“I appreciate that. Jasmine told me that there is a club of girls who are making sex tapes to be posted on the Internet. What can you tell me about them?”
Thalia contemplated her hands, which were nestled in her lap. “It's not what they make it out to be, for starters. It's supposed to be this glamorous, exciting club that everyone wants to be a part of, and only the most beautiful and popular are tapped. You know what being tapped is, right?”
“Yes. You're chosen by the group, have to go through some awful ritual, then you're a pledge of sorts.”
“Sounds like you've been through it.”
“I have,” Taylor said. “I don't think it was quite what you've gone through, though.”
“Not unless your first task is to fellate the captain of the football team.”
Trying not to show her shock, Taylor answered lightly. “Definitely not. That was your initiation?”
“Yes. I got a note in my locker telling me to go to the Pergola immediately. That's what they call this small building off the football fields where some of the kids go to smoke. I followed their instructions. They blindfolded me the moment I walked through the door, pushed me to my knees. Explained that they were tapping me and to prove myself worthy, I had to suck off this guy. So I did. Things took off from there. It was sick, and twisted, and the longer I was involved, the more ashamed of myself I became. Blow jobs became sex, the sex became fetishistic, then they started in with the cameras. Fifty points for getting a video up on the Internet, one hundred for selling it to a production house. When I dropped out, they ostracized me. I stopped going to school, got my GED, and started working here. I needed to find a new path, forge a future that I could live with. To find some forgiveness for my stupidity.” She waved a hand in the air, swatting away the memories.
“That's not what you need to hear. Jasmine said you're looking for names of the girls who were actually on film.”
“Yes.” Taylor withdrew a folded still shot of the two girls from the video from her pocket. She smoothed it open. “Can you identify either one of them?”
Thalia took the photo. “Both. The one on the left in the pigtails is Tracy Civet, the one on the right is Jere Beisman. Both seniors last year. Both a little nuts, if you want my opinion. They want to do porn full-time. These little movies are going on their résumés.”
“And do Tracy and Jere work solely with Todd Wolff?”
“That's what this is about, isn't it? You think they killed his wife.”
Taylor didn't miss a beat. “Did they?”
Thalia shook her head. “I don't know. I doubt it, though. They didn't care about her, she was just the cameraman.”
“She didn't participate?”
“Not that I knew of.”
Taylor had seen tapes with Corinne as an active participant. She must have started off behind the camera, then decided that wasn't enough. Evolution.
“How did she feel about her husband having sex with the girls?”
“As far as I know, she was fine with it. She was very professional, always telling you where to be, where to place your legs, your hands, your mouth. âSpread those cheeks, girls.'” Her face fell. “This is just what I heard, I never filmed with them. I backed out before it got to that.”
“Let me ask you this. Do you know where they were trying to sell the tapes?”
“Todd Wolff should be able to tell you that. That man is a braggart, always claiming to have an in with this major production house. He took possession of the tapes, sent them on to his boss. When one sold, I mean sold into the stores, he'd split the money with the actresses. It got to be much more than an accumulation of points for Tracy and Jere.”
“How many girls participate, Thalia?”
She'd rewrapped her hands in her lap, wasn't meeting Taylor's eyes anymore. “Upwards of ten, probably. I only know of two others who are at this level. It's kind of like the Masons, you only get to know who is at the higher levels as you progress through them.”
“So you don't know who the ringleaders are?”
“No. Tracy and Jere were my friends. So I thought. The other two girls were seniors this year. One was killed in a car accident right after graduation. Remember last year, when five girls were killed when they ran into a truck?”
Taylor nodded. It had been a horrific accident, on the news and in the minds of Nashville for weeks.
“The other, her name is Ginny Englewood, she graduated and went to school in Georgia somewhere. âGinny Loves Wood,' that was her star name. Classy, I know. She didn't continue her career in film. And unfortunately, that's all I know. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help. I should probably get back to work now.” Thalia's voice was cracking, bitter tears spilling from her eyes. Taylor knew it was time to stop. She had what she needed anyway.
They stood, and started back toward the door. “You were a huge help, Thalia. I appreciate your honesty. I know it wasn't easy.”
Thalia left the tears unchecked, shook Taylor's hand with a firm grasp. “God gives us challenges, Lieutenant. It's how we deal with them that matters.”
Seventeen, and already imbued with the wisdom of the world. Taylor felt strangely empty when she left the girl behind.
T
aylor sat in the truck and wrote up the information Thalia had just given her. She needed to get the names of the additional girls to Fitz, let him and Marcus go to work on tracking them down. And Todd Wolff had new charges that needed to be filed against him, for child pornography. With any luck, they'd be able to parlay the charges into a confession, find out who he was selling the tapes to and shut down the operation.
Fitz answered his phone on the first ring. She talked quickly. It only took a few minutes to relay the appropriate information, and he was off. They couldn't run the risk of him getting caught up in the Oompa's ire. He'd follow the tracks of her morning's legwork, legitimizing the information Taylor had received so the case wouldn't be compromised.
Something didn't feel right about the secret society. The thought of a group of high school honeys trying to break into the porn industry and recruiting their friends seemed a bit much. Taylor suspected there was an outside force, someone professional who was manipulating the girls. Calling it a secret society, preying on the girls' insecurities, their fears, their teenage ambitions to be special, famous. Making them think they wanted this life, making it glamorous, fun, a game. Todd Wolff certainly fit the bill.
Taylor hadn't seen any incidence of other men on the tapes, but if Corinne had been having sex with some unseen participants, maybe that could explain the pregnancy jitters. Her mother suspected an affair, Dr. Ricard had said Corinne was being manipulated by everyone and had used the word
lover
in the list. Sam needed to test the fetus for paternity. She made a note and went back to her thoughts.
Thalia had mentioned Todd Wolff had a boss. She wouldn't be surprised if money had changed hands that had nothing to do with the profits of a sale. Wolff was a pimp, plain and simple. Now they needed to focus on finding who he worked for.
Oh, she should have asked Thalia about drugs. She flipped open the phone and called the girl.
The voice mail came on and Taylor left her a message.
She felt good. She could tell things were about to break. That's the way it was with these cases, either they latched on to a thread that quickly unraveled, or they were stymied for months. Though it sure as hell would be nice if she had a fucking badge so she could do her job.
Her anger spilled over and she slammed her fists into the steering wheel, imagined Delores's pug face. There, that was better. She calmed herself, breathing deeply and letting her shoulders relax. Nothing could be done now. She just needed to persevere, know that the truth would come out soon.
Feeling like her morning was well spent, she lingered in the car, trying to decide what to do next. Damn, this sucked. Couldn't go to work, couldn't go home and sit. Maybe she'd take a ride out and see Sam. Always a safe antidote to whatever ailed her. Long before she had Baldwin, Sam was her first sounding board.
Just to be safe, she called Baldwin and told him where she was headed. He told her he was just down the street from Sam's office at the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation offices, and would meet her up at Forensic Medical in an hour. He reminded her to watch her back.
She started the truck and waited a moment, giving the followers time to get into place. Turning left on to Charlotte, she took a quick right on 46th and got on the highway. Within fifteen minutes she was at the ME's office. She didn't see anyone following her, figured they were playing possum out on Gass Street. If Aiden were anywhere around, she couldn't see him either. She wondered briefly how they were going to find a killer who managed to drift unseen through countries and jurisdictions, then pushed the worry from her mind. She left the truck, locked it with a double beep and walked to the front doors. She slid her pass card through the monitor and was let into the building.
The front desk was manned by Kris, smiling a genuine welcome as usual. She waved at Taylor. “Hey, LT. How's it going?”
Was it possible that Kris hadn't heard the news? Taylor walked over to the desk, fiddled with a pen laid out on the counter.
“Hey, Kris. I'm fine. Do me a favor, will ya? Be sure you don't let anyone you don't know into the building while I'm here, okay? I've got a creep following me and I'd rather not run into him.”
“Your boyfriend already warned me. He called a few minutes ago. I'm telling you, Taylor, I don't know why you don't marry that boy. He is one fine piece of man, if you know what I mean.” Kris leered. Taylor blushed and rolled her eyes. She didn't bother answering, just waved and scooted through the second security door that led to Sam's office.
Good grief. Kris's taste in men ran toward the bad boys. Taylor had bumped into her at a local watering hole once. Kris was half in the bag, playing pool and drinking whisky with two guys who looked like Hells Angels. She'd introduced one of the bearded men as her current fling. It made her wonder if Baldwin put off that vibe and she just didn't see it because she knew him so well. She took a seat in Sam's office, propped her boots on the corner of the desk, and waited.
She was deep into a daydream about what Baldwin would look like on a motorcycle when Sam appeared five minutes later, wiping her hands on a paper towel. She took one look at Taylor and her face changed from sunny to stormy.
“You okay?” she asked without preamble.
“Not really, but I don't have much of a choice.”
Sam gave her a swift, strong hug, then settled into her chair.
“Do they have any idea what's going on?”
“Baldwin is working on it. He's got a friend who can prove the tapes of the shooting have been faked. The rest is taking longer to sort out. Whoever owns that Web site is well insulated. And I'm stuck out here in the cold, unable to do a damn thing.”
“So where have you been all morning?” Sam's eyes sparkled, and Taylor couldn't help but smile back.
“Okay, I've been doing some digging. I can't just sit on my ass and do nothing. I've tracked down the names of the girls on the videotape with Todd Wolff. Turns out they're high-schoolers in a secret society, making amateur porn. Can you imagine?”
“Ambitious,” Sam deadpanned.
Taylor's cell rang, Thalia Abbot's number came up on the screen. “Sam, hold on a sec. Hello? Hi Thaliaâ¦Yes, illegal drugsâ¦Okay. Thanks again for all your help.” She hung up, took out her notebook, and spoke aloud as she wrote.
“Ecstasy, cocaine and pot. Not necessarily only provided by Todd Wolff. Shocking.”
“Kids these days. I worry about the twins. What am I going to do when they reach that age? When they want to know about sex, and drinking, and drugs? I'm sure these girls' parents taught them right from wrong. But look at them.”
“I can't answer that. My mother gave me as much attention as a she-cat in the wild, and I turned out okay.”
“That's debatable,” Sam said.
“Ha, ha.”
This time it was Sam's phone that rang. She held up a finger and answered. She listened for a minute, then hung up. “You're going to love this.”
“Let me guess. You're being suspended for being friends with me.”
“Better. We've got confirmation that the semen that was present in Corinne Wolff's vaginal vault was viable for DNA.”
“Really? So whose sperm was it?”
“Now she asks the smart questions. I had the samples sent off for DNA analysis.”
“That's going to take months.” Taylor slumped back down in her chair.
Sam pushed her bangs off her forehead and gave Taylor an apologetic smile. “Well, maybe not. You know how they've got the lab proposal on the ballot again? They needed some samples to work with to show the legislature how it's all done. So I slipped Corinne's slides in the stack. Not only was there discernible DNA, we should have the results back by late today. The whole point of the exercise was to show how much faster everything would work, how much quicker crimes could be solved if we were running our own labs. Todd Wolff's DNA is in the system now, so if there's a match between them, we'll know. If there's not a match, we'll know that too.”
“Let's hope for a match. If it doesn't, that would confirm another suspect. Someone who was sleeping with the victim. Like we need it to be more complicated.” A thought nagged her, but she couldn't access it.
“Look at it this way. The results might answer some questions. If the DNA isn't Wolff's, it could be the killer's. Though I must admit, Wolff certainly looks good for all of this. Did you hear that we matched the blood on the tool chest to Corinne Wolff? There's still no definitive test we can do to establish
when
it was left, which a decent defense attorney will pounce on, but it is her blood.”
“No, I didn't. Damn it. How can that bitch idiot Norris do this to me? I just want to work the case. All these tidbits are breaking and I don't have the full picture. How am I supposed to solve a case if I'm not allowed to work it?”
“I know, sweetie. The Oompa is an old, shriveled-up hag who is desperately jealous of your success. The beauty of it is you're innocent, Baldwin is about to prove that, then they'll have to let you back. So keep laying low and wait it out. I know that's easier said than done, but you can't run off half-cocked like you did this morning. What were you doing anyway?”
“I met with Corinne's psychotherapist. After you found the benzodiazepine in her system, I went looking to see who'd prescribed it. Her obstetrician gave her the lorazepam but sent her to counseling too in the hopes she'd be able to conquer her issues that way.”
“What was the issue?”
“It seems Miss Corinne might have been dallying in someone else's pool, if you know what I mean. Any chance you ran DNA on the fetus? She was having some sort of freak out about the baby. Was having full-blown panic attacks.”
“Of course. We'll get all the results back at the same time. That's interesting about Corinne's pathology. I heard of a case like that in medical school. Woman was convinced she was carrying the anti-Christ, they had to keep her sedated because she kept trying to carve the fetus out of her stomach.”
“She was having an affair with the devil?”
“Not that I know of, unless the devil lives in New Jersey and is named Dave. They were a completely normal couple, she developed this pregnancy psychosis after it came to light that she'd been sleeping with her husband's brother too and didn't know who the father was. I think the case study concluded that she was just bonkers.”
“Nice, round catch-all medical term, that. Bonkers.”
“Well, I'm a pathologist, not a psychiatrist. Speak of the devil.”
Taylor turned. Baldwin was standing in the door, his tall frame filling the space completely. Arms crossed, he rested his right shoulder against the door frame. She smiled at him. He grinned back.
“You are a very bad girl. Hi, Sam.”
“Aw, how come I never get to be the bad girl?” Sam pouted and tossed a balled-up piece of paper at Baldwin, who caught it and expertly shot it into her trashcan in one sweeping motion.
“Show-off,” Taylor and Sam said in tandem, sending them both into gales of laughter.
Baldwin joined in, his good-natured laugh reverberating through the room. When they'd finished their giggles, he took a seat next to Taylor.
“Good news. Sherry has reengineered the tapes, found the splice that was put in. It was a rather sophisticated voice track, not something your everyday hump could do. Whoever did it is an expert with cameras and editing, for sure. The evidence was just couriered to your buddy Delores Norris, with copies sent to Price and the Chief of Police.”
He settled farther into his chair and crossed his legs. Taylor noticed his socks were mismatchedâone had small clocks and the other minute diamonds. She bit back the laugh; he had been pretty shaken up when he got dressed. Maybe he'd make it through the rest of the day without noticing.
She looked back up and saw he'd been watching her, a crooked half smile on his face. He knew about the socks. He made a gesture with his right hand she'd come to recognize as his nonverbal rendition of “not important.”
“A couple of copies might have slipped the Net, may show up on the local and national noon broadcasts.”
Taylor felt the relief bloom in her chest. “Thank God.”
“Don't be thanking Him, thank me.”
“You know what I mean. Thank you, of course. Do you think they'll reinstate me?”
“They don't have a choice. If they don't get in touch within the hour, I've scheduled Sherry for a live interview on Channel 5.”
Taylor squeezed his hand in gratitude. “So we just have to wait?”
“Yep. Whatcha talking about?”
“The Wolff case. Sam has pulled a fast one, slipped some DNA slides into the system. Corinne Wolff was having sex with someone, and hopefully we'll find out who. The husband first said they hadn't had sex for a week before her death, then remembered they did right before he left town. But looking at the timeline, if there was active enough sperm for a DNA run, she must have had sex with someone after he left on Friday morning. Think the timing works, Sam?”