The Porn Star Murders Read online

  THE PORN STAR MURDERS

  A Thriller By

  VICTOR METHOS

  Copyright 2013 Victor Methos

  Kindle Edition

  License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy.

  Please note that this is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All events in this work are purely from the imagination of the author and are not intended to signify, represent, or reenact any event in actual fact.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The author would like to thank the many people that make his work possible. His editor, Lauren at Pure Text; his book cover designer, Carl at Extended Imagery; his business partners, associates, and staff, who lighten his burden so that he can spend more time writing; and above all, the fans, without who none of this would be possible. Thank you.

  BY VICTOR METHOS

  Jon Stanton Thrillers

  The White Angel Murder

  Walk in Darkness

  Sin City Homicide

  Arsonist

  The Porn Star Murders

  Thrillers

  Plague (A Medical Thriller)

  Murder Corporation (A Crime Thriller)

  Superhero (An Action Thriller)

  Creature-Feature Novels

  The Extinct

  Savage: A Novel of Madness

  Sea Creature

  Science Fiction

  Clone Hunter

  Star Dreamer: The Early Science Fiction of Victor Methos

  Humor

  Earl Lindquist: Accountant and Zombie Killer

  Philosophical Fiction

  Existentialism and Death on a Paris Afternoon

  To contact the author, learn about his latest adventures, get tips on starting your own adventures, or learn about upcoming releases, please visit the author’s blog at http://methosreview.blogspot.com/

  Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.

  —Charles Baudelaire

  Beauty and folly are old companions.

  —Benjamin Franklin

  CHAPTER 1

  San Diego, California. May 19, 2006.

  The room screamed as Detective Jon Stanton turned on the lights.

  Blood was everywhere, coating carpets and walls and the fan that dangled from the ceiling. It was spattered randomly in places—an arterial spray that made him think of the paintings of Jackson Pollock—but in other places it held the outlines of bodies. Bodies of the family that had been stacked against the wall like meat left over from a hunt.

  Stanton stepped inside but had to lean against the doorframe. He covered his ears with his hands, as if the screams in his head were real, and had to wait a few moments before he could remove them.

  He walked to the middle of the room in front of the large bed with the white canopy, as the booties covering his shoes crackled like paper.

  Mike Blum and his two children had been placed against the far wall, sitting, in an upright position. The responding officers had found their hands bound with duct tape. Stanton turned to the bed where Mrs. Nina Blum had been found. That was where the monster had spent most of his time; she was the one he had come for.

  Stanton wished he could’ve been here before the bodies were removed by the Medical Examiner’s Office, but officially, this was his partner’s case. He hadn’t heard the messages to get down here until five in the morning when he’d woken to go surfing.

  His partner swaggered in behind him. Stanton turned to him and saw that he wore designer jeans with a Ralph Lauren leather jacket. No matter where he was, Eli Sherman always looked like he was on a date.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” Stanton said.

  “No worries,” Sherman said, leaning against the wall. “Quite a mess, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve had one of these in years.”

  Stanton knew he was referring to a DPK: a disorganized-personality killer. As opposed to an organized-personality killer, the disorganized killer was full of rage and took no precautions. Victims were chosen at random, on a whim, and then subjected to a nightmare they could never have imagined. Luckily, the rage caused the DPK to kill quickly, and the victims’ suffering wasn’t prolonged. Afterward, the corpses would become the center of attention.

  “I have the crime scene unit’s video and photos whenever you’re ready to look at them. The male subject and the children were shot. One round in the back of the head. Quickest way to kill, so he wanted to take them out first.”

  “He wasn’t here for them,” Stanton said.

  “I don’t know why he leaned them up against the wall, though. Maybe he just needed to get the bodies out of the way so he could work on the female subject.”

  Stanton hated the way Sherman referred to victims as “subjects.” They had been dehumanized before death, and Stanton felt they owed them the courtesy to not do it after death. But he didn’t say anything. Every detective had his own way of dealing with the horror.

  “No,” Stanton said, “that’s not what it is.”

  “What then?”

  “He wanted an audience. He leaned them up against the wall so they could watch. But he wanted them dead first. He couldn’t perform in front of them if they were still living.”

  Sherman was quiet a moment. “Careful what you do with that laser perception, Jon. Point it in the wrong place and you might see things you don’t want to see.”

  “Hey, guys,” a forensic tech from CSU said as he poked his head in, “we got cameras outside. One of you want to give them the ‘no comment’?”

  “You do it,” Sherman said. “I’ll diagram and then get outta here.”

  Stanton turned and began to follow the tech out. He glanced back once and saw Sherman standing next to the bed, deep red and black stains where Mrs. Blum had lain. Gently, he ran his fingers across the sheets and mumbled something to himself. Stanton would have to ask him later what it was.

  CHAPTER 2

  Present Day.

  Jon Stanton walked into his office suite at Diamond View Tower. The offices were plush, the furniture imported leather with a flatscreen in the waiting room. Diamond View was one of the most expensive office buildings in the city. After Stanton had quit the San Diego PD, he wasn’t sure if becoming a private investigator would even pay his rent.

  But he had a reputation, only a glimmer of which he was aware of when he was with the PD, of being able to solve cases and find people that no one else could. Missing persons cases lined up to hire him once word got out that he was on his own. Within one month, he had to begin turning clients away and could now charge whatever he wanted.

  His secretary, Jill, greeted him with a Post-it Note that said his ten o’clock appointment was running a few minutes late and he walked into his office and threw it in the trash. He looked out of his floor-to-ceiling windows onto Petco Park Stadium. A college baseball team was there now, practicing. He watched them a long time before Jill buzzed him.

  “Yeah, Jill?”

  “Toys for Tots called. They wanted to thank you for the donations.”

  “I dropped those off anonymously. How’d they know it was me?”

  “You’ve done it for twelve years, Jon. And you’re probably the only person that does it in the summer. I think they know. And Mrs. Anna Dopler is here.”

  “Send her in please.”
>
  Stanton sat down behind his cherry wood desk as a middle-aged woman in a tight blouse and high heels walked in.

  “How are you, Detective?” she said, holding out her hand.

  Stanton stood and shook it before sitting back down. “It’s just Jon now.”

  Anna Dopler sat down across from him and exhaled. She glanced at the wall decorations: Stanton’s PhD in Psychology from the University of Utah, photos of him at various vacation spots, some awards from the American Psychological Association.

  “You don’t have anything up from your days as a cop,” she said.

  “That’s perceptive of you. No, I don’t.”

  “My husband, well, ex-husband, was a cop. He tried to forget about it too when he left.”

  “What is it I can do for you, Mrs. Dopler?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I know you’re busy. It’s my son. He’s been missing for over eight months now, and the detective at Missing Persons said they can’t help me anymore. That they’re putting the case in the Open-Unsolved Unit and from there it’ll be closed and archived if they can’t come up with any new leads.”

  “How old is your son?”

  “Fourteen, now.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Like I said, it was eight months ago. He was going to take the bus to a friend’s house that evening. I was…I was busy at the time and I couldn’t take him. So he had to take the bus. He never showed up to his friend’s house. No one saw him on the bus.”

  Stanton took out a legal pad and scribbled a few notes. “Where’s his father?”

  “His father and I have a…complicated relationship. We have an open marriage. He was busy at the time too.”

  Stanton realized what she meant by open: they were swingers. Like most swingers, the sex probably turned to obsession and addiction. Afterward, the marriage and attention to the children began to fade.

  “What has Missing Persons said?”

  “They looked into all his friends. He was a good kid, Detective. He wasn’t into drugs or anything like that. He didn’t have anyone in his life that would have taken him from us.”

  “Did they have any suspects?”

  “No.” She took something out of her purse and slid it across the desk. It was a controller to a video game console.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s his. He’s the only one who ever played it. I was told that I should bring something personal of his to you.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I was recommended to you by a friend.”

  Stanton slid the controller back. “Mrs. Dopler, I am not psychic. There is no such thing as extrasensory perception. No valid studies have corroborated any of it.”

  “But I was told—”

  “I know, and I’m sorry you were misled. I don’t know how I got that reputation, but it’s not true. I don’t do anything differently than the police. All the evidence is there, you just have to look.”

  “I researched you, Detective. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise. I know how many cases you solve, what the people in the police force thought of you. I’m not stupid.”

  “I’m not saying—”

  “Jon?” Jill’s voice came through his phone.

  “Yes, Jill.”

  “I have Lieutenant Daniel Childs here whenever you’re done.”

  “Thanks.”

  An image flashed in Stanton’s mind. It was of him and Childs when Daniel had learned that Stanton was quitting the force for good. They were standing on a beach near La Jolla, Stanton wet after having just come out of the ocean, Childs in an Armani suit. Childs had looked so desperate, pleading with him not to leave. Stanton couldn’t understand why and he still didn’t.

  “Mrs. Dopler, I’ll be happy to look into your son’s disappearance but there’re some ground rules: first, you’ll need to be completely open and honest with me no matter how uncomfortable it makes you. Second, there’re going to be documents, like his medical records, that only you as his mother can get. When I ask you to get those documents, you have to get them for me as quickly as possible. Third, you can never bring up this psychic business again.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

  “Jill will have an intake sheet for you. I’ll call you once I’ve gotten the police reports, and we’ll go through the details. I’ll need to come out and visit the house to look at your son’s room, if you’ve left it intact.”

  “We have. Whatever you need. He’s my only son, Detective. I’m too old now to have another.”

  “I understand. I’ll do everything I can.”

  They stood and shook hands again before she walked out. Stanton noticed a bite mark on the upper part of her thigh, revealed by the slit in her skirt. In an instant, he could see her son. He tried his best not to reach any conclusions at the beginning of a case, but he knew already that he was dead. Swinger parties draw sexual deviants. Many men hire prostitutes to pose as their wives in order to get into them. As the sexual addiction escalates, only more and more graphic and deviant behavior satisfies. Pedophilia and sadism are two of the extreme behaviors that recovering sex addicts, almost exclusively male, report after prolonged addiction.

  Anna Dopler had brought madness into her life and she had paid the price for it.

  Stanton looked out to the practice at the stadium again. He watched a young man bunt and sprint to first base so fast he almost tripped and fell.

  “Send in the lieutenant,” Stanton said as he pressed the com button on his phone.

  Daniel Childs had bulked up even more. Now in his forties, his dark black skin appeared smoother and tighter than it had in his thirties. His forehead was clear of any wrinkles and his soft green eyes were covered by designer eyeglasses. But just as he had in his thirties, he still preferred tight shirts that showed off his arms.

  Childs smiled as he slapped hands with Stanton and brought him near, bumping shoulders with him.

  “How you been, Jon?”

  “Good. Great. You look bigger.”

  “Just clean livin’ and heavy liftin’, man. I’ve gotten into powerlifting recently. Got my first meet in two months up in Long Beach.”

  “That’s great, Danny. A man your age should try to get out more.”

  He smirked. “Smart ass.”

  Stanton sat down as Childs did the same.

  “What brings you downtown?”

  Childs turned his cell phone to vibrate. “Business, man. Got something I wanted to talk to you about. I didn’t want to bug you at home.”

  Stanton said, “You can stop by anytime,” but he was actually glad Childs hadn’t come by. He never took his work home anymore and he preferred it that way.

  “Appreciate it but I wouldn’t wanna think about this shit at home. Might ruin it for me. Sometimes you don’t got a choice, though. Anyway, this is what I came here for.”

  Childs turned on the iPad he had under his arm and opened a file. He handed it to Stanton. It was a police file, a murder book. All the documents in a murder investigation were categorized and prioritized in a file, with all the photos and videos at the end. Nowadays, many departments used electronic files, something Stanton had never grown accustomed to.

  Stanton looked at the name in the upper left-hand corner: Nina Blum.

  “You remember her?” Childs said.

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  Images of a blood-stained room flooded Stanton’s mind. The visit to the morgue was the most difficult part. The Blums had two children: boys. A .32 caliber round had entered each of their skulls just above the cerebellum and had exited above the eyebrows.

  “It sat in the Open-Unsolved Unit for half a decade after what happened with Sherman.”

  Eli Sherman. The name churned Stanton’s stomach. He’d been his partner for over a year before Stanton had discovered panties from two missing girls in his closet. Sherman had attempted to kill him for the discovery but failed. He was convicted of the two murders but escaped custody
. His whereabouts were unknown.

  For a few months afterward, Stanton would check the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list every day for updates. It took a feat of strength for him to pull himself away and detach from the thought that Sherman was still out there, somewhere, probably doing exactly what he had been doing before.

  “You all right?” Childs said.

  “Yeah,” Stanton said, snapping back.

  “Not the best memories for me either.”

  Stanton exhaled. “We had to abandon the case after Sherman’s arrest. All his cases were turned over to IAD.”

  “I saw you had a suspect in there. What was his name?”

  “Raymond Valdez. He was the lieutenant governor’s son.”

  “No shit? Edwin Valdez?”

  “He wasn’t the LG at the time. He was in the state legislature. Raymond was only around twenty-two at the time of these murders. I got one interview in with him before his father hired an attorney and shut us down.”

  “What evidence did you have?”

  “One of the Blums’ neighbors reported seeing a man from San Diego Gas and Electric checking the meters and going into their backyard when they weren’t home. Raymond Valdez was arrested that night on a DUI and they found a uniform, probably stolen or bought, from the power company. They let me know and I came in and spoke to him when he was still drunk.”

  “You still think he’s your man?”

  “He denied everything and said he had never heard of the Blums and hadn’t been in Kensington since he was a kid. No one could contradict what he was saying, so an arrest was never made. Honestly, though, I don’t think IAD cared. The department was hurting so bad over Sherman, they just wanted all his cases to go away. If they made an arrest on this case, the defense attorney would’ve had Sherman’s name in all the papers again. He could’ve even blamed him for the killings.”

  Childs nodded. “So, you don’t think it was him?”

  “I don’t know. My gut said yes. I looked into Raymond’s background. He’d been seeing a psychiatrist since he was four-years-old for behavioral problems and was kicked out of school when he eviscerated a dog on the playground. He was investigated for a rape charge on one of the maids at his house when he was fourteen, but she was deported and the DA’s Office couldn’t find her to testify against him.”