There was a time, Colin knew, when he wouldn’t have given a damn about any of this. There was no reason to get involved. She was right, after all. It was her problem, and frankly, he had enough problems of his own.
However, Colin considered himself an expert in anger. And at its heart, that’s what this was all about. At the hospital, he’d learned the differences between overt and covert anger; in his own life, he’d been well versed in both. At the bars, when he was in the mood to fight, his anger had been overt. His agenda was clear, with no hidden meanings, no shame, and no regret. In the first couple of weeks at the hospital, though, he hadn’t been able to act out in any way if he became angry. The doctors had made it clear that if he became violent – if he so much as raised his voice – he’d end up in the acute care ward, which meant being stuck in a communal room with a dozen other people, and mandatory lithium in doses that made him feel dull, while doctors and nurses watched his every move. That was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he’d pushed his anger down, trying to keep it hidden, but after a while he realized that the anger didn’t go away. Instead, it simply transformed from overt to covert. Subconsciously, he began to manipulate people; he sensed exactly what buttons needed to be pressed to piss someone off, and he jabbed at those buttons until they finally blew. One by one, others were sent to the acute care ward while he played innocent, until his doctor finally called him on what he’d been doing. Countless hours of therapy later, Colin finally understood that anger was anger, whether overt or covert, and equally destructive either way.
That’s what someone was acting out here, he thought. Anger with the intent to manipulate. Whoever it was wanted Maria’s emotions to start going haywire, and while it was covert for now, he sensed this was only the beginning.
To Colin’s mind, that made Ken even less likely as a suspect, but then it was the only name he had. No choice but to start there. After Maria reluctantly handed him the key to her condo at the end of lunch, he drove to her place and retrieved the camera. He turned it on, making sure the batteries had enough juice, and ran through the various settings. Checked the zoom and took some shots off her balcony before realizing that he really needed to shoot faces to know how close he’d have to be.
After tucking the key into a planter pot near the door as instructed, he drove to the beach, where no one would think twice about a man with a camera. It wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people around for him to get what he needed, and he spent an hour photographing people from various distances. In the end, he calculated that he could be no more than fifty yards away. Good, but not great. Ken might still be able to recognize him. He’d need a vantage point where he wouldn’t be spotted.
Most of the historical buildings on either side of the block where Maria’s office stood were two or three stories tall, with flat roofs. Cars lined both sides of the street, and though there were a few trees, none was big enough to hide behind. The foot traffic was not heavy but steady; remaining inconspicuous while hunkering down for an hour or more with a camera in hand was pretty much out of the question.