by Ray Flynt
Dede bobbed her head. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“That’s why I recognized her,” Kevin explained, “but it took me a few minutes to recall where I’d seen her.”
Kevin’s phone rang again, this time with New Age synthesized music that conjured up an image of waves lapping at the shore while gulls complained overhead.
“Hold on.”
Kevin worked his magic with the keyboard, while Dede rolled her eyes and said, “It’s like an appendage.”
“Remind me of Christa’s last name,” Kevin said when he’d finished texting.
“Anderson.”
Brad took the notebook from his pocket and scribbled the name. “There’s a warrant for her arrest?”
“Sure,” Dede said.
“Is she from Lancaster?”
“No. Philadelphia.” Dede gestured with her hands as she spoke. “Christa managed a second-hand shop in Philly, near the County line, and was suspected of receiving stolen goods from a series of burglaries at hotels in the tourist areas along Route 30, but they couldn’t prove anything. State Police set up a sting, and she took the bait. She plea-bargained for a less than two-year sentence.”
“Given that criminal history, and the fact that she wasn’t from this area, how did she end up on work release?” Brad asked.
“She was a model prisoner during her first six months here,” Dede explained. “Employers in the community contact us periodically, and she went to work for a local laundry service after the staff recommended her. Things went well until she absconded.”
Kevin laughed. “Yeah, here we say, ‘Things were fine until they weren’t’.”
“Do you know the name of the laundry?”
Kevin and Dede exchanged glances, before Dede said, “Ramsey’s Dry Cleaning Emporium.”
Brad wrote that information in his notebook. “Anything else that might help us locate her?”
“The County’s web portal?” Kevin said. Dede shrugged, and Brad thought she looked conflicted.
“Lancaster County has an Internet site where you can look up information on any inmate,” Kevin said, after a moment.
Since Christa came from Philadelphia, Brad knew he could enlist Nick’s help. Turning to Dede, he said, “Any other information?”
“Christa’s making porn?” she asked.
“Yes, web-based adult videos; except that my client’s brother was only seventeen when he made a video with her.”
Dede grimaced in disgust. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” she said, “but Christa is HIV positive.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stunned by the news about Christa Anderson, Brad sat in his car in the Lancaster County Jail’s parking lot, and tried to connect a few dots. He now knew that “Annabelle” from the Cougar Dreams video was Christa Anderson from Philadelphia. He recalled that Derek’s co-worker’s brother—the source of the porn DVD—was also from Philadelphia. There had to be a connection. If Maple Grove was the primary recruitment location for underage male porn stars, then perhaps Christa was a critical link to the women in the videos.
With iPhone in hand, Brad dashed off an e-mail to Nick Argostino. He provided what limited information he had about Christa Anderson, and asked if Nick could find more details from her Philadelphia rap sheet. Brad also consulted his notes and saw that Derek’s co-worker’s last name was Taylor. Derek had made a passing reference to Manford’s brother as Ricky. All Brad knew was that Ricky was from Philadelphia and on probation. It was a shot in the dark, but he also asked if Nick could find any information on a Richard or Ricardo Taylor.
Brad texted Sharon with an update, said he’d be back in the office late in the afternoon and would like to have their case conference at that time rather than wait until morning. He hoped she hadn’t made plans for the early evening.
They needed a breakthrough in locating Jeremy Young. A simple missing person case had led to a murder and opened side issues and blind alleys that were difficult to distinguish from his core inquiry. Did Elias Porterfield’s sex offender status have anything to do with the porn videos, or was sex the only common denominator? Was Carolyn Whiting’s career on the line because of that, or were behind-the-scenes staff rivalries more to blame?
When Brad returned to the office around 4:45 p.m. he found a note from Sharon saying she’d headed out to “get a coffee” and would return “soon.” She had set up a white board next to the desk in preparation for their case review. To it she had taped photographs of each of the porn video performers and beside them written whatever vital information they knew, such as name, age, and what connection, if any, they might have to Maple Grove. She’d even updated the information next to Christa’s picture, including adding in red below her name – HIV+.
Sharon found pictures on the Internet of the type of yellow Jeep Tim Shaw was driving and a black Ford Expedition that, if Wanda’s neighbor Jake was to be believed, had picked up Tim on the morning of his death. These were also posted on the board.
Below all the pictures Sharon provided a timeline of events dating back to June when Christa absconded from the Lancaster County Jail’s work release program, and below that she included what Brad’s high school English lit teacher referred to as the dramatis personae—the cast of characters they’d interviewed regarding the case. Miss Cresswell would always lower her voice an octave as she intoned the words dramatis personae. Brad noticed Oliver Reynolds’ name, and he walked over to the board, picked up a red marker, and turned the ‘V’ in Oliver’s name into a heart, grinning devilishly in anticipation of seeing Sharon’s reaction.
He found Lancaster County’s inmate web portal on his Internet browser, which provided the birthdate and commitment date for Christa Anderson along with the name of the committing judge but little else. He was surprised to see that she was only thirty-one. From her picture she could pass for forty.
Brad brought up XRatedSugarX.com, and provided his user name and password to enter the site. Two new videos were available for viewing, and it gave him the willies to think that a final porn effort by Tim Shaw might have been posted. It was clear that the death of one of their “stars” hadn’t halted production. He would watch the new videos later to glean clues, but clicked on the one-minute preview clips to see the faces of the performers. Tim did not appear in either preview, and as he studied the faces of the actors on the screen Brad realized that they were already included among the photographs on the white board.
Brad clicked on Cougar Dreams, which featured Derek’s brother Jeremy with the woman they now knew as Christa Anderson. It had been ten days since he’d first watched it on the DVD that Derek Young had provided. In the video credits, the performers had been identified as Conner Fox and Annabelle. A legal notice screen appeared first, noting that all of the actors were eighteen years of age or older at the time of the filming, which was not true. Brad hadn’t recalled seeing that legal notice from the DVD, but it’s possible the video was copied to disc by a person who cared little about such notices. Unfolding from the opening credits, brief glimpses of the stars with their film names appeared on the screen, and then the shot he remembered of a Jed Clampett-style mansion. The words Bel Air appeared on the screen, and the image quickly shifted to Conner/Jeremy standing in front of a black limousine.
Brad felt apprehensive and stopped the video.
The Bel Air caption had not appeared on the DVD version. Brad was sure because he remembered summoning the Clampett image and specifically thinking Beverly Hills. Something else bothered him too. He hit the reverse button and watched the scene again. It sped by quickly, so he watched a third time.
That was it: timing.
That same scene on the DVD version moved at glacial speed—he’d commented on that when he first watched—whereas the web video rolled at a much more compelling pace. He saw only one explanation for the differences. Derek’s DVD was an early edit, which had been revised before being uploaded to XRatedSugarX.com. It meant Brad would have t
o speak with Derek’s co-worker. He understood Derek’s reluctance to upset a colleague at work, but Brad needed to outline how serious were the stakes—and enlist his help.
Brad looked at the time: 5:17 p.m. He knew Derek ended his shift at 4 p.m., and he might be able to reach him on his cell phone. After five rings, Brad heard, “Who’s this?”
“It’s Brad Frame, Derek. Can you talk?”
Brad heard a grunt and imagined the gears turning as Derek tried to wangle his way out of the conversation.
“In traffic,” Derek said. “Let me call you back in a few minutes.”
The call disconnected. Brad could only hope that Derek had captured the office line number on his cell, and that he would, in fact, call back. He busied himself scribbling a few notes for their case conference. Moments later the phone rang and he answered, “Brad Frame.”
“Mr. Frame, it’s Derek. What’s up?”
“You at home?”
“No. My relief was late… again,” Derek said, sounding irritated. Brad thought he heard a car door open and traffic noises. “I just pulled into a gas station,” Derek said.
“I’ve discovered an issue with that DVD you gave me,” Brad began. “It’s an early edit of what was eventually posted on that X-rated web site. That means that Manford’s brother was either involved in making the porn or got it from the people who did.”
No response. Had Derek got out to pump gas?
“Derek,” Brad shouted into the phone.
“Huh.”
Brad hoped Derek would take him seriously. “I have to talk with your co-worker. Right now he’s our only hope of finding Jeremy. Can you arrange a meeting for me to talk with him?”
Silence.
“Are you there?” Brad demanded.
Brad heard a deep sigh on the other end of the line, and the unmistakable clicking sound of a gas cap being tightened. “Let me talk with him,” Derek finally said. “We get together in the weight room tomorrow after work. I’ll call you.”
The line went dead.
It would be more than twenty-four hours before Brad heard anything, if Derek followed through.
Brad opened his e-mail program. There were no replies from his inquiry to Nick Argostino, but he found a message Sharon had left earlier that afternoon. He opened it and read, “See attached 9-1-1 call. I got another interesting bit of information from Skip Nelson which I’ll share with you later.”
Patience wasn’t one of Brad’s virtues; just ask Beth or Sharon or Nick. Derek had just told him to wait a full day for the information he needed, and now Sharon held out on a tantalizing detail she’d learned from State Police Detective Nelson. He’d have to take a deep breath and work with what he had.
Brad opened the attachment to Sharon’s e-mail and found a wav file of the 9-1-1 call reporting Tim Shaw’s body. He clicked to listen.
9-1-1 Operator: What is your emergency?
Caller: Ah… a guy’s been hurt… injured… he needs help.
9-1-1 Operator: Where is he located?
Caller: In the… park. By the water.
9-1-1 Operator: What park?
Caller: Nock… ah… mix
9-1-1 Operator: Nockamixon State Park?
Caller: Ah… yeah. Fishing.
The call ended and raised more questions than it answered. The female operator spoke distinctly, with a Boston accent, while the male spoke softly and sounded young and scared. From Sharon’s description of the crime scene and Brad’s view of the lake on Google Earth, the police would have needed more information than the caller provided to find Tim’s body; perhaps they were able to retrieve coordinates from the cell phone call that would have gotten them close to the site. The first report had a fisherman phoning in the information, but the caller’s voice only said “fishing.”
Brad’s mind ran wild with scenarios. The police said that the body had been dead for at least four hours when it was found. If the caller was one of the occupants of the black SUV that had picked up Tim at his mother’s trailer the previous Friday, then it seemed likely that they’d returned to the scene, but why? Had they forgotten an incriminating item? Did they return to see if the body had been found, and when it hadn’t, decided that they needed to make the call? Perhaps Sharon’s “bit of information” from Detective Nelson would shed light on the issue.
Brad suspected the caller was Tanner Jankowski, the seventeen-year-old from Maple Grove that Wanda’s neighbor had identified as one of the occupants of the black SUV. Skinny and dressed in denim overalls Tanner had starred in Barnyard Fantasy. Brad listened to the 9-1-1 call again. He then opened Tanner’s video on XRatedSugarX.com and fast-forward to the obligatory dialogue scene. Tanner had been paired with a bosomy young blonde apparently playing the farmer’s daughter. They’d been dubbed Lars and Maryanne. As they stripped off their clothes, Lars/Tanner said, “I hope you can come back again tomorrow.” Was that a subliminal message to the viewers of the porn site? Tanner looked nervous and spoke haltingly, but there was little doubt it was the same voice Brad had heard on the 9-1-1 tape. The director posed Tanner holding a straw hat in front of his genitals, playing up the shy image. When the farmer’s daughter finally tugged the straw hat away, it became evident he’d not been cast for his acting skills, but that size mattered.
Sharon ambled into the office, coffee cup in hand, just as Brad closed his Internet browser.
“I’m back,” Sharon said. “I had to do a Starbucks run. It’s been that kind of day.”
Brad filled her in on what he’d been doing, including the differences he’d noticed between the DVD Derek had provided and the updated version on the Internet, his contact with Derek, requests to Nick Argostino, and his observations after listening to the 9-1-1 call. “What other information did you get from Skip Nelson?” Brad asked, trying not to show his irritation at having to wait for her news.
“Remember that tree limb I found with the knife slash marks on it?”
Brad nodded.
“There was blood and tissue on it, and they think Tim might have used it to strike his attacker.”
“Couldn’t it be Tim’s blood? You said that his hands were bruised.”
“No. They found the blood at the narrow end of the branch,” Sharon said. “They speculate that Tim would have been holding the thicker end. Remember, I saw it sticking out of the muck at the edge of the lake. When it dried and they stripped away the mud, they spotted the blood. They’ll do DNA testing, but they already typed it as A-positive, and Tim had type O blood.”
“Did Skip shed any light on how they managed to find Tim’s body based on the vagueness of that 9-1-1 call?”
Sharon sighed. “Well, you’re not going to like this, but what you heard wasn’t the complete call. Their recorder failed in the middle of that call.”
Brad rubbed his forehead; this news was giving him a headache.
Sharon continued, “The operator made notes in which the caller specified that the “injured” man was near the shore on the west side of the northern finger of the lake about two hundred yards south of the boat launch. There was no caller ID—most likely a restricted cell phone call. A park ranger visited the area by boat, spotted the body, and he directed EMT’s to the site.”
Shit. “So much for returning to the scene of the crime,” Brad muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Brad said, “just thinking out loud. Thanks for prepping the white board. Good job.”
Sharon glanced toward the board, and Brad expected her to see his mischievous handiwork with Oliver’s name, but instead she said, “I’m still suspicious about Bob Matthews, but I haven’t been able to get in touch with Karen to find out if what Jill said about his interest in astronomy is true.”
Brad arched an eyebrow. “She hasn’t returned your calls?”
“I left a couple of messages, but when I hadn’t heard from her by yesterday I called Natalie. Karen’s been out sick all week.”
That news struck Brad as odd. “Na
talie’s her supervisor?”
Sharon nodded. “Natalie volunteered that the creeping crud has been making its way around their office.”
“Call your friend Natalie,” Brad said, “and ask her to relay a message to Karen Matthews for her to call you.”
Sharon scribbled a note. “Will do.”
Brad gestured toward the photographs on the white board. “The XRatedSugarX site has used twelve porn actors, five females and seven males—with six guys left after Tim’s death. Right now, three of the young men can be linked to Maple Grove, and the only woman on whom we have any information is from Philadelphia.”
“And Manford Taylor’s brother is from Philadelphia.” Sharon completed his thought.
“Yes. This makes finding information about both of them imperative.”
“I keep wondering where all of these porn stars are staying,” Sharon said. “Tim wasn’t staying at home. Jeremy isn’t living with his mother. It seems clear these videos are being filmed somewhere in this region, and Tanner Jankowski’s home is at least 250 miles from here.”
Brad made a note for himself. “Tanner’s family is a loose end I have to follow-up on.”
“With Whiting out at Maple Grove, we’ll probably get less information.”
“That’s why it’s good to have friends in high places,” Brad said.
“Nick?” Sharon asked.
“No. I was thinking about Oliver. He could contact the McKean County Juvenile Probation Office.”
At the mention of Oliver’s name, Sharon smiled. “Do you think they’re all staying in a commune?”
Brad lived a colorful existence after he graduated from college, but even he couldn’t imagine a life of screwing in front of the camera by day and shacking up at night. “However they’ve been living, I’m sure things have changed with the group since Tim’s murder. Tanner witnessed the murder, and you can tell he is frightened on that 9-1-1 tape—probably fears for his own life. Word will spread of Tim’s fate, and if the group is living together, I suspect the organizers will face a rebellion. I mean, money might ease whatever scruples they have about filming porn, but even burglars, car thieves, and receivers of stolen goods would draw the line at being an accessory to murder.”
