Kelly gasped.
“I have seen this so many times. The first acknowledgment of truth—and the tightrope it presents.”
Kelly’s mind swirled, threatening to spin out of control. “What is this?”
“We all hide secrets. Sometimes they need to be revealed to nudge us in the direction we should take.”
“This child could be hospitalized for any reason.”
The warmth in Simon’s voice carried the tinge of a harsh edge. “Really, Kelly?”
Kelly stared at the child in the hospital bed and then the mother’s lowered head. Then she jumped as Simon rushed away from her and back to the counter. He reached below it for a thick, dog-eared notebook, a white-and-black-checkered pattern on the cover.
“I can’t give you copies of the photos without the slip your husband would still have. It’s a sacred contract I have with my customers. But if you can get that, it would be my pleasure to produce copies for you. On the spot, if you like.”
But Kelly’s eyes were glued to the child in the hospital. She couldn’t make out the doctor’s name on the sign above the child’s bed, but it might as well have read Dr. Anthony Scott.
Twenty-One
The tiny bell above the door didn’t jingle. With a slight tinkle and then a metallic crunch, it smashed against the freshly painted white of the doorframe as Daniel stormed into the film lab.
Simon stood behind the counter, his hands behind his back, that infuriating smile pasted across his face as he rose on the balls of his feet.
Daniel flung the envelope onto the counter. The photographs spilled and skidded across the glass top. “What do you call this?”
Simon looked down at them, a concerned sadness in his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean.” He picked up each photograph in white-gloved fingers and slipped them back into the envelope.
Daniel breathed hard and ragged, fueled by an anger that had percolated with every step from Crossroads. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Simon removed one glove and lifted a last photo from the glass with a fingernail. A waft of sharp chemicals drifted from the processing unit behind him. The smell of something developing. He offered it to Daniel—the group photograph. “But these are the people behind your success.”
Daniel’s blood boiled in his ears. “Some things in these photographs didn’t happen! Couldn’t happen! It must have been you, using Photoshop in some kind of blackmail attempt. Who are you working with? Give me a name! Someone from another practice? Or is it my wife?”
Simon brushed off Daniel’s anger like a bothersome fly, and then he leaned forward on splayed fingers. “The camera never lies, Daniel.”
There was a pause in the universe, a moment in time as Daniel’s subconscious stirred. The phrase from Gramps’s camera again. The pounding in his chest checked itself, and he threw his head from side to side to shake off a growing dizziness. “Why do you keep saying that?”
Simon smiled as he made his way around the counter and then took Daniel by the elbow. He stood proudly to one side of the frames. “You see all these people here? They all came charging into my shop claiming things weren’t as they seemed.”
He waved a hand to the framed altercation between the balding, ruddy man and the woman in the San Francisco sweatshirt. “He told me the girl at work needed a mentor.” A woman with cake falling from her mouth. “She was convincing everyone around her she was sticking to her diet.” A man engrossed in whatever swept across his phone’s screen while his wife slept next to him. “It was okay to watch some clips to spice up his marriage.” A sick child in a hospital bed. “This child could be in the hospital for any reason.”
Simon placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder, his breath warming his ear. “These are people who need to know truth, and they share something in common. They’re hiding secrets that would be better out in the open where they could be dealt with. Surely you of all people would appreciate that?”
Daniel walked the length of the wall, now looking beyond the faces at the backgrounds. Telltale smoke curling from behind a back. Scrolling icons on a poker machine. Lipstick on a collar. White powder streaked on a face-up mirror. And an empty frame at the end of the row.
“How did you get these photographs?”
Simon pointed across the film lab. “They came from very special cameras.”
Daniel noticed the gap in the lineup of cameras on the far wall. “What happened to the one with the bellows?”
A faraway look drifted across Simon’s face. “The price was paid, and the camera is now telling its truth.”
Daniel had played enough evasive games with people sitting on his couch to know when he needed to put down his foot—before his blood pressure got the better of the conversation. “So now you’re telling me you sell magic cameras.”
“The camera never lies. Never. You need to realize that. My cameras deliver the truth that needs to be delivered.”
The lid to Daniel’s self-control blew off. The veins in his neck pounded as his frustration escaped in an anguished scream, clenched fists shaking with rage. One held Gramps’s camera.
Simon’s face froze in an ecstatic grin. “The Olympus HS-10 Infinity. May I hold it?”
Daniel’s anger seeped out of him at the same rate his brain was trying to make sense of what was going on.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen it. May I . . . please?”
So long since he’d seen it? Daniel’s indignation kicked into gear in a vain attempt to maintain the rage.
Simon took Gramps’s camera from Daniel’s compliant hand with something approaching reverence. He wiped a gloved thumb across the viewfinder and appeared to be choking back tears. “This is such a special camera, Daniel.”
Daniel had one final chance to put the conversation back on the rails. “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve by pretending that the camera is somehow responsible—”
“It’s as special as the day I sold it to your grandfather.” Simon’s eyes roved every inch of the camera.
White blotches fired in Daniel’s vision. “What did you say?”
Simon rose on the balls of his feet and beamed. “It’s as special as it was the day I sold it to your grandfather . . . and he was right in choosing to give it to you.”
Twenty-Two
The chatter in the Rubicon Pharma lecture theater dimmed with the lights. Murmurs rippled, driven by the morning’s media naming of the drug responsible for the hospitalization of hundreds of young children. Mendacium was on page one but not for good reasons.
Kelly leaned across the armrest to Jasmine. “We’d better get some answers.”
Jasmine shushed Kelly as smoke curled out from the black curtains at the back of the stage and colored lights ushered in pounding dance music. Tarquin Gascon paced out from the wings of the stage, and applause swept from one side of the auditorium to the other like wildfire. Rubicon Pharma welcomed its leader.
From her seat in the third row, Kelly stretched to hear any lulls in the applause, reassurance she wasn’t alone in needing more than motivation and light shows.
Gascon stood center stage and lifted his arms like an Old Testament prophet. The crowd around Kelly rose as one in rapture as Gascon paced, his hands now clasped together in grateful thanks. “Thank you, everyone! My team! Thank you!”
Applause from the upper tiers fell around Kelly like manna. When Jasmine glared at her, Kelly rose to her feet and mimed thunderous applause.
Gascon gestured for quiet, and seats were resumed.
Kelly raised her eyebrows at Jasmine. Here goes.
Gascon steepled his fingers under his nose as a perfect silence crept over the theater.
“You may have seen some unconfirmed—and scurrilous—media reports about side effects for a drug that might or might not be Mendacium. I will leave the damage control to our lawyers, but let’s have a direct conversation about those rumors.”
The crowd leaned into the truth Gascon was about to deliver.
“One, Mendacium has never been connected with any studies showing side effects in children. All of these media reports mention it, but where is the proof? What’s that term? Fake news?”
Relieved laughter rippled around Kelly as she watched Gascon’s careful tiptoeing through a prepared speech. A marionette operated by lawyers. “And two, we have never admitted liability for any issues with our products in the past.”
The tiniest grunt escaped Kelly as she struggled to contain a cynical snigger. Even she knew that was what settlements were for.
Jasmine shot her a quick glance. Had that snigger escaped? She glanced back at the stage and into the gaze of Gascon, who glared in her direction.
“So let’s put these scurrilous rumors behind us. They’re just a way for a jealous industry to try to bring us down. Now, moving on—”
Moving on? That was it? That was the proof Kelly was expected to deliver to doctors who cared about their patients?
“—to a great opportunity before us. Our research and development team has identified an emerging new disease of the twenty-first century that could benefit from our wonder drug, and sales will go through the roof!”
An excited chatter bounced around the lecture theater. Better sales meant one thing: bigger bonuses.
A screen rolled down from the ceiling above Gascon as the spotlights cut out. A young mother watched from her car as her children swung in slow motion on a playground, the sun shining through golden hair. “When I realized I had Restless Soul Syndrome, I thought my quality of life was over. But if there were a treatment I could take to give me purpose again, I’d be forever grateful . . .”
Kelly zoned out as the video rolled, swimming upstream against the enthralling current sweeping away everyone around her. This was the last straw. She could not look her clients in the face and sell a solution to this “syndrome” that hadn’t existed five minutes ago.
* * *
Kelly scrolled her way through the news story on her desktop computer. Children were being hospitalized by the dozens because of side effects to medication. The main suspect? Mendacium. A spokesman for the company declined to comment. Kelly knew why.
She flicked a bittersweet glance to the family photos on her desk—the corporate reminder of a life being missed. She’d be able to spend more time with Milly if she quit her job—but leaving would carry a high price.
She jumped as her phone buzzed. Extension 664. Arnold. Kelly punched the screen. “Arnold, you’re on speaker.”
Arnold hesitated as if shelving a planned salvo. “My office.” Click.
Kelly took a deep breath and one last, lingering look at her cubicle before heading past Jasmine toward the office at the end of the row. Jasmine raised her eyebrows with a mouthed Good luck.
With a polite knock, Kelly walked into a withering look of disapproval from her supervisor. He pointed to his empty guest chair.
Kelly sat, hands folded in her lap. Perhaps her choice would be made for her.
Arnold stared, his silence demanding a blurted apology from her.
Kelly’s indignation rose. Why should she have to play games with this career middle manager? She wouldn’t give him the pleasure. “I’m getting questions about the links between Mendacium and these side effects the media is reporting. And to meet the Rubicon Pharma 110 percent customer service guarantee, I need some answers.”
Arnold sat bolt upright in his chair. “Links? What are they saying about links?”
A part of Kelly enjoyed watching the little man squirm. “I was looking forward to Mr. Gascon addressing that media attention like he promised, but I’m not sure he did—not in a way I can relay to my customers, anyway.”
Arnold flushed beet red as his neck veins seemed to throb. “As our chief executive and leader, Mr. Gascon is not to be questioned. On anything. You are just looking to destabilize our team. That much was obvious when you interrupted our CEO in front of the entire company.”
Kelly glanced around, horrified her snigger had escaped. “Arnold, I’m just trying to do the right thing. We’re dealing with people’s lives here. Children’s lives.”
Arnold oozed a greasy smile, leaned on his elbows, and drilled a gaze into Kelly. “No, we’re in business. We have products. People have needs, and if they want our help, they will buy our product. That’s how the marketplace works.”
“But in our case, I want to make sure the marketplace doesn’t make them sick—or worse.”
The oil from Arnold’s smile almost dripped down his chin. “While you’re signing your career’s death warrant, is there anything else?”
Kelly couldn’t help herself. “So this Restless Soul Syndrome . . .”
Arnold rocked back in his chair. “Yes?”
“Seriously? How much research and development went into that?”
Arnold’s smile broadened. “Are you suggesting we aren’t thorough? A pharmaceutical company?”
Kelly bit her tongue before it gave her more cause for regret, but her silence answered for her.
“I see,” Arnold said, sneering. “I’d love to fire you right here and now and march you from the premises myself, but Human Resources told me you need three warnings.” He leaned forward on his elbows, which slipped on the edge of the desk, deflating his attempt at intimidation. “So consider this your first official warning.”
Kelly stood. She had breathing room and time to work out how she would manage paying the price demanded of her.
Twenty-Three
Daniel’s mouth flapped open like a goldfish on a sidewalk. Simon reached under the counter and pulled out a thick book with a black-and-white-checkered cover. He dropped it on the counter with a thud and thumbed through the dog-eared pages, his finger tracing line after line of transactions written in a block-like hand.
Simon knew Gramps?
“Now let’s see . . . His was the Olympus HS-10 Infinity . . .” His finger stopped halfway down the page. “Here we are. Gordon Sumner. W.I.N. five dollars. Wow, that’s coming up to ten years ago.” Simon looked up at Daniel and smiled as he shook his head. “He took that long . . .”
Daniel’s brain sputtered like the engine of an abandoned Chevy buried in a shed of junk. “How . . . What . . .”
Simon looked over Daniel’s shoulder, a wistfulness dancing in his eyes. “It was a spring day, one of those days that make you want to quit your job and go on a perpetual picnic. You know the ones.”
Whir, whir, whir. His thoughts still refused to turn over. “Let me see that.” He reached for the order book, but Simon swept it from the countertop.
“Gordon came in here a broken man. A pocket full of betting slips and eyes full of tears. He had only five dollars to his name.”
Daniel’s brain crawled out of the fog. “So he spent his last five dollars on a camera.”
Simon patted the camera as it sat on the counter between them. “It’s worth far more, Daniel, but he paid the price he needed to pay. He paid what was needed.”
The tears sprang free at the memory of his beloved grandfather, spending the last of his money on what sounded like the one thing that saved him. Eventually.
Simon picked up the camera and brushed white-gloved fingers over the inscription with something approaching love. “He got it engraved like he said he would. He even went with the wording we discussed.”
The wording they’d discussed? “But he never mentioned this camera shop before, and he would have at least dropped in to see me at my practice.”
Simon smiled broadly at him. “I told you. This place is new, but I’ve had other camera shops. Anyway, he was a proud man, like you. Have you mentioned this place to your wife? Or your daughter?”
He hadn’t. “How do you know about them?”
“They’re in your photos. Your daughter is struggling at school, isn’t she?”
Daniel blanched. His phone had only just pinged with the email. A formal warning from the school, driven by Mrs. Kowalick. Milly’s grades weren’t getting bette
r. “How did you—”
“I’ve been having another conversation with someone about truth—”
“What truth?”
Simon held Gramps’s camera up to his eye. “The camera is showing truth in your life . . . and in your family.”
“Are you serious? A camera is showing truth? It makes more sense that you’ve been manipulating—”
“Well, can you explain some things? Like people appearing in your photos without you knowing?”
A single point had to elbow its way through a crowd of thoughts to get attention. “Easy to do in Photoshop, Simon. My twelve-year-old daughter could pull that off.”
Simon wandered to a shelf in the back of the lab and selected a folder from a ceiling-high bookcase. He placed it on the counter and then flicked through pages of clear plastic sleeves, each holding strips of photographic negatives. He ran a white-gloved finger down a page until he reached the bottom row, pulling out a strip of negatives and holding it up to the light. “Number 24. Have a look for yourself.”
Daniel held it up to the light as well. In the ghosted negative, reflections of his staff grouped on his deck, a person stood next to Peter with flowing black hair and thick white glasses. Howard.
“I’m not doctoring your photos, Daniel.”
Daniel was unconvinced. “Double exposures, then?”
Simon laughed with a soft warmth. “That’s often the next guess, but no. This is truth.”
Looking closer at the negative, Daniel saw his black fingers entwined with Anna’s. He shoved the strip toward Simon. “Truth, hey? This shows me cheating with Anna, and I’m not. I have done nothing wrong! If your magical camera shows truth, it got that one wrong.”
“Perhaps the truth is in your heart. Others might not always see the truth people hold in their heart, but the camera never lies.”
“I’m not buying it. It’s possible that you just found out about Gramps. You didn’t give me a chance to see the order book, so that could be a fake. There’s no evidence you met Gramps, just a series of emotional hooks thrown into the water to catch me out. I’ve got to admit, you had me for a moment.”
The Camera Never Lies Page 11