Blood Porn

by Ray Flynt

“I don’t recall him,” Mrs. Amendola said, “but I’ve reached the age where I can barely remember what I had for dinner last night.” She laughed, and if her intention was to disarm him, she’d succeeded. “We’ll check and have the information when you get here.”

  “Thanks. I look forward to meeting you.”

  Brad didn’t know what to make of his conversation with the former/now new director of Maple Grove. He recalled during his recent conversation with Carolyn Whiting that when he expressed concern about Amendola meeting with him, Carolyn said simply, “She will.” And if Whiting felt bitterness at being deposed as executive director, it wasn’t directed at her successor.

  He printed two copies of the six-page report Nick had sent, which included arrest records, court dispositions, and a pre-sentence investigation that he must have gotten from the P.O. The final page included a mug shot from a recent arrest. Brad looked at Enriqué’s photo and then scanned the photos on the white board, still standing next to his desk. He thought he’d found another match, and carried the photo with him to the board. The man from the video had a thin dark moustache. Accounting for that difference as well as an unsmiling mug shot, versus one of a man moments away from a blowjob, and they were a match.

  He hadn’t been identified as Enriqué in his porn star turn, or Brad would have remembered. Whether he’d actually been the director of the videos remained to be discovered; perhaps the “real” director appropriated the name. Still, Manford’s half-brother had supplied a DVD of an early cut of Cougar Dreams, which cemented his involvement in the video operation.

  Brad stapled together a copy of Enriqué’s information and tossed it on Sharon’s chair, just as she entered the office humming a tune.

  “What are you humming?” Brad asked.

  “Someone Like You by Adele,” Sharon said. “I can’t get it out of my head; they play it every time I get in the car.”

  Brad pointed. “There’s light reading material on your chair; we’ve had a breakthrough.”

  Sharon picked up Enriqué’s criminal history. “Oh my God.” She sat in her chair and began to peruse the documents.

  Brad studied the paperwork too, prepping for questions he might ask Martha Amendola. He found it interesting that Enriqué’s first adult conviction was for voyeurism in a case that involved using a tiny video camera and a laptop to surreptitiously take pictures in the woman’s locker room at a health and fitness center where he worked. Filming porn would give him all the voyeuristic thrills he wanted. He also had convictions for theft by deception—what Nick referred to as scamming—and receiving stolen property; the same conviction as Christa Anderson. Brad’s mind raced as he tried to link Enriqué and Christa; after all both of them were from Philadelphia. Which of them was the mastermind behind the fledgling porn business? They’d now established that four of the young men involved were linked to Maple Grove, and Brad feared the other three guys might also have a connection. As for the five women in the porn, he could only surmise that Christa had recruited a few of her jailhouse friends.

  The image of the multi-colored butterfly tattooed on Christa’s ass leaped into his mind. Contrasted with the crude lettering on her fingers, it was a metaphor for her achievements, but at what price? Porn bought Tim Shaw a new Jeep and then death. Christa’s flashy tattoo couldn’t dispel the fact that she was HIV+. To his eyes, all the participants seemed trapped—literally or figuratively holed up in a porn-making-factory tainted by probationers, jailhouse escapees, and underage performers. Americans patronized legal porn in droves; he’d recently read that one in four Internet searches is for porn. At the same time, XRatedSugarX.com’s days were numbered. Everyone connected with it would elude success, just as they had with their failed lives.

  Sharon gasped. “Did you see he was at Maple Grove?”

  “Yes, Nick said it was about six years ago. I’ve got a meeting later this morning with Martha Amendola, and hope to learn more about his time there.”

  Sharon shuddered. “It’s creepy, because I visited Maple Grove as a PO back then. I wonder if I ever ran into him while seeing one of my clients.”

  “His mug shot is on the last page.” Brad watched as Sharon turned to it. Pointing to the board he said, “And you’ll also see that he’s one of our porn stars.”

  Sharon stood, walked over to the white board, and compared the photographs. “I don’t recognize him.”

  “I’ll want to find the video he’s in and have another look.”

  Sharon frowned. “Well, you can wait until I leave to do that. I finally connected with Karen Matthews yesterday, thanks to your suggestion about calling Natalie, and I’m meeting Karen in Doylestown for an early lunch.”

  “Did you ask about Bob’s interest in astronomy?”

  “No. I preferred to wait and see the body language. If she’s protecting him, I’ll sense it.”

  Brad nodded. “Nick said there’s a warrant for Enriqué’s arrest, and they’re going to try and pick him up. Let’s plan to meet back here at 5 p.m.; we can order a pizza and exchange information?”

  “I can’t. Oliver and I have a date tonight.” Sharon’s cheeks glowed.

  “Nice.” Brad knew they’d catch-up eventually and could text any significant developments to each other in the meantime. “Have fun tonight.”

  Ross Gibson looked smug as Brad walked through the front door of the house that served as administration building at Maple Grove. His desk had been moved front and center, directly inside the door so that no one got in without passing his inspection.

  “Good morning, Ross,” Brad cheerfully said. “I’m here to see your new boss.”

  “She’s expecting you,” he said flatly

  “Thanks.” Brad sprang toward the staircase before Ross stopped him.

  “No, Mr. Frame. Right in here.” Ross pointed toward the room that used to be directly behind his desk, which had functioned as a dining room when the building still served as a home. All of the furniture he’d seen in Whiting’s upstairs office a few days earlier had been moved there. Brad saw a majestic, gray haired woman, who as Whiting had suggested, looked grandmotherly, seated in one of the soft chairs grouped in front of a bay window that afforded a panoramic view of Maple Grove. She wore a black pantsuit and a blouse imprinted with oversized purple flowers.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Amendola,” he said.

  She motioned for him to join her, and when he’d taken the comfortable chair next to hers, she said, “Please call me Martha.”

  “Only if you’ll call me Brad.” Why had Ross insisted on her being called Mrs.?

  She sighed, staring out the window with clear blue eyes. Signs of a full life were etched on her face. “I love sitting here, Brad. It’s so peaceful, and brings me so many wonderful memories.”

  “Was this your office before?”

  “I was upstairs, in the office Ms. Whiting used, for my first ten years,” Martha explained. “As Plato said, ‘Necessity is the mother of invention’ and when my knees started to bother me, I moved down here to avoid the stairs. I loved this view framed by the weeping pine and the Bradford pear tree, which bursts with white blossoms in the spring.” She held up her index finger, and turned toward the foyer, calling out, “Ross, please contact Alice and Brody and ask them to come over.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Brad considered his observation that if he were director at Maple Grove he would move Ross’ office closer to keep better tabs on him. Martha had accomplished as much with her own office move, but he still wondered what role each of them had played in organizing the overthrow of Carolyn Whiting.

  Turning back to Brad, Martha said, “I know you didn’t drive all the way up here to talk about the view. I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of a few things.” She held up her finger again. “Ross, could you come in here please.”

  Brad didn’t have to turn to hear Ross spring out of his chair, and seconds later he hovered between them, awaiting Martha’s instructions.

  “Now
would be a good time for your apology to Mr. Frame.”

  Ross cleared his throat. “I… ah, I didn’t do what Ms. Whiting asked me to do the other day.” His voice sounded strained.

  “Specifically, what are you talking about?” Brad asked.

  “I never delivered those photographs to Hank Torrance, the school principal, and I’m sorry about that.” Brad couldn’t gauge the sincerity of his apology.

  “That error has been corrected,” Martha said, casting one of those withering looks Carolyn had described in Ross’ direction. “Unfortunately, three more of the young men were recognized by teachers as having been students here at Maple Grove. Both were released within the last six months, and one of them is still a juvenile.”

  “I have a folder for you, Mr. Frame,” Ross said, “with all the information.”

  Brad turned toward Martha. “Was Enriqué Fuentes, who I asked you about earlier, included in those identifications?”

  “Yes. Hank recognized him.”

  So all of the guys in the video porn had a connection to Maple Grove. “Do you know which cottage Enriqué was assigned to when he was here?”

  Martha looked to Ross for the answer. “Courage,” he whispered.

  “Speak up,” she said, clearly irritated.

  “Courage cottage, sir,” Ross repeated.

  Bob and Karen Matthews had been cottage parents there, Brad remembered. “Can you tell me if the Matthews were cottage parents there during his stay?”

  “Ross, please check.”

  He scurried out of the room. Martha shook her head. “I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into. When Howard LeFevre called me the other day and asked if I’d like to come back, my heart fluttered. I’ve missed this place. Social work and helping delinquents has been my whole life. I was in my twenties when I first started working at a juvenile detention facility in Dauphin County. I was young and naïve, and had grown up in a good home, so in spite of all my college courses, I really wasn’t prepared for what to expect from delinquents. After six months on the job I almost quit because I felt in over my head. Each case was a stress-filled learning experience.”

  Ross returned, and stood patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

  “Yes, Ross.” Martha sounded annoyed.

  “The Matthews started working here about a month before Enriqué’s release,” he said. Brad pulled out his notebook and recorded the information.

  “Ross, there are two books on the corner of my desk. Would you please deliver them to Hazel in Appreciation cottage?”

  “Alice and Brody should be arriving any minute,” Ross reminded her.

  “You can go,” she said, aiming another contemptuous look at her assistant. “I’m sure they’ll see us sitting here.

  Ross hesitated, and then snatched the books from the corner of Martha’s desk. The screen door reverberated as he left the building.

  “I worked at two state institutions before coming here,” Martha said. “I learned my craft helping manipulative and corrupted young lives, many of whom came from home environments that already left them with two strikes. I’ve seen success and failures, but just when I think I’m too old to see anything new, this comes along.”

  Brad shook his head in disgust. “The kiddie porn.”

  Martha waved the air with both hands; a dismissive gesture. “This is the third case in forty years I’m aware of that involves institutionalized juveniles and porn. I’m talking about the fact that I’m sitting here and a young woman with great promise in this profession has been let go. I can’t possibly stay here.”

  Martha’s reaction surprised him, in a case that was full of surprises. For the last two days Brad figured she and Ross had been in cahoots to push Carolyn Whiting out so Martha could have her old job back. As they stared out the window at the tranquil scene, Ross Gibson came into view, sauntering down the middle of the asphalt road with two books tucked under his arm. A car approached from the opposite direction, and he stepped out of its path.

  “Hazel loaned me those books four years ago. They didn’t have to go back to her today.” Martha’s eyes twinkled as she said, “Ross can use the fresh air and time to think about what he’s done. Yesterday afternoon, I was in the other room meeting with our bookkeeper, and I overheard Ross talking with you. He acted like he was in charge, and afterward I confronted him about it. That’s the first I heard about your investigation. I would never condone a cover-up and told him so.”

  Brad heard a vehicle pull up outside the building.

  “That could be Alice and Brody,” Martha said. “This morning I called the board chair, and asked him to confirm my suspicions. Howard told me about all the e-mails Ross had sent regarding Elias Porterfield and the trumped up investigation regarding his sex offender status. According to what the State Police told me, that came from his ex-wife. I suggested to Howard that he contact Carolyn Whiting, apologize, agree to give her vacation pay for the next two weeks, and that I would stay until the 30th.”

  “Anybody home?” Alice Elliott’s voice echoed from the front hall.

  “Right in here, Alice.” When the Elliotts appeared under the archway, Martha said, “Come join us. Pardon me for not getting up. I had double knee replacement surgery, and they don’t work quite as well as I’d like them to.”

  Brad noticed that Brody Elliott carried a laptop case.

  When the two cottage parents had settled in, Martha spoke. “Alice and Brody have information they’d like to share with you. I’ll let them tell the story.”

  Alice looked at Brody and nudged him to begin. “We signed up for a Facebook page under the name Achievement Cottage, and we let the boys take turns—those that wanted to—specifying that they can only log in using our page.”

  “And we make sure that the laptop is set up on the dining room table where we can watch them,” Alice looked at Martha as she added, “so they can’t go looking at any undesirable sites.”

  Martha gave her a benevolent smile.

  “One of the boys, Brian,” Brody continued, “used Facebook the other night. When I made him log off because it was bedtime he acted funny, like he’d gotten bad news. I asked him about it, and he mumbled that his girlfriend hadn’t logged on to Facebook in more than a week.”

  Brad found it amusing to watch Alice, whose lips moved as her husband spoke.

  “After all the boys were in bed, I logged on to our Facebook page and checked the message logs,” Brody explained, as he pulled out a laptop and powered it up on the table in front of them. “It shows a transcript of any chats with any other Facebook user or any private messages.” The computer came to life and Brody logged on to Facebook. “Brian exchanged messages with Tanner Jankowski, whose page is called Tan Kowski—he liked to be called Tan. Here it is shorthand and all.” Brody Elliott positioned the laptop so everyone could see.

  Tan Kowski: hey

  Achievement: how u

  Tan Kowski: sacred

  Alice pointed at the screen. “We think he meant scared there, in the context of the rest of the chat.”

  Achievement: wtf

  Tan Kowski: saw guy stab

  Achievement: fuck

  Achievement: he ok

  Tan Kowski: dont no

  Tan Kowski: lotsa blood

  Achievement: that sucks

  Achievement: ?

  Tan Kowski: yea

  Tan Kowski: shit brb

  Achievement: where u at

  Achievement: gotta run

  “That’s where Brian signed off because of lights out,” Brody closed the laptop. “There were no other messages from Tanner.”

  So that’s what passes for conversation these days among teens, Brad thought, pretty sure that he’d had better verbal and spelling skills when he was sixteen or seventeen. “You were right to be concerned.” He made a note to check the Tan Kowski page on Facebook.

  “Thanks for taking the time to visit with us,” Martha said.

  Alice cooed. “It’s great to have you ba
ck. You’ll come down and visit Achievement, I hope?”

  “Did I mention my knees aren’t what they used to be? Besides, I think I might only be here on a temporary basis.”

  Alice and Brody looked crushed before bidding their goodbyes.

  As they departed, Ross Gibson could be seen trudging over the hill on his return trip. “If the board follows through with your suggestion, what will happen to Ross?”

  “I’m not going to fire him; after all, he thought he was helping me, even as he made a power play for himself. I suspect Carolyn will get rid of him, that is if he doesn’t see the wisdom of leaving on his own.”

  “Perhaps you can share another quote attributed to Plato with him.”

  Martha smiled, all ears, as Brad offered, “Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Since we’d eaten there before, I suggested Applebee’s in Doylestown and I knew I wouldn’t have to drive too far into town. Karen Matthews wanted to meet at 11 a.m., which worked for me since it’d give me more time that afternoon to get ready for my date with Oliver. I would have to leave Bryn Mawr no later than 5 p.m. to fight rush hour traffic to West Chester and pick him up, and then slog our way to a place called Emily’s in Beckersville for dinner. Oliver texted the address so I could find it on a map in advance.

  Compared to my last meeting with Karen at Applebee’s the lot seemed deserted. I pulled into a parking space just steps away from the front door, between a blue Malibu and a white Santa Fe. As I climbed out of the car I realized I was too close to the Malibu. What was I thinking? My car was inside the painted line, but the Malibu was crowding me. I shimmied between the cars—another reminder to order light since I’d be having a big dinner—and as I eased my way past the Malibu I couldn’t help noticing a receipt stapled to dry cleaning hanging in the rear window. The receipt was folded in half, with the total amount showing of $179.63. Wow! I slouched down and saw a rod stretched across the back seat hung half-full with freshly dry cleaned clothes. I’d never complain about my bills at the Bryn Mawr cleaners again.