Blood Porn (A Brad Frame Mystery Book 3)

by Ray Flynt

  “Is he with you?” Sharon asked into the phone.

  Sharon had become indispensable to their work; her intense personality a nice balance to his cool. She reminded him that was because she was a fire sign while Brad’s astrological house was water, though he never placed as much stock in the divining of the Zodiac as she did. She’d become like the sister he no longer had.

  “Why don’t you come over now,” Brad heard her say.

  He glanced at his watch and tried to wave her off, but she’d wandered in the direction of the fireplace and had her back to him. His train for New York City left in three hours, and he still had packing to do.

  “Sharon,” Brad called, drawing her attention. “I have to leave.”

  She covered the phone with her left hand. “This won’t take long.” Returning to her caller, she said, “Where are you?

  “That’s only a couple minutes away.” She looked expectantly at Brad as she spoke into the phone.

  He pointed at his watch. He and Beth had been planning a long Labor Day weekend getaway in New York for the past month. Beth had been his sister’s college roommate, but he hadn’t met her until his father’s funeral. She worked for an engineering firm, and they’d managed to maintain a long distance relationship for almost two years. He’d booked a suite at the Crowne Plaza overlooking Times Square, scored premium seating for The Book of Mormon, and planned to surprise Beth with tickets to a Sunday night Jennifer Hudson concert. He’d made reservations that evening at Isabelle’s and Beth would meet him there when she got off work.

  “I’ll give you the address,” Sharon continued, “and you can put it in your GPS app. If Brad doesn’t have time to see you, I’ll get all the information.”

  She’d said that for his benefit. He didn’t need an A in Social Psychology to realize that.

  Sharon provided the address, then clamped the phone shut and faced Brad. He expected her to be contrite for disrupting his plans, but instead she pounced. “We need a case. Isn’t it you who’s been saying we could use a new case?”

  Brad stared back at her as she stood with her hands planted on her hips. “Yes,” he admitted, trying to keep irritation out of his voice, “But I’ve been telling you for several weeks that I’m leaving at 2 p.m. today.”

  Sharon held out her wrist, pointed to her watch, and said, “It’s only 12:30.”

  “And I still have to pack.” After a pause, he asked, “Who’s coming?”

  Sharon flashed her I-knew-you’d-be-interested smile, and her irritation was gone as she launched into an explanation. “Oliver Reynolds. I got to know him when we worked together at the Bucks County juvenile probation office for about six months or so before you hired me. We’ve stayed in touch, and he recently took a similar job in Chester County. He’s a good guy. Very bright. Studying at night to be a lawyer. One of his clients is missing. He’d like us to help find him.”

  A missing juvenile probationer wasn’t the kind of case Brad had wished for. He glanced out the window, and hoped Mr. Reynolds wouldn’t expect to find him in a suit and tie.

  “Go pack,” Sharon ordered. “Bring your suitcase back with you, and we’ll call a cab for 2 p.m.”

  “I’ve already scheduled a cab. I thought he was a couple minutes away?”

  “More like twenty minutes.” She added with a grin, “I just said that so you wouldn’t be upset.”

  He stood, bemoaned the fact that he was that easy for Sharon to read, and left the office without saying another word.

  Brad returned to the office, suitcase in tow, just in time to see a dark blue Toyota Camry pull into the driveway. A young man with short dark-blonde hair emerged from the driver’s seat, and then a second man with a mop of carrot red hair got out of the passenger side. Sharon raced outside to greet them, while Brad watched from the window as the second man unfolded a blind walking cane and walked confidently in the direction of Sharon’s shouted, “We’re over here.” She hadn’t said that her friend Oliver would be bringing anyone with him.

  “Brad, this is Oliver Reynolds,” Sharon said as they walked into the office, pointing to the red-headed guy with the red-tipped walking stick and a brown leather briefcase slung over his shoulder. He’d assumed Oliver was the car’s driver.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Oliver said, extending his hand. Brad reached for it and felt a firm shake.

  “This is Derek Young.” Reynolds introduced the other man, who seemed tentative and nervous as his eyes darted around the office. Brad wasn’t sure Derek wanted to be there, but he offered his hand and found a resolute grip in return.

  “Let’s be more comfortable,” Sharon said. She guided Oliver to one of the leather sofas, and Derek sat at the opposite end. Brad and Sharon sat on the sofa across from them.

  Oliver folded the walking stick and placed it next to him. “Nice to be close to the fireplace,” he commented, and Brad wondered how a blind man would know that. “Too bad it’s not a winter day,” Oliver added. It was a sunny September day, and the air conditioner had just cycled on. A perfect day for a trip to New York City.

  Normally, he might have offered the guests coffee or a soda, but aware of his own time constraints Brad cut to the chase. “How can we help you?”

  “Derek’s brother Jeremy has been on my case load for a couple of years,” Oliver began. “He’s not a bad kid, and I’m not just saying that because Derek’s sitting here. Jeremy got in with the wrong crowd, and his drug experimentation spiraled out of control. He made his first juvenile court appearance when he was fifteen and drew probation for selling controlled substances—specifically, oxycodone. After he turned seventeen, he and two friends stole a car, and Judge Anastasia sent him to Maple Grove Youth Center.”

  Brad had heard of Maple Grove but didn’t know any particulars. Derek Young kneaded his hands as Oliver talked, eyes darting around the room, while the blind man remained focused on Brad and Sharon.

  “Jeremy seemed to do well at Maple Grove,” Oliver continued, “based on the reports I received. Then in July the institution notified us that Jeremy had absconded. I followed up with his mother, but she hadn’t heard from him. I put the word out to a couple of my clients that I knew were friends of his, but they claimed they hadn’t seen or heard from him either. Then a couple days ago, Derek called me.”

  Oliver turned to Derek. “Fill them in on what you told me.”

  The young man cleared his throat. “I’m not sure where to begin.” His eyes aimed at the floor. “My mom told me Jeremy was doing time at Maple Grove. I don’t see her that often, and she never said Jeremy was missing. Last week…” He hesitated, and then looked at Sharon. “This is kind of embarrassing.”

  “It’s okay,” Sharon said, “You’d be surprised what we hear in this business.”

  “Uh… my wife and I were celebrating our fifth anniversary, and this buddy of mine… I mean… a guy I work with… he gave me an adult video.” His face flushed crimson. “We… I mean my wife and I, ended up watching it, and discovered that Jeremy was in the movie. I called my mother—just to ask where he was—I didn’t tell her about the porn… ah, the video. She said he’d run away. That’s when I called Mr. Reynolds. I’m worried about him.”

  “So he’s supporting himself by making child pornography?” Sharon asked, an edge to her voice.

  “Well…” Derek stammered. “He turned eighteen two weeks ago.”

  “You could be right, Sharon,” Oliver added. “Assuming he wasn’t making videos at Maple Grove, it probably started when he ran away, back in July. He’d have been under the Federal legal age to make adult films back then.”

  Brad figured the Feds would be more interested in the film’s producers. “This seems like an issue of exploitation,” he said. “In view of his juvenile status, would Jeremy have been released once he turned eighteen?”

  “Yes,” Oliver said. “Legally, the court could keep him confined until he turned twenty-one, but would have had to transfer him to a State-operated Youth D
evelopment Center. Maple Grove has an age limit of seventeen.”

  The two men across from Brad could not have been more different, even though they appeared to be the same age. Derek wore jeans and a well-used T-shirt, while Oliver had on a dress shirt and tie. One came across as confident, in spite of his disability, and the other seemed out of his comfort zone. Brad thought about what Professor Hildebrand had said about self-image, and wondered how much of the young man’s reaction related to how Derek thought he would be perceived.

  Brad spoke directly to him. “Somebody lured your brother away from the youth center to engage in this activity.”

  Derek’s head bobbed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  “Oliver, have you talked with the authorities at Maple Grove?” Brad asked. “Did they see anything that might have precipitated his running away? Like an argument with another student or a visitor?”

  “I spoke to their director. She didn’t have any idea, but promised to talk with the cottage parents and get back to me.” Oliver turned his head and gazed toward the back yard. “I see you have starlings, Mr. Frame.”

  “I enjoy the birds,” Brad said. “I’m not familiar with the various species. My mother hung a few bird feeders in the back yard, and I’ve kept up the tradition.” Brad glanced at the folded walking stick and found it curious that Oliver used one if he could spot birds as far away as the back yard.

  “Which cottage was he in?” Sharon asked.

  “Reflection,” Oliver said.

  Sharon nodded.

  An interesting name for a cottage. Not Gryffindor or Slytherin?

  “Were you close to your brother?” Brad asked.

  Derek shrugged. “Not really. I’m almost ten years older than him. Our dad left when my brother was two. I moved out when I graduated from high school, and Jeremy was only eight. We never had much in common. After that I probably only saw him, I don’t know… maybe twice a year.”

  “Is your dad still around?” Sharon asked. “Does he have any contact with Jeremy?”

  Derek shook his head. “He died four years ago. Even before that, I doubt they had much contact. My dad was an alcoholic.” Brad detected bitterness in his tone.

  Derek tugged at his watchband, and whispered toward Oliver.

  “Oh, right,” Oliver said, as he reached into his leather briefcase and extracted a plastic jewel case, handing it to Brad. “This is the video Jeremy told you about.”

  Brad noticed the absence of fancy packaging or any labeling on the disk. “Bootleg?” He asked Oliver, who turned to Derek for an explanation.

  “The guy from work probably copied it from a friend.” Glancing at his watch again, Derek asked, “Do you think you’ll be able to find him, Mr. Frame?”

  “We’ll certainly try. I’m going to be out of town until after Labor Day,” Brad explained. “But Sharon will get started. We’ll want to visit Maple Grove and talk with the people there.” Brad stood and walked to his desk, where he retrieved a 3 by 5 card and a pen, which he handed to Derek. “Give me your contact information and the best times to reach you.”

  “I’m home most evenings, but I have to work tonight.” Turning to Oliver he said, “We need to get going. I have to drop you off and get home to change. I switched shifts today so that I could meet with you.” Using the end table as a desk, he began writing information on the card Brad had supplied.

  Brad resumed his seat on the sofa. “We won’t keep you. I’m leaving here shortly myself. What kind of work do you do?”

  “I’m a forklift operator at a wholesale distribution warehouse just east of Exton.”

  “Sharon, I assume you know how to get in touch with Oliver?”

  “Yep. I’ve also got his business card.”

  “Derek, if you could, I’d like the contact information for your mother. We’ll need to speak with her.”

  Derek’s eyes widened and he glanced at Oliver as if seeking help.

  “Don’t worry,” Brad assured him. “We’ll be very discreet with information about the adult video.”

  “I appreciate that,” Derek said, looking more relaxed.

  Sharon stood up. “There’s your cab, Brad.”

  “We’ll be in touch.” Brad said, rising from his chair. “Hopefully, we’ll find Jeremy, but it could take a while.”

  Oliver Reynolds unfolded his walking stick.

  “Thanks, Mr. Frame,” Derek said, sounding more animated just as the meeting ended. “I hate seeing Jeremy being taken advantage of.”

  Turning to Oliver, Brad asked, “Did you have any impressions from watching the video?”

  Sharon poked him in the ribs with her elbow.

  “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help with the video,” Oliver said, laughing. “Since I’ve been totally blind since birth.”

  Brad felt confused. “But you referred to the fireplace and commented on the starlings?”

  “My other senses help to make up for the loss of sight. I could smell the ash in your fireplace—hickory, I believe. And my mother also has birdfeeders and I recognized the distinctive call of the starling.”

  Brad apologized, but he’d just learned as valuable a lesson about human perception as any he picked up in his grad course.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday morning Brad found Sharon’s note on his desk. This morning: 11 a.m. Maple Grove. Leave by 10. Anchoring the note was the jewel case with the adult video Oliver and Derek had left.

  He logged on to Google to find directions just as Sharon bounded into the office.

  “Did you and Beth have a good weekend?” Sharon had a twinkle in her eye, as she dropped her purse on the corner of the desk.

  “We had a great weekend. The Jennifer Hudson concert was amazing. I’m not sure what I thought about The Book of Mormon, but Beth seemed to like it.” Brad enjoyed spending time with Beth, and had nearly called Sharon the previous evening saying he would be extending his stay. “Of course, we ate too much,” he added. “I’ll need to fit more exercise in this week. And we got to see the 9/11 memorial in lower Manhattan.”

  Sharon plopped into the chair next to the desk. “I didn’t think it opened until next week.”

  “It doesn’t. Last Thursday, Beth got tied up at a client’s office on the 34th floor of the World Financial Center, and asked me to meet her there. The building overlooks the site, and the footprint of the Twin Towers has been transformed into fountains and reflecting pools in honor of the victims. The view from that vantage point made them look like black holes that had swallowed nearly 3,000 souls and whatever remaining innocence Americans might have had about the terrorist threat. Seeing it in person, I found it much more moving than the photographs.”

  “Watcha doin?” she asked, leaning in for a view of his computer screen.

  “Getting directions to Maple Grove.”

  She waved her hand. “I’ve been there dozens of times. It’s west of Boyertown in Berks County, about an hour from here. I’ll navigate.”

  Brad checked the time. They had twenty minutes before they had to hit the road. “Did you get a chance to watch the video Oliver left?”

  “Ugh.” He could almost feel the chill in her voice.

  “What were your impressions?”

  Sharon rolled her eyes. “Disgusting.”

  “Would that be your clinical impression or gut reaction?”

  “Both. I find porn disgusting, degenerate, perverted, and debasing to women.”

  Why doesn’t she say what she really thinks?

  “So what else is new? Since you’ve started working for me, we’ve dealt with murderers, rapists, serial killers, arsonists, and peeping toms—all pretty disgusting. To be effective detectives, we’ve got to put aesthetic distance between our work and our feelings.” He regretted using the word aesthetic the minute it passed his lips, and sought to walk it back. “Detachment. I mean detachment.”

  Sharon stuck out her tongue and pantomimed sticking her finger down her throat.

  Brad co
uldn’t help but laugh.

  “Screw you.” She turned away, folding her arms across her chest. At least she didn’t drop the F-bomb. He’d managed to piss her off, and right before an hour-long car ride to Maple Grove.

  Brad took a deep breath, and weighed his response.

  “Okay. I’m going to mention three things, and when I’m done, if you want to stay here and work on that identity theft case, I’ll visit the youth center on my own. First, you initiated this case, by bringing Oliver here last Thursday. You may not have realized at the time that the missing person would have his own triple-X video, but he does. Second, did you know that the Crowne Plaza Hotel in New York, where a basic room starts at $500 a night…” He wasn’t about to share what he’d paid per night for the Labor Day weekend suite. “…has at least forty-four—I stopped counting—adult pay-per-view choices as part of their TV service?” Sharon turned to stare at him. “No we didn’t watch any, but I mention it because porn is big business, which means big money, and that’s enough motivation to lure naïve, unsuspecting kids with their dreams of video stardom.”

  She nodded.

  “Third, my only interest in Jeremy’s video is what clues it might provide about where and by whom it was made. For example, are there palm trees visible through the window? Does the bedroom look like a personal residence? Was it filmed using high quality video equipment? Because I’d like to find Jeremy Young, and maybe bust an illegal porn operation in the process.”

  Sharon stood, grabbed her purse off the desk, and glanced at the Regulator clock on the wall. “No, Yes, and No,” she said. “Let’s go, or we’ll be late.”

  Brad tuned his SiriusXM radio to his favorite—the Symphony Hall—channel 76, as he pulled out of his driveway and headed west toward Route 30. A beautiful orchestral rendition of Pavane for a Dead Princess filled his Mercedes. Unfortunately, Sharon only tolerated symphonic music played adagio or fortissimo, preferably both, and though Ravel’s piece would eventually build, he flipped to a jazz station in the interest of workplace harmony.