Perfect Murder, Perfect Town - Lawrence Schiller [107]
The night of the murder, Simons said, he had been at home alone in Genoa, 120 miles from Boulder.
Simons, a native of Denver, had been a professional news photographer since 1970 and had once worked for the Associated Press as a stringer. Several times he’d almost been killed while covering fires. In 1979 Simons decided he could make a better living—without risking his life—in fashion and advertising photography. When he opened his studio in Denver, upscale retailers like AP&S, Joslins, Fashion Bar, and Miller Stockman became his clients. When she was three, Kristine Griffin became his second child client. By the time she was nine, Kristine’s annual income from modeling probably exceeded his, Simons said.
In May 1996 Kristine’s mom, Pam Griffin, referred Patsy Ramsey to Simons, and she booked her daughter for a June 5 shooting. Because JonBenét was only six, Randy set aside only half a day. He knew he’d be lucky to get an hour or two from a child that young.
Patsy brought more clothes than I had ever seen a parent bring. In the makeup chair, JonBenét appeared quiet and shy, not scared. She kept looking at her mother.
In the studio, I shot close-ups with a cowboy hat first, then shots with flowers in her hair, which eventually adorned covers all over the world. Before noon, Patsy went out and got pizza for everyone, and then all of us went on location. I photographed the dance outfit with the polka dots next, then the harlequin dance costume. By one o’clock, JonBenét was tired of wearing the tap shoes, but she never complained about the heat or the bright sun. At the residential subdivision Ken Caryl Ranch, I did the Little House on the Prairie dress—that playful shot of JonBenét hiding behind the tree.
The half-day booking become a full day, and I got tired faster than JonBenét. At the Wilson White Fence Farm in Lakewood, which has a gazebo and carousel horses, JonBenét played peek-a-boo. She giggled and laughed. The wind began to blow, so I made Patsy my assistant. She held a reflector when we did the Little Red Riding Hood photograph. By then, I’d photographed JonBenét in eleven different outfits. She was a neat kid.
It wasn’t long before the tabloids were saying that Patsy had forced JonBenét into some excruciating shots. I never saw anything like that.
I was paid $590 for the day. Patsy gave me a tip of $45. A month later, she ordered $960 worth of hand-retouched prints.
—Randy Simons
Three weeks later, on March 12, Detective Jeff Kithcart interviewed Mark Fix, who had also photographed JonBenét at various pageants. Fix, who had been a forensic photographer and had gone through 240 hours of police-academy training, was also a “certified protection professional”—a bodyguard. Kithcart was interested in what Fix knew about Randy Simons. Could he be a suspect? He said no.
Fix told the detective that Simons was into high fashion and pageants and had clients from all over the country. His specialty was shooting five- and six-year-olds, and he was known for his creative flair with lighting and retouching. A Randy Simons photo, Fix said, automatically gave a pageant contestant a higher score in the Miss Photogenic competition.
Simons was something of an “odd critter,” though, said Fix. Right now he claimed that people were chasing him and that the Ramseys were pointing the finger at him. Simons had even told Fix that some paramilitary group was trying to ambush him and steal his negatives. He’d shot someone in the leg with an arrow to protect himself, Fix said, shrugging.
Back in May 1996, Fix had been photographing pageant contestants on stage in Denver. One of them was JonBenét.
JonBenét came out in this shocking outfit, and a noticeable murmur went through the room. There were all these