The May Day Murders

by Scott Wittenburg

  “But Marsha had been threatened into submission, we’ve more or less surmised. Because she feared for Tommy’s life,” Sam pointed out.

  “You’re missing the point, Sam. Serial killers usually duplicate their M.O.’s quite faithfully, especially in sex crimes such as these. Sara’s murderer obviously wanted her to hurt-he deliberately tortured her before doing her in. Marsha’s assailant, however, was merciful in this regard. Had it been the same guy, Marsha most likely would have been beaten to a pulp, too.”

  Sam grunted. “This sounds like some overpaid profiler’s pat theory, to me. I’m sure it isn’t carved in granite.”

  “You’re right; there are exceptions to every rule. I’m just saying that there are some arguable discrepancies between the killer’s M.O. in each case. The similarities certainly outweigh them, though. And as I already told you, I think that the same guy probably murdered them both.”

  Sam took a sip of coffee and said, “This is really scary. If it really is the same guy who killed Marsha and Sara, that puts a whole new perspective on everything.”

  Roger’s expression turned grim. “Sure does. If this is indeed the case, it brings up the obvious question of why the murderer zeroed-in on these two particular ladies. In other words, what was his motive?”

  “And who might be the next in line,” Sam added solemnly.

  “Well, before we start pushing the panic button we need to confirm that the two murders were committed by the same person. Fortunately, that shouldn’t be hard to do. I’m having the lab send the hair and semen samples to Mancuso so he can have them compared to the samples he has. If the DNA’s match, we will have at least gotten that much established.”

  “And in the meantime?” Sam asked.

  “In the meantime we’re going to find out what these characters have been up to,” Roger replied, gesturing toward the copies of the yearbook Sam was holding.

  Sam studied the faces again. Of the four graduates presumably not still living in Smithtown, he knew only two-and hadn’t seen either one of them since high school over twenty years ago. The other two didn’t look familiar at all and judging by the scholastic achievements listed under their pictures, which was zip, neither of them had apparently spent a whole lot of their time within the hallowed halls of Smithtown High.

  “Are you going to question everyone here?” he asked Roger.

  “Yeah, every single one of them-including the locals.”

  “How will you track down the ones who aren’t still living in the area?”

  “Well, first we’ll go over records at the post office and the courthouse. Check out change of address records, census reports, and so on. We’ll also enter their names in the computer and see what we come up with. If none of this pans out for someone in particular, we’ll try locating any of their friends and relatives who might still be living in town and go from there. We’ll find them all, eventually. I just hope it happens soon enough.” he added uneasily.

  Sam nodded. Although he already knew the answer to his next question, he asked it anyway. “And what about the press?”

  Roger shook his head. “Mum’s the word, still-the chief has already informed me.”

  Sam groaned in protest. “Why?”

  “For the same reasons as before,” he replied. “Listen, buddy. Thompson still doesn’t want to incite any unnecessary panic here. So far, we know nothing more than we did before except that two female Smithtown residents, one of which hasn’t lived here in two decades, have been raped and strangled to death in their homes. Everything else is pure conjecture. Why stir up the dirt now? But I promise you, the minute we find out who murdered Marsha Bradley, you can get them presses rolling. Fair enough?”

  Sam didn’t like it, but at the same time had to agree that printing an article about the cases based on pure speculation wasn’t a good idea. Maybe in the New York Post or the Daily News it would float, but definitely not in the ultra-conservative, play-by-the rules Smithtown Observer. Which brought something else to mind. “How is the New York press dealing with Sara Hunt’s murder?” he inquired.

  “From the way Mancuso spoke, there’s been little press coverage of the case. Apparently there’s been a bumper crop of murders in the Big Apple lately and the cops are under a lot of pressure, so they’re going with the attitude that they don’t have time to spare for press conferences when they could be out on the streets catching criminals instead. Evidently, it’s working.”

  Sam made a mental note to check out the last few weeks’ editions of the New York Times, Post, and the Daily News to see what had been written regarding Sara Hunt’s murder.

  “One thing puzzles me, Rog. How come nobody here was informed of Sara Hunt’s death until today? You’d think that someone would have been notified before now.”

  “Hell if I know. The only thing I can figure is that Sara apparently no longer has any ties to Smithtown; family or otherwise. She wasn’t born and raised here-her family is originally from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania-and she only lived here for a couple of years. Her family moved back to Pennsylvania not long after Sara’s graduation.”

  Sam vaguely recalled now that Sara Hunt had been “the new kid in town” when she started attending Smithtown High her junior year. He said, “She surely made some friends while she was here, though. In fact, I seem to recall that she hung out with Marsha Bradley occasionally, if I’m not mistaken. At any rate, I’d like to at least let the town know that Sara Hunt is dead. It may be old news, but I certainly think it’s worthy of mention.”

  Roger thought it over and said, “Okay, go ahead and do it. I don’t think Thompson will give a shit. But don’t even hint that there might be a connection between the two murders. All right?”

  “Gee, thanks for letting me do my job, good buddy! I’m forever grateful,” Sam jabbed. In a more serious tone he added, “I won’t tie them in, don’t worry. I’ll just go with the angle, ”Former Local Woman Found Murdered In New York,” or something to that effect. I’d like a recent picture of her though, and some background info if you’ve got any there.”

  Roger leafed through the stack of papers lying on the desk and pulled out the New York police report. “I’ll make a copy of this report for you. As for a picture, I’ve already asked Mancuso to send me everything he has as soon as he gets a chance. There’ll probably be a picture of some kind coming.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way, when are you going to be done writing the other article? Thompson’s been breathing down my neck to get Marsha’s file back from you.”

  “I’m going straight over to the paper and finish it after I leave here. I’ll drop the file off on my way home,” Sam promised.

  “Okay. I’m going to take MacPherson and go question some of the Bradley’s neighbors. I’m holding off on questioning Dave again until tomorrow. Give the poor guy a chance to get settled back into his home.”

  Sam nodded in agreement. “Christ, I really feel for the guy. Imagine going back to that house and trying to get on with your life after what happened there.”

  “I’d sure hate to be in his shoes right now, no doubt. He’s got to deal with his kid too, remember. It’s times like this when I feel thankful I’ve never gotten married. All I’ve gotta do is worry about my own fat ass and nobody else’s,” Roger declared.

  Sam said, “But the good definitely outweighs the bad in having a family. I wish I still had mine.”

  Roger shrugged. “I know you do, buddy. At least they’re still among the living.”

  “Thank God for that. Well, I’d better get moving. This article isn’t gonna write itself.”

  Roger scooted out of his chair and stood up. “I’ll make those copies for you.”

  “These too,” Sam said, handing him the copies of the yearbook.

  Roger smiled, headed for the door, and led Sam over to the copy machine. When he was finished, he handed the completed copies to Sam and said, “Classified info, remember.”

  “Right. Catch you later, R
oger,” he said, then made his way out of the Smithtown Police Department.

  CHAPTER 7

  On Thursday evening, Ann sat at the kitchen table and fumbled with the business card, trying to decide whether or not to call him. It had been a slow week at the office with plenty of time for her mind to drift, and what time hadn’t been spent mourning Marsha Bradley had been spent thinking about Jerry Rankin. Karen’s incessant urging had also come into play-to the extent that Ann now practically felt obligated to call Jerry just to make Karen happy and to be done with it once and for all. Heaving a nervous sigh, she reached for the phone and dialed his number. After four rings she started to hang up, half hoping he wasn’t home. Then he suddenly answered.

  “Jerry Rankin,” he said.

  Ann forced herself to speak. “Uh, Jerry, this is Ann-we met on the parking lot at the supermarket last Sunday?”

  “Ann, yes-what a pleasant surprise! I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to call. How are you?”

  “Fine,” she replied, suddenly feeling a little more at ease. His cheerful voice with that irresistible English accent had a reassuring quality to it. “And how have you been?”

  “Very well, thank you,” he replied. “I’m so delighted you called, Ann. To be real honest, I’ve spent this entire week thinking I was a bit too forward last Sunday and deduced that I must have scared you off. I’ve always felt a bit awkward meeting someone for the first time like that anyway, and almost always manage to somehow put my foot in my mouth, as was the case that morning.”

  Ann gave a little laugh. “I don’t do so well myself, as you might have noticed.”

  “I thought you handled it wonderfully-anyone else probably would have told me to take a hike under the circumstances. I’m truly flattered that you’ve given me another opportunity to talk to you again.”

  Ann gushed, wondering if he was really as sincere as he sounded. “Were you late for your appointment?”

  “Almost, but I managed to make it just in the nick of time. I was showing a house in Muirfield to a client who was sort of, well, the pushy type. He’d insisted on seeing this particular house on Sunday morning at eleven-thirty and I already knew I’d be pressed for time anyway because of church services, so I sort of fouled myself up by trying to fit in the grocery as well. Looking on the bright side, though, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise, so I have no regrets.”

  “I was a little curious why you were shopping in my neighborhood when I noticed that the address on your card was on the other side of town. Your church must be close by, I assume,” Ann said.

  “Yes, it’s just a few blocks north of the supermarket.”

  “And do you work out of your home exclusively, or do you have an office as well?”

  “Just my home. I’m an independent broker and really have no need for an office,” he explained.

  Ann said, “I hope I’m not being nosy, but how long have you lived in Columbus?”

  Jerry chuckled. “You’re not being nosy in the least, Ann. I’ve been here just a little more than a year. I moved here from Cleveland shortly after my wife passed away. I had to get away from there-too many memories and all that. The real estate market is better in this area anyway. Columbus is quite a boom town now and I’m afraid to say that Cleveland is swiftly heading for the skids.”

  Ann sympathized with his wanting to get away from memories-she had done the very same thing herself. “Has it been a hard adjustment for you to make-living here as opposed to Cleveland?” she asked curiously.

  “It was a little tough at first, I must admit. Fortunately, though, business has been so good that I haven’t had a great deal of time to dwell on it. Have you lived in Columbus all your life?”

  “Not hardly,” Ann laughed. “I just moved here a few months ago, as a matter of fact.”

  “From where, may I ask?”

  “Smithtown. It’s a little town in the southern part of the state.”

  “I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it directly across the Ohio River from Kentucky?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess it’s time for me to ask the same question: Have you had any trouble adjusting to Columbus?”

  Ann balked a moment then replied, “Frankly, it hasn’t been easy. I have a fourteen-year-old who’s giving me fits right now; but it’s understandable in a way. After all, she’s been forced to start high school in a new town and is at that awkward age, anyway. My recent divorce no doubt has a lot to do with it, too. And on top of everything else, my best friend recently passed away. I’ve had a very difficult time dealing with that.”

  “My God, Ann. I didn’t realize… It sounds as though you’re going through some pretty tough times right now. Do you attend church?”

  The question caught her off totally off guard, and for a moment she was unable to speak. “No, not lately, anyway,” she finally replied.

  “I see. I was just curious, and hope I haven’t somehow offended you by asking. It’s just that the church has helped me get through some hard times in the past, and I was simply wondering if you’d found the same thing to be true. At any rate, we’ll drop the subject right now before you start thinking I’m some kind of religious fanatic or something!” he chuckled.

  Ann had to admit she was relieved. “No offense taken, Jerry. We used to go to church regularly when Amy was younger but we sort of got out of the habit over the years. Now that I think about it, it probably wouldn’t hurt either of us to start going again,” she added thoughtfully.

  “Your daughter would probably resent it, if it was your idea. Kids her age tend to resent any kind of adult intervention in their lives.”

  Ann laughed. “You’ve sure got that right. It sounds like you’ve had some experience with kids.”

  “I don’t have any of my own unfortunately, but I’ve done some volunteer work for the church in the youth fellowship program. These kids nowadays have a lot more challenges to face than when I was a kid, it seems. These are tough times to be a kid, in my opinion. What with drugs, AIDS, crime and so on.”

  “I agree. Our idea of a good time when I was a teenager was hanging out at the malt shop and going to teen dances. These kids today seem absolutely bored with everything-they sit in front of the television most of the time and spend the rest of their time trying to see what kind of trouble they can get themselves into.”

  Jerry gasped. “I would never have guessed you’ve been around so long, Ann! You certainly don’t look as old as you’re implying you are.”

  Ann melted from his flattery. “Thanks, Jerry. That was very kind of you. But believe me, I’ve been around awhile.”

  “Well, it doesn’t show.” he declared. “What kind of work do you do, by the way?”

  “I’m working at a travel agency right now, but I’m hoping to go back to college sometime in the near future and get my law degree.”

  “I think that’s wonderful, Ann! I admire your ambition.”

  “Well, you can tell me that if and when I actually follow through with it. I’m not sure it will pan out, but I’d like to think it will someday.”

  “You’ll succeed, Ann. You remind me of the type who has set goals for herself and will stop at nothing to achieve those goals no matter what. Correct me if I’m wrong.” he challenged.

  “Well, I guess you’re right-in a way. I appreciate your vote of confidence, at any rate.”

  “My pleasure.”

  There was an awkward pause in the conversation and Ann sensed that Jerry Rankin was rapidly running out of small talk. She felt comfortable talking to him and was in fact enjoying it, but she didn’t want him to feel obligated to continue.

  “Well, I guess I’d better let you go. It’s been really nice talking to you, Jerry,” she suddenly said. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

  “I’ve enjoyed it too, Ann.” he said, his disappointment more than evident. “If by chance you’d like to chat again, you can usually reach me any weekday around this time. And just for the record, that dinner inv
itation is still open,” he added.

  Ann decided there was no longer any reason to continue playing the coy divorcee. She liked what she’d seen and heard so far, and had no doubts that Jerry Rankin was a good, decent guy. She replied, “In that case, I wouldn’t be opposed to chatting again over dinner sometime.”

  There, she’d done it.

  “Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be honest, Ann. I’m really glad you said that because I’m not really very keen on telephones-they seem so impersonal and all-and I’ve found that I can relate much better when I can see who I’m talking to, as opposed to staring at the walls. Anyway, just tell me when would be convenient for you. My time is always flexible.”

  “I’m free on the weekends… any weekend,” she added, perhaps a little too quickly.

  “Would tomorrow be too soon?” he asked.

  Ann hadn’t expected such short notice. She thought for a moment and decided that Friday would be just as good as any other time. “No, tomorrow would be fine,” she said.

  “When shall I pick you up?”

  Amy was going to the football game tomorrow, she recalled. She could fix her an early dinner and still have time to get ready by eight. “How about eight o’clock?”

  “Terrific! I’ll swing by at eight then,” he said. “What’s your address?”

  “It’s 724 Meadow Lane-in Century Hills, Woodcrest.”

  “I know the neighborhood well-it’s one of the few left in Franklin County that still has any character, in my opinion,” he said. “Oh, and I’d better get your phone number as well.”