Shallow Graves

from the file a black-and-white pamphlet the size of a big birthday card. It had a head-and-shoulders photo of Mau Tim on the cover, an elaborate necklace around her throat and her first name emblazoned at the bottom.
    Yulin said, “That’s a comp, for ‘composite card.’ “
    “You sent this out as kind of a brochure for her?”
    “Right.“ Yulin opened it up. Inside were two more photos of Mau Tim, one in evening wear, one in lingerie. On the back was a long shot of her in a wool dress and heels, boutique shopping bags in hand, apparently trying to flag a taxi. Alive, the most arresting woman I’d ever seen in two dimensions.
    Yulin said, “Breathtaking, wasn’t she?“
    I looked at him.
    He blinked and said, “The next thing in the file is—“
    “Just a second. You have a color version of that photo on the front?“
    “Probably in the mini-book. You want to go through it now?“
    “In a minute.“ I turned the comp card sideways to pick up the names of the photographers given credit in the margins. “None of these was taken by this Puriefoy.“
    “Oh, no. No, she graduated from old Oz, if you get my drift.“
    “I’m not sure I do.“
    “Oz is a good photographer. With a good eye for talent, like hitting on Mau Tim, for example. But he’s not a great photographer. She got to be too good for him.“
    “Can that happen with agencies like yours as well?“
    Yulin clenched his jaw, then relaxed it quickly. “It can. But Mau Tim knew what we’d done for her. She wasn’t going anywhere we didn’t take her.“
    I looked back into the file. There were some advertisement photos from newspapers. Only a few months old, from the dates handwritten on them, but already yellowing. There were also some studio shots of Mau Tim, with Oz Puriefoy’s name as photo credit.
    “What are these?“
    Yulin said, “Those are old shots that we rotated out of Mau Tim’s mini-book. See what I mean about Oz’s work?“
    Mau Tim did look less sophisticated, less well turned in the face and hair. I couldn’t have attributed that to the photographer as opposed to the model, but then, I wasn’t in the business.
    “I don’t see any paycheck stubs or tax records in here.“
    “That’s all on the computer now.“
    “What did Mau Tim pull down in a year?“
    “I could look it up for you, but basically she went from a thousand a day to two within a few months. Lately we were getting twenty-five hundred guaranteed.“
    “A day.“
    “Right.“
    “From which your cut was?“
    The jaw clenched again. “Twenty-five percent. Standard in the industry.“
    Six-twenty-five a day to Lindqvist/Yulin. “And how many days a week did Mau Tim work?“
    “We could have gotten her six if she wanted, but usually four, sometimes five. You see, she could pose for one photographer during the day, another on a small job at night with a guaranteed half-day rate for the smaller job.“
    “So be conservative and call it two hundred days a year. That means she’d earn a hundred and a quarter a year for you in commissions.“
    Yulin lifted his chin a little. “No, John. We earned that money. By placing her in good shoots that paid top dollar for her.“
    “Had you placed her in a shoot that day?“
    “That...? Oh, you mean the day she died. No.“
    “You don’t have to look it up?“
    “No. I’m positive. She’d told me in no uncertain terms that Saturday was her birthday. She wasn’t working Friday or the weekend.“
    “She call in that Friday?“
    Yulin shut his eyes, then said, “Yes. As usual.“
    “Meaning?“
    “Meaning midaftemoon.“
    “Can you be more specific?“
    “Two, three?“
    “She seem worried to you?“
    “No. We talked about a job two weeks down the line. In Jamaica for a casino. She seemed very up for it.“
    A knock at the door. Yulin said, “Yes?“
    Erica Lindqvist stuck her head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, George, but Larry Shin is on the phone from the airport, and I’ve got to run. Can you take it?“
    “Certainly, Erica.“
    She nodded and left. Yulin had said “certainly“ like a bank teller asked to count out a thousand dollars in singles.
    The man stood. “Excuse me, John.“ He went behind his desk and picked up his telephone. By the time he pushed the button on the console, his voice had a “how can I serve“ lilt to it.
    “Larry! Great to hear from you. Chief. How goes it?... Right, right. Give me what you... Right, blonde and redhead. The blonde?... Young Christie