The May Day Murders Sequel

by Scott Wittenburg

  “Well, I’ll bet we’ll get plenty more calls after the press reports that we now have a serial rapist/murderer running around town. They’ll be coming out of the bloody woodwork. And in the meantime we’ll be under a microscope as we continue our hunt for this elusive scoundrel. The press is not going to let up on this, Higgins, and you know it. And I must say for good reason this time. We have failed the public.”

  “Enough, Clive!” Higgins cried. “How about let’s be positive for a change? You are beating yourself up for things that are out of your control and that must stop right now. Have you forgotten the little talk we had? When you told me to call you out if you started doing the very thing you’re doing now? Well, that’s what I’m doing—and you need to stop this instant!”

  He had indeed forgotten their chat in the heat of the moment. “You’re right, Molly, and I apologize. Thanks for the wake-up call.”

  Hogarth fell silent, recalling their conversation last July regarding his recent lack of optimism at the job. And although his partner hadn’t a clue why he wasn’t his usual upbeat self, she hadn’t forced his hand. Molly could sense he wasn’t going to give it up.

  Hogarth had been on the force twenty-one years and was considered one of the force’s top detectives. He was aware that the department depended on him to get the job done and this had always helped drive him toward success.

  Then in July all of that had suddenly changed.

  There was a young woman who lived a couple of floors below him he would see in passing from time to time. One day he noticed she was wearing sunglasses on the elevator and he’d jokingly asked her why she was wearing shades on such a cloudy day. She then removed the glasses and showed him her black eye. When he asked her what happened she replied that her boyfriend had hit her. The couple had been arguing and it got out of hand. The boyfriend later apologized and promised he’d never hit her again. Now, she assured Hogarth, everything was fine.

  Hogarth informed her that he was a cop and if this boyfriend struck her again she was to let him know and he’d see that he was arrested for domestic violence. She’d simply thanked him for his offer but told him that wouldn’t be necessary because she knew her boyfriend would never hit her again. Hogarth had simply shrugged his shoulders and bid her good day, already fearing the worst.

  A few days later he came home from work to find an ambulance parked outside his apartment building. Suddenly the medics charged out the door carrying a gurney with the young woman lying on it. Her face had been beaten so badly that her entire head was wrapped in bandages. As he watched them load her into the ambulance, Hogarth wanted to run over to apologize for doing nothing about her abusive boyfriend the other day. But he simply froze in place, painfully aware it was too late for any sort of apology. He had failed to follow through with the poor girl’s situation and now she had been beaten to a pulp due to his negligence.

  Since that day he had not been able to quit thinking of how utterly worthless he felt. Wasn’t it his job to uphold the law and keep people from harm? Had he not totally forsaken his responsibility as a cop? Had he not dropped the fucking ball?

  The matter had become so entrenched in his head that he had on several occasions considered quitting the force. He felt like a failure and incapable of doing his job anymore. Had it not been for his partner and their closeness together as a team, he might well have chucked it all in.

  But he hadn’t. At least not yet.

  “We have to catch this fiend, Molly—sooner rather than later,” he said.

  And once he’s in custody, maybe I’ll feel vindicated enough to carry on.

  Chapter 23

  The conversation with Maisy the night before was Sam’s first thought that morning. He had begun their chat with a detailed account of his trip to London thus far including his reading at Stewarts Bookshop and his first double decker bus ride later that afternoon to see Buckingham Palace. Afterwards, Maisy had commented on how wonderful it was to hear him in such good spirits and how the trip to London was apparently just what he needed.

  It was what she said toward the end of their conversation that had thrown Sam for a loop. Out of the clear blue she announced she had something to say to him and that she hoped it wouldn’t freak him out. He hadn’t an inkling what it could be but promised her that whatever it was, he would not freak out.

  A promise promptly broken.

  Maisy professed her love for him. She stated that although they’d only known each other a short time, she was “totally smitten” with him and ever since she’d met him he was all she thought about. Struggling to recover from this revelation, Sam realized he was at a complete loss for words. After a pause that seemed like an eternity he finally spoke, uttering a super-lame, “Wow, I’m speechless.”

  Maisy’s confession had put him on the spot. His mind was in total overload wondering how to respond. What do you say to someone who has just professed her love for you when you can’t reciprocate? When the last thing on earth you want is to break her heart and spoil a relationship that has gone so well but is suddenly being ramped up to a whole new level?

  Fortunately, Maisy had sensed his frustration and saved the day. “You don’t have to say anything, Sam—I just really wanted to let you know. And please, don’t let it jeopardize our relationship. I don’t expect you to say you love me just to appease me, nor do I want you to feel somehow trapped now. Just take it for what it’s worth and let’s move forward, okay?”

  Heaving an inward sigh of relief, he happily agreed.

  Their conversation made him think of Ann and how much he missed her. How he wondered if he could ever love anybody as much as he’d loved her. And how he was being given a golden opportunity to give love a second chance but not so sure he was ready for that. Or if he ever would be.

  Like clicking a switch Sam’s thoughts shifted over to his date with Nicole for breakfast. He realized how much he was looking forward to seeing her and how this distraction from his situation back in Smithtown was a welcome blessing.

  He hopped out of bed, ordered coffee from room service and stared out the window at the city of London. His excitement returned as he replayed yesterday’s bookshop event in his head, reveling at how wonderfully it had gone and how optimistic he suddenly felt toward his future as a writer. He’d never known he had such a strong following in England, and having the opportunity to meet his fans had been uplifting and cathartic—a dream come true. He could never thank Nicole enough for what she’d done but he wanted to at least do something to show his gratitude and appreciation. Maybe a gift of some kind.

  When the coffee came Sam took a sip of the ghastly stuff and smiled, recalling how Nicole had somehow known he detested the coffee she’d served him in her office. Was he really that transparent, or was she just that perceptive? He had a feeling the woman was deeper than she appeared. Something about the way she had quizzed him about Ann’s death suggested there was something else underlying. He wondered what that could be. Hopefully he would find out today—

  Stanley Jenkins had murdered another woman.

  Like a demon from hell this grim fact infiltrated his head and Sam’s heart misfired. Not only had the bastard escaped prison and eluded capture for two years, he had now apparently managed to go right back to what he’d been before his incarceration. A liberated nutcase with a murderous agenda.

  Jesus, does it ever end?

  He marched into the bathroom, hopped in the shower and prayed the hot water would wash away his funk.

  A shiny blue Vauxhall Corsa pulled up in front of the hotel. “Morning to you!” Nicole greeted brightly through an open window.

  “Morning,” Sam replied. He stepped into the mini coupe as Nicole shifted into first gear. “So are you ready for the best cup of coffee you’ve ever tasted—since coming to London, that is?”

  “I’m ready.”

  As they pulled away, Sam noticed that Nicole was wearing jeans and a maroon knit sweater, transforming her business-like countenance of yesterd
ay into a more casual, accessible look.

  “Cool car,” he commented, impressed with how comfortable the ride was. “Never been in one of these before.”

  “I love it. Navigating this crazy traffic and parking is challenging to say the least, but it’s well worth it. I simply love driving.”

  “How did the rest of the marathon go?”

  “Wonderfully. One of the best we’ve hosted in quite a while.”

  “That’s great. I can’t thank you enough for inviting me. I feel privileged.”

  “Well you are more than welcome, Sam. It was a privilege having you.”

  “So where are we going?”

  “To a little café not far from Westminster Abbey. Have you been to the abbey yet?”

  “No, but it’s on the top of my list.”

  “Norman told me you haven’t seen the sights yet so I thought I’d show you around a bit while we’re on our coffee crusade.”

  “Awesome,” he replied.

  Sam realized he probably sounded like every other typical American to Nicole and it pained him. One thing he’d noticed since arriving in London was how easy it was to pick out his fellow countrymen amidst the sea of tourists. They were the ones wearing ball caps, gawking at practically everything they saw, traveling in noisy groups acting like their average mean IQ was in the single digits.

  Why did the British seem so much smarter and cooler than us? he wondered.

  “So how do you like London so far?”

  “Love it. It’s so much different than I thought it would be. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of this and that but none of them capture the feel of this place. It’s like another world here—so unique.”

  “I’ve only been to America once. New York. That place seemed like another world to me, as well! And I know what you mean by trying to describe the differences of the two places. Both countries speak the same language but it sort of ends there when it comes to the culture. Americans seem so—all over the place, if that makes any sense.”

  “New York is not a very good cross section of America, though. Once you get away from there to the smaller towns and rural areas, it’s a different place altogether. Probably the same thing with London, right?”

  “Hmm, could be. I never got out of New York so I really don’t know.”

  “What’s your husband do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Nicole held up her left hand and glanced at the ring on her finger. “I’m a widow, I’m afraid. My husband passed away.”

  “I’m so sorry—and I apologize,” Sam said, feeling like an ass.

  “No worries—you’re certainly not the first to assume I’m still married. I just can’t seem to part with this ring—it’s so beautiful and a constant reminder of my dear late husband.”

  “That’s cool,” he said stupidly.

  “When we get to the café I have something to tell you. We’re almost there now. See Big Ben over there?”

  Sam looked out and saw the tower jutting up over the horizon. He was surprised at how close they were to it. “It looks so much taller in real life.”

  They drove a few more blocks before Nicole pulled into a car park. They got out and Nicole led the way in the direction of the Thames.

  “We can’t see it from here but the abbey is just over there,” she said, pointing to the right. “And the café’s just down this way a bit.”

  Sam wondered what Nicole was going to tell him as he recalled Maisy saying something similar to him the night before, sans the freak-out part. The fact that Nicole was putting it off made him feel a little apprehensive.

  “Here we are,” she said, standing in front of a tiny café. “Welcome to Cappy’s.”

  They went inside and chose a table near the window. The smell of rich coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafted through the air as Sam realized he was famished. Behind the coffee bar was an actual barista preparing an espresso. A glass case with shelves containing nearly every mouthwatering pastry imaginable took up half the counter.

  “Wow, it smells like heaven in here,” Sam said.

  “I could live in this place. I forgot to tell you, their pastries are just as good as their coffee.”

  A server came over to take their order.

  “I’ll have a Macchiato. And a cinnamon bun, please,” Nicole said.

  Sam looked over the menu and said, “I see Americano coffee, but I think I need to spread my wings a little. What’s that you’re having?”

  “Macchiato is an espresso with a touch of milk. If you like your coffee lighter, you might want to try the café au lait.”

  “I’ll have that, then. And could I have a bagel with cream cheese, toasted?”

  “Very well.”

  After the waiter left, Nicole stared across the table and looked Sam squarely in the eyes. “I know you were wondering why I was asking those questions about your late wife yesterday in my office so I’d like to explain. A couple of years ago, my husband was mugged and murdered on his way home from work. I was absolutely devastated and nearly had a mental breakdown. We were very close, you see. We had known each other since we were teens at school and got married not long after we entered college. And we were more than just lovers in love—we were the best of friends and I worshipped the ground Benjamin stood on.

  “Besides the great sorrow and loss I felt after his murder, I became vengeful and bitter. I couldn’t believe that some lunatic had taken this wonderful man from me and I wanted him to pay for it. The cops had no leads on the case and there were no witnesses. They insisted they were working hard but I didn’t believe them and became very frustrated. I called them daily, asking them if they’d made any progress and eventually they simply got tired of hearing my voice. The case went cold. I was fit to be tied and absolutely miserable.

  “Then one day while sorting books at the shop I happened to come across The Foxburg Murders. After reading the synopsis, I decided to give it a read. I quickly found myself relating to the main female character in the story who had just lost her best friend violently to a murderer—the woman whom I now know was based on your wife. Your depiction of Laura’s grief and inward struggles as she tried to carry on and make sense of everything after the loss of her friend hit a chord with me and I found myself rooting for her from the beginning, praying for her to prevail.

  “In a nutshell, your book helped me through a very difficult time, Sam. I felt I was in a sense living vicariously through Laura, and when the killer was finally apprehended I was actually cheering out loud! It had that much of a profound effect on me. Not long after reading your book I started becoming my old self again and a bit more willing to move on with my life. I also had discovered a new author I felt grateful to and greatly admired. I became a big fan and promptly read the rest of your books.”

  The server came over with their beverages. Nicole took a sip and continued.

  “Earlier this year I realized you hadn’t published anything in a while so I Googled your name to see what I could learn. That’s when I found out about your wife’s passing. When I read that I felt so bad for you. Although I wasn’t sure at the time if Laura was portraying your wife I knew that you must be hurting horribly from her loss. In fact, I nearly tried to contact you but changed my mind. I figured the last thing you needed was to hear from another bleeding heart who had lost a spouse to violence.

  “And then Mark Shandling suddenly cancelled out of the author marathon at the last minute. That’s when I rather selfishly asked my father to call your agent and invite you to take Shandling’s place so I could finally meet the author whose book had had such a big impact on me.”

  “Now I feel even more thrilled to have been asked here, Nicole. That was such a touching story and I’m glad my book had a positive effect on you.”

  “I do have one more question, though. Have you been able to move on? What I mean is, have you been able to put the horrible things that have happened in your life far enough behind that they no longer consume you?”

 
; “As I told you before, there isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think of Ann. Like you and your husband, we were very close and had known each other since we were kids. But what you don’t know is that we were divorced for a while and then remarried. Ann found out I was cheating on her and that was the end of it as far as she was concerned. She moved out of town and I never felt more alone and worthless my whole life. Plus, she took our daughter with her, so that made it even more difficult. I guess the only good thing—if you could call it that—that came from the divorce was that I got a good taste of what it was like living without Ann and how much I truly loved her. We were still divorced when she was attacked by the same monster who had killed her best friend. Nearly losing Ann made me appreciate her even more and when we did get back together, I felt I’d been given a new lease on life. It brought us closer than we’d ever been before—all three of us in fact.

  “When Ann was killed last year, I was immediately thrust back to where I’d been during our divorce but even worse. There would be no second chance for me this time. That horrible sense of finality nearly did me in. Hit the bottle heavy trying to numb the pain that wouldn’t go away. But fortunately, I still have our daughter Amy and a granddaughter as well. They are what has given me the drive to keep on going, believe me.

  “So to answer your question, yes, I’ve been able to move forward but only an inch at a time. I’m gradually learning how to accept reality and at times I actually feel optimistic for the future. But I know I’ll always have my doubts of ever becoming my old self again. A part of me died when Ann died, and I’ll never get that back.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel about Benjamin. Part of me died when he was murdered as well. My problem has been letting go of him. I am unable to accept that he’s really gone and that I’ll never see him again, even though I know it’s true. I still feel him inside of me, there with me nearly every waking moment. And I’m fine with that—it helps me feel better. I can’t imagine totally giving him up and carrying on as though our lives together had never existed. It just wouldn’t seem right. Or fair.”