Read Online Available Dark: A Crime Novel (Cass Neary) by Elizabeth Hand - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Hand
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objects to them. Nobody cares if a girl weighs seven stone and a photographer makes her pretend to overdose and puts her in a Galliano dress. Why should someone care more about a dead body than one that’s pretending to be dead?”
“But you posed for those shots with Ilkka. What, did he hold a gun to your head?”
“Do you know why he stopped doing fashion work?”
“He got married and had kids. Old story.”
“He had to call Emergency 999 during a London session because a girl was so malnourished she almost died. That was when he stopped doing fashion work. That girl was me.”
I looked at her arms, beautifully defined, her broad high cheekbones and strong square chin. “How much is seven stone?”
“Ninety-eight pounds. That’s why I work with him. He saved my life.”
I started to point out that he was also the guy who’d been photographing emaciated girls in the snow, but she cut me off.
“It was a brave thing, really. He doesn’t make so much money now. Kati has a good job, but it’s hard because of Oskari’s treatments. They keep trying different things, and now they want to go to a clinic in Mexico. But it’s very, very expensive. And they lost a lot of money in October—some bad investments. They had a bad money advisor, a real asshole. I hear Ilkka arguing on the phone with him all the time. I hope he can afford to keep me.” She glanced at her cell phone. “We should get back.”
“I think I’ll hang out here for a while. I’m beat.”
True enough. But I was also tired of the whole situation—far too complicated for something that had nothing to do with me except a paycheck. And Anton Bredahl sounded more and more like the kind of asshole who should have lost his money in the crash, had there been anything like justice in this world.
Instead he was making god knows how much, dealing in pictures that were the next best thing to snuff photos. I had no qualms about Ilkka’s photos, which were beautiful and seemed in line with a guy who collected Christmas cards with Satan on them. But I was getting pretty sick of rich people.
Suri pulled on her coat. I thanked her for the beer, then asked to borrow her cell phone. She handed it to me. I found Anton’s number in my pocket, walked to a corner, and called him. He answered immediately.
“Hi, Suri.”
“It’s Cass Neary. I checked out those photos for you.”
“Really? That was fast.”
“Yeah, well, there’s only five. Didn’t take long. He’s got a whole Batcave downstairs. Nice darkroom. Or it was, before he switched to digital.”
“But these aren’t digital?” Anton’s voice rose slightly.
“No, they’re all color film stock. My guess is Fuji Crystal Archive, Super Glossy. He uses an antique Graflex Speed Graphic camera, 4 × 5 color negs. He has his own processor and printer, so he handled it all himself. Chromira printer, probably state of the art when he got it. Still gets the job done.”
“You’re so good, Cass. But there were only five?”
“Yeah. But they’re beautiful—fucking incredible.”
“You’re certain about the number?”
“Maybe he had more, but I didn’t see them. He didn’t talk like there were more. Believe me—photos this good? Five is plenty. I’d kill to know how he did them.”
“Probably best not to know.” Anton laughed again. He sounded relieved. “Did he discuss money?”
“I didn’t bring it up. He did mention someone else who was interested. A guy, from Oslo, maybe? Someone with very deep pockets.”
There was such a long silence, I was afraid he’d hung up.
So much for little Oskari’s miracle cure, I thought, then heard Anton’s voice, decidedly colder.
“Ilkka and I have a deal; you might remind him of that. Tell him I’ll be there tonight. How do you want the rest of your fee?”
“Mail it to me back in New York.” I gave him the address. “A cashier’s check.”
“Good-bye, Cass.”
The call ended. I joined Suri, now talking animatedly with
“But you posed for those shots with Ilkka. What, did he hold a gun to your head?”
“Do you know why he stopped doing fashion work?”
“He got married and had kids. Old story.”
“He had to call Emergency 999 during a London session because a girl was so malnourished she almost died. That was when he stopped doing fashion work. That girl was me.”
I looked at her arms, beautifully defined, her broad high cheekbones and strong square chin. “How much is seven stone?”
“Ninety-eight pounds. That’s why I work with him. He saved my life.”
I started to point out that he was also the guy who’d been photographing emaciated girls in the snow, but she cut me off.
“It was a brave thing, really. He doesn’t make so much money now. Kati has a good job, but it’s hard because of Oskari’s treatments. They keep trying different things, and now they want to go to a clinic in Mexico. But it’s very, very expensive. And they lost a lot of money in October—some bad investments. They had a bad money advisor, a real asshole. I hear Ilkka arguing on the phone with him all the time. I hope he can afford to keep me.” She glanced at her cell phone. “We should get back.”
“I think I’ll hang out here for a while. I’m beat.”
True enough. But I was also tired of the whole situation—far too complicated for something that had nothing to do with me except a paycheck. And Anton Bredahl sounded more and more like the kind of asshole who should have lost his money in the crash, had there been anything like justice in this world.
Instead he was making god knows how much, dealing in pictures that were the next best thing to snuff photos. I had no qualms about Ilkka’s photos, which were beautiful and seemed in line with a guy who collected Christmas cards with Satan on them. But I was getting pretty sick of rich people.
Suri pulled on her coat. I thanked her for the beer, then asked to borrow her cell phone. She handed it to me. I found Anton’s number in my pocket, walked to a corner, and called him. He answered immediately.
“Hi, Suri.”
“It’s Cass Neary. I checked out those photos for you.”
“Really? That was fast.”
“Yeah, well, there’s only five. Didn’t take long. He’s got a whole Batcave downstairs. Nice darkroom. Or it was, before he switched to digital.”
“But these aren’t digital?” Anton’s voice rose slightly.
“No, they’re all color film stock. My guess is Fuji Crystal Archive, Super Glossy. He uses an antique Graflex Speed Graphic camera, 4 × 5 color negs. He has his own processor and printer, so he handled it all himself. Chromira printer, probably state of the art when he got it. Still gets the job done.”
“You’re so good, Cass. But there were only five?”
“Yeah. But they’re beautiful—fucking incredible.”
“You’re certain about the number?”
“Maybe he had more, but I didn’t see them. He didn’t talk like there were more. Believe me—photos this good? Five is plenty. I’d kill to know how he did them.”
“Probably best not to know.” Anton laughed again. He sounded relieved. “Did he discuss money?”
“I didn’t bring it up. He did mention someone else who was interested. A guy, from Oslo, maybe? Someone with very deep pockets.”
There was such a long silence, I was afraid he’d hung up.
So much for little Oskari’s miracle cure, I thought, then heard Anton’s voice, decidedly colder.
“Ilkka and I have a deal; you might remind him of that. Tell him I’ll be there tonight. How do you want the rest of your fee?”
“Mail it to me back in New York.” I gave him the address. “A cashier’s check.”
“Good-bye, Cass.”
The call ended. I joined Suri, now talking animatedly with
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