Just out of Frame

“I don’t understand!” James insisted. “What am I meant to have done?”

The town did have one jail cell, but there was already a drunk passed out in it. Given the circumstances, the sheriff and his deputy prodded and jostled James over to the city council building, and bunded him into the small conference room, where a ring of somber faces watched him from behind a wall of crossed arms. Although the council chairman had the center seat, Judge Mason was in the corner, very clearly not leading the interview, but showing it was a matter condemning enough to merit his attention.

“Mr. Dewer,” said the chairman. “There has been a serious accusation that requires immediate action. Does the name Michaela O’Leary mean anything to you?”

Eyes widening, James searched the room for a familiar, smug face. “Nimitz!”

Fritz Nimitz was wearing his best scowl, but it kept peeling up at the corners to reveal the smirk underneath. “I’m a journalist, James. I only uncovered the truth.”

“You are a pest!” James snapped, and immediately felt the sheriff’s hand on his shoulder. “Look, there’s obviously been a mistake! I haven’t done anything wrong, and Nimitz has had it out for me ever since I picked up that camera!”

“Mr. Dewer!” the chairman rumbled, and James bit down hard on more bubbling protests. “Your rivalry at the newspaper is well known. Mr. Nimitz has taken care to submit his concern to the proper authorities, and the informality of this interview is a reflection of due skepticism on your behalf. You are not yet under arrest, and nothing said in this chamber will appear in print. We just want to know what happened.”

The sheriff coughed. “There was no one else in the house when we collected him.”

James frowned. “Were you…looking for Michaela?”

“No one has seen her,” Nimitz oiled, thick fingers pawing through a slim notebook. “She has engaged no hotel or boarding house, and her only acquaintance is you. The depot has sold no ticket to a woman matching her description, and no witness has seen her in any shop, tavern, or place of worship.”

“Are you hearing this?” James asked the assembled councilmen. “Nimitz: take the hint. She’s not interested.”

The sheriff’s fingers dug into James’s shoulder. “We’re not interested in who she sees, we just want to know where she is.”

James shrugged off the vicious grip. “She’s gone. She left days ago.”

“Ah-ha!” Nimitz held up a triumphant sausage of a finger. “Then how do explain this photograph?”

Squirming in his seat, James watched as the small square was passed around. Many of the councilmen barely flicked a disdainful glance at it before passing it on, but a few eyes lingered, drinking in the elegant, curving shape, the soft light catching the exposed skin of languid limbs crossed over silk sheets, a flurry of frenzied underskirts, and scandalously seductive shoes dangling daintily from gauzy stockings. There was no question James had taken the photograph; he had the only camera in town. “That isn’t a crime.”

“Ought to be,” Nimitz huffed. “There is snow on the window-sill in that photograph.”

“Who’s looking at the sill?”

“And the first snow was only last night,” Nimitz gloated. “She has to be here. I would have seen her leave.”

James glared pure acid at him. “You were watching my house?”

“Enough!” the chairman stared stonily at James until the photographer swallowed his bile. “All of this can be settled quite easily. Mr. Dewer, where is Miss O’Leary?”

The sheriff’s deputy mumbled, “Or the biggest piece of her.”

Ice slithered down James’s spine. “You—” he swallowed, all the blood draining from his face. “You think I murdered Michaela?”

While the council remained somber, a slick grin spread over Nimitz’s thick lips. “At the very least,” he oozed, fingering the edges of the photograph. “How many girls have there been? Stella? Rose? Borghild?”

“I am not a killer.”

“You have a certain reputation, Mr. Dewer,” the chairman said. “Based on your connection to these lewd photographs. The latest psychiatric research does indicate a sexual element to serialized violence. And it has come to this council’s attention that none of these women are ever seen again.”

James carefully collected a steadying breath. “I did not kill Michaela O’Leary. Michaela O’Leary does not exist.”

“Ah-ha!” Nimitz crowed, clutching the square. “There is photographic proof!”

“There isn’t,” said James. “That is a picture of me.”

“No.”

“Nimitz,” said James. “That’s me.”

The journalist took another look at the photograph. “No.” He dropped the square, scrubbing at his thick fingers. “No. No!”

Suddenly, the sheriff had no desire to put his hand on James’s shoulder. “I can prove it, if you like,” James offered. “But it looks like you all believe me. So, I’m guessing that murder charge is not going to stick.”

The chairman leaned forward. “This was always an informal interview,” he said. “But there is a crime in collecting payment under false pretenses. It’s called ‘fraud’.”

James took another look around the room. Several councilmen were shifting and fidgeting, all of them avoiding eye contact. “While we’re all getting to know each other,” James ventured. “I’ve sold photos to about half of you, and I’m sure you’ve shared them with the other half. So, I guess if you wanted to charge me with fraud, many of you would be compelled to testify. About exactly what it is you thought you were buying.” He shrugged. “Although, if you wanted to continue under the pretext of murder, it is customary for any death row confession to be printed in the paper. I imagine I could fill a page.” He winked at his rival. “You’ve put yourself in a bind, Fritz Nimitz.”

Nimitz was slowly turning the color of a sun-bleached pea. “I will set fire to your camera.”

“Alright.” The chairman took the photograph, his eyes flicking between James and the image. “That clarifies things. At the moment, there is no law prohibiting the sale of misleading photography, nor its purchase. Rather than discuss any part of this further, I recommend dropping the issue as a misunderstanding of circumstance.”

“You can’t just—” Nimitz snatched the photograph back. “This can’t be allowed! He’s swindled all of you! He’s humiliated me! You can’t just let him go!”

Leaning forward in his chair, Judge Mason said, “Perhaps we should discuss the matter of perjury.”

"That's right," the sheriff growled. "We're all here to punish a crime."

“No.” James glanced at Nimitz’s wide eyes. “Your honor. Gentlemen. Fritz Nimitz is…thoroughly obnoxious, but he is not a liar. I told him stories about this fictitious woman, with the express purpose of aggravating him. He’s accused me of using images to manipulate the truth, and I have intentionally set out to see how well I could deceive him. I’ve preyed on many a man’s natural curiosity, and made money doing it. I’ve been careless with your trust, and wasteful of your time. I'm sorry. The fault is mine.”

Judge Mason picked up the photograph. “In time, I am certain this technology will be regulated,” he said, placing the square carefully perpendicular to the table’s edge. “In the meantime, we can all take comfort in your commitment to accountability. I am sure we have all learned a valuable lesson about believing everything we see.” He turned expectant eyes toward the chairman.

“Yes,” the chairman said. “The matter is resolved. Mr. Dewer is dismissed.”

The sheriff could not leave the room fast enough, only an inch ahead of the ashen-faced Nimitz. Many of the assembly kept conscientious vigil of their own shoes as they shuffled toward the door, one or two of them with a hand on an innocent glossy square in their pocket. Before he could make his exit, James felt an authoritative tapping on his shoulder. “Incidentally, Mr. Dewer,” said Judge Mason. “I would like to review your merchandise, in my own time.”

James raised an eyebrow at him. “I hope you’re not enticing me to fraud.”

The judge shrugged. “Not if I know exactly what I’m buying."