Blood Porn

by Ray Flynt

  Brad watched anxiously, shifting his gaze from Sharon’s progress back to the house, hoping not to see anyone emerge that would disrupt their plan.

  As Sharon got within a hundred feet of the barn, Brad heard a car engine start. He turned around and saw Derek backing his car down South Belmont and then make the left turn onto Ramsey Drive.

  Brad pulled out his cell phone, found Oliver’s number and called it. There was no answer, and Brad disconnected as it went into voice mail. He picked up the binoculars and watched as Derek’s car pulled in front of the stone farmhouse. Through the rear window he could see Derek’s arms flailing in Oliver’s direction, possibly grappling for his cell phone. Shit! We don’t need this.

  He could no longer see Sharon as he looked toward the barn. Brad wondered if she also spotted Derek’s Toyota on the move.

  Derek got out of his car wearing a white baseball-style cap that Brad hadn’t seen earlier. He popped the trunk open and retrieved what looked like a pizza box.

  What the hell is he doing?

  Watching Derek through the binoculars with one hand, Brad grabbed his phone with the other hand and tried to call Oliver again.

  When Oliver answered, Brad asked, “What the hell is he doing?”

  “Sorry about not answering a few minutes ago, but it was a little tense in here as he tried to stop me from calling you,” Oliver explained. “He has this idea of making a pizza delivery for Jeremy and getting him out of the house. Derek said he had an empty pizza box, and I heard him pop the trunk.”

  For an instant, Brad forgot that Oliver was blind, and couldn’t already see Derek, pizza box in hand, walking up the steps toward the front door. When they discover the pizza box is empty, Derek would be in trouble.

  “Stay put, Oliver.”

  Brad turned his attention to the front door of the farmhouse where Derek readied to press the doorbell. That was a mistake; Brad thought a door chime would sound throughout the house alerting the pornographers in the second floor bedroom that they had visitors. Either the doorbell didn’t work, or Derek had made the same calculation, and he saw him knock.

  Seconds later the door opened, and Brad could see a brunette he recognized from the Paris café video through the opening. The door wasn’t open for long, and Derek glanced nervously toward his car.

  Looking north on South Belmont Road, Brad could see the caravan of police cars heading in his direction. He had visions of Derek being arrested along with the rest of the house, and they’d let him cool his heels in jail for a few days while they sorted everything out. They were still at least a half-mile away, but it looked like there were three unmarked cars and bringing up the rear an SUV with flashing red, white, and blue lights.

  Brad focused his attention on the front door, using the binoculars. The door swung open, and Brad saw Jeremy Young angrily mouth, I didn’t order any… before he recognized his brother and his face brightened. Derek ditched the pizza box, motioned for Jeremy to join him and dashed down the steps. Jeremy hesitated before finally walking down the steps at a leisurely pace. Derek ran for his car, waving frantically at Jeremy like a third base coach urging a runner to head for home. Jeremy seemed to finally understand and moved faster, that is until Derek arrived at the driver’s door and Jeremy stopped in his tracks. He’d obviously spotted his probation officer, Oliver Reynolds, seated in the front seat of his brother’s car. What for Jeremy was probably a WTF moment.

  Brad could only imagine what Derek was shouting at him over the roof of his car.

  The lead police car neared Ramsey Drive, and when Jeremy looked to his left and saw them coming whatever hesitancy he may have had evaporated. He scrambled into the back seat of his brother’s car.

  The police caravan passed Brad’s car and made the right turn onto Ramsey Drive, pulling up in front of the stone house just as Derek pulled away. What Derek hadn’t calculated in his scheme was that Ramsey Drive was a dead end. When Derek made a U-turn, one of the unmarked cars blocked his path. By that point Derek could see the futility of his effort, and Brad only hoped that Oliver, with his Chester County Juvenile Probation officer ID would be able to explain the situation.

  At least six troopers made their way to the front porch, pounded on the door, and when it opened, forced their way in. Brad wondered which of them was Detective Benrey. Before leaving the train Brad had alerted Benrey to their observation of video lights blazing in the bedroom on the southwest corner of the house, and he was fairly confident that would be the first focus of their search.

  Brad wondered what was taking Sharon so long.

  One of the troopers who’d detained Derek, Oliver and Jeremy, now moved toward the house. Brad guessed that Oliver made the police feel comfortable that none of them were murder suspects, and that all were willing to cooperate.

  The fact that the police had been in the house for several minutes with no explosions or people jumping out of second-story windows was a good sign.

  With things apparently under control in the house, Brad climbed out of his car and traced Sharon’s route toward the barn through muddy ground. As close as he was, he couldn’t hear any activity within the house. As he drew closer to the barn Brad heard a man say, “Shut up bitch.” He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Kevin Baker.

  Within a track-mounted sliding door large enough to admit a vehicle, Brad saw a hinged personnel door held open a crack by a heavy-duty extension cord that snaked its way to an electrical outlet on the outside of the barn.

  He peeked through the opening, and spotted Kevin Baker standing behind a video camera mounted on a tripod. Hanging from beams above him were two utility lights aimed toward bales of straw where Tanner and the “farmer’s daughter” from Barnyard Fantasy sat. She was topless, and Tanner’s coveralls were unbuttoned revealing his chest.

  “I’m not the only one here,” Brad heard Sharon say.

  “I told you to shut up,” Baker said.

  Looking to the left, Brad could see that Sharon had been tied to a support post using baling twine.

  “Okay,” Sharon said, “don’t believe me.”

  Brad watched as Kevin marched over to Tanner, grabbed a red bandana sticking out of a pocket of the coveralls and twirled it into a gag for Sharon.

  This only managed to make her madder as she mumbled angrily through the gag, and Brad knew he needed to act.

  Remembering a trick he once learned from Nick, Brad bent down and unlaced one of his shoes. He stood behind the hinged door and unplugged the extension cord. When Kevin came outside to investigate the power failure a few seconds later, Brad shoved the door from the opposite side and Kevin fell face-forward to the ground. Brad rammed his knee into the middle of Kevin’s back to pin him there, then pulled Kevin’s hands behind his back and tied them together with the shoelace.

  Knowing that would hold him for a minute, Brad entered the barn and untied Sharon.

  To the two stunned porn performers he called out, “Get dressed. You’re safe.”

  Brad told Sharon to watch Baker while he made a phone call. Sharon only too gladly planted a muddy shoe in the middle of Kevin’s back, and he grunted.

  Brad pulled out his phone and called Detective Benrey.

  When the detective answered, Brad identified himself, and Benrey said, “Things are secure here. We’ve rounded up eight people in the house and one more in the Toyota out front that I think you might already know about.”

  “That’s the young man I’ve been trying to locate,” Brad explained. “His juvenile probation officer is with him. I’m out by the barn behind the house. Send a couple of troopers over here. We’ve got three more for you, including Kevin Baker and a witness who can confirm that Baker killed Tim Shaw.”

  Brad could almost hear the detective smiling through the phone.

  “I’ve ordered a minibus,” Benrey said, “and we’re going to take them all to headquarters for questioning. I contacted Detective Nelson from the Bucks County State Police headquarters and he’s headed
our way. We’ll leave a team here to complete our search.”

  “One of the people you have in custody—the guy with the mustache—is Enriqué Fuentes. He’s already on adult probation in Philadelphia County.” If he wasn’t involved with murder, Brad knew his probation status might be helpful to get him to talk.

  A white minibus turned onto Ramsey Drive just as Brad ended the call.

  It was after 4 p.m. and Brad, Sharon and Oliver were still sitting in the lobby at Troop J Headquarters waiting to speak with Detective Nelson.

  Earlier, a trooper brought Jeremy Young to the lobby, and he was permitted to leave with his brother provided that he keep a scheduled meeting with his probation officer the following Monday. Derek and Jeremy were effusive in their thanks, with Derek adding, “Mom’s going to be happy to see him.”

  The trooper added, “Detective Nelson knows you’re here, and he’ll be out shortly.”

  An hour later they were still waiting.

  “I felt sorry for Tanner,” Sharon said. “He didn’t know that his sister had been killed.”

  “You told him?” Brad asked.

  “Yeah, I was trying to even the odds, and get Tanner’s help to escape Baker. That was before he tied me up.”

  Brad was glad all had ended safely.

  “I’ll owe you both dinners when we finally get out of here,” Brad said. “We’re in Amish country, I’m sure we can find chicken and gravy over biscuits, and shoo fly pie.”

  “Ah, no,” Sharon said, “I’m thinking of a steak dinner closer to home.”

  “Sounds good,” Oliver added, and Brad was out voted.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Skip Nelson’s voice boomed as he came through the door. “We’ve had a couple of breakthroughs. The search team found a lawnmower in a shed behind the suspect house with a missing throttle cable. We’ll have to wait for DNA testing to be sure, but Karen’s blood type—A-positive—is the same as we found on that stick at the scene of Tim Shaw’s murder, and she has bruising on her arm that would be consistent with being struck by that tree branch.”

  Brad glanced at Sharon who had a broad smile on her face.

  “Thanks to your tip,” Detective Nelson continued, “Fuentes is talking. Apparently, after Enriqué left Maple Grove, Karen stayed in touch with him, and after her marriage broke up she and Fuentes got together—were living together. Enriqué said Kevin talked them into doing the porn to make, his words, a bundle of money.

  “Enriqué gave up Kevin Baker on Christa Anderson’s murder. Baker killed her because he learned she was HIV positive.”

  Brad realized Baker had learned that news at the same time he did, when Dede Watkins revealed Christa’s HIV status in Kevin’s office. Kevin had been texting like crazy that afternoon, and probably alerted Karen to the news.

  “Enriqué said that Karen asked him to talk with Christa,” the detective explained. “He knew Christa from Philly, and had recruited her for the porn operation because she knew girls that could also be involved.”

  Brad had speculated Christa had a major recruitment role.

  “According to Fuentes,” Nelson said, “Karen asked him to lure Christa to the boat launch at Nockamixon State Park—telling her that he had information about what happened to Tim Shaw. Kevin followed them and attacked her. Fuentes saw the whole thing.”

  “Any admissions from Karen or Kevin?”

  Nelson shook his head. “They’ve both asked for lawyers. Baker’s family has money, and he requested a prominent local attorney who is on the way—probably when he gets off the golf course. We’re rounding up a public defender for Karen.”

  “What about the others?” Brad asked.

  “We asked child welfare to take charge of Tanner Jankowski and one other juvenile, since they don’t seem to have any available family. Tanner’s a material witness, so we’ll want to keep track of him. Others involved in the porn will be released and we’re contacting family members to come pick them up.”

  Brad extended his hand, and Nelson shook it. “Thanks for the update, Detective. It’s been a good day.”

  Skip Nelson agreed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It had been a remarkable twenty-four hours, which once more reminded Brad of why he’d become a private detective. Although there’d be no justice for Tim Shaw or Christa Anderson, their killers would be brought to justice, and he relished the fact that he and Sharon—with the aid of Oliver’s remarkable gifts—had helped solve the case.

  Nothing could spoil this Sunday, a day of celebration. In a few hours Beth would arrive. He’d made dinner reservations for the two of them at Jacquelle’s, and maybe later they’d get hot and sweaty in the sauna.

  The caterers arrived at 10:30 a.m., commandeered the kitchen and set up for a brunch in the newly redecorated foyer. Rebecca Hope-Clarke had managed to add warmth to the coldest room in the house, with new area rugs atop the checkerboard marble floor, colorful herringbone drapes, and new wall sconces that made the room glow.

  Shortly after 11 a.m., Rebecca arrived with two of her crew. Brad greeted her with a peck on both cheeks, and said, “The foyer looks amazing.”

  “We were here late last night finishing up.” Pointing toward the sheet-covered archway to the living room, Rebecca said, “You haven’t peeked?”

  Brad crossed his heart. “No way.”

  Rebecca looked at her watch. “We might have to do the reveal early,” she said, hesitantly. “The crew from channel 10 will arrive at 11:30 and can only stay a half-hour.”

  “No problem, as long as you’ll stick around to meet my friends later?”

  “Absolutely,” Rebecca said.

  Twenty minutes later the film crew arrived. They set up cameras in the living room, and Rebecca asked Brad to stand in front of the sheet waiting for one of her assistants to remove it for the big reveal. He heard Rebecca call out, “Now.”

  The sheet fluttered in front of him and was quickly pulled out of view. Brad could scarcely believe the transformation. He’d watched these types of reveals dozens of times on HGTV, and always wondered what people really thought when they screamed, “Oh my God!” He was speechless, but had a huge smile on his face. Rebecca had managed to turn a twenty by thirty-six foot cavern into a cozy, intimate space.

  Rebecca came and stood next to him, and he hugged her, saying, “It’s more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.”

  “Let me point out a few features,” Rebecca said. He knew she was performing for the camera, but Brad’s thoughts were elsewhere. He’d resisted making changes for more than a decade, but now, not only did it seem right and a reflection of him, but one his parents would have liked as well.

  The walls were a neutral gray, with warmth added via colorful drapes, throws, and pillows. The room was divided into three areas. His parents’ prized Picasso—a reproduction, since Brad’s dad had donated the original to the Philadelphia Museum of Art—was spotlighted above a stacked stone fireplace in front of which sat two camel-colored leather sofas.

  His mother’s grand piano had been refinished and sat on one side of the room, while on the opposite end his father’s reading chair had been re-upholstered with a rich cream-colored fabric, and sat next to a table with a few of his favorite books piled on it.

  Light filled the room from recessed fixtures, sconces, and table lamps, and Rebecca had dotted the space with family mementos, crystal, and fresh flower arrangements.

  The camera crew left, and Brad urged Rebecca and her crew to enjoy the brunch.

  Sharon arrived with Oliver on her arm. She took him on a tour, describing every aspect of the room, and Brad watched as Oliver touched the furnishings and the stone around the fireplace. Brad didn’t know what the future would bring for Sharon and Oliver, but they sure made an appealing couple.

  Shortly before 1 p.m., a taxi rolled up the cobblestone drive. Beth jumped out and smiled broadly when she saw him, the door opened on the other side of the cab and his Aunt Harriet emerged. She was the surpr
ise visitor Beth had mentioned. The silver-haired dowager of the Frame family—Harriet Frame Beecham, his dad’s younger sister—had been bugging him for years to redecorate, and it was only fitting she should be there. He greeted her at the curb and kissed her on the cheek.

  He escorted his Aunt and Beth into the living room.

  “Oh, Bradford!” His Aunt clasped her hands at the sight, and her eyes blinked as she took it all in. They walked around, Harriet using her cane to ensure her footing, and he pointed out the various changes.

  “Oh look, Joe’s chair.” Harriet touched the nubby fabric and a tear formed in the corner of her eye.

  At the end of their tour, Harriet stood between him and Beth. “You haven’t really said anything, Aunt Harriet. What do you think?”

  She peered at him over the top of her wireframe glasses, casting a stern look. “There’s one thing missing.”

  Brad was concerned. “What’s that?”

  Harriet reached out and grasped Beth’s left hand saying, “A diamond on this finger.”

  Beth blushed.

  “Subtle, Aunt Harriet. Very subtle.”

  OTHER BOOKS BY RAY FLYNT

  UNFORGIVING SHADOWS

  A Brad Frame Mystery #1

  TRANSPLANTED DEATH

  A Brad Frame Mystery #2

  KISSES OF AN ENEMY

  A Novel of Political Suspense

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’ve been a part of the same writers’ group for the last fifteen years, and their assistance has been invaluable. Current members of the group include: Lynda Sasscer Hill, Mary Ellen Hughes, Debbi Mack, Sherriel Mattingly, Bonnie Settle, and Marcia Talley. Those in bold have published books that you might want to check out.

  Thanks to the following persons who read the finished manuscript and offered helpful comments: Robin Dile Cuneo, Sue Dirham, Kevin Filippelli, Robert Martin, and David Matthews. Thanks also to Rebecca Clark Flynt for her love and encouragement, and without whose design and architectural expertise the transformation of Brad Frame’s living room would not have been possible.