By Dave Turpin
Russ Connor placed the
last flagstone in the walkway project at four pm. The homeowner was
thrilled with the outcome of Russ's hard work. Several neighbors
recommended him and the homeowners' own sister-in-law praised the
work of the consummate handyman. Russ was on a different path to
success. Choosing small in and out type handyman jobs rather than out
of control massive contracted projects.
For Russ, changing a hard
to reach light bulb for a senior citizen, replacing a screen on a
window for a single mother, installing a coat rack in a hallway for a
blind guy was more rewarding than building a 5 story parking garage
like his father, the big contractor. Russ had more control over his
time, and energy. If he wanted to take the week off or a few days and
go surfing, or fishing, or riding his cherry'd out Triumph up the
coast for pizza, he could do it guilt and obligation free.
“Thanks again Russ, you
did a fine job!” Mrs. Pickler said.
“Thank you Mrs.
Pickler. Mind if I get a few pictures for my scrapbook?” He asked
politely, knowing the answer in advance.
“Of course not.” She
replied handing him an envelope with four hundred dollars cash.
Payment for a three day job – done well.
He retrieved the digital
camera from his 56' Ford work truck. Russ took ten pictures of the
repaired flagstone walkway, including one of a smiling Mrs. Pickler
flashing a little ankle. She waved to him until he idled his work
truck out of sight.
A week later after a
do-nothing, relaxing day on the river bank. Drowning some worms, and
bringing home a limit of trout for dinner, Russ decided to catch up
on some lingering paperwork. Mainly thank you notes to his last 15
customers. Plus he decided upload the 10 pictures from the Pickler
project to his online scrapbook.
Russ didn't take many
pictures with his ten year old digital camera, just the projects that
touched him someway. In fact, this was the first time he'd used the
camera in months. Mostly the scarred camera stayed in the clove
compartment of the truck.
Although more than a
novice with electronics, he chose to 'un-plug' on most days. His cell
phone, only for business, the same for emails, and what little social
media he dabbled in, business only. Families and friends were real,
living – breathing things he connected with in person.
After connecting the thin
black USB cable from the camera to his laptop, he slid open the on
switch-lens cover, and the camera established a connection with the
computer. The 'import picture from selected device' menu popped onto
the screen and waited for his finger on the mouse to select 'import
pictures'. Russ clicked on the import all images option, and turned
his attention to the hummingbird feeder a few feet away outside his
home office window. “Need to give the little guys a refill today.”
He spoke to himself out loud.
He glanced back at his
old friend, and the camera winked a tiny red light at him indicating
the images were transferred. A deft finger closed the lens cover
switch and he turned to the laptops screen.
Russ's face contorted
when he read; '30 images successfully imported'.
“Thirty?” He tilted
his head looking at the screen. “The camera was empty when I took
the flagstone pics.” Curiously looking at the camera as if to ask,
'were you out taking pictures by yourself?'
Turning back to the
laptop screen, he clicked 'open' on the first flagstone project
picture, opening another drop down screen with all 30 pictures
numbered and dated. He roamed over the small images, walkway, Mrs.
Pickler – the rest familiar but totally unrecognized images.
Quickly he clicked on the
first project image. “Okay,” then the next image, “fine.” And
so on until he examined the first ten. Clicking the little 'next'
arrow the first unknown image came into view. “What the hell is
this?” Russ studied the image. Hazy, slightly out of focus, not to
mention an extremely odd angle the picture was taken at. He tilted
his head back and forth struggling to make sense of the picture.
Without taking his eyes
off the screen, his hand found the mouse and clicked the 'next' arrow
button. “A wedding? I haven't been to a wedding in... two years.
What the hell is going on here!” He ventured forth.
The third image, the
bride and groom. “Beth and Tom's wedding?” His chest expanded, he
took in a deep long breath, and leaned back in his leather office
chair. Eyes locked onto the image of his friends wedding. A wedding
that held hope, and the promise of bright futures for a loving
couple. A wedding that he did not take pictures of. A wedding he did
not have his trusty beat up old digital camera with him.
The next gauzy image
zoomed in on Tom, the groom, talking with a woman. Dark hair, low cut
dress, and smiling. Tom, obviously enthralled with their
conversation. The next image was again of Tom and the woman, but in
the background, unnoticed – Beth. Her expression, clear. The
following image showed Tom had moved closer to the dark haired woman.
Beth turned to the side, her eyes locked on the odd couple at her
wedding.
To Russ, the pictures so
far, showed that someone took candid pictures of Tom cozying up to
this woman on his own wedding day. He continued – clicking on the
'next' arrow button.
The next several images
followed Tom around the wedding venue. At the bar. Checking his
texts. Walking to the men's room. The kitchen. The large pantry. A
picture showed, from Tom's vantage point of him opening the pantry
door looking straight into the eyes of the dark haired woman who
waited with open arms, wearing nothing. The next image showed him
embracing, then kissing the naked woman in the pantry.
Russ leaned back in his
chair breathing deeply. “Whewww.” The word slipped out sideways
with a whistle.
He turned back to the
hummingbird feeder. “How in the hell –?”
After pulling himself
together Russ returned to the surprises on the screen.
The mysterious images
became more focused, more detailed. A picture showed Beth's shiny new
car, blue with sparkling chrome. Russ sighed. The next picture, Beth
in the driver's seat, window down, her hair jostled gently by the
wind. He clicked the 'next' arrow. How and where the camera was
sitting when the picture was taken was more than Russ could imagine.
The image clearly showed Tom working in the engine compartment of
Beth's new car. Russ moved in closer to the screen, “Tom, what are
you doing?” He studied Tom's hand. It was on the master brake
cylinder. Wrench in hand. The next picture showed Tom holding a
bottle of something, something liquid he was squirting into the brake
fluid.
The next picture was of
Beth driving again, frowning.
The next picture, Russ
surmised, only seconds before the impact. She drove her car straight
into the guard rail on a bridge. The images one after the other
showed the car spinning out of control. Her face smashing into the
steering wheel. The car bouncing off the punishing steel girder, then
crashing into and through the opposing rail, coming to a rest with
the front wheels dangling off the edge of the bridge.
Russ cringed, grimaced as
he watched his one true friend live her last few minutes. A tear
languished a beat before rolling down his cheek.
He looked at the number
of remaining pictures. Four left.
The next image showed in
sharp focus the coroner's findings; single vehicle crash followed by
drowning in the river when victim was trapped in her car. Death ruled
accidental.
Third image from the end;
Tom, eyes gleaming, holding the life insurance check.
Second image from the
end; Tom and the dark haired woman, naked – seated in a hot tub,
overlooking Lake Tahoe.
The last image. Beth
shrouded by light. Smiling, but her eyes pleading with Russ.
* * * * *
Seven months
passed since Russ Connor raised so much hell with the highway patrol,
the coroner, and the life insurance company to reopen the
investigation into Beth's tragic death, they had no choice. The
forensics team couldn't determine the fluid Tom introduced into the
brake lines. They concluded only that a contaminant was introduced
into a closed, new brake system causing terminal brake failure. The
life insurance company put liens on Tom's new house, and bank
accounts. The dark haired mistress dropped from sight, abandoning her
killer lover. Finally satisfied with the evidence, the district
attorney was bringing charges against Tom.
Seven months.
Russ continued his handyman work throughout the past months. Mainly
he stayed with the easy 1 or 2 day jobs. In and out. Quick cash for
the fight against law enforcement, and the life insurance agency.
Russ sat back in his office chair, enjoyed a sip of sweet tea. He had
put the finishing touches on a fire place mantel with the addition of
natural rock surround earlier in the day. Ten more pictures for his
scrapbook waited on his old beat-up digital camera laying on the
desk. The thin black cable already hooked to his laptop, he clicked
'import images from selected device'. A tremble started in his knees
– lightning shot to his hands; they shook... 42 images successfully
imported.
The End