But he was partially blinded by the chemicals. He instinctively retreated a step and came up against the heavy curtain. He waved the blade in wide arcs, fending her off while he attempted to clear his vision.
Vivian seized the heavy steel enlarger easel and threw it, discus style, at Morris. The corner of the metal plate caught him in the chest.Yowling in pain and rage, he managed to free himself from the blackout curtain.
He turned and staggered out the door and into the kitchen.
Vivian rushed after him because there was no other way out of the darkroom. She could not let him trap her there again.
She reached the kitchen in time to see Deverell stumbling out the door. The small backyard was enclosed with a waist-high wooden fence. It was doubtful he would try to scale it in his current panicky state. It was more likely he would use the garden gate that opened onto a walkway that led around the side of the house to the street.
The bastard was going to get away.
Driven by the violent energy of panic and fury, Vivian changed course and ran toward the front door. She got it open just in time to see Deverell emerge from the side of the house and veer toward the sidewalk in a shambling run. He was using both hands to wipe his eyes now. He had evidently dropped the dagger.
A tall, muscular young man was coming up the sidewalk, heading toward Vivian’s front door. Roland Jennings had come directly from the lifeguard station. He wore only a pair of swimming trunks. He had the kind of body that made both men and women look twice. His chest appeared to have been hewn from granite, thanks to hours of exercise on the nearby stretch of sand known as Muscle Beach.
He was Vivian’s afternoon client.
Roland stopped, bewildered by the sight of a half-blind Deverell staggering toward him.
“Stop him, Roland,” Vivian shouted. “That’s the Dagger Killer.”
Roland Jennings did not hesitate. His job as a lifeguard had accustomed him to reacting swiftly in emergencies. He grabbed the back of Deverell’s elegantly cut jacket and hoisted him off his feet.
“My eyes,” Deverell shrieked. “I need a doctor.”
Roland ignored him. “Are you okay, Miss Brazier?”
“Yes,” she said, panting for breath. “He just tried to murder me. Hang on to him while I call the cops.”
“Sure,” Roland said.
He gave Deverell a ferocious shaking.
“My eyes,” Morris shrieked again, his feet dangling several inches off the ground. “She tried to blind me.”
Vivian’s next-door neighbor Betty Spalding, a retired schoolteacher, came out onto the front step. She wiped her hands on her apron.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“It’s the Dagger Killer,” Vivian said.
Betty’s eyes widened. “Good heavens. He looks like such a nice man.”
A few more neighbors appeared.
“Whatever you do, don’t let him get away,” Vivian said to Roland.
“Don’t worry, Miss Brazier,” Roland said. “I’ve got him.”
“My eyes,” Morris yelled. He struggled in Roland’s iron grip. “Get me some water. I’m going blind.”
“Bring him over here,” Mr. Anderson said. “I’ll use my garden hose to wash out his eyes.”
Vivian rushed back into the house and called the police. On the way out the front door she grabbed her Speed Graphic and an extra film holder. She would deal with the shock to her nerves later. In that moment she had to stay focused.
She might like to call herself an artist but she paid the bills with her photojournalism work. There was only one word to describe the golden opportunity that had just been presented to her.
Exclusive.
