“But another cop was here in his studio now, and he wasn’t even one of the cops who’d been at the wedding and the reception, and he was asking Pike for the photographs he’d taken. Pike did not like his looks and he did not like his manner. He had been photographing beautiful people for more than four decades now, and Oliver Weeks was definitely not beautiful. Nor was he exactly what Pike might have called couth.
“We need the pictures you took yesterday, and that’s it,” Ollie said. “Now, Mr. Pike, I been here a half-hour already, arguing with you, and I’m trying to tell you this is important to us, and I would like to have the pictures now without further ado.”
“And I’m telling you, Mr. Weeks, that all I’ve got printed so far are contact sheets—”
“That’s fine, I’ll take the contact sheets.”
“I’d planned to look them over this afternoon,” Pike said. “Decide where to crop them…”
“Mr. Pike, you have the negatives, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
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