The Night Stalker

Twenty-Eight

Calvin Lange lifted his right index finger at both detectives, asking them for a minute, and reached for the phone on his desk.

‘Nat, we still have the photos from Laura Mitchell’s exhibition, right?. . Great, can you bring your laptop into my office, please. . Yeah, now is good.’ Lange put the phone down and explained that they always photographed and sometimes videoed their exhibitions, especially the artists’ nights. The photos were used for brochures, advertisement campaigns and their own website.

‘How about your CCTV footage?’ Hunter asked. He’d noticed six cameras in total on their way up to Lange’s office.

Lange gave him an embarrassed headshake. ‘We recycle hard drive space every two weeks.’

There was a soft knock on the door and the same assistant who had guided Hunter and Garcia into Lange’s office earlier stepped into the room carrying a white laptop.

‘You’ve met Nat,’ Lange said, motioning her to his desk.

‘Not properly,’ she replied with the same smile she’d given them earlier. Her eyes stayed on Hunter.

‘Natalie Foster is my assistant,’ Lange explained, ‘but she’s a great photographer and very good with computers. She’s also our webmaster.’

Natalie shook both detectives’ hands. ‘Please, call me Nat.’

‘These are detectives from the Homicide Division,’ Lange told her.

Natalie’s smile quickly slipped from her face. ‘Homicide?’

Hunter explained the reason for their visit and Natalie’s entire body tensed. Her eyes searched for Lange’s and Hunter could tell her mind had flooded with questions.

‘We need to take a look at the photographs from Laura’s exhibition, Nat,’ Lange said.

It took a few seconds for his words to register. ‘Umm. . yes, of course.’ She placed the laptop on Lange’s desk and fired it up. As the computer booted, an anxious silence hovered over the room. Natalie typed in a password and scrolled a trembling finger across the laptop’s mouse pad as she searched for the pictures directory.

Hunter grabbed a small bottle of water from the drinks cabinet. ‘Here, have some of this, it’ll help.’ He poured some into a glass with ice and brought it over to her.

‘Thank you.’ She forced a smile before taking two large sips and returning her attention to the computer.

A few more mouse clicks later and Natalie set the picture display to full screen.

‘OK, here they are.’

The first picture was a wide shot of the main gallery floor on the opening night of Laura Mitchell’s exhibition. It looked full to capacity.

‘How many people were here that night?’ Hunter asked.

‘About a hundred and fifty.’ Lange looked at Natalie for confirmation. She nodded. ‘And there were a few more outside waiting to get in.’

‘Entry wasn’t by invitation only?’ Garcia asked.

‘Not always, it depends on the artist,’ Lange replied. ‘Most, especially the more famous and egocentric ones, like to make their launch nights invitation-and RSVP-only.’

‘But not Laura.’

‘Not Laura,’ Lange confirmed. ‘She wasn’t like most artists who think they’re God’s gift. She insisted her exhibitions were open to everyone and anyone. Even on artists’ nights.’

Most of the photographs were of Laura smiling and chatting to people. She was usually surrounded by a group of four or five. A few of the photographs showed her posing in front of a canvas or with a fan. She certainly was a very attractive woman. Hunter could hardly make the connection with the crime-scene photos he’d seen.

‘Wait,’ Lange said, stepping closer. His eyes squinted as he studied the photograph that had just appeared on the screen. ‘I think that’s him — the guy who swapped numbers with Laura.’ He pointed to someone standing at the back of the frame. He was tall with short dark hair and was dressed in a dark suit, but his face was partially obscured by a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. Natalie used the zoom feature at the bottom of the screen to enlarge it, but it didn’t make the man’s face any clearer. He looked to be around the same age as Laura Mitchell.

‘Have any of you seen him before?’ Hunter asked.

Lange shook his head, but Natalie looked uncertain. ‘I think I have, at one of our previous exhibitions.’

‘Are you sure? Can you remember which one?’

She took a moment. ‘I can’t remember which exhibition it was, but he looks familiar.’

‘Are you sure you saw him here in the gallery? Not in a coffee shop, restaurant, nightclub. .?’

Natalie searched her memory again. ‘No, I think it was here at the gallery.’

‘OK, if you see him again, or you remember which exhibition, you call me, all right? If he comes in, don’t try to talk to him, just call me.’

Natalie nodded and moved on with the pictures.

‘Stop,’ Lange said again a few pictures later. This time he indicated another tall, well-built man standing just a couple of paces behind Laura. He was looking at her as if she was the only person in the room. ‘That’s her ex-fiancé. I think his name is. .’

‘Patrick Barlett,’ Hunter confirmed, once again enlarging the picture. ‘We’ll need a copy of all these files.’

‘Sure,’ Natalie said. ‘I can burn them onto a CD for you before you leave.’

Just a few pictures from the end of the archive, Lange told Natalie to stop again. There he was. The tall, mysterious, phone-swapping stranger. He was standing right next to Laura. But this time he was looking straight at the camera.