Sleep Tight

by Anne Frasier

  "Ever taken a darkroom class?" Elliot asked.

  "No."

  "When it's dark in here, and there's nothing on but the red lights, it can be hard to keep track of all your prints and negatives. Especially if there are a lot of people using the lab at one time. It was a full house the day Hitchcock was here. One person for every enlarger."

  "But wouldn't the others in the room have noticed his photos?"

  "Not necessarily. He may have only made a contact sheet. The photos would have been too small for anyone to see. Or he could have kept his paper upside-down in the developing bath. And if he was only taking pictures of half-nude girls, maybe nobody would think anything of it anyway. You know how artists are. The body is a work of art and all that."

  Mary nodded, thinking darkly of Sebastian Tate. "What about fingerprints?"

  "Crime lab says it's been too long and too much traffic through here to bother."

  "Okay, where do you need me?"

  One of the women working with the negatives offered her a strip. "This is the most tedious job," she said apologetically. "Here-" She handed her a small magnifier. "This helps."

  Mary took a seat near a lamp, turned it on, and got busy. "Family vacation to Disney World." She groaned. "Why would somebody want black-and-whites of a vacation to Disney World?"

  "People do weird things," Elliot said. "As you well know."

  "Right."

  It didn't take her long to go through the strip of thirty-six. There was the castle. There was the ever annoying It's a Small World.

  "What are you smiling about?" Elliot asked, sitting across from her, a negative strip in his hand.

  "I was thinking about a trip we took to Disney World. Gillian must have gone on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride six times."

  "I heard they closed that," Elliot said, his voice distracted as he concentrated on his own negatives.

  "No!" Mary couldn't believe it.

  "Not exciting enough or something."

  "Closed Mr. Toad's Wild Ride? That's sacrilegious!"

  Others got into the conversation, the way people do when working on something monotonous. One person admitted she thought it was past time for the ride to go, and two others agreed.

  "Gillian will be devastated." Mary marked the negative strip with a small piece of white tape to show it had been examined. She hung it back up in the drying closet and pulled out another strip.

  "I think I may have found something," said one of the investigators who'd been sifting through the trash. He held up a piece of a negative with a pair of tweezers. He moved closer to the light. "It's a woman, anyway. At least partially nude."

  "Let's get a print."

  They shut off the white lights and turned on the red overheads. Elliot set the negative up in the enlarger. "Anybody see any paper around?" he asked, opening drawers.

  "Here-" Someone handed him a black package. "Feels like glossy."

  "That'll be fine. Just so it's not fiber, or something that takes too long to develop." He opened the light-safe sleeve, slid out a contact sheet and placed it in the holder, glass on top. "I'm just going to guess on the time. Six seconds is middle of the road and should give us a readable image." He flipped the toggle switch on the timed light. When it automatically clicked off, he lifted the glass, carried the blank white paper to the solution area, and slid it into the developing tray. The group crowded around as the image slowly materialized.

  It turned out to be a close-up of a woman from her navel to her 'thighs, nude, pubic hair exposed. After waiting a minute and a half, Elliot picked up the eight-by-ten with wooden tongs, dropped it into the adjoining stop bath, and then followed with the rinse.

  "Turn the lights back on, and let's keep looking," he said. "Maybe we can find the other pieces."

  Four hours later, they'd gone through the trash in the entire building, plus the Dumpster in the alley. Elliot called the research department and explained the situation. "I need you to find the name of the landfill where Gabe's Garbage takes their trash. Then get some people out there to go through it if it's in any way feasible."

  The person on the other end must not have liked the sound of that.

  "I don't know," Elliot said with obvious irritation. "Get some protective gear from the toxic waste crew or something. Listen, on NPR I heard about a guy who flew back home, found out where his trash had been taken, went to the landfill, and rescued his son's teddy bear, so I know it can be done." With that, he hung up.

  "What about a trip to Holly Lindstrom's?" Mary asked. "She should be home from school by now."

  "You read my mind. And what about your sister? It sounds like she and Holly got along pretty well. Maybe we should pick her up on the way."

  "I'll give her a call."

  "You can leave your car here," Elliot said as they left the building. "We'll get it later."

  Mary got in touch with Gillian, catching her at home. Since her apartment was only a few miles away, they swung by and picked her up.

  Gillian was waiting at the door. As soon as Elliot pulled into the driveway, she locked her house and hurried to the car, quickly sliding into the backseat. "I called Holly," she said breathlessly, slamming the door as Elliot backed up. "She's home. I told her we'd be there in a half an hour. Where's the photo?"

  Mary passed it over the seat, and Gillian settled back to examine it. After a few moments, she said, "There's no way of knowing if it's her, is there?"

  "That's why we're hoping Holly can shed some light on the mystery," Mary said. "I know she said he took photos of her."

  "We can get a specialist to blow up the print," Elliot said. "If you look closely at the top and bottom edge, you can see a sliver of fabric. Maybe we can find a match."

  "I sent the negative to the lab. They're going to do everything they can to it."

  "You said Hitchcock's name was on the sign-in book?" Gillian asked.

  "Late October," Elliot told her, stopping at the me-tered light on the access ramp to 35W. "Rush hour," he moaned.

  They had to wait through four cars; then he was accessing the freeway, heading to the south Minneapolis neighborhood where Holly lived.

  "Do you mind if I speak to her by myself?" Gillian asked. "Poor kid. She was pretty upset when I called her. She's trying to put this behind her, and now I'm going to show her a nude picture that might be of her."

  "We were thinking it would be better if you talked to her alone," Mary said. "It will be embarrassing enough for her without having an audience. Put it in here." Mary handed her a large manila envelope. Gillian slid the print inside.

  Traffic was stop and go. Because of rush hour, it took them longer to reach Holly's than Gillian had thought. They were ten minutes late by the time she knocked on the* door.

  Holly answered. She and Gillian embraced; then Gillian took a step back, her hands on Holly's arms. "Are your parents home from work?"

  Holly shook her head. "Not yet."

  "Would you like to wait until they get back?"

  "No! I was all worried they'd get home before you got here. I don't want them to see it. Not now, anyway. And what if it's not even me? Then they wouldn't have to see it at all."

  "Okay. Are you ready? Here-let's go sit down on the couch."

  They moved over to the couch, sitting side by side. Gillian handed Holly the envelope.

  Holly opened the package and slipped the photo out, leaving one end still inside the envelope in case she had to quickly hide it.

  She stared at it for a long time.

  "Well?" Gillian asked.

  "I don't know."

  "Is there a chance that it could be you?"

  "Well… yeah. Yeah, it could be. But I don't know. I mean, it's somebody's crotch. It could be anybody's crotch."

  "Look at it carefully and ask yourself if there's anything about it that tells you it can't be you."

  She continued to stare at it, then finally shoved it back inside the envelope. "No."

  "Okay," Gillian said. "That's all we wa
nted to know."

  Holly handed the photo over. "I suppose that's going to be passed around all over the place," she said uneasily.

  "It's evidence. Some experts are going to enlarge it so they can compare the fabric in the photo to the clothes you were wearing the night you were found."

  "Enlarge it? Oh my God. Do they have to?" Holly began to nervously jiggle her knee.

  "They aren't going to be looking at you-or whoever it is. And it might not be you at all. They're going to be looking at the fabric. That's all they'll care about."

  "Most of them, sure. But there's always going to be somebody in the bunch who'll make a joke out of it."

  Unfortunately, that was true.

  Her knee moved faster. "They'll blow it up to the size of a billboard and slap it on a wall. Or it will end up on one of those games where you guess what the enlarged object is. Is this a Brillo pad magnified a hundred times? Is it an extreme close up of a moon rock? No, it's Holly Lindstrom's crotch!"

  Gillian laughed, and a moment later Holly joined her, a little manic at first, but then she began to calm down. "Hey-how would you like to come to my place this weekend?" Gillian asked.

  "You mean, stay over?"

  "Yeah. We can rent some comedies or whatever. We can hang out and talk."

  "Yeah, cool!"

  They quickly made their plans, and then Gillian was joining Elliot and Mary in the car.

  "Well?" Elliot asked as he backed out of the driveway.

  "She doesn't know," Gillian said. "But there's nothing about the photo that ruled her out either. And believe me, she was looking because she didn't want it to have anything to do with her."

  "That's all we could have expected," Mary said. "Either a no, or a it's possible. I had an idea while we were sitting here. Take me back to my car and the photo lab. I want to talk to the kid at the check-in desk. I started thinking about a woman I used to know who hated to pay for trash pickup, so she would bag up her garbage and drive behind grocery and discount stores and toss it in their Dumpsters."

  "But the photo lab has a Dumpster," Elliot said, weaving in and out of traffic.

  "Yeah, but did you notice how much garbage they had?"

  School was "out, and people had gotten off work. There weren't any empty parking spaces near the building, so Elliot dropped Mary off; then he and Gillian circled the block in search of parking.

  Mary found the same young man inside at the counter.

  "Does anybody ever take any trash away from here to dispose of somewhere else?" she asked.

  "We have a Dumpster in back."

  "Suppose it was full. Would anyone take a few bags home to throw away in their own waste container? Or maybe even throw it away in another store's container in order to save an extra pickup fee?"

  She must have hit on something, because he looked a little worried.

  "Can you get in a lot of trouble for that?" he asked.

  She held his gaze. "We aren't concerned with trash being dumped in the wrong place. We want to find something that may have ended up in that trash and we need your help."

  He shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "We used to leave the extra stuff bagged up beside the Dumpster, but we got in trouble for that. And we used to just not take it out, but we got in trouble for that too.

  The owner told us to make it fit no matter what, but that's a hassle, and sometimes it just won't fit, you know?" "Where would it have been taken?"

  He gave her a weak shrug. "There's a bar about two blocks from here. And a grocery store on Oak Street. Oh, and a school. I forgot about the school."

  "What about this week and last week?"

  "Hey, lemme call somebody."

  He hunched over the phone and dialed a number, hiding the buttons so she couldn't see. "It's me," he said into the receiver. "You know that trash you took out a few days ago? Where'd you dump it? Okay. No, just somebody looking for something." He hung up. "The bar," he said.

  "Thanks."

  Mary was leaving the building when she met Elliot and Gillian heading in. "Some trash was dumped at the bar down the street," she said.

  They piled in Elliot's car and headed down the block. The place the kid had told them about turned out to be a little neighborhood bar called Catfish. Behind the building, in the alley, was a Dumpster overflowing with trash.

  "Luckily we don't need a search warrant," Elliot said, standing in front of the huge metal container with his hands on his hips. "Once garbage hits the alley, it's public property."

  Mary eyed the black bags. "I'm going to go in and tell the bartender all the same."

  When she stepped into the dark building, several of the men at the bar looked boldly at her. One flash of her badge had them all staring straight back down into their drinks.

  "You can have all the trash you want," the bartender said.

  They didn't have to go far to find the two bags that belonged to the photo lab. But they continued through the refuse, digging all the way to the bottom to make sure they had everything. Then, since it was getting dark, they took their booty back to the lab to examine it in the light. The investigative team had dispersed, leaving two members to finish up. Those two, a man and a woman, helped sift through the bags of trash.

  Gillian found three pieces of a negative. She held them to the light and was able to make out a female form.

  "I have something," she announced.

  Everyone rushed to her side.

  "Rather than trying to hold the negative together," Elliot said, excited again, "let's enlarge each piece separately, then put those pieces together."

  "I'll do one while you do one," Gillian said, taking a section over to an enlarger. "Could somebody get the lights?"

  "I'll do the third piece," the man from the investigative team said.

  Mary headed for the door. "I'll get the photo from the car."

  "You'll need these." Elliot tossed her his keys.

  All three sections went into the developing bath at the same time. As everyone watched, the broken images slowly appeared, each eight-by-ten sheet blank except for a strip that was the image left by the torn negative. After the final rinse, the lights were turned on and the pieces were cut with scissors, then put together like a puzzle along with the original photo.

  It was of a woman, or girl, lying on the ground, panties around her knees. Gillian pressed a hand to her mouth. Even though the girl's face was turned away, she could see it was Holly.

  This should get Gavin a life sentence.

  She didn't know how long she stared at it before she heard the dead silence of the room. She looked up. Mary was watching her with compassion in her eyes, and the sympathy and understanding she saw there had her suddenly feeling dangerously close to tears. Slowly, she nodded.

  "Okay," Elliot said quietly to everybody in the room. "We've got what we were looking for."

  Chapter 25

  He was tired of being lonely. That's all.

  He wanted somebody to take care of. He wanted somebody to adore.

  That evening, as he'd done so many evenings, he drove to Holly Lindstrom's house and parked a block away. The street was crowded and narrow, with vehicles wedged tightly down both sides. Good. That way his car wasn't conspicuous.

  The media had a knack for leaking information the cops didn't want reaching public ears, and one of the things going around was that investigators were looking for more physical evidence. What kind of evidence? He heard they were hoping to find photos that had been taken of Holly Lindstrom, so he'd supplied them. He'd gone to a photo lab, found a line that had been left empty in the sign-up book, written in Hitchcock's name, and then left the torn negative for someone to find. And they'd found it. Just like he'd hoped they would, and now nobody was looking for him, and nobody was watching Holly anymore.

  He perked up as a little red car pulled into her driveway. Mazda? he wondered. It was hard to tell. So many cars looked alike nowadays.

  Someone got out and hurried to the door.


  She was back!

  What happened to her Mustang? Oh, it didn't matter. She was back! Back!

  The front door opened, and he saw Holly's blond head. He heard a feminine laugh. Then the two of them scampered from the house, got in the little red car, and drove away.

  He turned the ignition key, put his car in gear, and followed.

  At Intercontinental Video, Gillian and Holly discovered they both had an affinity for old movies. They ended up renting four because there was a special going on, and they loaded up on popcorn, soda, and black licorice. At Gillian's apartment, Holly carried in her pillow and backpack while Gillian grabbed the supplies.

  "Oh, wow! You have a bird!" Holly dropped her things and ran to the cage.

  "Hello," she said.

  Birdie stared at her.

  "Does he talk?" Holly asked, glancing over her shoulder, then back at the bird.

  "Once he starts he doesn't shut up. He's just getting used to you right now."

  "He's so cool."

  Gillian walked over and poked her finger at the bird. "I've had him since I was eight. We guessed he was about twelve then, but parrots can live eighty years or more."

  "Oh, man. I don't know if I'd want to spend eighty years in a cage. Do you ever let him out?"

  "Quite a bit, but he seems to prefer the cage. I think he feels safe in there. Maybe because I lost him once. I let him loose in the house and he got out a window I'd forgotten to close. He was gone about twenty-four hours, and when my sister and I found him and brought him home, he wouldn't leave his cage for two weeks."

  They made microwave popcorn and poured cola over ice. Gillian grabbed some blankets and a pillow from upstairs. "Knowing Holly's penchant for darkness, she lit a couple of candles, turned off the lights, and settled in front of the TV.

  Holly had already popped in Sabrina. It was the original, with Audrey Hepburn. They discussed Audrey Hepburn's clothes and style and long neck, and temporarily forgot about Gavin Hitchcock.

  When the movie was over, they got into their pajamas and opened the futon for Holly. Gillian covered Birdie's cage, then stretched out on the couch and hit the play button on the remote to watch movie number two.