by Ray Flynt
“It’s Brad Frame,” he said, when Derek answered on the third ring. “I need your help. Can you get away this morning?”
“I think so,” Derek said, haltingly. “Ellen has Danielle at her moth—”
Brad cut him off. “I’ve got a lead on Jeremy’s whereabouts.”
“Where is he?” Derek sounded excited.
“I need you to meet us at the Strasburg Railroad. Do you know it?”
A brief silence before Derek replied, “Uh… yes… near Lancaster.”
“That’s right. If you leave right now you’ll get there ten minutes before us. Do you have a credit card?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Buy four tickets for the noon train. I’ll pay you back.”
“Okay,” Derek finally said, sounding puzzled.
Brad disconnected the call, hoping that Derek understood the urgency and would already be rushing for his car.
Sharon kept them moving past rich Pennsylvania farmland, where a few of the fields had already been plowed under after the harvest. It grew quiet in the car, and Brad suspected they were all wondering if they would make it in time. Helga pierced the silence with an instruction: In one-quarter mile turn left on State Route 41.
“There it is,” Sharon said, pointing to the intersection. Tires squealed as she made the sharp turn. Almost immediately they found themselves slowing behind a horse-drawn Amish buggy. “Fuck,” Sharon muttered.
She took the word right out of Brad’s mouth.
Brad could tell Sharon was watching the oncoming traffic—looking for an opening to pass—when Helga announced: In three hundred feet, turn right on Bridge Street, heading for State Route 741. Fortunately, the buggy kept going straight.
“That was our tourist attraction for the morning.” Brad joked, trying to lighten Sharon’s mood.
Back on a traffic-free straightaway, Sharon gunned it.
Brad glanced at his watch, 11:40 a.m. To his right he could make out the tracks on which the Strasburg Railroad traveled. In the distance black smoke rose from the chimney of the steam-powered train returning from its 11 a.m. trip. He scanned the horizon dotted with farm houses, suspecting that Jeremy Young and his porn making buddies weren’t far away.
Destination one mile on the right.
“Thank you, Helga!” Brad said.
“I can see the station,” Sharon shouted. “I think we’re gonna make it.”
“I hope Derek got here,” Oliver said.
Sharon dropped Brad and Oliver close to the station and drove off to park the car.
Brad spotted Derek Young standing near the ticket booth at the front of the station, looking bewildered. When Derek recognized Brad, he smiled and waved four tickets aloft.
“I got the parlor car,” Derek explained. “They cost $20 a piece.”
“That’s okay.” Brad reached into his wallet and handed Derek two fifties. “The extra will help pay for your gas.”
“Thanks,” Derek said, staring at the bills like he’d never seen a fifty before.
Dozens of people mingled next to the tracks, those who’d ridden on the earlier trip and those still waiting to board.
A black coated conductor called out, “All aboard” just as Sharon caught up with them. Parlor seating was at the rear of the train in a vintage rail car from an era when such luxury train cars were given names. Theirs was called “Marian.” Brad’s favorite name for a rail car was “Ferdinand Magellan” the opulent one used by Harry Truman and made famous in his 1948 whistle stop campaign.
The four of them scrambled up the steps and into a bygone era; velvet cushioned cane-backed club chairs grouped around small tables on a carpeted floor, polished wood walls, and arched windows topped with green glass. At one end of the car the bartender prepared to sell drinks and snacks during their journey from Strasburg to Paradise—Paradise, PA—and back.
Brad heard the air brakes released and seconds later to the sound of the whistle, a clanging bell and the distinct reverb of the couplings the train chugged out of the station amidst waves from onlookers.
Almost immediately Brad’s phone rang, which drew harsh glares from other passengers, but Brad didn’t care. “Hello.”
A deep voice said, “This is Detective Ron Benrey from the Pennsylvania State Police. Detective Nelson filled me in and asked me to give you a call.”
“Thanks. We just left the station on the Strasburg Railroad.” Brad measured his words, not wanting to say anything that would alarm his fellow passengers. “I wanted you to know about our visit should we need to contact you in…” Brad wanted to say in an emergency, but simply said, “…in a hurry.”
“We appreciate the heads-up,” Detective Benrey said. “Let me give you my cell number in case you can’t reach me at the office. I’m here till 5 o’clock.”
Brad copied the cell number into his notebook. “If I need to call you back it will be within the hour.”
While he was on the phone, Sharon, in whispered conversation, filled in Derek Young about their suspicions that the illicit porn had been filmed within sight of the Strasburg Railroad. On the table were Brad’s iPad and binoculars. He picked up the binoculars and, like several other tourists, scanned the countryside; except Brad was searching for a stone house or one with a stone framed front door that might have been used in filming Cougar Dreams, the first of the porn videos he’d seen, starring Jeremy Young and Christa Anderson.
An announcement filled the rail car describing their nine-mile round trip journey that would take approximately forty-five minutes.
“I guess we’re gonna know in about twenty minutes,” Sharon said. “On the return trip I’ll be ready for a beer.” Oliver reached out and squeezed her arm.
In an age of bullet-trains in China, Japan and France, and even hopes for high speed rail in the United States, the Strasburg Railroad moved at laborious speed. Brad grew more frustrated as he stared through the binoculars at the occasional wood framed farm houses, not seeing what he hoped.
Brad’s ears perked up as the announcer spoke of a stone house on the right hand side of the car, but went on to provide so many details about the owner that it couldn’t possibly be the house they hoped to find. Their attention was also drawn to a one-room Amish school house.
Farmers worked in the nearby fields, dairy cows grazed, and the odor of natural fertilizer wafted through open windows—what the woman at the refreshment bar dubbed “Amish perfume.”
Derek stood and walked to the rear of the car, where he pulled out his cell phone. Brad suspected he was calling his wife.
“Let me look,” Sharon said. Brad handed her the binoculars, and she scanned the horizon.
“You mentioned another railroad near New Hope,” Oliver said.
Brad frowned. “Yeah.” It would take three hours to get there, and they would miss any train service that day.
The train eased to a stop. The announcer spoke about a ghost train—old number six—whose whistle could still be heard “if they listened carefully.” The engineer blew the train’s whistle and the ghost train’s whistle echoed from the distant hills.
With a whoosh of steam, and the distant clang of the engine’s bell they resumed their journey, and soon rolled by Groff’s Grove where people could be seen enjoying a picnic lunch at wooden tables. The announcer promised a stop there on the return trip for those who wanted to join them.
Derek returned and slumped into his seat, looking glum. Brad gave him an inquisitive glance and Derek said, “Ellen isn’t too happy.”
Sharon deposited the binoculars on the table. “When we find Jeremy,” she said confidently, “all will be forgiven.”
Derek gave half a nod, as if to say that he hoped that would be the case.
The train gathered speed heading into a curve, when suddenly Oliver raised his hand, pointing a finger to the ceiling as if asking permission to speak. He cocked his head toward the window and said, “This is what I heard on the video.”
Brad grabbed the binocu
lars off the table and looked out the right side of the train. There it was; a stone farm house. About fifty yards behind the house was a weathered barn like the one Brad had seen in the set up to Barnyard Fantasy starring Tanner Jankowski. It didn’t look like a working farm though, with an immaculately landscaped front yard, and a concrete drive at the north end of the house that led to a vinyl-sided, three car garage.
Parked in the driveway was a black SUV with tinted windows. Could it be the one that picked up Tim Shaw on the day he was killed? The one that Skip Nelson reported was at the scene of Christa Anderson’s murder? Brad looked for the markings, saw it was a Ford. He adjusted the magnification and saw the Expedition logo. Bingo!
Next he turned his attention to the license plate. Brad strained to see the numbers, even though his binoculars had ten times magnification with a stabilization feature, the moving train made it difficult. “Copy this,” Brad finally said to Sharon as he called out three letters and four numbers.
Handing Sharon the binoculars, Brad said, “Keep watching, while I make a call.”
“I see Karen Matthews’ blue Malibu behind the Ford,” Sharon said, as she gazed through the binoculars.
Brad connected to the Lancaster sub-station of the Pennsylvania State Police and asked for Ron Benrey. He purposefully did not refer to him as Detective, not wanting to arouse concerns among others in the rail car regarding their mission.
“We may have something,” Brad began. “If you could run this plate number, it will give us a better idea.” Brad gave him the information.
“I’ll have to call you back.”
While he waited, Brad opened his iPad and logged on to zillow.com, a popular site for real estate information, hoping he could locate the property and learn an address. As nearly as he could tell, the stone house was situated on its own dedicated street, 3318 Ramsey Drive, Paradise, PA, just west of South Belmont Road.
Sharon stood, and moved closer to the window. “I think I saw Tanner come out the back door with a young woman. They headed for the barn.”
“Probably going to rehearse,” Oliver said with a sly smirk on this face.
Brad had developed a growing appreciation for Oliver’s off-beat sense of humor.
Derek Young paced, and then purchased a draft beer at the refreshment bar before returning to sit next to Oliver.
After a few minutes they lost sight of the stone house. The Strasburg Railroad pulled alongside the main Amtrak line, where three electrified rail tracks traveled between Harrisburg and Philadelphia. When the train stopped, an announcer said that if everyone looked to their right they’d be able to wave at the engineer as the engine was uncoupled and moved to the opposite end of the train. A shiny black engine, with the number 475 on the front, thundered past them. A few minutes later, after the engine re-hooked directly in front of the parlor car, their return trip began.
Brad’s cell rang, and he answered on the first ring.
“I’ve got the information,” Detective Benrey said. “The vehicle is a 2010 Ford Expedition registered to Kevin G. Baker.”
Brad held the phone off to his side and whispered to Sharon, “It’s Kevin Baker’s vehicle.”
Returning to the detective, Brad said, “Kevin Baker and Karen Matthews, the person we’d already identified as involved, both worked at Maple Grove.” Brad watched as Sharon moved between Derek and Oliver filling them in on what was happening. “I was looking at a map,” Brad explained to the detective, “and the house is the only one on Ramsey Drive in Paradise.” He gave him the number.
“That’s the same address as the car registration. Let me see if I can search the county property records and identify the owner,” Benrey said.
As Brad waited, Sharon said, “Karen told me about Kevin landing a job in Lancaster and that his parents had a place near there.”
Brad put the phone between him and Sharon when he heard Benrey’s voice. “The property is owned jointly by Gordon Baker, June Ramsey, and Ramsey’s Dry Cleaning Emporium.”
That explained the name of the street address. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Not only had Christa Anderson been incarcerated in the jail where Kevin Baker worked, but she’d landed a work release job at the family business, which seemed more than a coincidence.
“I’m sure these are the people Skip Nelson is looking for. I hope you can find a judge on a Saturday afternoon to sign a search warrant,” Brad said.
“I’m already ahead of you. A clerk is typing up the application now, and I’m organizing a caravan to head in that direction. I’ll be calling Detective Nelson when I hang up.”
As Brad stowed his phone, Sharon, holding the binoculars to her eyes, pointed out the window. “I can see video lights blazing in the second floor window on the southwest corner of the house.”
Brad could make out the glow in the window even without the aid of the binoculars. “There’ll be trouble in Paradise this afternoon.”
Chapter Thirty-One
After returning to the Strasburg station the four of them stood next to Brad’s car.
“Let’s go get my brother,” Derek announced.
“Not so fast,” Brad said. “I want to make sure Jeremy’s protected. Remember these people have killed to conceal their identity, and we don’t know what they’ll do if they feel cornered.”
Brad couldn’t imagine this ending in a fiery scene reminiscent of the Branch Davidians’ ranch, but best prepare for contingencies. According to Jake, Wanda Shaw’s neighbor, on the day Tim Shaw was murdered, four people were riding in the Ford Expedition: Tim, Tanner, the driver and a woman in the back seat. Since it was Kevin’s vehicle, he was most likely the driver and the murderer. The tree limb Sharon found near the murder scene had blood and tissue on it, and Brad suspected Tim had connected with Karen Matthews’ arm during the struggle with his attacker, which accounted for her arm being in a sling rather than the elaborate ruse she’d concocted. Her DNA would be identified from blood on the tree limb. From his 9-1-1 call and chat with buddies in Achievement cottage, Brad knew that Tanner Jankowski had witnessed Tim’s murder; he’d be able to testify.
“Oliver, you go with Derek, and Sharon will go with me. The State Police are coming. We’ll park on South Belmont Road just past the turn for Ramsey Drive.” Turning to Derek, Brad said, “After they make arrests, with Oliver’s help we can get Jeremy in protective custody. You can follow my car, but we’re going to turn left,” Brad pointed, “and then another left on South Belmont.”
“Got it,” Derek said.
As they climbed into the Mercedes, Brad said of Derek, “I hope he’s not a loose cannon.”
“You want me to ride with him and Oliver with you?” Sharon asked.
Brad shook his head. “I need your brain power in this car.”
Sharon beamed.
A few minutes later Brad pulled onto the berm of South Belmont, and they waited. Seconds later Derek and Oliver parked directly behind them.
Sharon aimed Brad’s binoculars at the stone farmhouse. “The bedroom where they’re filming is on the other end of the house, so I can’t tell if the video lights are still on.”
“The films last about a half hour,” Brad said, looking at his watch. “I’m sure they don’t do it all in one take, and it hasn’t been that long since you first saw those lights.”
“And if they’re filming now, at least three or four people in the house will be occupied.”
She’d raised an interesting point. With Tim and Christa out of the picture there were ten porn performers remaining, with Kevin Baker and Karen Matthews making up to twelve people in the house.
“Do you think all the porn stars are living under this one roof?” Brad asked.
“Seems like it. Juveniles like Tanner come from situations where they don’t have a place to stay.”
“I still can’t figure out Enriqué’s role in all of this. Is he one of the masterminds, or has he been drawn into Karen and Kevin’s scheme like all the others?”
In his rear view mirror, Brad saw Derek get out of his silver Toyota. “What’s he doing?”
Sharon turned to see. “Probably pacing. You saw him in the train.”
Brad got out his car, walked back to where Derek was pacing, stood next to him and whispered, “Derek, you need to get back in your car. Don’t screw this up.”
Derek scowled, but did as he asked, and Brad returned to his own car.
Sharon mentioning Tanner’s name a few minutes earlier reminded Brad that Tanner and a young woman from the house had retreated to the barn.
Turning to Sharon he said, “I know you’re not a fan of porn, but have you ever seen a live sex show?”
“No!” She barked, folding her arms across her chest.
A few seconds later Sharon asked, “Have you?”
“Yeah,” Brad admitted. “In New York City, back when I was in college, before Giuliani cleaned up Times Square.”
She shook her head as if banishing the thought.
“Would you like to?” Brad asked, with a twinkle in his eye.
Her expression changed from disgust to curiosity in a matter of seconds. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that there are as many as ten people left in the house right now, but if Tanner and his friend should return from the barn there’ll be that many more that the police have to contend with.” Brad aimed his thumb in the direction of the barn. “So maybe you could sneak over and escort Tanner and company back to the safety of our car. After all, he was a witness to Tim Shaw’s murder. But when you get there they might be, uh, doing it.”
“Fuck, I can handle that.”
That’s what Brad was counting on. He had expected the police to be there by now, but this strategy would improve their odds and get at least two innocent bystanders out of the way.
Sharon once more raised the binoculars and scanned the area to plan her trip. “There’s not much tree cover in that field.” She added, “Thank goodness I wore old shoes today.”
Sharon climbed out of the car, crossed the road and started walking the distance of about two football fields along the edge of freshly plowed ground toward the barn.