by Anna Burke
In other situations Mr. P had drugged them or had resorted to force to get what he wanted. Mostly what he wanted was to film them, creating the illicit smut sent out along many of the same networks that were used for transporting the legal porn. The voyeur did not participate as an actor. The youths either preyed upon one another or one of Mr. P’s minions, like Bobby Simmons, stepped in. Mr. P acted as the film’s director, scripting the perversion.
At other times, he could be seen issuing orders to remove or dispose of the youth when he tired of them. The music-industry despot ruled his kingdom without objection or opposition. He was a pint-sized King Henry the 8th doling out royal favors and then issuing decrees to dispense with his subjects. Mr. P’s decrees ran the gamut from payoffs and bail outs, to rejection and abandonment. Perhaps returning a street urchin to the streets, or sending them into permanent exile. Exile was the worst fate. His discards, most of them young women, were shipped off. They were smuggled over the border into Mexico, via a perverse take on the “underground railroad”—this one led into slavery, not out of it.
Never directly on camera, but lurking in the shadows, was the doc. Dr. Max Samman was useful to Mr. P in so many ways. More than merely the doctor of record, he ran the porn studio. That included the networks required to distribute the materials they produced, legit or otherwise. Working behind the scenes, he also ran the drug smuggling and human trafficking “sidelines,” as he and Mr. P referred to them.
Sometimes the doc could also be heard in the background strategizing with Mr. P about the best way to solve a problem with an unruly subject, like Kelly Fontana. The cold case team was going through hours of film from around the time Kelly was killed. She could be seen at parties, initially in the company of Bobby Simmons, when she wasn’t more than 15 years old. Mr. P picked her out right away. The “you ought to be in pictures” proposition Kelly told Tommy about must have been made years before she worked as an attendant at the Agua Caliente spa at age 19. There were more photos and film snippets featuring Kelly Fontana, much like those found among Bobby Simmons’ possessions. In other films. Kelly sat near Mr. P, where he caressed her luxurious mane of auburn hair like she was a beloved pet of some kind.
“What to do about Kelly” had become an issue, in the fall of ’98 when Kelly Fontana had a tantrum. On film, Mr. P was hurt and angry that she had threatened him, and wondered if the doc could give her something to calm her down. The doc agreed to give her something, but argued that she had to go. He proposed exile. She was still young enough to fetch a decent price in the marketplace; her red hair making her “an exotic,” as he referred to her.
Initially, Mr. P balked, apparently having something akin to affection for Kelly. But then he must have yielded to pressure from the doc, or to fear, since Kelly disappeared shortly after. Some plan was afoot that night when fear suddenly morphed into savagery and, despite whatever misgivings he had, Mr. P killed Kelly. He could be seen, on film, sniffling about it years later as he spoke to Kim Reed.
“What could I do? I had to stop Kelly, my lovely, my betrayer who turned on me like a rabid dog. I could not let her bring my work to an end when I have so much more to offer.” It was all melodramatic—King Richard the 3rd, a role better suited to the twisted little man even than King Henry the 8th. By the time Jessica visited Mr. P at his office, he was alarmed, trying to keep out ahead of events.
Kim said that, when Arnold Dunne informed them about Chester Davis, Mr. P had a good laugh about it. That is, until Dunne mentioned that Chet had put together his very own dream team, with a lawyer from a big-time law firm to represent him alongside Dick Tatum. Mr. P might have let that slide, too, but a day or so later, Bobby Simmons, tracked him down with a similar story about a nosy lawyer asking a lot of questions about Kelly. Bobby demanded help to get out of town, in exchange for his continued silence about what happened to Kelly Fontana and sundry other misdeeds to which he was privy.
Still in his possession were items taken from Kelly the night she was killed. Bobby had cleaned out her apartment, taking gifts from Mr. P, some of them autographed, and Bobby had Kelly’s cell phone. The cell phone had been taken from the doc on the way to the hospital the night Kelly stabbed him. Once they made her disappear, permanently, the doc had intended to send it cross country, making it look as though the young woman had run off. In all the confusion that night, Bobby Simmons ended up with it. When Jessica asked specifically about that phone, Bobby Simmons must have figured the jig was up, and decided to “get out of Dodge.”
Once Mr. P decided to act, he put Arnold Dunne and Justin Baker to work. Justin Baker had been picked up by the police, too. He wasn’t talking, but the young man was another of Mr. P’s “prodigies.” When they searched the hovel where the young man lived in LA they found a copy of a demo made by the aspiring rapper. Lurid “publicity shots” and an X-rated music video were also recovered at the scene. They figured he’d eventually spill his guts when he realized Mr. P was no longer in a position to bail him out—or seek retribution.
Arnold Dunne confessed his part in the murder and mayhem. His price had been money and drugs, and a get-out-of-the-country-for-life gift package of smut that he could sell to finance his retirement in Mexico. He got Chester Davis released by putting up the bail money. After picking him up, it was easy to coax him into partying. He didn’t have to kill him, exactly. He just kept feeding the addict drugs: heroin laced with fentanyl, in addition to pills and meth. When Chet Davis aspirated on his own vomit, Arnold Dunne rolled him over, making sure he was gone for good. That’s how he left his fingerprints on the dead man’s body. Had he called 911 instead, Chester Davis might have lived to see another day.
Bobby Simmons was another matter. Arnold Dunne set up a meeting where the not-too-bright Simmons showed up to make a trade—the items he held linking Mr. P to Kelly in exchange for $50,000. Bobby Simmons demanded to see the cash before he forked over the small box of items that had belonged to Kelly. A more public meeting place might have made it difficult for Arnold Dunne to complete the transaction in the way Mr. P ordered it. He handed the money to Bobby, took the box from him and, then, put a bullet into Bobby’s brain.
He then took Bobby’s wallet, and placed drugs in Bobby’s lap, aiming to make it look like a dispute about drugs had cost Bobby Simmons his life. Arnold Dunne ended up with the money, $50k plus the couple hundred bucks Bobby had on him. The money was only part of Arnold’s severance package. Included, as well, were drugs, including those hypos that would have severed ties to Mr. P and the doc, forever. The contents were similar to those found years earlier in the hypo that everyone assumed belonged to Kelly. The partial print was a match to the doc.
“We’ll probably never know for sure what happened to Kelly. Maybe Mr. P will tell us the rest of the story, but who knows? My guess is that they held her for days, drugging her like they did me. I presume they were making arrangements to get her out of the country, dead or alive, when she attempted to escape. She almost made it...” Jessica’s voice trailed off as she paused for a moment.
Jessica resumed pacing, as she had been doing while spilling her guts to Father Martin. She tried not to bump into anything in the cramped space. If she had been at home she would have found something to kick or throw. Under the circumstances, pacing and ranting would have to do.
“Where’s your God in all of this? Sleeping more soundly even than me, apparently. I’m sorry but I just don’t get it. What possible logic could there be in allowing the likes of Christopher Pogswich and Maxwell Samman to roam the earth long enough to become old men, while leaving a trail of dead and broken young women behind them? I know Kelly wasn’t naïve, but she was young and stupid, and dealing with an untreated mental illness. Why did she have to suffer and die so horribly?”
Jessica stopped pacing and hovered over Father Martin like a hawk about to pounce upon its prey. Before Father Martin could say a thing she continued. “And if you say anything remotely like, ‘God works in mysterious ways
,’ I will walk out of here right now.”
“Jessica, I wish I could answer your question. I don’t know any better than you do why such a bad thing happened to your friend. On the face of it, evil does appear to get the upper hand, at times.”
“You think? A tidal wave of shit—yes, I said shit—has swamped me. I’m not complaining about the ordinary, run of the mill, muck and mire that laps at your ankles day in and day out. That’s old news. All the crap that went along with building a career and running a household, while trying to have a meaningful relationship with the man I married. Did I scream at God about that? No! Or how about blowing up like a balloon just looking at a piece of cake, while on fertility drugs trying to have a baby? Not a problem for the soon-to-be second Mrs. James Harper, by the way. How is that fair?” Finally exhausted by her rant, Jessica slumped down in a chair opposite the priest.
“What I want is an explanation for the surge of depravity and horror that has engulfed me. Was it really necessary for me to walk in on the love of my life betraying me, in my own bed, with another woman? How is it fair that my friend, Laura, barely into her thirties, is widowed by a maniac who murdered her husband?” She looked up wearily, making eye contact with Father Martin.
“Kelly didn’t even make it into her thirties. I’ve told you what a mess she was, how much she hurt me at times, but I loved her. She had just started to figure things out, Father Martin. Not only was she killed, but she was tormented for days before being mangled by Mr. Pervert and his sidekick, Dr. Doom. I don’t get it, not fair, not fair.”
“It’s not fair, Jessica. Welcome to the human race. I am so sorry that you’ve suffered so much loss and witnessed such villainy. It’s despicable. Your penchant for justice is a good thing, in the context of the profession you’ve chosen. Always putting everything on a scale and getting it all to balance out neatly is a risky proposition. There are a lot of people who would object to the privilege and prosperity you have, like your friend Kelly did at times. And the fact that some people have more even than you and Jim, may well have driven your husband to ruthless disregard for anything other than getting more. From what I’ve seen, he may have already gotten more than he bargained for in his pursuit of a new trophy wife.”
“Et tu, bruté. Don’t you priests have anything better to do than watch entertainment TV? Will this humiliation never end?”
“My God, as you have called him, has done a lot to try to steer us away from evil. You must have learned about the Ten Commandments in catechism. Did Moses set down those laws for his people on a whim, or pick them out of thin air? Like some kind of late night ‘Top Ten’ list? Does it surprise you that human beings murder and steal, commit adultery and covet what others possess?”
“No, I’m not surprised, in the abstract sense. I’m a lawyer. I get it that people do bad things. Just not to me, I guess, and not to Laura or her poor husband, Roger. Why Kelly?”
“Evil is more shocking when it strikes so close to home, I get that. I’ve said this to you before, Jessica. You’ve been making the best of some very bad situations. You and your friends have helped put a stop to some sick and evil people. You weren’t able to help Kelly, but you are able to help Kim. How many others might have fallen prey to Mr. P and the doc if they hadn’t been stopped? You’ve helped them too. You’re going to help more people by practicing law again instead of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself because things aren’t fair.”
“I hear you, Father Martin. I’m trying to be strong, but I do feel sorry for myself. My privilege and prosperity haven’t protected me one iota from betrayal, danger and loss. The boost I get from buying beautiful new things doesn’t last long, but it’s better than nothing. I want to believe that good is stronger than evil but at the moment it seems like a toss-up, at best.”
“Toss-up isn’t too far off, in the short run. We have our work cut out for us, as humans. I ask myself the same things. What I come up with is that it has something to do with God’s desire that humans avoid hurting others, and pursue goodness, as a conscious and deliberate choice—that whole free will thing, you know? If it’s a choice, a lot of us are going to make the wrong one. But I’m betting on goodness, over the longer term. Like that notion borrowed from the transcendentalists by Reverend King: the arc of the moral universe is long but bends toward justice.” Her face must have reflected the doubt she felt.
“Oh come on, Jessica. On some level you believe that, too. Otherwise, why would you put yourself in harm’s way to find out the truth? That’s not to say I agree with all the decisions you’ve made, in that regard. You scared the hell out of me—yes, I said hell—talking about some of the impulsive things you’ve done. God has sent you, not one, but three detectives to warn you about that side of your nature. You might want to listen.” Jessica folded her arms across her chest, and began tapping her toe in protest. The lecturing tone angered her. Worse was the anxiety triggered; he was right.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop preaching. Jessica, there’s one more thing. Truth-seeking requires work. It does mean ‘waking up’ to your own life. You’ve been given a wake-up call and a great opportunity if you heed that call. Where have you been all your life, Jessica, and where are you going?”
Jessica contemplated all that she and Father Martin had discussed as she drove back to Mission Hills. Was justice the antidote to envy, virtue the counterpart to vice? Could love prevail against even the vilest acts of desperate mortals? He had given her absolution for her “sins.” Things she regarded more as psychological problems than religious transgressions. Anger, despair, impulsiveness bordering on recklessness, compulsive spending, self-absorption, the line she walked between envy and outrage about injustice were all, no doubt, in the case notes made by her shrink.
He had challenged her to change her life. Read the books he’d given her, take time to pray and meditate, diligently, daily. Keep a journal. Write about the darkness that haunted her. Look deeper into the mystery, until she could find the light. Could she do it? Where should she begin, and how?
Jessica’s thoughts turned to her friends, who were struggling each in their own way. Laura was as lost as Jessica about all of this, preferring to keep her fight with demons in the realm of psychotherapy. “I’ll add all of the new traumas to the list of crap I have to process in my grief group.”
Tommy, reeling from the new revelations about Kelly, was furious. He was furious with Mr. P and the doc, and with Kelly, too. He had asked Jessica, “How could she have been so stupid? Why didn’t she ask for help? What on earth made her keep so many secrets?”
“Maybe she was ashamed or scared, Tommy? Or, trying to protect you...” He cut her off.
“Ashamed? Scared? How do you think I felt when I told her I was gay? I was terrified, but I still trusted her enough to tell her the truth.”
“I’ll ask Father Martin for you. I’m going to go see him. Maybe he’ll have some insights into how this has happened, and why.”
“Are you kidding me? You still believe that hocus pocus they fed us at St. Theresa’s? Kelly was a good little Catholic school girl when she started hanging out with Bobby Simmons and his perv friends. All that holiness did her a lot of good, didn’t it? Hell, the Church had guys like them wearing the collar, Jessica.” His face had taken on that splotchy look that went with anger or other extreme emotions. Sparks flew from his eyes. No elfish twinkle, but a blaze of rage.
“Do you think Father Martin would sit down and talk about this with me, a gay man? Would he offer comfort and solace, absolve me of my many sins, or invite me back into the Church for Holy Communion? Why would I do that, anyway? Why would I want to go where I’m not welcome? There is no God, Jessica. The sooner you face that, the better.” Jessica had been speechless. Taken aback, she could not find words, even when he collapsed in her arms and sobbed.
Now, Jessica was still deep in thought when she entered the kitchen. She hoped that Bernadette would be there and they could talk about the things Father Martin had s
aid. Bernadette would support her. Share her own efforts to take up the challenge and live a more conscious life focused on the good in it.
“Hello, Jessica, how are you doing, darling? Bernadette has been telling me about all you’ve been through. I had no idea, my sweet girl. I am so sorry.”
“Mom, what are you doing here?” She asked as she tumbled into an open chasm; alarmed by nothing more than the sight of her own mother.
“Didn’t you get my post card? I came home to celebrate with you and your father. They’re going to honor Hank next week and I didn’t want to miss that. Let’s go have lunch on El Paseo and see if we can find something to wear.” Before Jessica could answer, she rushed forward and embraced her, holding her so tightly that she nearly crushed her.
“I have something I need to tell you. I couldn’t tell you on the phone, and I should wait, but...” Suddenly, her mother seemed to shrink in her arms.
“Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Life is an extravaganza! Figuring out how to hang tough and make the most of the wild ride is the challenge. On my way to Oahu to join the rock musician and high school drop-out I had married in Tijuana, I was nabbed as a runaway. Eventually the police let me go, but the rock band broke up. Our next stop: Disney World, where we trained to be chefs. More education landed us in academia at The Ohio State University. For decades I researched, wrote, and spoke about a number of gloriously nerdy topics. Retired now, I’m still married to the same sweet guy and live with him near Palm Springs, California. I have picked up a longstanding interest in fiction writing. The Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery series is set here in this desert paradise.
Stop by and visit http://www.desertcitiesmystery to find out more...
