DEATH SCENES I: CHARLIE AND LUCY by Karl Kindt IV Copyrighted © 1999 by Karl Kindt IV | Published digitally 17 April 2000 Charlie took the photos you will never see in the newspapers. After the war, he got a job taking pictures for the Los Angeles Police Department--photos of the results of crimes and accidents. On occasion he would try to sell some of his photos as a freelancer to the local papers. The LA Times photo editor told him, "If you got to show a dead body, you got to wait until they got it covered up, Charlie. No matter what, we can't show the faces. No dead faces." Most of his photos were turned down by the papers. It being the nature of his work, most of his photos were filled with dead faces. Prosecutors got convictions with gruesome evidence, not pictures of body bags.
One Saturday evening, Charlie and his wife Lucy finished their usual cribbage match. Lucy had won--as she normally did--three games to Charlie's two. He packed the board and cards away in their game drawer and then followed her into their small living room. They sat holding hands on their new love seat. Lucy suggested, "Let's go see a picture show."
"Sure. What show?"
Her eyes went wide and bright. "How about The Big Sleep? It's supposed to be a swell picture."
"I guess that's alright. Is it about the war?"
Lucy shrugged her shoulders. "No, I don't think so. It's from a Chandler book. You know how I like murder mysteries. It's got Bogart in it, Charlie. You like him don't you?"
"He's okay, I suppose. The baby alright?"
Charlie stood up from his place at her side and helped her stand. She ran her small hands in a circle around her big belly. Her white dress hung wide around at her ankles.
"Any time now." She threw her arms up and around his neck and pulled him close. "We better have some fun while we still can."
They kissed for a moment and then went to the hall closet to don their coats and hats. Charlie helped Lucy down the front steps and into their big black Ford. Dim gray clouds threatened rain as they headed downtown to their favorite theater. Bright twinkling bulbs on the marquee danced around the dark letters that spelled out "THE BIG SLEEP."
After the picture, they walked arm in arm to their car. The streets gleamed with rain that had fallen while they were in the theater. A cool, gentle breeze tickled their exposed faces and necks.
"What a great picture," Lucy said. "Did you like it?"
"It was alright. Pictures like that remind me too much of work. I liked watching you watch it. You were more fun than the show."
He craned his neck and kissed her on the cheek. Lucy grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Lucy."
He opened the passenger door for her and helped her up into the car. He slammed her door shut and headed around the front of the car. As he did so, a young police officer trotted up to him and grabbed his arm.
"You Charles Boatman?"
"Yes."
The policeman released his arm and pointed up the wet street.
"Thought it was you. The Chief wants you to shoot a crime scene. They got a double murder up on Sticks Street, somewhere in the six hundred block. Can't miss it for all the squad cars up there."
He did not notice Lucy until she rolled down her window. He tipped his black hat with its sparkling silver badge to her.
"Evening, ma'am. Sorry to disturb."
"What is it?"
Charlie answered for him. "Just a job."
"When the Chief couldn't ring you up at home, he said you'd probably be at the theater. He wants you right away. Must be a bad one."
"Alright. Thanks."
"Have a good night." He tipped his cap again and then turned to walk back toward the theater.
Charlie ran around to the driver's seat and pulled out into the street to do a U-turn. When he came to a stop at a traffic light, Lucy asked, "Isn't Sticks the other way?"
He glanced at her and then looked back at the road. "I'm taking you home."
"But he said they needed you right away."
Charlie shook his head.
"You're in no condition. I'm taking you home first."
Street lights flashed past them faster as he sped up.
"But Charlie, what if the baby comes?"
He looked at her belly as if he could judge whether she might go into labor soon.
"Can't you call your parents?"
"I'd feel better with you there. I'd rather you took me. You know Dad's eyes aren't that good, and I'm worried the whole thing would make him too nervous. Just let me come with you. I can stay in the car. I won't get in the way."
He slowed the car down and looked over his shoulder. He used the slick street to help him do another quick U-turn and headed back up the way they had come.
"Besides all you ever tell me about is the mug shots and group pictures. You never talk about this kind of thing. It sounds exciting."
He drove on to Sticks in silence. The house was surrounded by black and white police cars, an ambulance, and dozens of other cars, most of them belonging to reporters and curiosity seekers. Even under the waning moonlight, Charlie could see most of the houses up and down the street had peeling paint and more than a few broken windows.
"Not the nicest neighborhood," Charlie said. Lucy did not respond.
Charlie stepped out of the car and shut his door. He opened the trunk, lifted a hard-sided leather case out of it, and slung the case's heavy strap over his shoulder. Gently, he lifted his camera out of the trunk and checked to make sure he had film loaded. He shut the trunk and then crossed the street.
As he walked up the short walkway to the house, Charlie noticed the lawn outside was long and weedy. Up on the ramshackle porch stood a dozen or more men, most of them with equipment similar to Charlie's. A policeman on the porch recognized Charlie and waved him through the front door. As the policeman shut the door behind him, Charlie could hear a furor rise from the assembled crowd on the porch. "It's still a hot crime scene, gentlemen," Charlie could hear the officer on the porch shout. "I can't let you in until the Chief gives the all-clear."
Charlie walked across the small foyer and into the living room. A ratty, colorless sofa sat on one wall across from a small chair. At the other end of the living room, a half dozen policemen stood crowded around a doorway at the back of the house. One of the officers turned from Charlie to look back into the rear room.
"Charlie's here, Chief."
The policemen turned to see Charlie. A voice came bellowing out from the rear room.
"Come on back, Charlie. Looks like it started in here."
Charlie took a moment to hoist his bag further up onto his shoulder. He took a deep breath and crossed the threadbare carpet to the awaiting officers. They spread out to make way so he could enter the room.
The Chief stood in the middle of the bedroom. Two homicide officers stood on either side of him. Charlie set his bag down on the bare wooden floor. To Charlie's left stood the head of a wooden four-poster bed. Across the room from him was an open closet. In front of the closet, a pair of legs in dress pants and shoes lay on the bare floor.
"Just one?" Charlie asked as he slowly walked the length of the bed to where the detectives stood.
The Chief shook his head. "Not so lucky. We got three."
Charlie stood next to one of the homicide officers. A small table stood on the wall to the left of the closet. The white table's single drawer was part way open, and the side of the table was smeared with dark streaks of dry blood. A glass lay overturned on the table, the milk it had held splattered across the table and onto the floor. Charlie raised his camera to his eye and looked through the viewfinder. The body was stretched out in front of the open closet, the head of it just underneath the small table. The body was facing him on its right side, the right arm outstretched onto a pile of clothes. Behind the body was a small suitcase, against which the body lay. The sleeve of the left arm was not buttoned. A few small dark sprinkles of what looked liked blood dotted the entire length of the body's dress pants. Through the viewfinder, Charlie followed the legs on the floor up to a body and arms. When he adjusted the framing of his shot to include the head, he saw that it had no face. The entire front of it had been blown off. Even the jaw was missing. Charlie gritted his teeth and took the shot. The flash blinded them all momentarily.
"What was it? Shotgun?" Charlie asked while he wound his camera to the next exposure.
"Yep," answered the shorter of the two homicide detectives. "This one too."
Charlie looked up from his camera to follow the shorter man's outstretched arm. Various pieces of clothing hung over the foot of the bed. At the foot of the bed was the reposed body of a young woman. She lay atop dozens of articles of clothing strewn about at the end of the bed. She lay with her feet closer to Charlie, her head on the far side of the bed. Her legs below her skirt were exposed to her hips so that a little white of undergarments showed below. She had shoes on and was clutching a belt with her right hand. Her blouse and skirt each had a dark splotch of blood. The three detectives stepped to the doorway to get out of Charlie's way.
"Damn shame," the taller detective said. "She was probably a real looker."
Charlie raised the camera and peered through the viewfinder again. Her face too was gone. Her head appeared as if it had been caved in at the nose, all of her features gone. Charlie realized what he had thought was her hair was actually a semicircle of stained wood, probably made by her own blood. Her knees were partially pulled up and bent toward her torso. Her blouse was bright and covered with a garish flower pattern. She looked as if she had just lay down to take a nap amidst the clothes that lay strewn all about the floor.
Charlie snapped the picture.
"Robbery?" he suggested?
The Chief shook his head. "Don't think so." He pointed to the open closet at the dead man's feet. "Somebody was packing. That closet's been emptied. A couple of suitcases have been filled. In a hurry, looks like. Get a picture of them both in one shot."
"Okay," Charlie complied.
He stepped off of the clothing and stood at the dead man's feet. Charlie looked through the viewfinder. From this angle, the dead man's hand looked as if it were reaching out toward the young woman's pallid legs. Between them sat a pile of clothes and toiletries that appeared to have fallen from the small table. He framed his shot and set off his flash.
"That good?"
"Good enough."
Charlie walked across the room and picked up his bag.
"Where's the third?"
"This way." The Chief turned to the doorway and pushed through the assembled policemen.
"Come on, boys, look alive, will you? Make yourself useful. Look for notes or anything else that looks out of place."
The policemen moved from the bedroom doorway and scrambled about the house. The Chief led Charlie down an unlit hallway to the left of the bedroom. Along the way, they passed another bedroom. Just inside was a crib and small dresser.
Walking behind the Chief in the dim hallway, Charlie asked, "Another victim?"
The Chief led him to the end of the hallway, through a kitchen filled with dirty dishes, and out a rear door to the back porch. Just as Charlie stepped outside with him, the Chief answered.
"Perpetrator, we think. And watch where you step. That's him all over the place."
The long narrow porch was lit by a glaring bare light bulb. Just outside the door to the porch stood a washing basin on four legs. In front of the basin lay the body of a young man dressed in light slacks and shirt, a black belt about its thin middle. The feet of the body lay beneath the basin. The body extended off of the porch so that the head was partially hidden from view behind bushes growing at the edge of the porch.
"Better step off and walk around," the Chief suggested.
Charlie set his bag down in front of the doorway and then hopped off the short porch to the grass of the back yard. He made his way around the bushes and approached the other end of the porch. The end of a long shotgun lay across one leg, the stock of the gun closer to where Charlie stood then. He raised his camera in front of his face. From this vantage point, Charlie could see an enormous constellation of wet stains all across the porch, behind the body. Most of the head was gone from the body. Some of it lay in torn clusters amidst the black stains on the porch floor.
"We brought a neighbor over to look at the bodies to see if he could identify them. Best we can tell, this fellow caught his wife and lover boy in the bedroom. He maybe made them get dressed. Before they finished, he blew away lover boy, knocked her down, put the shotgun to her face, and shot her. Then he came out here and made my job easy. Did us all a favor."
With a flash, Charlie took in the shot, the bottom half of the Chief at the back door, the wash basin, porch posts, the body, the shotgun, and stained porch floor.
Just as the Chief and Charlie's eyes adjusted from the flash, someone screamed.
Around the corner of the house stood a police officer. He gently tugged at Lucy's left hand. Her right hand was in front of her open mouth. Her eyes were wide and unblinking.
"I tried to stop her, Chief, but she snuck past me. Come on, miss, this ain't no place for a lady."
Charlie set his camera down on the porch and went to her.
"Lucy, go back to the car. You shouldn't be here. You told me you were going to stay in the car."
Lucy stood pale-faced and silent in the grasp of the policeman. Just then, the taller homicide detective opened the porch door behind the Chief. "This ain't the worst of it. The boys found something. You better come see this."
The detective looked over to Charlie.
"You too."
"One minute," Charlie said.
The Chief went inside. Charlie grabbed Lucy's right arm. With the policeman's help, he walked her back to their car. Charlie opened her door and helped her up to the running board and into her seat. He stood next to her for a moment. She stared blankly out the windshield. A misty rain had begun to fall. A twinkle of water covered the windows of the car.
"Promise me you'll stay here, Lucy."
She did not speak.
"Lucy."
After a moment, she nodded as she stared straight ahead.
"I'll be right back."
Charlie dashed back to the back yard and retrieved his camera and bag. Once inside, he found everyone in the living room. He broke through the ring of officers and stood next to the Chief.
"What is it?"
The Chief sat down on the old sofa. "In the grip."
Next to the sofa on the rug sat a small black bag. Its top had been pulled halfway open. Charlie peered into the grip. His faced blanched.
On shaky knees, he made his way to the sofa and sat down next to the Chief. All the men around them stood in silence.
"Take it, Charlie."
Charlie got up from his seat and stood over the bag with his camera. One of the officers stretched the top of the grip open all the way. Charlie took the picture quickly and then stepped away from the bag.
The Chief stood and patted Charlie on the back with a loud slap.
"No rush on these," the Chief said. "Just get them to me tomorrow. I want to close this thing up quickly. I have bigger fish to fry."
Charlie nodded. He picked up his bag and opened the front door.
He made his way through the crowd on the front porch. The officer guarding the front door told them, "You boys might as well get yourselves home. The Chief is going to want this scene closed off. No pictures tonight. Come back tomorrow."
On the drive home, Charlie was the first to speak.
"You told me you were going to stay in the car."
Lucy stared silently ahead.
"I told you I didn't want you to come along. I should've taken you home first."
"I can't believe it, Charlie. I can't believe it."
After a moment, he asked, "What?"
Lucy never turned her eyes from the road.
"I can't believe it, Charlie. That was a man. That was a man, wasn't it?"
Charlie's knuckles grew white as he gripped the wheel.
"A murderer."
Lucy put her face into her hands.
"It was a man, wasn't it, Charlie?"
He turned off the freeway and took a back road into their neighborhood. After a minute he pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine.
"How can you do it, Charlie? You take pictures of that? That's what you do?"
He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes.
"Yes. It's what I do."
Lucy turned to look at him.
"You wanted to be an artist. You used to take beautiful pictures, but I never see them anymore. You've been doing this since you got back from the war?"
Charlie opened his eyes and looked at their house. "Yes. I did it in the war too. Somebody had to document things."
"And you did it before, too? Before we were married?"
He nodded.
"Why, Charlie? How can you do it? It's horrible."
Charlie sighed. "I'm helping the police, Lucy."
"But why you?" She shook her head. "I can't stand thinking of you seeing things like that. Why, Charlie? Why would you want to do it?"
"It helps them catch people. It helps them catch criminals and outlaws."
"I don't understand it. It's so horrible. How could someone do that?"
"That's what I'm trying to help the police figure out."
"No, I mean how can someone do what you are doing? It's horrible, Charlie. I won't be able to sleep tonight. I don't know how you can. It worries me that you can."
"You get used to it after awhile. It's my job."
Lucy looked him in the eye. "I don't want you to be used to it, Charlie. That's even worse. I want you to quit."
"What are you--"
"I want you to quit and take beautiful pictures like you used to. I don't want our baby to have a father seeing such things."
Charlie sighed. "And I want our baby to eat. I have to work. You know that. The pictures I like to take won't bring us money. I wish I could just shoot landscapes and portraits. I wish I could just do art. But the papers don't want that. You know it wouldn't pay."
Lucy lowered her ashen face into her hands and began sobbing. After a minute, she stopped. When she lifted her gaze again, her eyes were puffy and glimmering with tears. She sniffled and shook. Charlie pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. She wiped her nose and clutched at the white cloth with both hands.
"What was in the house, Charlie?"
Charlie closed his eyes but did not speak.
"Charlie? What was in the house?"
He looked over at her swollen belly. Without raising his gaze, he spoke to her in a soft voice.
"You're in no state to be talking about this. I'm not going to talk about it. Come on, let's go inside."
"No, I want to know. That man in the house said there was something worse. What was it, Charlie?"
He remained silent.
"What was worse than what I saw on the porch, Charlie? What was it?"
He opened his door and walked around to her side. He opened her door and held out his hand to her.
"Come on. Let's go inside."
Her voice came out in ragged gasps. "I want to know. Tell me what it was. What was in the house?"
Charlie put his hand on her shoulder. "I want you to get a grip on yourself or you're going to hurt the baby."
Lucy slid from the car. Charlie put his arm around her and helped her walk to the front door. Her breath gradually slowed. In a barely audible cry, she said, "I want you to stop."
Without a reply, Charlie turned the key in their front door and walked her inside. He took her to their bedroom and sat her down. Her body shook as he carefully undressed her. In the pitch black of the closet, he felt for her nightgown then pulled it from its hook. He helped Lucy put it on and slide beneath the sheet and quilt. He knelt at her side and gently kissed and stroked her long hair. After an hour or so, she fell asleep.
Charlie left the door to the bedroom open just a crack. He sat in his wingback chair and stared into space. Only a bit of dim moonlight shone in through their front window. A dozen photographs sat spread out above the fireplace on either side of the mantel clock. The faces of relatives both living and dead stared back at him from their place on the mantelpiece. After awhile, he dozed off.
Some time later, Charlie roused. Lucy was crying again, he thought. He walked back to the bedroom and stood in the doorway. From the darkness of the room came her voice.
"Charlie, the baby's coming."
The baby came. The tumult of the night before her birth was lost in the emotion of the blessed event. They named her Elizabeth. She had Daddy's eyes and Mommy's good nature. She was a ray of sunlight on Charlie and Lucy's life.
Five years later, Charlie pulled his car up to Elizabeth's school. He got out, stood next to the car, and waited for the bell to ring.
After it rang, she was one of the first out of the door. Swinging a couple of small books from a strap, she ran across the school playground and into her daddy's arms. He lifted her up above his head and looked into her bright eyes. She screamed with delight when he tossed her into the air.
"So, how was your first day of school, Elizabeth."
"Miss Ruth called me, Beth, Daddy," she said. "Call me Beth."
"Alright." He lowered her to the ground and gave her a hug. "So how was it?"
He opened up the passenger side and lifted her into the seat.
"Okay. I got these two books, and I've got five new friends, Daddy." She held up all the fingers of one hand in front of him to make sure he understood.
Charlie widened his eyes to exaggerate a look of surprise.
"Really? Five? What are their names?" He rolled down her window and shut the door.
Elizabeth peered over the edge of the window.
"Um, well. There's Angela."
"That's a pretty name."
He crossed in front of the car and got in next to her.
"Who else?"
"There's Mary. I forgot the other ones, but we all played together. Angela sat next to me, but we couldn't talk. Miss Ruth said we can't except when we raise our hands." Elizabeth turned around in her seat and looked in the back. "Where's Mommy?"
Charlie started the car and pulled out.
"She's at Grandma's house. She and Grandma are making you some new clothes for school."
"Is she going to be home now?"
"Not yet. She's going to ring us up later when she's done, and we'll go pick her up."
"Okay. What're we going to do now?"
"How about we go see a matinee?"
She tried to peer over the dashboard. "Okay. Cartoons?"
"You bet, and I think there's a new Superman."
"Yippee!" she squealed. "Can I get popcorn?"
Charlie smiled. "Of course. Can't have a movie without popcorn."
After the matinee, Charlie and Elizabeth got back in the car and headed up the street toward the freeway. Charlie glanced at his watch.
"We better go straight out to Grandma's house. I bet Mommy's been trying to call. I forgot how late the show was going to go."
"I'm hungry," Elizabeth said.
"Hungry? After all that popcorn?" he asked as he shot her a grin.
"Uh-huh, really hungry."
Charlie pulled onto the freeway and got up to speed.
"Maybe we can get a pizza. How would you like that?"
"Yea! Can we get pepperoni?"
"Sure."
Over halfway to Lucy's parent's house, traffic came to a dead stand still. For a few minutes, they sat unmoving. A police officer walked up between the cars. Charlie leaned out of his window and hailed the policeman.
He was an older man with a kindly face and white hair cropped close below his cap. He recognized Charlie and stepped over to his window.
"What is it, officer?"
"You're Boatman?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. You might want to bring out your gear if you got it with you. Big accident up ahead. Biggest I've ever seen. Ten cars or more, all banged up and turned over."
He noticed Elizabeth peering out at him.
"I can stay with your girl if you want to go up and take a look-see."
Charlie looked over at Elizabeth. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. He turned back to the policeman.
"Better not."
"Suit yourself. It'll probably be in all the papers tomorrow."
The officer looked up and down the rows of stopped cars.
"Well, make yourself comfortable. They're going to be awhile clearing it. It happened just a half hour ago."
He began to continue his walk when Charlie opened his door.
"You can stay with her?"
"Sure. I'm not going anywhere either. My squad car's just a few feet ahead of yours. Just make sure you get back here once traffic starts rolling again."
Charlie leaned his head back into the car.
"Sweetie, I'm going to leave for just a minute, okay?"
She looked at the policeman and then back at her father.
"I don't want you to."
Charlie's brow furrowed.
"I'll only be gone for a minute. You stay here with this policeman. I'll be right back."
Elizabeth did not answer. She sat back in her seat and stared into her lap.
"Read one of your books, okay?"
The officer leaned into the car. "I'll stay with you, dearie. You in school yet?"
Charlie opened the trunk and pulled out his camera. He hung it around his neck and walked up the line of cars for a half mile around the bend of the freeway. When he came upon it, he was amazed. It was the largest number of cars he had ever seen in an accident. A group of policemen pushed back a mob of spectators that had crowded around a couple of the overturned vehicles. For almost a quarter mile, every car that Charlie could see was twisted, overturned, and burned.
When Charlie approached the police officers, he held up his camera to one of them. The young policeman stopped him from getting closer.
"No press right now. We're still pulling out bodies."
Charlie reached for his identification and said, "I'm with LAPD, son."
An older officer nearby heard the exchange. "It's Boatman," he said. "You can let him through."
The young officer glanced over at his senior officer and lowered his arm to let Charlie pass. When Charlie got closer to the first burned car, he could see bodies still inside. A rear passenger door had come off and lay somewhere he could not see. He raised his camera and took a photo of the grisly contents. The passengers were still on the seats, slouched down as if they had fallen asleep. The entire inside of the vehicle was burnt black and charred. The smell of the smoke that drifted around the car made Charlie's nose wrinkle. He walked from the car and looked for the next one.
A few policemen and ambulance workers moved amongst the wreckage. More ambulances were arriving from further up the freeway. They came up the road the wrong way from a service ramp further down the freeway. Near a large tanker, several firemen stood resting around their fire truck. Their flat hoses lay about the wreckage of the big tanker truck. The truck was turned on its side and still smoldered. The road surface all around it was black and soaked with water. Charlie stepped back from the tanker, framed his shot, and took his picture.
A policeman approached Charlie from further up the freeway. Charlie was about to get his identification out when the officer spoke.
"You Charlie Boatman?"
He nodded and said, "Yes, I'm with LAPD."
"I know--I've heard about you. You probably don't remember me, but we met a few years back. The Sticks Street murder? It was near my beat."
It was not until then that Charlie recognized him.
"Sure, I remember. What's your name?"
He held out his hand for Charlie, and they shook.
"O'Malley. I was a rookie back then. I ended up getting called in to help clean up after that one, after you left. Had to be the worst case I've ever seen."
Charlie wound his camera. "It was pretty bad. Not the worst I've seen, I'm afraid to say."
"Yeah, neither of us has got the most glamorous of jobs. Just don't tell me you've seen a wreck worse than this."
Charlie shook his head.
"No, this ought to do it. How many cars?"
O'Malley pointed up the freeway and said, "It stretches for a good quarter mile. At least twenty cars got hit, maybe more. Some are totaled. Lots of bodies. You should get a workout on this one. Is this for LAPD?"
"Probably not. Just freelance."
"Ought to get some good money for these pictures, I'd say. The papers are always looking for spectacles."
Charlie nodded.
"Better see if I can help out. You might want to head up about three cars. Damnedest thing I ever saw."
"One of the wrecks?"
A dark grin spread O'Malley's cheeks.
"I'd tell you why, but it's better if you see for yourself. You can't miss it."
O'Malley headed back the way Charlie had come. Charlie made his way up the road past the next three overturned vehicles. All were masses of twisted metal. Wreckage lay spread all across the roadway. When he approached the fourth car, he saw a few officers gathered nearby. A body had been thrown part of the way out of the vehicle. It was surrounded by a large dark stain of blood, oil, and fuel. The policemen were near a part of the wreckage that lay in the middle of the freeway. What Charlie could see of the body was mangled and torn horribly. Several feet from the policemen, the strange bit of wreckage near the car took shape. As Charlie approached he recognized the thing was not wreckage. It was the head that belonged to the body in the nearby car. It sat in the middle of the pavement looking almost as if it were asleep. Its expression was peaceful, as if it belonged to someone at the beach who had been buried in sand and was just taking a nap. Instinctively, Charlie raised the camera to his eye. He took a few steps to one side of the head to capture the shadow cast by the early evening sunset. It was only just as the shutter opened and closed that Charlie realized the head belonged to his wife.
He lowered the camera and looked at the head with his own eyes.
"Lucy."
He stood unmoving until a few of the policemen came over to him.
"Boatman, I think you hit pay-dirt with this one. You'll have a whole collection of good photos before you finish with this stretch of freeway."
When Charlie did not respond, one of the officers slapped him on the back. "What do you think, Charlie? Ain't that the most bizarre thing you ever seen?"
Charlie walked away from them without uttering a word. He headed back down the freeway to his car, his stride widening as he walked. Once he broke free of the crowd around the wreckage, he looked down at the camera around his neck. He stood still for a moment and then lifted the leather camera strap over his head. He swung the camera at the end of the strap and slammed it into the ground. Charlie lifted his shoe and smashed it into the destroyed camera. Over and over he stomped on it until it was nothing but bits of twisted black metal, shards of sparkling glass, and crumpled, shiny film.
Charlie walked through a few people who had gotten out of their cars to watch him. He ignored them and found his car.
"How'd it go?" the old policeman asked.
Charlie ignored the question and said, "Thank you for watching my daughter."
Elizabeth slid over next to him and said, "Daddy, I'm really hungry."
He pulled his daughter close to his chest and held her head in his hands. He kissed and caressed her long hair.
"Where's your camera, Daddy?"
"It's gone, Beth. It's gone."
Elizabeth hugged her father when he started to shake.
"What's wrong, Daddy? Why are you crying?"
Through his sobs, he said, "I'm not sure, sweetie."
"Are you crying 'cause you saw something scary."
After a moment, Charlie calmed down enough to speak again. "No, sweetie. I'm crying because I saw something scary and I didn't cry."
Elizabeth sat up and tried to wipe away his tears with her small hands. She kissed him on the cheek and said, "I love you, Daddy."
"I love you too, sweetheart."
She put her hand in his for a moment and then asked, "Aren't you going to take anymore pictures?"
He nodded. "Yes. Yes, I will."
She thought for a moment. She looked up at her father and said, "If you're camera's gone, you've got to get a new one, right?"
Charlie stared into her eyes. They were the same color as his, both of them a light blue hue that everyone told her were the prettiest eyes they had ever seen. "You're right, Beth. I will have to get a new camera."
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