“This is just plain old homemade porn.” Marcus was shaking his head
“With our murder suspect doing…jeez, what is he doing? Oh.” Wolff’s back was to the camera and he spanked one of the women with the palm of his hand, a loud slap. Taylor hit pause, swallowing her distaste. By God, she wasn’t a prude, but she was tired of watching people have sex.
Marcus took the remote from her hand, hit play, then fast forward. Wolff became a comic figure parroting the act of love, bucking and rolling around the bed with the two women. Marcus left the DVD running and turned to Taylor.
“It’s a nice setup. We need to find out if they’re distributing it, or using it for their own entertainment.”
“I assume we can arrest them if they’re distributing it?”
“Well, that depends. If it’s done without the knowledge of the participants, of course. But they look rather willing, and from your description of the scene, it would be hard for them to pretend they didn’t know exactly what they were doing. No, they might be making legitimate movies.” Now he turned red, but plowed ahead. “Have you ever been to the Hustler store on Church Street?”
She gave him the most sardonic of grins. “I take this to mean you have?”
He gave her the same smile. “You’re telling me you haven’t?”
Taylor shook her head. “No. I’ve driven by it a million times, of course, but I’ve never had occasion to go in.”
“Well, I think a field trip might be in order. There’s a whole section of this kind of homemade stuff. Naughty Neighbors, Slutty Soccer Moms, that kind of material. There’s a big trade for it. Wolff might have been trying to break into the market.”
“I think I’ll let you do the background for this one.” She looked at the screen again. “Maybe he’s just a sicko who likes to tape himself having sex with women other than his wife. No wonder she was having panic attacks. I would be too.”
She turned back to the television, and Marcus started to hand her the remote. Something caught his eye and he hit play, ending the fast forward.
“I will be damned,” he said.
“What?”
“I think we know who was operating the camera.”
“Back it up.” Taylor sat back in her chair heavily, watching. Marcus obliged her, hitting rewind, then play at the moment that caught his attention.
Corinne Wolff danced around the lens of the camera. Her hair was done up in pigtails. She wore a Catholic schoolgirl plaid skirt and a lacy pink bra with the nipples cut out. Sucking suggestively on a lollipop, she danced in front of the camera, her husband and the two women watching appreciatively from the confines of the bed. Corinne did a slow striptease, easing out of the skirt, unhooking the bra, then worked her way to the edge of the bed. Todd reached for her, pulling her to the center, where mouths and hands surrounded her body until she disappeared beneath them. The shot faded to black, the music ended, and Corinne’s moans of ecstasy lingered until the credits rolled. After a brief fade to black, another scene queued and started running. This one was similar to the earlier shots.
“So much for panic attacks.” Taylor didn’t know what to make of this new information. Corinne wasn’t visibly pregnant in the video, so chances were it had been shot several months earlier.
There was a knock at the door. Marcus opened it; their pizza had arrived. He smiled at the young receptionist who’d been kind enough to bring it to them. When she blushed and backed away, Taylor realized the sound from the video was still on. As she hit the stop button, she made a mental note to explain later.
Marcus shut the door and brought the food to the table. They started eating, both thinking for a moment while their stomachs filled.
Marcus talked through a mouthful of cheese. “You realize that blood drops aside, our suspect pool just grew a deep end, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. We’re going to have to find every person the Wolffs entertained in their basement. There’s bound to be a few disgruntled actresses running around Nashville. You weren’t kidding about the amateur porn at the Hustler store?”
“No, I wasn’t. There’s a wide selection. I think it would be good for us to find out if Wolff was at that level or if it was for his own personal use.”
“This is turning into a very strange day, Marcus. Tell you what. How about you run through the rest of these tapes and see what you can glean. There’re more boxes back at the Wolff house, Tim was processing the basement when I left him. It’s going to fall to us to go through all these discs. What fun. I’m going to go see if we can have another chat with Mr. Wolff.”
“No problem. I’ll let Tim know to get me any additional discs he’s processed.” He looked at her, caught her eye. “What are you going to do about, uh, your tapes?”
Taylor shook her head. “I’m just not sure, Marcus. From what that toad Gorman told us, that operation is larger than we have the capacity for. I think we’re going to end up calling in the TBI, at the very least.” She picked at the crust of her slice.
“What about Baldwin?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why not let him handle it?”
“FBI instead of TBI?”
“Yeah.”
She tossed the remaining crust back into the box. “Aside from several looming conflict of interest statements I could make, I don’t think he’d be inclined to be subtle about it. He’d hunt down whoever did this and make them pay. Or shoot me dead. If we can handle this quietly, I’d prefer that.” She gave him a pointed look.
“You haven’t told him yet, have you?”
“Hell, no. I’d rather eat ground glass. Not exactly the conversation I want to be having, if you know what I mean. I think I’m going to have to talk to Price though. And that may not go so well for me. You do realize that.”
“Which is exactly why you should talk to Baldwin. He could shield you from some of this.”
“No, he can’t.”
And I wish that he could.
Twenty-Two
T aylor went next door to the sheriff’s office and arranged for yet another meeting with Todd Wolff.
Everyone in the office looked peaked. She guessed it had been quite an afternoon for them. A murder suspect, a famous footballer and fifteen of his cronies, that would be enough to tax any county jail.
Within ten minutes, Todd Wolff was escorted to an interrogation room. He was already dressed in a tan jumpsuit that said Property of Sherriff’s Office and wearing handcuffs. Taylor had waved off the leg irons; there was no need to get him more riled up with that indignity. Taylor shook hands with Miles Rose, nodded to Wolff.
“Please, have a seat. Things have moved quickly, Mr. Wolff. I’ve got a few more questions, then you can head back to your cell.”
“I’ve advised my client not to talk to you, Lieutenant. God knows what you have up your sleeve this time. Fabricating more evidence?”
“Miles, I appreciate your help. Really, I do.” The sarcasm dance. She was used to this part of the procedure- anything the lawyer said would be tinged with mocking, her response would be scornful, then they could all go home. Bit players in a nationwide legal drama, repeat performances daily at the matinee and evening shows.
Niceties done, Taylor watched Todd Wolff. She held a manila file folder in her lap, his mug shot paper-clipped to the front. His face was gray, his eyes bloodshot. His lips held the ghost of a smile, unlike his photo, which showed his teeth bared like a pissed-off dog. The congenial college boy was gone, replaced by a world-weary construction worker. An interesting transformation. Handcuffs did that every time. Money might change the outside, but a person’s soul was intact, regardless of the spit, shine and polish a little cash could bring.
