Page 29 of The Lies I Told
“Decomposition rates,” he said ruefully. “Evidence in an upcoming case.”
“Attorney?”
“Prosecutor.” He scratched the side of his neck. “Thought you might like a beer and some conversation. Tether me back to the living.”
His pickup lines were improving. “Sure.”
I closed my door, not bothering to lock it because the building was secure, and followed him the ten steps to his apartment. Entering, I found myself facing a wall of unpacked boxes.
“Excuse the mess.” He didn’t sound terribly upset by the chaos, but he seemed like the kind of guy who knew when to say the polite thing.
“No worries. It took me months to unpack.”
I glanced at diplomas leaning against a brick wall. University of Virginia. Georgetown. Smart. Skis leaned against another wall beside a road bike and a half dozen pairs of running shoes. “Tell me about decomposition rates.”
Clare had been in the elements four days, and the average daily temperature had been forty degrees. She’d been found lying facedown in the water, which had complicated the decomposition process. The parts of her submerged in water had turned black, but what had faced the air was bloated and breaking down.
He handed me a bottled beer. “You sure? Not a pretty subject.”
The icy bottle felt slick against my fingers. I should’ve handed it back to him. But I wanted to feel normal. Be a regular person. I twisted off the top, telling myself that the smell of the beer would be enough. “I assume it’s a murder case you’re working on.”
“Correct. But can’t discuss the details.”
“Sure, I get it.” Needing to feel normal, I slowly raised the bottle to my mouth, letting the cool glass tease my lips. Hundreds of banked AA meetings should buffer any ill effects of a little beer. I sipped, letting the malty liquid linger in my mouth before I swallowed. I walked to the window overlooking the river. “Your view is better than mine. I see north into the financial district, but you get that plus the lights in Church Hill. And this place is about twice the size of mine.”
“I like space.” Alan leaned against a pillar planted in the center of the room. He now looked more like the version of Jamie Dornan fromThe Fall. “Still can’t picture you wrangling nervous brides.”
“They like that I don’t get rattled by the inevitable failed plans and mishaps.”
“A lot of people are cool under pressure. What makes your work so different?”
I dug my thumbnail into the bottle’s label, then took a second sip. “I see the emotion.”
“Explain.” Head cocked, he appeared genuinely interested.
“I capture the must-do moments. First look, mother slash father of the bride seeing baby girl dressed up, cutting the cake. But I also capture the offbeat moments. They often go unnoticed, and yet they can encapsulate the day.”
“But how do you see them coming? Some can be very spontaneous.”
“Call it a sixth sense. The energy in the room shifts. I get into the flow.”
He took another sip, making me aware I was still holding a nearly full bottle. “Those moments you capture can’t all be good.”
“Not always pretty but very powerful.”
“And the moment from today’s wedding?”
“There was a second before they got in the car. They both looked back up at the courthouse steps. I snapped and caught their joy and sadness.”
“Sadness?”
“They’d eloped. Decided not to tell the family. Probably felt like a small omission at the time, but they’d just realized how big a decision it had been.”
“My ex and I eloped. There was real hell to pay.” He took a long sip of beer, then tipped his beer bottle toward me. “How does someone start a business like that?”
“I’ve always loved photography. So did my sister. We set about teaching ourselves the basics. Fast-forward a few years, I offered to be a second shooter at events for free just to get the experience. Word got around about my photos, and I got my own gigs. I’ve been at it full time for seven years now.” I rarely talked about myself and found it rather unpleasant. “I chase brides, and you chase criminals.”
“Technically, they’ve already been caught by the time I come on scene. My job is to keep them off the street.”
