"What do you think?"James asked quietly.
"I think he hates what modern photography has become.I think he views Paulson and Hayes as enemies of everything he devoted his life to."Isla started toward the stairs, her boots echoing in the narrow corridor."But I don't think he killed them."
"The physical limitations."
"Partly.A man with Parkinson's doesn't stage crime scenes with that level of precision.But it's more than that."She paused at the top of the staircase, turning to face James."He was genuinely disturbed by the idea that his beliefs might have inspired the murders.If he were the killer, I don't think he'd have that reaction."
"Psychopaths are good at faking emotions."
"They are.But Kramer's not a psychopath.He's a bitter old man who lost his career and his status and now sits alone in an apartment full of photographs, mourning a world that doesn't exist anymore."Isla shook her head."He's not our guy."
"So we're back to nothing."
"We're back to his student lists."Isla started down the stairs, James falling into step beside her."Someone taught by Thomas Kramer, indoctrinated with his views about traditional photography and the corruption of the art form.Someone young enough and strong enough to commit these murders, with knowledge of the historical compositions that the crimes are recreating."
"That could be a lot of people.He taught for thirty years."
"Then we'd better start narrowing it down."They emerged into the lobby with its sickly lighting and cabbage smell, pushing through the front door into the gray March afternoon."But first, I want surveillance on this building.If Kramer isn't our killer, he might still be a target—or a resource the killer wants to access."
James was already reaching for his phone."I'll coordinate with local PD.How many officers?"
"One unit, rotating shifts.Low-profile—we don't want to spook anyone."Isla looked up at the building's weathered facade, at the third-floor window where Thomas Kramer was probably still sitting among his photographs."And get those student lists as soon as possible.I want every name cross-referenced with the victims' professional circles."
"You think the killer is someone who crossed paths with both Paulson and Hayes?"
"I think the killer is someone who's been watching this community for a long time.Studying it.Waiting for the right moment to make their statement."Isla turned away from the building and started toward the car."And I think if we don't find them soon, there's going to be another body at another scenic overlook, staged to recreate another photograph that Thomas Kramer has hanging on his wall."
The wind off the lake cut through her blazer as she walked, carrying the particular bite of air that had traveled across miles of ice and open water.Somewhere out there, a killer was planning their next move.
And Isla was running out of time to stop them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Isla stood at her desk, scrolling through Thomas Kramer's blog on her laptop while around her the bullpen hummed with the controlled chaos of an investigation that had spawned too many leads and not enough answers.Phones rang.Keyboards clattered.Someone's printer jammed for the third time in an hour, prompting a stream of creative profanity that Kate would have disapproved of if she hadn't been locked in her office on yet another call with Washington.
The blog was calledAuthentic Vision, and it had been active since 2015—right around the time Kramer had started his slow slide toward academic oblivion.The design was outdated, the kind of template that had been popular a decade ago, with a header image showing a black-and-white photograph of Lake Superior in winter.The tagline read:Preserving the Soul of Landscape Photography.
The posts themselves read like sermons from a dying religion.
Isla clicked through entry after entry, watching Kramer's tone shift from academic disappointment to something approaching rage.Early posts were measured, scholarly essays about the importance of patience in landscape photography, analyses of historical compositions, tributes to photographers whose names she didn't recognize.But as the years progressed, as his tenure was denied and his influence waned, the writing took on a darker edge.
"The modern photographer,"Kramer had written in a 2021 post titled "The Death of Communion,""approaches the landscape as a consumer approaches a buffet—grabbing what looks appetizing, arranging it on their plate, and moving on to the next meal.They do not sit with the land.They do not breathe its rhythms into their blood.They take what they want and call it art, never understanding that true photography requires sacrifice.Requires becoming part of the landscape itself."
Becoming part of the landscape.
Isla felt the words settle into her chest like stones.
"The awards they win are participation trophies,"another post declared."Recognition for showing up with expensive equipment and adequate technical skills.Any child with a smartphone can capture a sunset.The question is whether they can become the sunset—whether they can dissolve the boundary between observer and observed until the photograph is not a representation of the landscape but an extension of it."
She scrolled to a post from just six months ago, written after Derek Paulson had won the Minnesota Arts Council prize that had apparently sent Kramer into a spiral of bitter commentary.The title was simply:"Thieves."
"Derek Paulson stands before his stolen sunrise and accepts applause from critics who wouldn't recognize authentic vision if it walked up and introduced itself.He has spent exactly fourteen months photographing Hawk Ridge—fourteen months!—and believes this qualifies him as an authority on the location.Harold Benson spent three years at that overlook.Three years of communion, of patience, of allowing the landscape to reveal itself.Paulson takes a photograph every few weeks and calls it dedication.
"There will come a reckoning.There always does.The landscape remembers those who honor it, and it remembers those who merely use it.The thieves will learn, eventually, what it means to truly become part of the scenes they've been stealing."
The thieves will learn what it means to truly become part of the scenes they've been stealing.
Isla pushed back from her desk, her eyes burning from hours of screen time, her mind churning through implications she didn't want to face.Kramer's blog was a manifesto wrapped in academic language—a detailed articulation of exactly the philosophy that seemed to be driving the murders.The killer wasn't just staging bodies at scenic overlooks; they were making photographersbecomethe landscapes they'd been capturing.Turning observers into subjects.Dissolving the boundary between artist and art.