Blood Porn

by Ray Flynt

  The desk phone rang. Brad checked caller ID and said, “It’s Nick.”

  Brad answered, and Nick barked, “Do you have any idea how many Richard or Ricardo Taylors there are in our criminal records?”

  Brad didn’t, but he was sure he would soon learn. “Hey, Nick. I’m meeting with Sharon on the case. Let me put you on speaker phone.” He punched the speaker button on the console.

  “Hey Nick,” Sharon shouted.

  “Has your boss lost his mind?” Nick Argostino’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Does he think we have nothing better to do here than to run database checks for him?”

  Brad drew an imaginary bow across the strings on a violin tucked under his chin.

  Sharon laughed. “Well, he’s scratching out a tune on his violin for you, Nick.”

  “Is he? He can go to hell.”

  “Come on Nick,” Brad pleaded, “don’t keep me in suspense. You wouldn’t have called if you hadn’t found anything.”

  “Oh, I found a few names—sixty-two of them to be exact. I’m going to e-mail this list to you, with their birthdates and charged offense. You can have fun sorting through them. We searched for Ricky, Rick, Richard and Ricardo. There was even a Broderick Taylor that popped up on the list, but he’s eighty-eight years old, so I figure his porn making days are over. Seriously, this list may help when you get a little more information. Trust me; right now you’ll just be spinning your wheels. Hell, you don’t even know why Taylor’s on probation.”

  “True.” Brad nodded for Sharon’s benefit. “I was counting on you for good news.”

  “I don’t know if it’s good or not, but I’ve got a shitload of information on Christa Anderson. She pulled a break getting charged in Lancaster County, because she’s already done two stretches in the county jail here, and would have been looking at a five year minimum in State Prison. Like you heard, her last job was at a second-hand store on Baltimore Avenue, just inside the city line. The place has had a reputation for years as a fencing operation, and a smart detective caught her in a sting.”

  “Wait a minute,” Brad said, “wouldn’t her prior incarcerations in Philadelphia be considered by the Lancaster County Court?”

  “Sure. But whoever did the pre-sentence investigation hadn’t had time to get tired of her shenanigans. Probably a twenty-five-year-old do-gooder just out of graduate school, who thinks she can turn a life around with a little compassion. Christa plea-bargained on this most recent charge, most likely because she knew she was headed for a longer term at the women’s minimum security prison in Cambridge Springs. By all accounts Christa makes a good appearance—and I’m not talking about in the porn videos. She knows how to play the game, and comes across as respectful to authority.”

  “What about the people who owned the second-hand store?” Brad asked.

  “Ha,” Nick scoffed. “They manage to keep an arm’s length from the illegal activity, but why do you think somebody like Christa was working for them? They got the lion’s share of the cut. Everybody knows what’s going on, and Christa knew she’d be going down if she got caught and took her chances.”

  “Any other good news?” Brad said ruefully.

  Brad could hear papers shuffling before Nick responded. “One of the reports noted that she had a brother at Maple Grove.”

  Brad and Sharon exchanged glances.

  “Anderson is her married name,” Nick said, “but hubby dropped out of the picture during her first stint in jail. Jankowski is her maiden name, and her brother’s name is Tanner.”

  “We love you, Nick,” Sharon shouted.

  Brad tried to contain his excitement. “We’re already aware of Tanner Jankowski. He’s one of the porn stars.”

  “Wow. So I guess I’m actually earning my retainer this month.”

  “Every month, Nick. Every month. Thanks for your help.”

  Brad disconnected the call. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to digest this latest connection between Christa and Maple Grove. “We can link three of the guys to the juvenile institution, and it seems clear that Christa was a key recruiter. In addition to her brother Tanner, Susan Young identified Christa as meeting with her son Jeremy a week before he ran away from Maple Grove.”

  Sharon jumped in. “And when I showed her photograph to Tim, it was clear to me that he recognized her and got spooked.”

  “Based on what Nick told us,” Brad speculated, “the women in the porn videos might have been recruited from graduates of the Philadelphia County Jail, which is why none of our contacts have recognized any of them. I’m hoping Derek will come through with more information about Manford’s brother, but until then I intend to get a few more answers from Maple Grove, whether it’s from Carolyn Whiting or Martha Amendola.”

  Sharon tapped her pen on the desk. “I’ll call Oliver and ask him to contact McKean County Juvenile Probation for more information about Tanner.”

  Sharon glanced at the white board, and for the first time appeared to notice the red heart Brad had drawn in Oliver’s name. She flinched and her face turned scarlet, before she stared at Brad who did his best to offer up an innocent what-is-it expression. She gulped from her coffee cup before burying her nose in the computer screen.

  The fact that Sharon didn’t go ballistic spoke volumes.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brad stood by the side of his bed and had just finished knotting his tie when his phone rang. Without looking at the display, he simply answered, “Hello.”

  “Is this Brad Frame?” a woman asked in a breathy voice.

  For a moment he thought it might be Beth calling, but there was an edge to the voice that cautioned him not to get frisky. “Yes, it is.”

  “This is Susan Young.”

  “Good morning, Susan. Have you heard from Jeremy?” Brad asked, hopefully.

  “No.” After a pause, she added, “I’m worried.”

  Brad heard sniffles over the line, and gave her a moment.

  “I know you’ve been talking to Derek,” Susan continued, “but he’s shut me out. He won’t take my calls anymore.”

  Brad recalled Derek’s frustration at all the calls he’d received from his mother. “We really don’t have any more information on Jeremy’s whereabouts. Yes, I’ve talked to Derek in an effort to develop more leads; he’s been helpful to our investigation.”

  He heard Susan blow her nose, and exhale deeply. “I’m at my wits end.”

  “We’re talking with the police, and with authorities at Maple Grove,” Brad tried to reassure her. “It’s easy for me to ask you to be patient, but all I can say is that when we have information we’ll get back to you.”

  As he uttered those words Brad recalled conversations he’d had with the authorities when his mother and sister had been kidnapped, and he heard similar words from the police. He realized his assurances would provide Susan Young little comfort.

  “Alright, Mr. Frame,” Susan said, her voice growing husky. “If it’s okay, I might call you again tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  When he arrived in his office, Brad dialed the number for the Maple Grove administrative offices and recognized Ross Gibson’s voice.

  “Good morning, Ross. It’s Brad Frame calling. I understand you have a new boss.”

  “Good news travels fast.” At least Ross wasn’t hiding his pleasure at the turn of events.

  “I’m sure Ms. Amendola is very busy, but I was calling to see if she might be able to see me this afternoon.”

  “It’s Mrs. Amendola, she prefers Mrs., and I’m afraid she won’t be able to see you.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow morning then?” Brad pressed for an appointment.

  “Mrs. Amendola anticipated your call,” Ross said. More likely Ross told her to expect a call. “She asked me to refer you to our legal counsel, Stuart Christianson, who can be reached at 610-771—”

  Brad cut Ross off, and found himself gripping the arm of his office chair. He had no interest in ta
lking with lawyers and said so. “If Mrs. Amendola doesn’t want to meet with me I’ll take my concerns to the Philadelphia Inquirer.” Brad hoped it sounded like a promise and not a threat. “You can field calls from their reporters. They’d love to put a ‘no comment’ from Mrs. Amendola right below a suggestive headline like Porn Mill Uses Maple Grove Students.” He thought he heard a groan on the other end of the line. “Look Ross, one young man is dead, and there are at least two other former students from Maple Grove whose lives may be in jeopardy.”

  “Two?” Ross said, sounding rattled. “I thought it was only Jeremy Young?”

  Think again. Brad reminded himself that Ross was just the water carrier. “Yes, two. If you’d done your job and distributed those photos to the cottage parents you’d know what I’m talking about.” If Ross was as smart as he pretended to be, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out that Brad’s visit to Achievement cottage had yielded a positive ID on one of the photos. He could investigate and toss that bone to his new boss. “Have Mrs. Amendola call me.”

  Brad dropped the receiver in its cradle and imagined Ross staring into the silence on the other end, wheels churning, deciding what to do next.

  He called directory assistance for the 610 area code and asked for Carolyn Whiting. An operator came on the line and requested the city, but Brad said he wasn’t sure. After a few seconds the operator announced, “I have a C Whiting in Wilkes-Barre and a C L Whiting in Reading.”

  He recalled seeing Carolyn Louise Whiting on the framed Penn State diploma in her office. “C L Whiting, please.”

  “Hold for that number.”

  Brad copied the number supplied by an electronic voice, then dialed it. After three rings, he recognized Carolyn Whiting’s “Hello.” She sounded tentative.

  “Carolyn, it’s Brad Frame calling.”

  “Oh. I guess you’ve heard.”

  “Yes,” he simply said. “I’d like to talk with you.”

  “I don’t…”

  “It’ll be off the record,” Brad said, hoping to allay her fears. “I’m making progress on our investigation, and I think you can help.”

  “You should call Martha,” Carolyn said weakly.

  “Quite frankly, I’m getting stonewalled at Maple Grove.”

  After a long pause, Carolyn said, “All right. Let’s make it for 1 p.m.; I’ll give you the address.”

  The neighborhood where Carolyn Whiting lived was in a suburb east of Reading called St. Lawrence. He found her modest, well-kept two-story house situated on a tree lined street not far from the Exeter Township Senior High School. Brad recognized her SUV in the driveway and pulled next to it.

  Carolyn greeted him at the front door casually dressed in khakis and a seersucker blouse. She directed him to the living room and a leather recliner next to the brick fireplace, and Carolyn eased into a paprika-colored velvet sofa opposite him. The furniture sat on a Persian rug, and the walls had shelves filled with knickknacks. It felt settled, like everything had been there for decades.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Brad said. “I was surprised to hear of your departure from Maple Grove.”

  “What a nice euphemism for my ouster!” Carolyn laughed. “You couldn’t have been more surprised than me. I didn’t see it coming.”

  Brad didn’t know if she wanted to talk about it. “What happened?”

  Carolyn sighed. “Yesterday morning I was scurrying around getting ready for our monthly board meeting, when Philip Greenwald, one of our trustees called. Philip is vice president of a branch bank in Boyertown. The founder of Maple Grove left an endowment, which his bank manages, and we usually have our meetings in their conference room. He informed me the board wanted to hold an executive session and for me to arrive a half-hour later than usual.”

  “That was your first clue?” Brad asked.

  She shook her head. “Actually, because it was Philip who called, and with the volatility in the stock market these last few months, I figured they wanted to talk about investments, which was one aspect of Maple Grove in which I never had a role. If Howard LeFevre, the board chair had called, I might have gotten nervous.”

  The sound of a chair scuffing against the floor came from beyond the dining room, and worry registered on Carolyn’s face before the noise subsided.

  “I arrived at the bank without a care in the world,” she continued, “found a parking spot right in front, grabbed my briefcase and headed inside. That’s when I spotted Martha Amendola seated in the lobby, and my stomach suddenly felt like I’d just finished the triple loop on the Sidewinder at Hershey Park.”

  “Did she say anything to you?”

  “Other than good morning, no, but she had this revealing smile that told me she knew something and that I’d soon find out.” Carolyn paused, and Brad looked at her expectantly. “Honestly, it was a bit of a blur after that. Philip motioned me into the meeting. All the board members stood until I was seated—which had never happened before. I knew how a defendant must feel waiting for the jury to announce its verdict. Howard cleared his throat and said that because of the State Police investigation into the hiring of Elias Porterfield the board had lost confidence in my leadership and that I’d been replaced.” Carolyn held up two fingers. “Two things. Elias was a pretext, I’m sure, since Rachel Martin from the State Police had called me that morning to say that she’d been in contact with authorities in Missouri and everything checked out. Also, I understand the board’s press release said that I’d been suspended, but they made it clear to me that I was out.”

  Brad thought about his conversation at Maple Grove on Tuesday evening, and Ross Gibson’s apparent closeness with Martha Amendola. He suspected Ross had engineered the coup that brought Martha back as director.

  Brad weighed whether to ask Carolyn about Ross when he heard a voice wail, “Mommy!” A woman—who looked about Sharon’s age—raced into the room waving a coloring book. Gauging from the short hairstyle, she’d been the same woman Brad had seen in the passenger seat of Whiting’s SUV the other evening; she had the demeanor of a child, and wore jeans and a colorful T-shirt imprinted with Berks Jazz Fest 2011. When the young woman spotted Brad, she backed up and dropped the coloring book.

  “Come here, cupcake.” Carolyn patted the cushion next to her. Turning to Brad, Carolyn said, “This is my sister, Abby.”

  Abby glanced at Carolyn and back at Brad. She snatched the book from where it had landed then squinted and puckered her mouth like a six-year-old refusing to eat her peas at the dinner table.

  “It’s okay, Abby, Mr. Frame doesn’t want your book. Come sit next to me.”

  Abby broke into a wide-eyed expression and ran to the sofa yelling, “Mommy,” and quickly became attached to Carolyn’s left arm.

  “Abby lost her job, too,” Carolyn explained. “It has been a tough couple of days. After I left the meeting at the bank, Ross sent me an e-mail that Abby was no longer welcome to work at Maple Grove. He cited it as a board decision, but they wouldn’t have known anything about Abby unless Ross told them.”

  Brad digested this information, and found himself shaking his head. Kevin Baker’s description of Ross as a turd was right on target. “Is this Ross’ doing?” Brad asked, referring to her firing.

  Carolyn nodded, with an expression of sadness more than anger. “We’ll get past it,” she said, hopefully.

  Brad studied Abby’s face as she stared continuously at Carolyn. At first glance there was no indication of a disability, but her countenance lacked sophistication of expression; in that respect, more childlike. “How old is Abby?”

  “Thirty-two—ten years younger than me,” Carolyn said. “She’s what brought me back to St. Lawrence. I grew up here.” She gestured about the room. “In this house. When Mom died a couple years ago, I knew Dad couldn’t handle Abby alone.”

  “Mommy,” Abby burst out again.

  “She associates Mommy with caregiver, which is why she calls me that,” Carolyn said. “I loved my job at Starr Com
monwealth in Albion, Michigan, a place very similar to Maple Grove. When I heard about the job near here, I thought, a sign.” She clasped her hands together and looked heavenward. “Today is the first day I haven’t worked since I got out of grad school. I’ve already reached out to former colleagues in Michigan. They operate satellite programs at five other locations in Ohio and Michigan, so I’m hopeful.”

  “Where’s your dad?” Brad asked.

  “He passed away a year ago.” Her eyes glistened, and a few seconds later she said, “It’s just Abby and me.” Carolyn hugged her sister, who giggled. “As you’ve probably figured out, she has an intellectual disability. Her IQ is in the low 40’s, what used to be called moderate mental retardation. She can function at the level of a second grader; manage her own hygiene, with prodding.” Carolyn looked at Abby and smiled. “And she’s capable of performing simple, repetitive tasks, which is why her job in the cafeteria at Maple Grove was such a Godsend. At lunch time she scraped dishes and ran them and the trays through the dishwasher; they told me Abby was the only worker who never complained about that assignment.” Carolyn laughed. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about washing dishes.”

  “I appreciate you sharing.” Brad couldn’t get the phrase there but for the grace of God out of his head. He recognized the many advantages he’d been given in his life, and watching Abby as she flipped through the pages of her coloring book reminded him not to squander his blessings. Carolyn’s actions in leaving a job to take care of her sister reinforced early impressions he’d had of her character, but also made him value knowing the totality of a person’s life circumstances. And what did it say for those who observed Carolyn with the younger woman and chose to tag her as a lesbian?

  Brad turned to Carolyn and said, “We’ve had a few new developments, and I’m hoping you can provide perspective.”

  “I’ll do my best.”