Far From True by Linwood Barclay Page B

no shame in the fact that couples living together shared bedrooms, with actual beds in them, where they had sex. No one would go to that kind of trouble to hide that fact. I was betting Adam and Miriam Chalmers had spent most of their nightsin that bedroom upstairs. In that huge bed. Where they often had sex.
    But this room, this was for something more than garden-variety sex. This was for when sex was an event. This was a room dedicated solely to sex. No sleeping went on in here. This was not a room where you put your aunt when she came to visit.
    I took in the erotic photographs framed on the walls. “Would that be Miriam’s work?” I asked.
    Lucy nodded. “I think so. I’ve seen her stuff online. When she wasn’t doing run-of-the-mill portraits and weddings, she fancied herself a female Mapplethorpe.”
    I stepped carefully over the discarded empty DVD cases, then knelt down on one knee in front of the small cabinet that was tucked up against the wall below the flat-screen TV. One of the doors was half-open, and I was guessing this was where the cases had come from. I pulled it open all the way. Lucy had come into the room and was standing behind me, looking down over my shoulder.
    There were two shelves. On the top, to one side, was a DVD player. Next to it were an assortment of creams and lotions and condoms and an open jewel case. The bottom shelf was littered with what would be categorized as sex toys. Vibrators, rubber phalluses, various and assorted straps, handcuffs. Even a box filled with batteries, although not the kind you put in the smoke detectors.
    I heard an intake of breath behind me. I turned my head to look at Lucy. “You okay?”
    “Yes,” she said slowly. “I mean, it’s a lot to take in. I don’t think I’m a prude. People have sex, sometimes with all the extras, and I’ve got nothing against that. Even when it’s your own father.” She paused. “But this . . . I don’t know what to think about this.”
    I glanced back at the bed, spotted some items on the table next to it. Remotes, for the TV and the DVD player.
    “Lucy, can you grab me those?”
    “What?”
    “Those remotes.”
    She walked around the bed, appeared hesitant to grab them at first, but of the items I’d found in this room, the remotes were the ones I’d be the most comfortable touching. She handed them to me. I figured out which one was for the DVD player, powered it up, then hit the eject button. The tray slid out.
    Empty.
    Either Adam Chalmers was in the habit of taking the disc out of the machine when he was finished watching it, or whoever ransacked this place was thorough.
    Even though my right knee was planted in shag carpeting, it was getting sore, so I switched to the other and, in the process, shifted in such a way that I caught a glimpse of something under the bed.
    A black case. Plastic, it looked like.
    I reached under, grabbed it by the handle, and slid it out.
    “What’s that?” Lucy asked.
    I didn’t answer. Instead, I flipped up the tabs on the front of the case and raised the lid. It was filled with soft gray foam, with cutouts to hold a camera and a couple of lenses that were packed neatly inside.
    I pried out the camera. It was a nice, expensive model designed to take still photos or video.
    “Oh my,” Lucy said.
    I glanced back at the empty DVD cases. “Yeah. Looks like your father’s home movies are missing.” I thought a moment. “My guess is, someone was looking for the DVD they wanted, heard you come in, slipped out of this room with the discs, slid the shelf back into position, and took off out the back door.”
    She nodded slowly.
    “He probably figured he had time to go through the discs. Maybe they were labeled. Then he heard the door open, and he left these cases scattered all over the place.”
    I studied her.
    “Are you sure you didn’t know about this?” I asked. “You haven’t received a phone call since what happened at the drive-in? Someone offering to sell these