Blood Porn

by Ray Flynt

  “We’ve now identified four people making porn who have a connection to Maple Grove.”

  Carolyn gasped.

  “I sent you word about my meeting the other night at Achievement cottage. Alice and Brody Elliott recognized the photo of Tanner Jankowski. And this morning we learned that Tanner’s sister is one of the women in the videos. Do you recall having any interaction with Christa Anderson?”

  “No. The name means nothing to me.”

  “Christa is Tanner’s sister, and she recruited Jeremy Young into doing porn. Tim Shaw’s brother, Tony, was in Reflection cottage with Jeremy, and Jeremy might have suggested making porn to Tim, or had Christa make the pitch. So far, the names we know about are only associated with two cottages—Reflection and Achievement. As you think about the staff in those cottages, do any of them strike you as being involved in porn?”

  “Not really. You’ve met Alice and Brody Elliott and Gloria and Al Freeman,” Carolyn said, as if that alone should dispel any notion of their involvement.

  “Yes, but I thought perhaps you had a more informed perspective.”

  Carolyn folded her hands and tucked them under her chin. “Sensitivity to potential sexual abuse of children goes with the territory in this business, which is why we do criminal background checks.”

  “But it’s not foolproof?”

  “Of course not. When I worked in Michigan, we had a situation where two staff members went on a camping trip with a group of six boys. During the course of the trip, they all decided to go skinny dipping, staff included, which wasn’t exactly consistent with our policy.” Carolyn rolled her eyes. “A staffer used his cell phone to snap pictures of the kids naked, a couple of them as young as fourteen. That day everybody thought it was great fun, and they were just horsing around. A week after the trip, this same staffer was showing off the naked pictures to a female co-worker, who reported the incident. I had to investigate and talked to everyone involved, including the students. It could all be interpreted harmlessly enough, except that the guy had downloaded the original pictures—which everybody had a good laugh over when they were on the tiny cell phone—to his iPad and they didn’t look so innocent any more. We suspended the employee for two weeks, and he ended up resigning.”

  “You’re comfortable vouching for the Elliotts and Freemans?”

  “Absolutely.” Carolyn smiled. “You did say our conversation was off the record? It’s another reason Maple Grove uses couples as cottage parents: to further reduce the risk.”

  “Let me ask you about the Bakers and the Matthews.”

  “That was an interesting situation, to say the least.”

  “Cookie,” Abby blurted.

  Carolyn put her hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Can you get it yourself, or do you need my help?”

  Abby glanced at Brad before saying, “Help.”

  “She’s playing shy today. I’ll be back,” Carolyn excused herself and grasped Abby’s hand as they walked through the dining room toward the kitchen.

  As he waited for Carolyn to return, Brad studied the memorabilia on the walls; the flotsam of a family’s life. One framed black and white photo in particular drew his attention, which he figured was a picture of her parents from a bygone era. The way the couple was posed, her mother’s hairstyle and the knot on her father’s tie reminded Brad of a similar picture of his parents from the early 70’s.

  Brad thought about the conversation in which Nick Argostino described porn in terms of money and the powerful exploiting the weak. Maybe he should stop searching for deviance and concentrate on the profit motivation.

  When Carolyn returned and sank into the same seat on the sofa, Brad said, “As I understand it, Bob Matthews was having an affair with Jill Baker. Karen Matthews brought it to your attention, and you ended up firing both couples.”

  “That’s the trailer. Unfortunately, I lived through the whole sordid movie.”

  “My associate, Sharon, met with Bob and Jill. They indicated that would have liked to stay, but that you wouldn’t budge on the married couple rule.”

  “I can’t tell you, in retrospect, that in the right circumstances I might have reconsidered, but there were so many other issues going on. After she made the accusation, Karen Matthews disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “I mean we didn’t know where she was. The Matthews had an apartment in Boyertown, and I dispatched Ross to try and find her there, but no luck. Then Jill Baker took it on herself to move into Courage cottage with Bob. We asked her to move back to Reflection, after which Kevin Baker packed his bags and left. We had to scramble to provide coverage, and the instability in staffing wasn’t in the best interests of the students in our care. That drama lasted about two weeks until I got everybody in my office and terminated them.”

  “How did you get them back?”

  “Here’s a valuable lesson I learned about twenty years ago: Everybody shows up on payday.” They both laughed. “It’s a bit old fashioned in this age of direct deposit, but we still distribute live checks. Bob and Jill arrived together that morning, and Karen and Kevin showed up, at different times,” Carolyn added. “All of them were instructed to be in my office at 4 p.m. to collect their paycheck. That’s when I gave them my decision.”

  A kitchen cupboard door slammed, and Carolyn Whiting moved to the edge of her seat and looked in that direction. After a few seconds, she called out, “Is everything okay, Abby?”

  “Yes,” came the soft distant reply.

  “I appreciate your time,” Brad said, as he stood. “Could I trouble you for one more piece of advice?”

  “Of course.” Carolyn got up from the sofa.

  “The new administration is circling the wagons. According to Ross, Martha Amendola won’t meet me. I told him I’d call the Philadelphia Inquirer instead.”

  Carolyn winced and took a few steps toward him. “She will.”

  “I hope so.” Brad wasn’t sure. “Give me an idea of what I can expect?”

  “She’s a grandmotherly type who avoids confrontation, not that she isn’t capable of a withering glance, like Maggie Smith on the Downton Abbey miniseries. When I first arrived at Maple Grove, the staff went out of their way to let me know how much they missed Martha’s regular visits to the cottages. But over the years I’ve heard about the flipside in that Martha routinely intervened in student requests for home visits, releases, et cetera, which the staff correctly saw as micromanaging. We hired skilled social workers for a reason, and when they made a request, backed by sound reasoning, I approved it.”

  “So I should stand clear of withering glances,” Brad said.

  “Maple Grove was Martha’s life,” Carolyn continued. “She first became executive director in 1982, and was beloved. I’m sure she’s missed the attention during her retirement. I believe Ross played to her weakness—and set me up—to advance his own role. I’ll land on my feet, but it might be too late before Martha realizes what Ross is up to.”

  Brad grasped Carolyn Whiting’s hand. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Derek Young couldn’t concentrate. Even though they weren’t close, he’d been worried about his brother Jeremy ever since Brad Frame told him about the death of another guy making porn. To make matters worse, his mother wouldn’t stop bugging him. Why the hell did Frame have to call her? Derek found himself yelling at his mother over the phone. Ellen had noticed the change in his mood, and started questioning him about a strange phone call she’d received asking for him. Was everything okay at work? Had he been gambling? He hadn’t done himself any favors when he followed Frame’s advice to make a purchase at the Home Depot. He bought a packet of marigold seeds because they were cheap and a color he thought Ellen would like. Instead of looking happy at his surprise, she carped, “But honey, they’re seeds. It’ll take at least six weeks until they can be transplanted to the garden, and we’ll have first frost by then.”

  He hadn’t been sleeping well, waking after only a few
hours.

  He beamed as he thought about Danielle, his pride and joy, the only bright spot in his life right now.

  A horn blared, and Benny, one of the other forklift operators yelled, “Watch the fuck where you’re going.”

  Derek slammed the brakes, and realized he’d just missed hitting a palate of boxes stacked on Benny’s machine. His chin dipped to his chest, and he felt his heart racing. He looked around, saw no machinery or manpower, and eased his forklift in the direction of a beverage vending machine at the north end of the warehouse. He parked, climbed off the vehicle, and bought a can of Red Bull. He popped the tab and took a long swig before getting back on his machine.

  “Hey, Young.” His boss came charging toward him waving a sheet of paper. Shit. Had Benny complained, he wondered, and if so would he be suspended?

  “Here’s a rush order, Young,” his boss said, handing him the newest instructions. “Do this before the others on your list.”

  “Okay,” Derek said.

  His boss looked at him quizzically. “You alright?”

  “Sure.” Derek forced a smile. “Doing great.” He restarted his forklift and gave a smart salute before pulling away.

  The warehouse hummed with the hypnotic music of machinery across six acres of metal stacks in which up to twelve forklifts loaded and unloaded their merchandise three shifts a day. Derek found the stack where his new order was located, maneuvered the forks toward the third level and eased them under the wooden palate. Before lowering the pile of boxes, he found himself reflecting on what else was bothering him: facing Manford in the weight room later that afternoon. He couldn’t figure out how to ask Manford about his brother without provoking him, yet he understood why Brad Frame needed the information in his quest to locate Jeremy.

  He gulped more Red Bull.

  Derek’s replacement arrived on time that afternoon. At his locker, he quickly changed into his gym shorts and was the first to enter the exercise room. He hadn’t seen Manford in the lunch room, and Derek wondered if he’d even come to work that day. Or maybe he’d drawn an assignment unloading trucks.

  Derek started a slow jog on the treadmill, and a few minutes later Manford sauntered in wearing his usual wife beater. “Hey,” Manford said.

  “Didn’t see you at lunch.”

  Manford jumped on the neighboring treadmill. “I ate outside.”

  “Working on that tan of yours?”

  “Ha. You funny.”

  Derek grinned. “I try.”

  They fell silent, and the room echoed with the drone of the treadmills. After fifteen minutes Derek glided off the back of his and walked over to the bench press. He motioned to Manford. “Come spot for me.”

  He started with eighty pounds on the bar, and would gradually increase the weight to one-twenty. Manford took his place behind him and said, “I heard George’s sister got a job as a forklift operator.”

  Derek shoved the bar over his head, held it in place and said, “Yeah, I’m sure she can’t wait to join you in the shower room.” They both laughed, and Derek lowered the bar into its metal rests.

  “That was too easy,” Derek said. “Add more weight.”

  As Manford added ten more pounds to each end of the bar, Derek said, “Did your lady friend appreciate the porn?”

  As he looked up from the bench, Manford’s toothy grin stared back at him.

  “I think I just got my answer.” Derek pushed the hundred pound bar into the air and held it there until his muscles burned.

  Manford produced a guttural laugh. “We never made it to the end of the video.”

  The bar crashed back into its steel holders, and Derek cautioned, “Don’t be braggin’ now!”

  “Shit,” he drew out the word. “Only guys like you with little dicks have to brag.”

  Derek grunted, and thought about how he could turn the conversation to find out what he needed to know. “I’m sure you thanked your brother, Ricky.” And then acting like the thought just occurred to him, Derek sat upright and said, “Ricky doesn’t sound like a black name.”

  “Are you done, white boy?” Manford sounded irritated. “If so, get up and let me give it a go.”

  “Not yet. I need to do seven more reps.”

  “Then do ‘em.” After a pause, Manford said, “When did you become an expert on black-sounding names?”

  Derek breathed heavily with only two more repetitions before more weight would be added. Between gasps he said, “I didn’t mean… nothin’ by it… just makin’ conversation.”

  Following the eighth rep, Derek laid back and breathed through an open mouth.

  Manford slapped his shoulder. “Get the hell up. My turn.”

  Derek wasn’t ready to stop, but to placate Manford he stood aside.

  Manford ordered, “Add more weight.”

  Derek removed the stops holding the existing weights in place and added ten pounds to either end. He stood behind Manford ready to spot.

  Manford dusted his hands with a packet of rosin he found on the floor next to the bench, and grabbed the bar with both hands. “What if he ain’t black?”

  “Huh?”

  Manford pushed the weight skyward. “He’s my half-brother; his dad’s white.”

  “I didn’t know,” Derek said, as he watched him bench press a few more times barely breaking a sweat.

  “How you think I know so much about white people, fuck ass?” Manford laughed, and eased the bar into its cradle.

  Derek joined in the laughter, glad he’d avoided a confrontation.

  “He got a weird sounding last name though—Fuentes.”

  “I don’t know anybody with that name,” Derek said. “Done?”

  “You kiddin’? I’m just getting started.” Manford hoisted the bar high above his head and held it there, as Derek had done a few minutes earlier.

  In annoyance, Derek muttered, “Show off.”

  Several minutes and four or five reps later, Manford added, “I’m the only one calls him Ricky. His real name’s Enriqué.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Brad reached a point in every case that reminded him of an airplane barreling down the runway, on the verge of enough lift to achieve takeoff. But just when he thought the details had reached critical mass, he was haunted by the image of the plane sputtering, sliding off the end of the runway and crashing into a bottomless abyss. That’s how he felt that Friday morning as he awaited word from Nick Argostino on the criminal history of Enriqué Fuentes.

  Derek Young had called him the previous evening with the name of Manford Taylor’s half-brother. He didn’t say anything to Derek about his mother calling, or her complaint that he’d cut her off. When they finally found Jeremy, all would be forgiven.

  Within minutes of Derek’s call, Brad briefed Nick, who promised to run the name through their database and provide a full report first thing in the morning. He glanced at the clock as the big hand swept past 8:30 a.m. It doesn’t get any more first-thing than that. Brad alternately stood, paced, and stared out the window waiting for Nick’s call. On edge, he thought about heading upstairs to work out his frustrations on the stationary bike, but he’d specifically told Nick to reach him on the office line.

  How could he relax?

  Watch porn? Brad grinned.

  The phone rang, and he pounced after the first ring.

  “Mr. Frame, this is Martha Amendola calling from Maple Grove.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Amendola,” Brad said, remembering what Ross had said about how she liked to be addressed. “Thanks for calling.”

  “I understand you requested a meeting, and I’d be very happy to see you later this morning, say about 11 a.m.”

  “Yes, I’d…” Brad hated sounding so tentative. “Uh, I’m expecting a phone call any minute. Depending on what I hear, I may or may not have time to drive up for a visit.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Amendola said. “Well, you can let me know if…”

  Brad heard the call waiting signal and inter
rupted. “Please hold for one minute, this may be my call now.”

  Brad tapped the receiver to put Mrs. Amendola on hold, and said hello to the waiting caller.

  “I’d call Enriqué a person of interest,” Nick said, jumping in as he often did without identifying himself. “I’ve scanned his rap sheet, and I’m e-mailing it to you now,” Nick continued. “I also spoke with Mr. Fuentes’ probation officer, and he passed along information.”

  “Great.” Brad opened the e-mail program on his computer.

  “Enriqué’s been involved in an interesting mix of deviant offenses, scams, and property crimes. I’ve got a staff meeting, so I’ll call you back later. There’s an outstanding arrest warrant for him, and I’m gonna see if we can have him picked up. Oh, and he spent time at Maple Grove about six years ago.” Brad could hear a voice in the distance calling Nick’s name. “I’ve gotta run.”

  “Use my cell phone next time.”

  The call disconnected, and Brad wasn’t sure Nick had heard his instruction about the cell phone.

  Brad cradled the phone, and his skin tingled with anticipation that this was the breakthrough he’d been looking for; the airplane would avoid the abyss.

  The phone rang. In all the excitement of Nick’s news he’d forgotten that he’d left Martha Amendola on hold.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” In his haste, the phone cord caught on a drawer pull of his desk, which jerked him forward until he could untangle it. “That was the call I expected, and I should be able to see you at 11 a.m.”

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me,” Mrs. Amendola announced, just as Brad spotted the incoming message from Nick and clicked on it. “I’ve devoted my life to helping young men.”

  He expected her to say more, and when she didn’t, Brad said, “I’m sure Ross has filled you in on our inquiries. I have a person I’d like you to check in your files—Enriqué Fuentes.” He spelled the name for her, and she repeated it. At the same time he brought the PDF attachment from Nick’s e-mail into view on the monitor.