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  BLOOD

  PORN

  A Brad Frame Mystery

  Ray Flynt

  Copyright © 201 2

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  For April and Carl, Richard and Sup

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ray Flynt is CEO of a Washington DC-based national social service association. BLOOD PORN is the third in the Brad Frame mystery series. In addition, Ray is the author of KISSES OF AN ENEMY, a tale of political suspense, which the Huffington Post included in its list of “Best Reviewed Indie Books” of 2011.

  A native of Pennsylvania, Ray is currently working on a new Brad Frame mystery, LADY ON THE EDGE which will be published in 2013.

  Ray is a member of Mystery Writers of America. He lives in Anne Arundel County, Maryland with his wife

  .

  Chapter One

  Derek Young grabbed lunch from his locker, stuck a dollar in the vending machine for a can of Coke, and aimed for his usual seat at a table against the wall. Only a few co-workers opted for the eleven-thirty break time—flex lunch they called it—so the room wasn’t crowded. Madeline from the front office shared a quick wave as she zapped an item in the microwave. He waved back, and then opened the lunch pail to see what goodies Ellen had packed. Derek raised a foil wrapped package to his nose. Was that corned beef? He peeled back the wrapping. Indeed, she had packed his favorite sandwich. He lifted the corner of the wheat bread and saw a thick slice of canned beef slathered with mustard and covered in dill pickles. His stomach rumbled.

  Next he retrieved a peach, which he knew had come fresh from a tree in their neighbor’s yard, and a plastic baggie with two—count ‘em two—Oreo cookies. How blessed can one guy be? At the bottom of the pail sat Hershey’s Kisses wrapped in red foil atop a napkin on which Ellen had written in lipstick, Happy Anniversary! Derek smiled as he thought about their plans for that evening.

  He had just bitten into his sandwich when Manford Taylor loomed next to his table. The strapping black man favored wife-beater shirts to show off glistening oversized biceps, with a scorpion tattooed on his left arm. The overall effect could be intimidating to a stranger, but Derek understood him fairly well. Manford grunted and pointed at the empty chair, and Derek, still munching on the sandwich, motioned for him to sit. Manford was ten years older and bigger, but Derek could match him pound for pound in the exercise room at the warehouse, which the foreman liked to call a “perk” of their employment. Every Thursday after work they spotted for each other on the bench press.

  “What’s up man?” Manford asked.

  Derek swallowed and mumbled, “Not much. You?”

  “I brought you something.” Manford slid a rumpled paper bag across the table.

  The bag, with its dried ketchup stains, looked like it had been used to carry several lunches. He set his sandwich down and began to open the paper bag.

  “Not here.” Manford slapped his meaty paw on top of the bag, drawing a couple of stares.

  “What is it?”

  “Remember that talk we had in the weight room last week?” Manford began. He glanced around and lowered his voice. “You know, about you and the wife having problems in the bedroom?”

  Derek turned to see who might have overheard Manford’s remark. A few more people had entered the lunch room, but no one appeared to notice. He felt embarrassed at having raised the subject with Manford, of all people. It wasn’t like they were best friends. Why did he even say anything? Action had waned in the bedroom, not disappeared entirely. He understood why; Danielle’s premature birth brought a whole new dimension to their lives, and the constant medical attention required for the first year and a half of her life had sapped time and energy from both, but especially Ellen.

  Irritated, Derek replied, “Yeah, what about it?”

  “No need to get upset man. I’m tryin’ to help.

  “Well, maybe I don’t need your help.”

  Conversation at the table got quiet. Manford opened his lunch bag and pulled out a plastic water bottle that looked like it now held iced tea. He also took out a Styrofoam container and flipped back the top to reveal two barbequed chicken breasts.

  Derek finished eating his sandwich. He could barely look at Manford.

  A few minutes later, after polishing off one of the chicken breasts, Manford cleared his throat and pointed at the still unopened brown paper bag. “That’s a hot video.”

  Derek realized why Manford didn’t want him opening the bag in the lunch room, and mouthed his question, “Porn?”

  Manford nodded.

  Derek remembered the time he and Ellen spent their third anniversary in a hotel on Miami Beach. A hurricane skirted the coast, but dumped a torrent of rain, and they’d spent an entire day cooped up in their room. When none of the free movie choices appealed to both of them, he’d persuaded her to watch an adult video from the Pay-Per-View selections. The idea hadn’t repulsed Ellen; though she never called it a turn-on. They’d cuddled as they watched, and eventually the action in their bed eclipsed that on-screen. Danielle had arrived exactly six months later—a two-pound-eleven-ounce preemie. And now they were celebrating their fifth anniversary. Maybe he should borrow the video and see what happens.

  Derek took a bite out of the juicy peach and peered over at Manford who looked sheepish. He wasn’t sure how to ask his next question—which dealt with personal preferences—without sounding racist. Ask with a smile. He tapped the paper bag. “Are they black girls?”

  “Are you kidding? Nothing but grade-A white meat for me.” Manford sunk his teeth into the second chicken breast. “You’ll like it,” he muttered as he chewed.

  Derek finished the peach and reached for the Oreos.

  “Skip to the second scene,” Manford advised. “The opening’s boring.”

  Hard to imagine porn being boring. “Okay.” Derek glanced at his watch, and realized he only had a few minutes to get back to work, and wanted to touch base with Ellen first. He stuffed the second cookie and the Hershey’s candy in his T-shirt pocket, grabbed the bag with the video and fit it inside his lunch pail.

  “That’s just a loan,” Manford said. “I want it back.”

  Derek nodded.

  “See you in the weight room after work?”

  “Oh, I meant to tell you, I can’t today. It’s our anniversary, and I’m taking…” Derek paused, prepared to say Ellen, but then worried that Manford had already intruded on his personal life, and he’d have to be more cautious what he shared. “… my wife out to dinner.”

  Manford looked disappointed. “Next week then.”

  “Sure.” Derek stood up, headed for the lunch room door, and speed-dialed his home number as he stowed the lunch pail back in his locker.

  Derek punched out exactly at four p.m. Two minutes later he slipped into his six-year old Toyota Camry for the twenty minute drive west on Route 30 to their home in Coatesville, PA. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tensions from the last four hours of moving pallets by forklift off four-story high storage shelves to waiting tractor trailer trucks.

  He planned two stops, but as he neared the turn off for the car wash rain drops began pelting the windshield, and the dark sky threatened a gully washer; Mother Nature would be cleaning his car.

  Derek found a close-in parking space at the Acme super market in Downingtown, dashed through the rain, and headed for the floral and gift section where he found a nice bouquet of mixed flowers, including one red rose, for seven dollars! He’d pay at least four times that much at a flower shop, but money was tight, and he kept telling himself it’s the thought that counts.

  Back in the car, Derek had just pulled onto the main highway when the sky let loose complete with sound and light show. He threw the wipers into high, and matched the slo
wer pace of the other drivers in rush hour traffic.

  With the random predictableness of a late-August shower, by the time Derek pulled into his driveway the rain had stopped and a ribbon of sunlight in the western sky promised clearing and a nice evening.

  “I’m home,” Derek shouted, as he entered through the kitchen door.

  “In here,” Ellen responded from the living room.

  Derek laid the flowers on the counter, opened his lunch box, and took the video out of the bag. He was surprised to see only a plain transparent jewel case, with the shiny disk exposed, and no graphics to describe the content. He tossed the overused bag, and tucked the plastic case in the back of his pants, covering it with his shirt. Flowers in hand, he marched to the living room.

  “Hey there, beautiful.” He found Ellen on the sofa with a book on her lap, looking relaxed in khakis and a pink short-sleeved blouse. Her shoulder length brown hair flipped under, and she’d applied a pink lipstick. Even her cheeks looked rosy; she was just as beautiful as when they’d first met ten years earlier in their junior year of high school. Ellen transferred to the West Chester area from Ohio, and sat across from him in their home room. They’d become friends, but didn’t start dating until after graduation. “Happy Anniversary!” Derek extended the flowers and bent down for a kiss.

  “Oh, Derek, they’re gorgeous. I’ll get a vase.”

  She stood and Derek thought he saw a tear glistening in the corner of her eye. He put his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just… This is the first time I’ve been away from Danielle.”

  Derek gave her a hug, trying not to crush the flowers. She wrapped her hand around the back of his head and kissed him on the cheek. His body stirred, a hopeful sign, but he didn’t want to get ahead of their plans for a romantic evening.

  “Your mom picked up Danielle?”

  Ellen nodded. “About an hour ago. She’ll keep her overnight, so we have the evening to ourselves.”

  “Mmmm,” he growled. “I need to grab a shower and change.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Derek sniffed at his arm pit. “Going right now. Should be ready in about twenty minutes.”

  Once in the bedroom, Derek ditched the DVD in his bedside table—he doubted it would be needed—and deposited his dirty clothes in the laundry basket, then ran naked down the hall toward the bathroom in their two bedroom bungalow, using his shaving kit to cover his private parts; That is, until he flashed Ellen. She laughed—a good sign. Playfulness was on his mind.

  He shaved, showered and then stood under a hot shower for at least five minutes, washing away the dirt and cares of the day. He dried off, wrapped the towel around his waist, and returned to the bedroom, all the while peeking over his shoulder to see if Ellen would be watching. She was.

  He selected a pair of olive-colored shorts, and a Caribbean shirt printed with palm leaves, ran his fingers through his hair to fluff up the brush cut, and splashed on CK One cologne, which had been a birthday gift from Ellen.

  “Ta da!” he announced, returning to the living room. “Let me call ahead and see what kind of wait we’re gonna have.”

  Olive Garden seemed especially crowded for a Thursday night, but they were able to get their name on the list by phone and only had to wait ten minutes. Derek held Ellen’s hand in the lobby, drawing appreciative glances from several of the women in the waiting area. They were escorted to a booth, ordered two glasses of Moscato wine and an appetizer of Mussels di Napoli.

  Derek held his glass aloft. “For five great years, and fifty more.” They clinked glasses, and the atmosphere seemed perfect.

  Each enjoyed a shrimp pasta dish for the main meal. Ellen caught him up on the latest antics of their daughter, who thankfully hadn’t appeared to suffer developmentally from her premature birth. Derek listened gratefully, intoxicated by another glass of wine and the happy sound of Ellen’s voice.

  Lots of smiles passed between them, and at one point he felt Ellen playing footsie under the table.

  The waitress brought a dessert menu, and as they studied the selections, Derek asked, “What was the name of that hotel where we stayed in Miami Beach for our third anniversary?”

  “Hmmm… Capri… no, I think it was the Calypso.”

  “Yeah, that was it.”

  “Why’d you ask?”

  “No particular reason.” Derek shrugged. “I was just thinking about it.”

  Ellen laughed. “That’s where you wanted to watch that dumb porno flick.”

  Oops. Busted. Derek felt his face flush. “Well, you have to admit it got us turned on.”

  Ellen cocked her head and gave him her who-are-you-kidding look. “No. It got you turned on. All I need is you in my arms.”

  That’s sweet, and hopeful.

  They agreed to skip dessert, and Ellen promised to make a fresh pot of coffee when they got home. Derek paid the bill, and they were on their way.

  The sky had cleared and the glare from the setting sun prompted both of them to don sun glasses. Every so often during the trip Derek felt Ellen’s hand brush the back of his hair or rub his shoulder. He felt twenty again, recalling their first date. They were friends first, and then lovers—maybe the best order on which to build a relationship. But Derek welcomed the prospect of a return to intimacy that had eluded them of late.

  Over coffee, and with television as background noise, they chatted in the living room, until Ellen finally stood and said, “You get the lights in a few minutes, and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

  Derek watched her duck in the bathroom and emerge a few minutes later and disappear into their bedroom. At that point he zapped the remote, went to the kitchen to turn off the coffee maker and lights, and after a brief bathroom stop, finally made his way down the darkened corridor to their bedroom.

  His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he stepped out of his clothes and slipped under the sheet and crawled next to her. Ellen wore a short cotton nighty, and sat propped against the cushioned headboard. She reached out and drew him near. Derek welcomed her embrace, and soon their lips met in a long passionate kiss. He held her close savoring the familiar scent of her perfume.

  He reached under the nighty and ran his fingers appreciatively over her smooth skin, working his way toward her breasts. She responded breathlessly and in turn traced circles on his abdomen, letting her hand move lower.

  Something wasn’t right. He had sensed it… barely at half-mast… just as her fingers reached their mark. They both froze, and he hardly dared to breathe. Ellen withdrew her hand.

  Derek flopped over on his back in disgust.

  A minute passed with nothing said. Maybe he should have stuck with a glass of wine and not ordered a bottle. They tried again over the next few minutes with no success.

  “It’s okay,” she finally whispered.

  It’s not okay. He’d never had performance issues. He thought about Manford’s video, and what Ellen had said at the restaurant. Finally, he decided if he wanted to salvage the evening he’d have to chance it.

  He hurried through a brief explanation of why the video was in his nightstand, and asked if she’d mind if he played it.

  “Honey, of course not.” She sounded sincere enough. “I just want to be close to you.”

  He managed to find the DVD in the dark, make his way to the dresser where they had a combination TV/DVD player on top, popped in the disk, and pushed play. Recalling Manford’s warning, he selected the second scene. Soon a woman’s boobs filled the screen, followed by the back of man’s head aimed for them. Derek turned his attention back to Ellen, their bed now lit by the flickering light from the TV. Ellen had unbuttoned her nighty and Derek emulated what he’d seen on the screen seconds earlier. The combination of a woman’s moaning and appreciative male grunts seemed to inspire him. Who knew he only needed verbal stimulation? Their own moans and panting soon mingled with the sounds from the video. He could sense himself getting harder by the second and co
nquest felt near.

  “Oh wow,” Ellen said, which brought a smile to his face, until she added, “The guy on the screen looks like you.”

  Derek turned to look at the TV.

  Crap. He lost his erection almost as quickly as he’d found it. “That’s my brother.”

  Chapter Two

  One week later

  As the first movement of Dvorak’s New World Symphony built to its dramatic conclusion, Brad Frame slipped the letter opener along the edge of the official looking windowed-envelope from the University of Pennsylvania. He already knew what he would find—his grade for the graduate class in Social Psychology he finished a few weeks earlier. As he unfolded the paper, the “A” stared back, and he grinned in self-satisfaction. He’d taken Nick Argostino’s dare and triumphed.

  Brad pulled out his smartphone and composed a text message to his mentor and mostly-silent partner in his detective agency. Grade A. Game, set, match.

  He punched send, just as his assistant, Sharon Porter, sauntered into the office, her own cell phone glued to her ear. At the beginning of the summer she’d had her auburn hair permed with tight curls, instantly regretted the Orphan Annie redux, and spent the rest of the summer waiting for her hair to grow into, in her words, “A better look for a person who has reached a third of a century!”

  Sharon waved, then paced as she listened. Brad reached behind him to the credenza and clicked off the CD player so the music wouldn’t disturb her. He also stuffed the grade report back in its envelope and stashed it in the desk.

  Brad had built the office on the grounds of his parents’ Bryn Mawr mansion following the murder of his mother and sister, and his father’s incapacitating stroke. In addition to using his dad’s massive oak partners’ desk, he outfitted the room with a comfortable seating area. Two walls of windows provided views to the front driveway and the manicured lawns of the estate. A second floor, reached via a spiral staircase, held a gym complete with treadmill, free weights, stationary bike, and elliptical trainer. He’d found that working up a sweat helped him think, and kept his waist trim from those five-course charity banquets he regularly attended.