Straight to the point, as always.
“I—did, yeah.”
Freidman picked up a pen and rolled it between his fingers. “Past tense?”
“It’s a long story that involves a break-in, murder, and being robbed on the subway.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you writing a crime thriller or something?”
“No, just trying to get through life one day at a time.”
Freidman never did find me very funny.
I retrieved my phone, brought up the photo of who might possibly be John McCormack, and offered it. “Does this man look familiar to you?”
Freidman took the phone, held it at a distance, and studied the screen. “Yes.”
My pulse leaped to my throat. “Is he John McCormack?”
Freidman set the cell down and eyed my books. “You broughtFrom Edison to Hollywoodwith you?”
“Oh, yes, sir.” I held it out.
He took the book and flipped through the pages. “If you’d done a bit of research first, you wouldn’t have needed to come here at all.” He stopped and turned the hefty textbook around. “The original Kinetoscope crew, 1892.”
I leaned over the desktop and squinted, studying the small photo and the faces of men who I’d have probably never recognized on my own. “Which is him?”
“Second to the right.”
Where, where—ah-ha! Okay, he definitely wasn’t pencil-thin like Kid John from the mugshot, but he didn’t appear to have those glorious muttonchops yet either. This photo would have been seven years after his escape from Sing Sing, and three years before murdering the man on film—
“His name is Johnathan Cormack,” Freidman said. “The first written account of him working for Edison is in November of 1891.”
“When did he quit?”
“1896.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Edison’s general manager ousted him.”
I tapped my chin absently. “Johnathan Cormack is awfully similar to John McCormack.”
Freidman shrugged.
I opened Calvin’s tablet and showed him the mugshot. “I think this is him. I think he changed his name before working for Edison.”
Freidman stared at the photo for a long moment. He eventually sighed. “I suppose that could be him. By 1896, there were some unsavory rumors aboutCormack’spast—that he’d done time for thievery and such. That’s why he was given the boot.”
“Bad for Edison’s reputation,” I concluded.
“That’s right.”
I shut the tablet case. “I need help identifying two more men on the team. One who may have been named Tom. And another who was killed—murdered—in 1894.”
“There was a Tom,” Freidman agreed. “No known photos, though. He was only on the crew for about a year and a half.”
“Are you sure?”
