But the woman's identity was a different matter. With her hair splayed out across the pillow, it was clear that she was Stefanie Knight.
As I suspected would be the case, subsequent prints made identification of the man much simpler. It was as though Stefanie knew there had to be some shots on the roll in which the man's face would be easy to see. "Let me get on top," she must have said to him. "Let me dangle these in your face." It would have been difficult for him to say no.
And it was a face that I recognized. It had accompanied the article in The Suburban about the death of Willow Creek's best friend, Samuel Spender.
It was Roger Carpington, Oakwood town councilman.
I felt - and I know this is going to sound awfully trite - dirty. Working alone here in the darkroom, no one else in the house, developing pornographic images. Not that I'm a prude about such things, but I think that if you're going to have your picture taken screwing somebody else's brains out, you should at least have the right to know there's a camera in the room. Somehow I felt ol' Roger here didn't know. And I was betting that Mrs. Carpington didn't know, either.
I wanted several prints of the shots where he was most identifiable. I was sorry, for the first time, not to have a digital camera. I could have displayed all these images on a computer screen, selected the ones I wanted, and printed them off in a couple of minutes. Doing things the old-fashioned way was going to keep me down here a bit longer, which was frustrating because I was itching to move forward with a plan that was slowly taking shape in my head.
And then, upstairs, a noise.
It was the front door opening. The darkroom was right under the front hall where you stepped into the house.
I'd locked it. I was sure I'd locked it. I'd double-checked every door after coming in from delivering Angie and dropping off Paul's stuff. Maybe my worst fear was true. Rick did have master keys. He could get into any house in Valley Forest Estates.
The door closed. The sound of footsteps followed. But once they moved away from the front door and were no longer over the darkroom, I couldn't track them.
Maybe I could stay right where I was. Rick might stick to the main floor, go back into the study and look for the purse, never come down here.
Get real. He would have seen the car in the driveway, suspect that I had to be in the house somewhere. He'd want to find me first, use his powers of persuasion to get me to hand over the film. Maybe arrange an encounter between me and Quincy in the trunk of his car.
Careful not to bump into anything, I shifted over to the corner of the darkroom, where a tripod was leaned up against the wall. It would make a good weapon, I figured, with its three metal legs, once I could get out of the confines of the darkroom and had enough room in which to swing it.
I thought I could hear the door to the basement open, someone coming down the steps. The element of surprise was everything. The darkroom door was only a couple of paces from the bottom of the stairs. I'd spring out, tripod in hand, maybe catch Rick on the side of the head this time.
I held my breath. Counted to myself. On the count of three.
One.
Size things up as fast as you can. Watch for a gun. If he's got a gun, try to swing for his arm.
Two.
If he's got someone with him, an accomplice, try to take out the bigger guy first. Go for heads. Go for their fucking heads. Okay, this is it, pal. It's showtime.
Three.
I burst out of the door, screamed something along the lines of "Ahhhh!" and, grasping the tripod legs down at the end, swung them back over my shoulder like a baseball bat, putting all my energy into the swing, getting ready to let loose with all the power I could muster.
"Dad!"
Paul sprang back, flinging himself into the stairs, raising his hands defensively. I put the brakes on halfway through the swing, which threw me completely off balance, and I staggered into the wall. The top of the tripod crashed into the drywall, creating a deep gash.
"Jesus! Dad! It's me!"
I stumbled onto the floor, threw my arms out to brace myself. "Paul!" I gasped. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I live here!"
I was trying to catch my breath. "You're supposed to be at Andy's! I told you to stay there!"
"I forgot to ask you to bring some video games." He was as out of breath as I, still sprawled out across the stairs. "We needed some games. Andy's mom drove us over. They're out in the car, waiting for me."
Slowly, I got back on my feet. "Okay, go get your games."
"What were you doing in there? Were you hiding or something?"
"I was just developing some pictures, that's all."
"What pictures? Are you doing Angie's assignment for her?" Of all the things I'd done tonight, Paul would consider giving his sister an unfair advantage at school my worst crime. I decided to go with it.
"I was just doing up a couple of prints for her, that's all."