Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPHER WHO RAN
Her name was Natalie Brooks.
She did not want to meet at the hospital.
She did not want to meet at her studio.
She did not want to speak by phone.
Her fourth text gave me the address of a twenty-four-hour coffee shop six blocks away and asked me to come alone.
I forwarded every message to Detective Vega.
She replied almost immediately.
DO NOT GO ALONE.
For the first time that night, I smiled.
Preston had spent his life assuming I would obey the strongest voice in the room.
That version of me was gone.
I asked Vega to come.
She agreed.
Dr. Ortiz kept Sophie for observation because of the dizziness.
I refused to leave until my friend Rachel arrived.
Rachel and I had known each other since college.
She was one of the few people in my life who had never been impressed by my family name.
When she walked into Sophie's room and saw the bandage, her face went white.
"Who did this?"
"Preston."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Tell me what you need."
That was Rachel.
No performance.
No lecture.
No questions about appearances.
"Stay with her for thirty minutes."
"Done."
Sophie looked nervous when I told her I had to step out.
"You're coming back?"
"Before you can complain about the hospital pudding."
Rachel made a face.
"That stuff is legally not pudding."
Sophie managed a tiny smile.
I kissed her forehead carefully.
"I'll be back."
Detective Vega met me at the hospital exit.
She had changed from a uniformed partner to a plainclothes detective named Chen, who followed in another car.
That told me she was taking Natalie's fear seriously.
The coffee shop was nearly empty.
A woman with dark curls sat in the far corner wearing a black coat over what was unmistakably wedding-vendor clothing.
Two camera bags sat at her feet.
She stood when she saw me.
"Evelyn?"
"Natalie?"
She nodded.
Then she saw Vega.
Fear flashed across her face.
"You said alone."
"She's the detective investigating Sophie's assault."
Natalie looked toward the front window.
"I shouldn't be here."
Vega spoke calmly.
"If you have evidence, this is exactly where you should be."
Natalie sat again.
Her hands trembled when she unzipped the smaller camera bag.
"I photographed the entire reception."
She pulled out a laptop.
"Continuous bursts during speeches, table shots, candid shots, everything."
"Did you see Preston with Sophie's jacket?"
Natalie looked at me.
"Yes."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"You saw him put the phone in it?"
"I didn't understand what I was seeing at the time."
She opened a folder.
Thousands of image thumbnails filled the screen.
"I was shooting your table because your daughter was making faces at one of the groomsmen."
Despite everything, I could picture it.
Sophie hated formal photographs and loved ruining other people's serious poses.
Natalie clicked an image.
There was Sophie at our table, chin in her hands, eyes crossed dramatically while two guests laughed behind her.
The timestamp read 8:12:07.
Natalie advanced.
Sophie stood.
I was visible several feet away speaking with Aunt Clara.
Preston entered the frame.
He looked toward me.
Then toward Sophie.
Then toward the photographer.
"He saw you."
"Yes."
The next image showed him lifting Sophie's denim jacket from the chair.
The next showed him walking two steps away.
The next showed his back turned to the camera.
Then his right hand disappeared near the jacket pocket.
My breathing stopped.
"Zoom in."
Natalie did.
The image was sharp enough to show his fingers.
But not the object.
The next frame showed him returning the jacket to the chair.
No phone was visible.
No glowing screen.
Nothing conclusive.
Vega leaned closer.
"How many frames between these?"
"I was shooting bursts every fraction of a second."
"Any missing?"
Natalie hesitated.
"Yes."
We both looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
She swallowed.
"Someone tried to delete them."
The room seemed to get quieter.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"When?"
"After the ambulance left."
Natalie closed her eyes briefly.
"Preston's best man, Lucas, came up to me and said the family wanted all images involving the incident removed from the final gallery."
"Did you agree?"
"I said I would discuss it with the couple later."
"Then what happened?"
"I went to the restroom."
Her voice tightened.
"When I came back, one of my memory cards was gone."
I stared at her.
"The card with these pictures?"
"Yes."
"Then how do you have them?"
For the first time, Natalie looked almost proud.
"Dual-slot cameras."
Vega nodded.
"Automatic backup."
"Every photo writes to two cards at the same time."
Natalie opened another folder.
"Lucas stole one."
"But not the backup."
"He didn't know there was a backup."
My pulse raced.
"So you have everything."
Natalie looked down.
"Not everything."
There it was again.
The story kept opening another door.
"What is missing?"
"The backup folder was altered too."
Vega's expression sharpened.
"How?"
"I synced some preview files to a laptop in the bridal suite so the planner could choose same-night slideshow images."
"Someone accessed the laptop?"
"Yes."
"Who had access?"
"Wedding planner, my assistant, bride, groom, maybe bridal party."
Natalie looked at me.
"When I checked the backup after leaving, thirty-seven files had been marked for deletion."
"Marked or deleted?"
"Marked."
"Can you identify them?"
"Yes."
She turned the laptop toward us.
A list of filenames appeared.
"Most are from the minutes around Preston handling Sophie's jacket."
"Most?"
"Three are from earlier."
"Show me."
Natalie opened the first.
It showed Preston near the head table talking to my father.
The second showed my mother joining them.
The third showed Preston holding his phone in his left hand while my mother pointed across the ballroom.
Across the ballroom toward Sophie.
I felt cold.
"What time?"
"7:58 p.m."
Nearly fifty minutes before Preston announced the phone was missing.
Vega studied the images.
"Can you enlarge the phone?"
Natalie did.
The titanium edge and camera cluster were visible.
There was no doubt it was the same model Preston later pulled from Sophie's jacket.
"This only shows he had the phone at 7:58," Vega said.
"It does not show why they were pointing at Sophie."
I knew my family.
I knew that posture.
My father's arms folded.
My mother's chin angled.
Preston leaning forward.
It was not casual conversation.
It was a conference.
"There are more pictures," Natalie said.
She opened another sequence from 8:07.
Preston stood beside his bride, Celeste.
His phone was still in his hand.
Celeste appeared to be speaking urgently.
In the next shot, she grabbed his wrist.
In the next, Preston jerked free.
Then Celeste looked directly toward our table.
Her expression was not angry.
It was worried.
"Did you hear them?" I asked.
"No."
"Did you see what happened after?"
"Only part of it."
Natalie hesitated again.
"Celeste came to me about ten minutes later."
"What did she say?"
"She asked if I had photographed Preston near your table."
My skin prickled.
"Before his phone supposedly went missing?"
"Yes."
Vega sat straighter.
"Exact words."
Natalie thought carefully.
"She said, 'If Preston goes near the little girl's chair, make sure you keep those pictures.'"
I stared at her.
"She knew."
"Maybe."
"She knew he was going to do something."
"I don't know what she knew."
"Where is Celeste now?"
Vega looked at me.
"At the hotel."
"Then talk to her."
"We are."
Natalie shifted in her chair.
"There's something else."
I almost laughed from exhaustion.
Of course there was.
"What?"
She reached into her camera bag and pulled out a small black memory card case.
"This is the second backup card."
Vega held out an evidence bag.
"Do not touch it again."
Natalie placed it inside.
"I already copied the files."
"Good."
"But one image is different from the rest."
"How?"
"It wasn't taken by me."
Natalie opened a final image.
The photograph was slightly tilted and blurred.
It showed the inside of the bridal suite.
Preston stood near a table.
My father was beside him.
And on the table between them sat Sophie's denim jacket.
I felt my stomach drop.
"Who took this?"
"My camera was left on a chair while I was changing lenses."
Natalie zoomed in.
In a mirror at the edge of the frame, a small hand was visible holding the camera.
Not a guest.
Not a photographer.
A child.
Vega leaned toward the screen.
"Do you know who that is?"
Natalie nodded slowly.
"The ring bearer."
"How old?"
"Ten."
I knew him.
Celeste's nephew, Owen.
And suddenly the photograph was no longer the most important thing in the room.
A ten-year-old boy had been inside the bridal suite with Preston, my father, and Sophie's jacket.
A ten-year-old boy might have seen exactly what they did.
Before Vega could say another word, Natalie's phone lit up on the table.
She froze.
The caller ID read UNKNOWN.
A text followed.
UNKNOWN: You should have handed over both cards.
Natalie's face drained of color.
May you like
Then another message appeared.
UNKNOWN: Now everybody gets hurt.
