“It’s part of my routine to keep a fresh perspective on the world. An artist’s experience. Each morning I pick something simple, a color or a shape or an idea, and then I take pictures of whatever seems to fit into that category during my day. It’s not a conscious choice. That day I photographed any blue thing that caught my eye. I don’t really remember what they were.”
Brad finished the final bite of his omelet and washed it down with a gulp of water.
When he turned to look at her, her heart shifted into a faster rhythm before he even spoke. “The bomb was tucked inside a blue backpack. Could you have taken a picture of a blue backpack?”
Georgie closed her eyes, trying to remember. But she’d drunk one glass, maybe a bit more of the Chardonnay he’d purchased and nothing would gel. “Maybe. In preparation for the ceremony, I was using a telescopic lens so I might have just taken the blue color that came through without knowing what the object was.”
“Then you might have captured the bomber, too. Maybe he was still carrying it. Or holding it.”
Georgie’s eyes popped open. “Dear god, I wonder if that’s true?”
“What did you do with those pictures?”
She just looked at him. “You, too?”
His expression didn’t change but something in his gaze softened. “Tell me why you were using a telescopic lens.”
She smiled. “Contrary to the way they are portrayed in movies and on TV as having up-close and unlimited access to public figures, most photographers are relegated to a cordoned-off section, often at the back of the room so that we won’t interfere with crowd shots. We can be fifty, sixty, sometimes half a stadium away from the ceremony or event we are supposed to be recording.”
Brad thought about that for a second and then pushed his chair back. “Would you excuse me? I need to check on something.”
Georgie frowned at his retreating back. But then her phone rang.
“Hi, Frank. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just need your originals from the photo shoot you did down by the Tidal Basin. We’ve had some interest in a commissioned job for you. They want to see recent samples of your open-air work.”
“I’ll have to sort through them, Frank. There are over a hundred. Tomorrow soon enough?”
“Or you could just give me your password and let me choose. I’m your editor. I know what they’re looking for and which ones to send them. Give me fifteen minutes to get in, download, and out. Then you can change your code and everything’s safe.”
Ordinarily, Georgie wouldn’t have hesitated but she realized that allowing Frank access would cause him to pop up on the FBI’s suspect list. He had enough problems. “Tell you what. I’ll grab the entire folder now and e-mail it to you.”
“That’s my girl. Knew I could count on you, Georgie. By the way, that apartment I told you about? I’ll be able to get the key on Saturday. Come look at it with me?”
“Sure.”
As soon as she hung up, she went to the Cloud, extracted the file, and uploaded it to Frank. Thirty seconds and it was a done deal.
“Who called?”
Georgie looked up to find Brad had returned. “Work.” She really didn’t want to lie anymore to anyone today so she stood up and grabbed her plate. “I’m exhausted. Going to bed.”
He took the plate from her. “I clean tonight. You cook and clean tomorrow.”
Brad waited until she closed the door to her room. Even then, the small one-bedroom apartment seemed like a closet. He was getting the sleeper sofa until further notice. Zander had commandeered the space beneath the table. But sleeping arrangements weren’t what had his mind in overdrive.
He’d put in a call to Clinton. The unexploded bomb they had found wasn’t very large. In fact, they had commented at the time that the damage it did would be limited to the room. Now he wanted to know exactly what the diameter of the debris field would be for that type of explosion.
He didn’t share his reason with Clinton. It was a crazy idea, possibly a foolish one. But crazy thoughts sometimes turned out to be in sync with a suspect’s.
Chapter Nine
After four days, Georgie had learned something new, and depressing, about life. A person could only remain terrified for so long. After a while the terror wore down to a dull edgy wariness that made even the world around her seem less vibrant.
“It’s like my visual sense has been bleached.” She looked over at Zander, who had decided that she was okay to cuddle up to on the sofa. She smoothed a hand over his silky head. “Think of it this way. It’s like being you with a stuffy nose.”
Zander licked her hand as he gazed up at her with eyebrows that danced over soulful dark eyes.
“I know. I’m talking to a dog. Just like your partner does.” That thought jarred her, much in the same way Frank’s response had earlier in the afternoon to her most recent photo spread.