“What is it?”
“We found a thumb drive in the desk drawer of the office. There’s a video on it.”
“What sort of video?”
“Ah, well . . . it looks like a homemade sex tape.”
Walt glanced back into the kitchen. His mind flashed back to moments earlier when Tessa Young described her and her husband’s separate work spaces. The studio was His. The office in the main house was Hers.
“Who’s on the video?”
“Cameron Young and a woman.”
Walt lowered his voice further. “His wife?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Walt raced back to the BCI headquarters after his brief interview with Tessa Young and an even shorter search of her home. Now he sat in front of the iMac with Ken Schuster and watched the footage unfold on the monitor. Cameron Young was naked and in a compromised position, bent over an apparatus Walt recognized from his late night research.
“I mean, look at this shit. What the hell is that thing?” Ken asked.
“A spanking horse,” Walt said matter-of-factly. “Or sometimes referred to as a boarding horse.”
Ken slowly turned away from the monitor and gave Walt a sideways glance.
“Research,” Walt said, pointing at the screen to get Ken’s gaze off him.
When a participant lay facedown on the apparatus, it exposed one’s buttocks to maximum punishment or pleasure. The video played for nearly one minute, Cameron Young’s backside on full display. Walt recognized the background in the video and realized it had been filmed in Cameron Young’s writing studio, although the shot was somewhat off center. It looked as though the camera had shifted and now the action took place to the left side of the screen.
“Anything on here other than this guy’s ass?”
Ken pointed at the timer on the bottom right of the screen and raised three fingers to start the countdown. Three, two, one. As soon as Ken lowered his third finger, a loud smack came from the computer speakers. Walt startled, nearly as much as Cameron Young’s body recoiled, as the multi-threaded whip lashed across his buttocks. The smacking noise came again with a second lashing.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Oh, it’s wild stuff all right,” Ken said.
The thwack came a third time.
“I don’t think I can watch this,” Walt said.
“You’d better.”
A muffled female voice could be heard from off screen, but her exact words were too muffled to make out, as if the camera’s microphone were not working properly.
“Whose voice was that?” Walt asked.
Ken pointed at the screen, never taking his eyes off the action. Finally, the backside of the woman came into view. Only her lower back, buttocks, and legs were visible because of the amateurish nature of the video and the off-centered angle. Soon though, the woman kept walking and came into full view. Dressed in black dominatrix leather, studded wristbands, and a choke collar with silver spikes pinched around her neck, the woman walked past Cameron Young’s exposed buttocks and to the far end of the shot. The whip hung perilously from her right hand. When she turned to face the camera Ken paused the video, capturing her image clearly.
“Who is it?” Walt asked.
“Victoria Ford. Tessa Young’s best friend.”
Walt stood. “You sure about the ID?”
“Positive.”
“Anything else on there I need to see?”
“If you haven’t enjoyed it thus far, I’m pretty sure you won’t like the rest of it.”
“Mark that as evidence, and protect the shit out of it. Document a clear chain of custody.”
“You got it, boss.”
Walt hurried back to his office to find out everything he could about the woman named Victoria Ford.
CHAPTER 20
Catskill Mountains, NY Friday, June 25, 2021
THE BOTTLE OF CHARDONNAY WAS EMPTY BY THE TIME EMMA FINISHED telling Avery about the murder investigation her sister had been involved in at the time of her death. Avery had driven to the Catskills to interview Emma Kind about the recent identification of Victoria Ford’s remains and to determine if there was enough there on which to base an American Events feature. The idea that she had stumbled onto the story of a grisly murder had her mind churning with ideas about the special she could put together with the details of this case.
Avery’s head swam with a comfortable wine buzz, but she didn’t protest when Emma emerged from the house with a second bottle. Avery wanted to know everything about Emma’s long dead sister and the crime she was accused of. Another bottle of wine seemed like the perfect conduit to keep Emma talking. Besides, Avery was fascinated with the ancient artifact Emma had carried from the house along with the second bottle of wine. She recognized it as a telephone answering machine straight from the nineties, and now it sat in the middle of the patio table. Emma had excused herself in the middle of the story about Victoria to rummage through the house. It had been quite a production for Emma to salvage the answering machine from the storage room. It was an even greater one to resuscitate it. A relic from the past, the machine required both batteries and an electrical outlet to bring it to life. All the time, Avery sipped chardonnay and tried to control the suspense of what waited on the machine. Now, an extension cord ran from the kitchen outlet, through the patio doors, and to the table where the machine sat. Triple A batteries ignited the indicator light on the surface. The machine was, indeed, alive and well.
“At first,” Emma said, “the news was just that a wealthy novelist had been killed in the Catskills. Then rumors of an affair came out. When Victoria was connected to the murder, I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t, in fact, until that awful video was leaked and Victoria became the center of the story. The press were like rabid animals. Reporters waited for her in the lobby of her office building, and outside her apartment. The video was everywhere. There was no social media back then, but the Internet was just sprouting its wings. The image of Victoria in that dominatrix outfit made it onto every news program and into every newspaper. The video was downloaded thousands of times and watched endlessly in every home whose owners held voyeuristic tendencies. The news media salivated over every detail. For a short time, S and M and bondage became daily headlines and utterances of news anchors around the country.”
Avery was in junior high at the time, but even now vaguely remembered the stir the video had caused. It was difficult for her to believe that two decades later she had stumbled onto the story. Avery understood why the media took such intense interest back then. The headlines would have been like giant meat hooks on which to capture an audience, move newspapers, and sell advertising spots. Not only twenty years ago, she thought, but today as well. Avery imagined her own headlines for American Events. The remains of a 9/11 victim identified twenty years after the towers fell, a woman at the center of a sensational murder investigation involving a popular novelist, and a torrid tale of sex and betrayal. The possibilities were endless. The crime scene details would likely be shocking and were sure to tap into the morbid fascination of the American Events true-crime fans. Avery wondered if she could get her hands on the crime scene photos and other specifics from the investigation. Or even, she allowed herself to imagine, edited snippets of the sex tape.