mail. She walked down Southern Avenue so Nimrod could sniff and go about his business. She tried to organize the events of the last six days, starting with Wednesday, the day before the doll auction and Brett's death, and the subsequent chain of unexplained occurrences. The news that Steve had been in Phoenix a day earlier than she thought, and that he had been at Chiggy's house, disturbed her greatly. Her confidence in his innocence dissipated like the daylight now leaving the city. What had he been doing there?
Now that Gretchen had discovered that Steve had been at Chiggy's home along with Brett, it seemed that Steve had possible connections to all of the murdered men, even Percy O'Connor, since both of them lived in Boston. As for Steve's connection to Ronny Beam… well, he had shoved the reporter around in front of a hall full of shoppers. Maybe the police had arrested the right man. She shuddered at the thought. How little we know the people closest to us.
Nimrod spotted a woman ahead of them walking a great dane. The mighty hunter wagged his tail and gave two sharp yips. Gretchen quickly turned around and headed toward the car to avoid the enormous dog and its owner. Who else could it have been? Howie Howard, by his own admission, had a dispute with Ronny over Chiggy's personal belongings and had thrown him out. He also was present when Brett died. And Albert, the homeless eyewitness, saw the killer get out of a blue truck, and later Gretchen observed Howie getting into a blue truck and driving away after the ambulance left. As far as murdering Ronny, Howie easily could have waited for him in the parking lot. But so far, he, like Steve, had no real connection to Percy that she knew of. Yet. Gretchen loaded Nimrod into the Echo and pulled away from Peter Finch's home.