Blood Porn

by Ray Flynt

  “Do you recall what time?”

  “Shortly before nine,” he said.

  Since he spoke so confidently about the time, Brad wanted to ask how he knew, but let it pass.

  “What grabbed my attention was Tim slamming the screen door. The damn kid always did that, ever since they lived here. If I had a dollar for every time I mentioned it to Wanda… well, you know.”

  Brad nodded that he did.

  “Tim ran down the stairs, toward the SUV and tugged on the front passenger door, which must have been locked since he pounded on the window and said, ‘Star gets shotgun.’ I didn’t understand what that meant—the star part. After a minute, a young guy got out of the front seat, jumped in the back, and Tim took his place.”

  “There were three people in the vehicle?” Brad asked.

  “No. Tim made four.”

  “Could you see who was driving?”

  “A woman was driving, with Tim next to her and two guys in the back… after their little switcheroo.”

  Brad thought about Sharon’s description of the crime scene, and their speculation that Tim had gone there for a porn shoot. He pulled out his wallet and extracted the picture of the woman with the butterfly tattoo that had been featured on the video with Jeremy Young. He showed it to Jake, asking, “Might this have been the woman driving the SUV?”

  Jake scratched his head. “Man, I don’t know. The windows were lightly tinted, so it wasn’t easy to make out faces. It could’ve been but,” gesturing to the photograph, “this woman looks older than the one I saw.”

  Brad remembered that he still had the photograph in his jacket pocket of the boy that Alice and Brody Elliott had identified as Tanner Jankowski, and pulled that out to show to Jake. “One more,” Brad said, handing him the second photograph. “Do you recognize him?”

  “Yeah.” Jake’s head bobbed with certainty. “Skinny dude. He’s the one that swapped seats with Tim.”

  “I’ve got two more questions. Do you recall what Tim was wearing?”

  Jake shrugged. “I guess his usual, jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t notice otherwise.”

  “Did you tell all this to the police when they were here on Saturday?”

  “I wasn’t here; visited with my daughter on Saturday. Wanda told me about the police when she asked me to keep an eye on her place.”

  Brad knew he’d be sharing this information with Detective Nelson. “The State Police might want to talk with you.”

  Jake circled his finger in the air in a big-deal gesture. “Lived here thirty years. I’m easy enough to find.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I’m on my way to Potter County,” I told Oliver as I headed for North Central Pennsylvania and the village of Galeton, PA. “I’m meeting with Bob - formerly of Karen and Bob - Matthews, and Jill - formerly of Kevin and Jill - Baker. They used to work at Maple Grove.”

  “What time is your meeting?” Oliver asked.

  “Five o’clock, but I just passed Allentown and have another three and a half hours to drive.”

  “Wow,” he said, then after a beat, “Sorry, the receptionist buzzed. My 1:30 appointment is here, but I wanted to ask you about this Friday night. Blood Feathers is performing in Reading this weekend. If I can get us tickets, would you like to go?”

  It was so sweet of him to try and make up for the fact that we’d missed their concert in West Chester. “Sure.”

  “Okay, cool. I’ll let you know.”

  A smile crept over my face. I hadn’t freaked out this time when Oliver asked me on a date; I can’t quite picture us as a couple yet, but I’ve enjoyed his company. He signed off, and I continued my boring drive. The further north I drove the more fall foliage I saw. These remote parts of the state already had colder nights, which brings out the best of the autumn colors. They call Potter County “God’s Country,” but to a city girl like me, there’s a fine line between God’s Country and God-forsaken place.

  Arranging this meeting felt like a shot in the dark; I hoped to learn a clue or two about Maple Grove that might lead us to finding Jeremy Young. Ever since Tim Shaw’s death, Brad and I felt Jeremy’s life was in jeopardy. I’d called the previous Friday and left a message for Bob and Jill that I would like to meet with them. Jill returned my call and said that she remembered me, but claimed Bob didn’t. My own memory of him was fuzzy, but I know we’d met at least once. I’d had more interaction with Jill and Kevin Baker when they were in Reflection cottage, but had only interacted with the Matthews once in Courage cottage. Still, when I said I’d like to talk with them about Maple Grove they agreed to meet.

  Bob and Jill lived off State Route 144 about five miles south of Galeton.

  Based on Karen Matthews’ description I’d expected to see a later-day environmentalist’s paradise with wind mills, solar panels, and rain collecting barrels at a dwelling the size of a cabin. What I found was a sprawling stone and clapboard Pennsylvania farm house. Yes, I spotted a few solar panels on the south side of the roof, but nothing that distracted from the charm.

  As I parked the car and walked to the entry, with its wood frame surrounded by roughhewn stone, I convinced myself that I’d seen that same front door in the video with Jeremy Young; the one where the director had tried to suggest it was filmed at a Beverly Hills mansion. I’d have to wangle my way into visiting bedrooms, to see if any of them looked like the setting for the porn videos. I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a few photos of the entryway for later comparison.

  The front door swung open and Bob Matthews stepped out looking the part of a mountain man in his plaid shirt. He sported a full beard since I’d seen him last; maybe part of his whole back-to-nature lifestyle Karen had described. Or perhaps he wanted to draw attention from the fact that he’d gotten thick around the middle and bald on top. Bob greeted me. “What’s with taking pictures?”

  It’s good to see you again, too, Bob!

  I smiled and said innocently, “It’s so quaint; reminds me of my grandmother’s house.” Granny lived in a row house in South Philly.

  Jill appeared and looked like a brunette Barbie doll, her hair in a ponytail. She wore jeans and a loose fitting blouse, and she sidled next to Bob, draping her arm around his waist as if to say he’s-mine-you-can’t-have-him. Perhaps Karen Matthews should have said that to Jill.

  I raised my cell phone camera and took a picture of the two of them so Brad could see what they looked like. Jill offered a quick smile, while Bob scowled.

  “The happy couple,” I said as I stepped onto the front stoop and dropped the cell phone casually into my purse. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “We’re always glad to have visitors,” Jill said, escorting me into their foyer, which opened into a great room with a floor to ceiling stone fireplace wall, and I could smell the ash from a burnt log. “But we’re still not sure why you’re here.”

  I had been intentionally vague when I called, wanting to see their faces and body language when I shared the reasons for my visit.

  “You mentioned Maple Grove,” Bob said, “but we haven’t worked there since March.”

  “I know. I know. I’ll explain, but could I use your bathroom,” I said, practically crossing my legs. “It’s been a long drive.”

  “Of course.” Jill pointed. “It’s through the master bedroom on your right.”

  Bob shouted after me. “We’ve got a high-tech toilet, but you’ll figure it out.”

  As I passed through the master bedroom it was clear to me that none of the porn videos had been filmed there. Faded vintage wallpaper with repeating wildlife scenes covered the walls, probably hung in the post-World War II era. I’d have to figure out a way to see the upstairs bedrooms.

  I stopped in my tracks as I entered the bathroom and spied the “high-tech” toilet. A regular toilet seat had been affixed to the top of a plywood box, and I remembered what Karen had said about Bob having a composting toilet. On one side of the “box” was a gallon jug of water and on the other a five gal
lon plastic pail to which a note had been attached: One to two scoops after each use. I lifted the cover and stared into a black hole—one that obviously extended below the floor. Eww. I tried not to think of what critters might have access from below.

  I dutifully sprinkled a scoop of composting material when I’d finished, a mixture that looked like sawdust and peat moss, and returned to the living room. Bob stared at me with a shit-eating grin, expecting a reaction, and I didn’t disappoint. “Well, that was fun!” I sighed. “But at least I feel better.”

  Bob and Jill sat side-by-side on a Danish modern sofa that looked like it came from a second-hand shop, and completely out of place for the style of the farmhouse. She snuggled next to him. Clingy much?

  “Well,” I began, as I sank into a lounger opposite them. “I’m working for a private detective agency now, and our current investigation has brought us to concerns about Maple Grove.”

  “Somebody ought to investigate that place,” Bob said.

  Jill shot him a glance. “Bob!”

  He would not be shushed. “I’m serious. There was no reason to get rid of us,” Bob said, aiming a thumb between him and Jill. “We’re a couple and wanted to continue working there, but Whiting wouldn’t re-assign us.”

  Jill patted Bob on the arm. “What Bob is saying is that they have a strict policy that only married couples can be cottage parents. We couldn’t get married, since our divorces weren’t finalized.” She gave Bob a stern look, before turning back to me. “But even if we could get past the marriage issue, neither of us has a degree in social work or psychology.”

  “What a crock of shit!” Bob threw up his hands in disgust, and Jill wriggled away so I could now see an inch of the cushion fabric between them.

  She smiled wanly. “What he’s trying to say—”

  Bob burst in. “What I’m trying to say is that it takes more than a degree to understand what those kids need. We both have degrees. Mine’s in history and Jill’s is in,” he paused, as if trying to remember, “accounting. Sure, Karen has a degree in social work, but when those kids had a problem, who did they come to see?” He pointed at his own chest. “I understood them. They listened to me.”

  Jill inched forward in her seat. “Where are my manners? Can I offer you a drink? We’ve got fresh squeezed lemonade.”

  And disrupt Bob’s scintillating discussion? “No thanks,” I said with a smile.

  Jill sagged into the sofa, and I watched as she grabbed Bob’s thigh, and might have caught him with a fingernail, since he flinched.

  Bob’s tone softened, but he continued. “Do you know why Karen got a degree in social work?” He looked between me and Jill. “She switched from a major in theater because the guy she dated during her freshman year majored in social work.”

  I thought about a few of Karen Matthews’ caustic comments, and I could see why the two of them had been a match, even if he didn’t put any stock in her educational skills.

  As if realizing he’d made his point, Bob said, “You mentioned an investigation. What kind of investigation?”

  I reached into my purse and pulled out an envelope with the dozen photographic images we’d captured from the XRatedSugarX videos. “I’d like you to look at these photographs and tell me if you recognize anybody?”

  I passed the envelope across to Jill, and the two of them slowly leafed through them. I intentionally put Annabelle—the butterfly tattoo lady—on top, hoping they might recognize her.

  Jill pointed at the photo and said, “Does she work at Maple Grove?”

  Given the woman’s age—she was clearly the oldest of any of the porn actors—I could see why Jill jumped to that conclusion, but I wanted their fresh perspective and withheld the source of the images. “Do you know who she is?”

  “No.” Jill turned to Bob and he shook his head.

  The interaction between them grabbed my attention as they silently determined how long to look at each photo.

  After gazing at one woman’s picture, Bob cracked, “She looks like she just had an orgasm.”

  Jill stabbed him with her elbow without doing any damage.

  Bob laughed. “I’m serious. Look at the way her eyelids flutter up in her head.”

  Jill looked at me. “He’s incorrigible. I think Bob learned more from those kids at Maple Grove than they did from him.”

  She said it sweetly, and Bob chuckled, but I couldn’t help but think it was her rejoinder to Bob’s sermonette from a few minutes earlier. Those two were in for a great life together.

  “Wait,” Jill said, tugging a photo back that Bob was about to rotate to the bottom of the pile. “I know him.” She tapped the image. “He was in our cottage. His name is… ah… Jeremy. I can’t remember his last name.”

  From my upside down view, I could see she was looking at Jeremy Young’s picture. “Young is his last name,” I said.

  “Yes, that’s right. Where did you get these?” Jill asked.

  “Keep looking,” I said. “I’ll explain.”

  Bob looked restless as they worked their way through the pile, and after Jill saw Jeremy’s photo, she gave the remainder greater scrutiny. I’d intentionally put Tim Shaw’s picture at the bottom of the stack, and when Jill spotted it she drew it closer to her face, glanced at Bob, and said, “He looks familiar, but I can’t say I know who it is.”

  “Do you remember Tony Damico?” I asked.

  “Yeeesss,” she said, waving the stack of photographs. “This looks a little bit like him, but older.”

  “That’s Tony’s older brother, Tim.”

  “I remember Tony,” Jill said. “If I ever met his brother, I don’t recall.” She handed the pictures back to me. “You should ask Kevin.”

  “What’s this all about?” Bob sounded irritated.

  “At least two of these young men have a connection to Maple Grove. These images were captured at a web porn site.”

  “See, I was right about her having an orgasm.” Bob hooted.

  Jill rolled her eyes.

  “One was underage when the porn was made, and one has been murdered,” I said, scanning their faces for reaction. Jill’s lost its color, while Bob remained stoic.

  “Which one?” Jill asked.

  “Tony’s brother.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “When I talked with Karen and heard about why you weren’t working at Maple Grove any more, I wanted to reach out to former employees,” I explained. “We’ve also been in contact with the institution to identify any others. My boss is meeting with Carolyn Whiting right now.”

  “Good luck with that,” Bob said.

  “What do you mean?” I stared at him innocently hoping to draw out his thoughts.

  Bob eyed Jill, as if seeking permission. She shrugged.

  “Whiting’s not our favorite person. She only seems to care about herself, and it doesn’t matter who she tramples in the process.”

  It sounded to me like Bob was re-litigating his beef about not being able to keep their jobs because they were no longer a married couple. I knew about Whiting’s ice queen reputation, and she hadn’t left me with any warm fuzzies, but I wondered if they were misinterpreting her professional reticence as a character flaw? Nick Argostino often commented that there was no love for him from the men in his command, saying it wasn’t their job to like him but to do their jobs effectively.

  “Martha Amendola hired us,” Jill said. “Kevin and I started about six months before Bob and Karen. I remember how much I appreciated it when she would stop by in the evening to see how Kevin and I were doing. All the kids knew her too. She was like a grandmother figure to them.”

  “Yeah,” Bob agreed. “We probably saw her twice a month.”

  This wasn’t getting my investigation anywhere. “Can you think of anyone at Maple Grove who might have been recruiting students to make porn videos?”

  They both looked perplexed, and shook their heads.

  I decided to try another angle. �
�Jill, the two porn connections we have to Maple Grove both relate to Reflection, your old cottage,” I explained. “It’s possible that Tony’s brother Tim recruited Jeremy. But do you recall any parents, older siblings, et cetera, who might have visited and recruited boys for porn?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, handing back the stack of photographs. “Did you ask Kevin?”

  “My boss is meeting with him tomorrow.” I felt like I’d hit a dead end but still wanted to check out the upstairs bedrooms. I glanced at my watch and said, “I appreciate your time. I love your place,” I gushed. “It’s so cozy. Is there any chance of getting the complete tour?”

  “Come on,” Jill said, “I’ll show you around.”

  “Great.” I handed each of them my business card. “Give me a call if you think of anything.”

  Jill and I had just stood up to start the tour, when Bob, still sitting on the sofa, asked, “How did the guy die?”

  “Stabbed,” I said, not quite knowing what to make of his question.

  I kept staring at Bob who appeared entranced by the information on my card, until Jill finally said, “Follow me.”

  Unlike the trend to open concept homes, their farmhouse was a rabbit warren of rooms, each with its own purpose. A gun-metal gray pellet stove sat in the kitchen, and there were separate side rooms for the sink and a large walk-in pantry. When we got out of Bob’s earshot, I turned to Jill and said, “What was that all about? Wanting to know how the man died?” I knew she’d tell him I asked, but I didn’t care since I’d be on the road in a few minutes.

  She cringed. “I’m not sure. He watches those forensic shows on TV all the time, and so many re-runs of The New Detectives that I can practically recite the dialogue along with the actors. I think he’s just curious,” she said, sounding embarrassed.

  “Well, let’s see the upstairs.”

  “There are only two bedrooms upstairs,” Jill said, leading the way up the carpeted stair tread. “And there’s an unfinished attic.”