Blood Porn (A Brad Frame Mystery Book 3)

by Ray Flynt

  “You don’t sound excited.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll be the designated driver, so no wine for me.”

  “Then you can let him get soused, and take advantage of him.”

  Sharon appeared to suppress a chuckle. Brad knew that if she thought he’d really meant it she’d be storming out of the office right then.

  After a few moments of silence Sharon sagged in her chair, and sighed, “I don’t know.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth,” Brad said, “he seems like a nice guy to me.”

  “He is; smart, and with a good sense of humor.”

  “And he works for a probation department so he’s already had a background check.”

  Sharon laughed. “Yeah, that’s more than I can say for most of the first dates I’ve had.”

  “But?” Brad drew out the question.

  “Oh… I feel…,” Sharon sputtered. “I feel like a shit for saying this; it’s just that; he’s blind.”

  Brad suspected that might be her issue.

  “I mean. He can’t see me, so what does he possibly see in me?”

  Brad took a moment to digest that logic. “Maybe he appreciates your inner beauty.”

  Sharon crossed her eyes and rocked her head from side to side. “He doesn’t know me all that well.”

  “Isn’t that what dates are for? After all, you’re not picking out a China pattern yet,” Brad said. “Although… I’m imagining the red-headed children the two of you could make.”

  She smiled for an instant, but quickly resumed her pouting.

  “You met him five years ago?” Brad asked, although he already knew the answer.

  “Yes.”

  He finished printing the directions to Susan Young’s address, and stood preparing to dash out the door after he said, “I’m thinking he knows you pretty well. After all, it’s taken him five years to work up the courage to ask you out on a first date.”

  Chapter Nine

  Brad’s Mercedes approached the apartment complex in Paoli where Susan Young lived, and he scanned for number 4806. There were at least a dozen two-story brick buildings situated on a sea of oil-stained and crumbling asphalt; a lone maple tree pierced a grassy space at the center of the property next to which sat a rusty swing set.

  Several of the empty parking spots were numbered, but he found one with no numbers adjacent to apartment 4806-C, a ground floor unit, and eased into it. His posh car looked conspicuous next to the lineup of decade old sedans and beat-up pick-up trucks. Oliver Reynolds had mentioned that Mrs. Young lived in public housing where rentals were capped at 35% of monthly wages.

  A stiff breeze greeted him as he stepped out of his car exactly at their agreed upon appointment time, and walked briskly toward Mrs. Young’s front door. Brad pressed the doorbell and heard a buzzing sound inside the apartment. Between the sidewalk and the edge of the building he noticed well-trimmed shrubs and mums surrounded by fresh mulch.

  The inner door opened and Susan Young sized him up through the screen door. “Mr. Frame?”

  “Yes. Brad.”

  She unlatched the screen. Brad pulled it toward him and entered the combination living/dining room. Like the rest of the complex, he found it utilitarian. The space was also dark, since the single window had heavy drapes drawn in front of it.

  Susan Young wore a pair of dark khakis and a striped blouse. Her streaked hair was styled short with bangs, and Brad thought she looked a few years younger than he did. He’d have to get accustomed to the idea that twenty-seven year old clients could have parents younger than him. “Let’s sit over here,” she said, pointing at the wooden table under a brass chandelier with faux candlesticks. “I just made a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

  “Thanks, just black.”

  Brad eased into a wooden chair at the dining table facing the living room. On a nearby coffee table he spotted a couple of books, recognized Chesapeake, the Michener title, and saw that the edge was rubber stamped with the local library logo. The clatter of dishes drew his attention to the pass-through to the galley kitchen. He watched as Susan Young poured coffee and reached into a nearby cabinet. She emerged carrying two cups and a plate of strawberry cream wafers.

  “My German upbringing insists on sweets whenever I have guests. This is the best I can do on short notice.” She laughed, sat opposite him, and got right to the point. “Derek said you wanted to talk about Jeremy.”

  “Jeremy’s been missing from Maple Grove for about two months,” Brad began. Susan lowered her head, and the corners of her mouth drooped.

  “Derek contacted Jeremy’s probation officer who knows one of my associates, Sharon Porter,” Brad continued, “and she suggested that I might be able to help find him.” Brad fished a business card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “They came to see me last week. Sharon and I visited Maple Grove earlier this week and talked with the cottage staff. We’re still not any closer to finding him, but I wanted to learn about your interactions with Jeremy.”

  Susan studied his card. “I’m surprised Derek cared. He was never that close to his brother, and we don’t have much of a relationship.”

  “Is there a reason for that?” Brad reached for one of the cookies.

  “Derek and Jeremy were just too far apart in age.”

  “I meant your relationship with Derek?”

  “I knew that’s what you meant,” Susan said, and took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve made a few bad choices in my life. Getting involved with Greg Young was the worst.”

  Brad placed his cup on the table and leaned back hoping she would continue.

  “I met Greg at a friend’s house at the beginning of my junior year in high school. He was twenty and I was seventeen. He was charming, good looking, had a car, and a job—as a minimum wage clerk in a computer game store; the hot new thing back then.”

  Brad nodded, thinking of the hours he and his friends used to spend playing Space Invaders.

  “What more could a young girl ask for?” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Our dates,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “consisted of playing the newest video games in his parents’ family room, then we’d drive to a fast-food restaurant for a burger, after which he’d find a quiet spot on a back road where we could make out.

  “Things were great. Then I got pregnant. Abortion wasn’t an option… not with my fundamentalist parents and Greg’s Roman Catholic ones.”

  The details spilled out. Brad wasn’t the first person who’d heard her story, and as he reflected on his social psychology class he wondered if Susan had ever been part of a support group.

  “I dropped out of school,” she continued, “which still has consequences twenty-eight years later. We were married and moved in with Greg’s parents. We’d started down a path that was difficult to turn back from, like a thorny thicket in a Grimm fairy tale. I never realized I was the damsel in distress until it was too late.

  “Derek had a tough life, and I’m sure he blames me for that. We stayed with Greg’s family until Derek was about three. Things were always tense with them. After my dad died, we moved into my mother’s place and had a tiny apartment in her basement. Mom looked after Derek so that Greg and I could both work, and by the time Derek was in the second or third grade we’d managed to get an apartment on our own. Things were stable for a couple of years until the drinking started.”

  She spoke matter-of-factly. Her circumstances were cause for bitterness, but she didn’t present them that way. Brad never felt like she was angling for his sympathy.

  “Was that before or after Jeremy was born?” Brad asked.

  “Before. A year or two. Greg didn’t become a world-class alcoholic overnightthat took training. The rest of us were gradually conditioned in the process.”

  Her use of language was more than he expected of a high school dropout and Brad reflected on the pile of books she was reading.

  “Did your husband abuse you?”

  She rubbed her hand behind her ear
. “Not in the way that you’re asking. He never laid a hand on me. If he had, I’d have kicked him out a lot sooner. Do you know the story about a frog and boiling water?”

  “Don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

  “Well, if you drop a frog into boiling water it will immediately jump out. But if you put a frog in a pot of cold water and then turn on the burner the frog gradually adapts to the temperature until it’s too late. That’s what my life was like with Greg.”

  Brad wondered if that really was true—about the frog—but understood its analogy to Susan Young’s situation. It also reinforced his thought that she’d participated in group therapy. “I got the impression from talking with Derek that he never had much of a relationship with his father.”

  “And vice versa; Greg was built for making babies, not raising them. I was the glue that held what we had together, and I’m afraid I didn’t do a very good job,” she said ruefully.

  “From what you’ve said, I take it Jeremy wasn’t a planned addition?”

  Susan paused, drew a finger under her right eye, and shook her head. Moments later she began to sob. Brad spotted a box of tissues next to the sofa, and brought it to her.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, Brad. I didn’t mean to lose it. I try hard not to live in the land of regrets.”

  “It’s okay. We all have them. When you’re ready, tell me about Jeremy.”

  Susan pushed back her chair. “I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared through an archway, and moments later Brad heard the sound of running water followed by Susan blowing her nose. Brad thought about his own regrets: not focusing his life sooner, wishing he’d been closer to his father before the stroke, realizing he could have used a woman like Beth in his life twenty years earlier. No wonder people were fascinated by time travel—a chance to go back and not only relive a crucial episode, but to choose a different path. But like the prime directive given to the crew of Star Trek’s Enterprise that they were forbidden from interfering with the social development of a planet, real life offers second chances but no do overs. Dwelling too much on regrets ultimately becomes another reason for regret.

  Susan returned carrying the coffee, and after she filled her own cup offered more to Brad, and then left the carafe on a trivet in the middle of the table. “As you suspected, Jeremy wasn’t planned. Most of my life hasn’t been planned.” She laughed. “You know, it’s like that movie a series of unfortunate events.”

  Brad nodded.

  “When Greg became verbally abusive with the children I finally kicked him out. Jeremy was, I think, only two at that time. I’m sure Derek wishes I had kicked him out earlier. After Greg was gone, Derek—never the most communicative—told me that Greg treated him like that all the time when I wasn’t around.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “I never knew exactly. Greg crashed with his parents some of the time—God bless his mother, she put up with a lot. Mostly he lived on the streets. When he died two years later the police said they found his body in the woods next to the Paoli hospital. He apparently had a mini-campsite. I later learned he’d been a frequent visitor to the hospital’s emergency room for detox.”

  “What was the cause of death?” Brad asked.

  “Exposure. It was in January, and we’d had a period of sustained below-freezing temperatures.”

  “Jeremy wouldn’t have many memories of his father?”

  Susan Young shook her head. “I worried about him not having a man in his life, but he seemed to cope. After what happened with Greg I swore off any men in my life. My mom helped me and Derek did too when he was still around. But when he was old enough, Derek left, and then it was just me and Jeremy.”

  Brad let the silence settle in, sensing that Susan had more to say. He also felt that she’d be able to cope with the bombshell that her youngest son had made porn videos.

  She stared at him, and then averted her gaze. “More coffee?” She pointed at the pot.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “Tell me about the circumstances that led to Jeremy being sent to Maple Grove?”

  “Jeremy isn’t a bad kid,” she began. “Derek gave me much more trouble as a teenager—more confrontational, that surly you-think-I’m-a-boy-but-I’m-really-a-man attitude. I’m sure you swaggered around the house when you were fifteen.”

  They both laughed.

  “Jeremy was always laid back… of course, he didn’t grow up with all the tension Greg created in our household. He did anything I asked, and managed to get average grades in school. When he turned eleven I stopped arranging for child care, which was my mistake, but quite frankly I couldn’t afford it.”

  “I understand,” Brad said, not wanting to seem judgmental.

  “He fell in with the wrong crowd, and I wasn’t around to supervise. Jeremy tends to be a follower and always willing to go along.” She rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together. “Shortly after his fifteenth birthday he and two of his older friends, Dan and Louis Everhart, were caught selling Oxycodone tablets at school. Jeremy told me he only sold one of the tablets, but that was enough. He spent two nights in juvenile detention, which scared him… and changed him, at least for a while. I mean he couldn’t have been more eager to please when he returned home. We had to go to court and he was put on probation.”

  “Was Oliver Reynolds always his PO?” Brad asked.

  “Yes, and you know, for a blind man he saw things in Jeremy that I never had. Mr. Reynolds came up with the notion that Jeremy was a follower. I mean, not necessarily at home,” she chuckled, “but peer acceptance was important to him.”

  “It is for most teenagers,” Brad said.

  “Jeremy didn’t have any problems for the next two years, but then earlier this year he and Harry Schroeder stole a car.” Susan sat shaking her head. “Harry lives right across the way.” She pointed toward the front door. “They hung out all the time and Harry spent time here, so I thought he was an okay influence. Jeremy couldn’t explain why they stole the car, other than Harry had goaded him into it on the spur of the moment. They were down at the shopping center, and this woman parked her BMW at the curb in front of the Chinese restaurant, jumped out and left the car running while she ran into pick up her order. According to Jeremy, and I have no reason to doubt him, Harry pointed at the car, slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Jump in.’ Then he added, ‘You drive.’ You can imagine the rest of this story.”

  Brad smiled. He knew that car theft was what had landed Jeremy in Maple Grove, but hadn’t known the details.

  “Jeremy didn’t have much experience driving,” she continued. “The woman watched as her car was being stolen, so the police were notified right away and knew which direction it had headed, and about two miles out of town, with lights flashing and siren blaring, they caught up with them. Jeremy panicked and crashed it into a guardrail. The damage looked minor, I saw the photographs at the juvenile hearing, but the repairs cost about $2,500.

  “Mr. Reynolds had nice things to say about Jeremy at the hearing; like how cooperative he’d been. But the owner of the car was the wife of a prominent attorney in town, and with the damages and all they made a big deal of the case. The judge said that because this was Jeremy’s second juvenile offense, that he was ordering him to be placed.”

  “Tell me about the circumstances under which he left Maple Grove.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. One of the cottage parents called me to say he’d run away and to let them know if I heard from him. And Mr. Reynolds called a day or two later with the same message.”

  “You’ve had no contact with Jeremy.”

  “None.” She pushed back her chair. “Don’t get me wrong, I worry about him, but I can’t understand what the issue is now. I mean, he’s turned eighteen and would be out of there anyway at this point.”

  “Based on what you were telling me earlier about your own life,” Brad began, “I think you’ll appreciate our concern that Jeremy has ma
de some bad choices.” Brad reached in his jacket and withdrew the computer photograph of the older woman who’d been in the web video with Jeremy. “I want to show you a picture and see if you recognize this person.” He unfolded the paper and handed it to her.

  She glanced at it and then slid it toward him. “I don’t…,” she paused, then pulled the paper back and took a closer look. “I think this is… yes, it might be the woman that came to see Jeremy when he was home for the Fourth of July weekend.”

  “Do you remember her name?”

  She heaved a sigh. “No. She wasn’t here very long, and because she was so much older than any of the girls he hung out with at school I thought maybe she was from the probation office. You know… checking up on him. She never introduced herself.”

  “Did you hear any of their conversation?”

  Susan rubbed her forehead. “When she arrived I was outside trimming the bushes and replacing a few flowers that had burned out in that June heat wave we had. When I came back inside they were sitting here at the table having a conversation that came to a halt. I didn’t want to embarrass him by playing twenty questions. I made a short trip to the grocery store, and when I came back she was gone. I asked Jeremy who she was. He hemmed and hawed and finally said she was a vocational counselor from the youth center.”

  Although he suspected the woman’s video name was fictional, he thought he’d ask. “Does Annabelle mean anything?”

  “Is that her name?” Susan asked, staring down at the photograph.

  “We aren’t sure.” Brad took back the photograph and tucked it in his jacket pocket. “We found the woman’s picture on an adult video. Unfortunately, your son was in the same video.”

  She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. “No… no, no,” she muttered, as if the repetition would make it so.

  Brad realized that the meeting Susan described took place before Jeremy ran away from Maple Grove. Al and Gloria Freeman had described Jeremy acting funny following his July Fourth home visit, and he left days later. It now appeared as if “Annabelle” had recruited him for the porn trade and that was why he left Maple Grove.