Mr. Robert looked at me. “Not what, boy.Who.”
My skin prickled, and I felt the hairs on my arms stand up underneath my sweater. “Who, then?”
“Someone who wanted to do harm to Dickson. That’s all I know. Tom supposedly suspected one of their own on the film crew was out to sabotage Dickson. And as long as the Kinetoscope and footage were kept hidden, everything would be okay.”
“Dickson is dead, though,” I stated before standing, knees cracking. “He passed away in the 1930s. In London, no less. If someone was out to hurt him, they never succeeded.”
“Well, of course not. The Kinetoscope was being hidden by that Tom fella!”
Okay.
William Dickson, chief inventor of the Kinetograph camera and Scope viewer. Alongside Georges Méliès and the Lumière brothers of France, Dickson was truly one of the grandfathers of modern cinema as we knew it today. He worked for Thomas Edison, who—because of the media, patents office in DC, and history at large—had been credited for the invention of these wonderful machines. Dickson was more or less ignored. In 1894, the Kinetoscope was all the rage across the country, with parlors opening up in New York City for the everyday man to enjoy this newfangled piece of entertainment.
And sometime between then and whenever Dickson left Edison’s company, someone at Black Maria tried to… kill him? I didn’t see a connection. A conspiracy to take down Dickson in the 1890s was one thing, but how did that tie in with the murder movie and the particular Kinetoscope machine sitting in the Emporium? It could be that the answer to the events of both the past and present lay within these newly acquired film reels. To me it was more than plausible, considering how adamant my assailant had been about obtaining theother movies.
Of course, that would also mean the motive for killing the teenager would be on these movies, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know….
I began walking back to the bag on the piano. “Why’d you want me to view the rest of your film collection?”
Mr. Robert set his pipe on the small table beside the chair. “I don’t remember if I’ve ever watched these two films. But I can’t now because you’ve got the movie viewer. Find out why my grandson wants it so badly. I’ll pay you for your time—just send me an invoice.”
I turned around. “You believe the reason he wants them is going to be obvious once I watch these movies?”
“I think so.”
“Sir, do you…?” I took a breath and asked about the connection I hadn’t wanted to make. “Do you have a picture of your grandson?”
“I got lots of pictures.”
“Could I borrow one?” That sounded creepy. “I, uh… a teenager came in the other day who seemed interested in the Kinetoscope.”
“That little shit. He didn’t bother you, did he? I’ll tell you—he’s gotten real strange lately.”
Oh no.
“I’ll just hold on to the photo until I’m done looking at the film. You know, in case I see him… I can call you.”
Mr. Robert didn’t seem to think the request was terribly strange. He slowly got out of his chair and shuffled to the room’s fireplace. He stared at the mantel for a moment, hand hovering over a variety of framed photos, before he plucked one from the back. He wiped it off with the sleeve of his robe and held it out.
I took the picture and steeled myself to look at it.
Fuck….
I DIDN’Tcall Calvin until I’d reached Queens.
I’d felt sick to my stomach on the train ride to Astoria. I ducked into the Starbucks just outside of Moving Image. Not that a sugary coffee was a suitable lunch, but it was better than the murder of a misfit teenager churning up stomach acid all day.
I stood outside the coffee shop under the awning, leaning against the railing, with my phone smooshed between my ear and shoulder. Although it was far too sunny for my liking, it was an otherwise balmy, perfect day. The warm weather had caused me to panic at the counter, and like a dummy, I had ordered one of the Frappuccino drinks Max always chose. I ended up sipping on some white chocolate, caramel, java thing that I wasn’t so sure had actual coffee in it. I might have had an insatiable sweet tooth, but when it came to coffee, I preferred it dark and bitter.
No answer from Calvin.
I ended the call. I considered trying Quinn, but was certain she could and would beat the crap out of me for interrupting their job as much as I did. I eventually decided on the old-fashioned method. I called the precinct, requested Detective Winter, and was patched through to his extension.
The phone rang a few times, and then he answered. “Detective Winter.”
“Hi.”
“Seb?”
