The May Day Murders

by Scott Wittenburg

  “That’s great! So are you going to go out with him again?”

  “Yes, I am. In fact, I invited him over for dinner tomorrow.”

  “Are you serious? What about Amy?” Karen asked, obviously stunned by Ann’s apparent turnaround.

  “Well, you’re probably going to get mad at me for not following your advice but I told Amy about Jerry this afternoon. Now before you tell me that I’ve made a big mistake, let me explain. First of all, as I told you before, I don’t like sneaking around behind Amy’s back. I want to be up front with her all the time. Can you imagine how she’d react if she found out about Jerry and I hadn’t told her about him? She’d never let me live it down! That’s just the way Amy is. So last night I decided that when Jerry called me today I was going to tell him that I only want to be friends with him and nothing more; that I’m not ready to start a relationship with anybody right now. I figured that if he could agree to those terms, then I’d continue going out with him. I think he really likes me, Karen, and I want everything out in the open before this goes any further and somebody gets hurt. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I understand and that makes good sense. So how did Jerry react when you told him?” Karen asked.

  “Well, he wasn’t very thrilled, to tell you the truth. He didn’t act like he was disappointed but I could tell he was. I think he was hurt, too, which is all the more reason why it was a good idea to confront him now instead of leading him on. Anyway, he agreed to keep it on a friendly basis and that’s when I elected to ask him over for dinner tomorrow. He’d told me last night that he would really like to meet Amy some time so I told him that he could meet her when he came for dinner, providing that Amy didn’t react negatively to the idea. It was a bold move, I realize now. But it turned out even better than I thought it would.”

  “What did Amy say?”

  “I caught her at a good time and I think that really helped the situation. She was asked to the homecoming dance last night, so we went shopping for a dress this afternoon. She was all excited about the dance so I took advantage of her upbeat mood and casually mentioned that I had a male friend that I was having over for dinner tomorrow and asked her if she would mind joining us. She was a little put off at first of course, but I think that had more to do with actually making a commitment to dinner than the fact that I’d invited some guy over. Anyway, surprise of surprises, she said it was okay with her as long as she didn’t have to get dressed up for the occasion. Can you believe it?”

  “I think that’s wonderful, Ann! These kids today will fool you once in awhile, won’t they?”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “So now, tell me about Sam,” Karen demanded.

  Ann groaned. “Well, I decided to give him a call this morning-I guess because I felt a little guilty about going out with Jerry and all. You know how it is, even though we’re divorced I still feel sort of attached to Sam-I guess out of habit. Anyway, who do you suppose answered his phone when I called? None other than the same bitch I had caught him fooling around with before! Can you believe it? And I felt guilty?”

  Karen hissed, “My Lord! I’ll bet you were absolutely livid!”

  “I was! Then, to top it all off, he just called me a few minutes ago to try and mellow everything out. Well, I wasn’t very mellow to say the least. In fact, after several un-pleasantries, I let him know that I just happen to be seeing someone myself!”

  “How did he take it?”

  “Not too well. He tried to blow it off but I could tell he was upset. I’m not usually one to play head games, but I just couldn’t resist. Had he been with anybody else, I wouldn’t have gotten so down and out nasty with him. But that slut? No way!”

  “Sounds like you really put him in his place.”

  “I think I did. What angers me so much, Karen, is that Sam’s been playing the “mourning role” ever since we split up. Then all of a sudden he turns around and pulls this crap. It’s like a slap in the face!” Ann declared.

  “Well, I must admit I’m more than a little surprised,” Karen said. “From what all you’ve told me about Sam, this almost seems out of character for him.”

  “I’ve always thought he was different, too. But now he’s shown his true colors-he’s just another typical man like all the rest. Except for Jerry, that is. He genuinely seems to be different; he’s a real gentleman and doesn’t patronize women.”

  “Maybe this will go beyond friendship.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know about that. All I can say is that right now, I’m not interested in any relationship. I used to think Sam was a gentleman, too. He sure has had me fooled!”

  “Well, between you and me, that’s exactly why I have never gotten married again. Things seem to change once a man thinks he has a hold on you. I like to keep Bill guessing-keeps him honest. Not to change the subject, but have you had any more prank calls?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you! I got one last night when Jerry was here. It was horrifying!”

  “What happened?”

  Ann told Karen about the call and Jerry’s suggestion to get an unpublished number, which she intended to do Monday.

  “That sounds like a good idea, Ann,” Karen said.

  “Jerry is so sweet. He told me if I ever needed him for anything to just call him, night or day.”

  “He sounds like quite a wonderful guy, Ann. My advice is to keep him around awhile, even if it’s only a platonic relationship.”

  “I think I will.”

  “Well, I’d better go. Hey, maybe we can double date sometime-go see a movie or go out to dinner. What do you think?” Karen said.

  “Maybe,” was Ann’s reply. “Let me see how everything goes tomorrow and we just may do that sometime.”

  “Great! Give me a call tomorrow and let me know how dinner went, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Ann hung up and returned to the kitchen sink. Karen’s inquiry about the obscene phone calls had suddenly reminded her of the opened window blinds she’d discovered in the bathroom last night and that she had forgotten to ask Amy about it earlier. She then made a mental note to be sure to ask her when she got home later.

  After finishing the dishes, Ann decided to take a hot bath. While lying back in the tub, she started thinking about the last phone conversation with Sam. When he had told her that the police thought Stanley Jenkins was the man who had murdered Marsha and Sara Hunt, she’d nearly broke out laughing. It was impossible to imagine the shy national honor student with the horn-rimmed glasses capable of harming a fly, much less raping and murdering two women. It was preposterous!

  Granted, she had hardly known the guy back at school-in fact the only time she could recall ever speaking to Stanley at all had been the time he had asked her to Senior Prom. She could still remember the incident quite well; only because of the total shock she’d felt that Stanley Jenkins had actually had the nerve to do it in the first place. Surely, she had thought at the time, he simply had to have known that she would turn him down. Not so much because of the obvious fact that he was a certified nerd and an absolute zero in the popularity column at school (although that certainly should have been enough) but because everyone who was anyone at Smithtown High School had known that she was going steady with John Flinders at the time and that she most certainly would be going to prom with him…

  Yet, Stanley Jenkins had nevertheless asked her to prom anyway-the hapless loser.

  Ann had been at the state basketball finals the fateful day Stanley had made his ridiculous plunge into no-man’s-land. She had been on the sidelines with the other cheerleaders as they witnessed their beloved Trojans being totally smeared by the Upper Arlington Golden Bears. Just after the Golden Bears’ point guard had sunk yet another three-pointer, poor old Stanley Jenkins suddenly appeared from out of nowhere. He had taken Ann aside, sweat pouring out of his zit-laden face so bad that his glasses were actually steaming up. Out of the clear blue, Stanley had cleared his throat and abruptly made his pitch: “You
want to go to the prom with me?”

  Ann was speechless at first. Besides the fact that Senior Prom was the last thing on her mind at that particular moment (the Trojans were definitely out of the running now), Prom was still light years away! And now here was Stanley Jenkins, nerd of the year, who she barely even knew, and never ever socialized with, asking her for a date!

  It had been nearly impossible keeping a straight face but she had somehow managed to as she thanked Stanley for asking then informed him that she going to the prom with John Flinders. (We are going steady, Stanley; even you should know that!) It was more than obvious that he was quite hurt and embarrassed. Stanley’s face had turned beet red but he didn’t utter a single word. He simply turned around and sauntered off into the bleachers with his shoulders slumped, like he had just lost his last friend in the world.

  Ann had felt really sorry for him and when one of the other cheerleaders asked her what Stanley had wanted, she had fibbed that he had asked about an assignment that their English class was working on. Yes, she had actually felt that bad for poor Stanley.

  Leave it to that crazy Roger Hagstrom and the Smithtown P.D. to come up with something as far-fetched as this, Ann thought. She tried to imagine what they might have dug up on Stanley that could possibly point the finger at him of all people. Even Sam had admitted they had no evidence, which didn’t surprise her in the least. Her hunch was that they were beginning to grab at straws now because they were too damn inept to find who the true murderer was.

  Christ! she thought. Was she ever glad she was out of that stupid, narrow-minded town! You can have it, Sam, with my blessing. And may you and Shelley-the-slut-Hatcher live happily ever after!

  Her thoughts suddenly turned to Jerry Rankin. She didn’t want to admit it to herself but she already missed him and it had been only twenty-four hours. In a way, she wished that she hadn’t come on so strong with the “friendship” rap to him. She realized now that she could have put a swift end to everything had Jerry not been so understanding. Any other guy would have backed off under similar circumstances, not wanting to continue pursuing someone who had just basically confessed having no intentions whatsoever of sleeping with them-which is what it all really boiled down to. But Jerry Rankin was different-he could see beyond the sexual aspect and respected her enough both as a woman and a person to accept her terms.

  If he could be here, right this very moment, she just might have let him have his way with her. She knew she wouldn’t feel that way tomorrow or the next day, but at this very moment, yes. She could just picture Sam and the whore together, rolling around in bed, and that image made her want to somehow get even with him. She would allow Jerry to join her in the tub and she would enjoy every wonderful second of it. The mere thought of his trim, muscular body pressed hard against hers made her skin suddenly tingle all over…

  But Jerry wasn’t here. He was meeting with one of his clients. He had offered to call her when he was done, but she had told him not to bother-that she was going to turn in early. She hadn’t slept very well the night before and she needed to catch up so she wouldn’t be too tired to cook tomorrow.

  Ann reached for the soap, lathered her hands and began washing herself. If Jerry were here, right this moment, he could be doing this for her, she thought.

  When was the last time she had made love? she wondered. She thought back. It had been in April, with Sam of course. It had been the night before she had caught him with Shelley Hatcher, in fact. It had been wonderful…

  Damn you, Sam!

  CHAPTER 15

  It was around 5:30 Monday afternoon when the telephone rang in Sam Middleton’s office. Praying it wasn’t McNary again, he picked up the phone.

  “Sam Middleton.”

  “I’m glad I caught you before you split,” Roger Hagstom said. “How soon can you come down to the station?”

  “I was just getting ready to call it a day. What’s up?”

  “Your presence is being requested here. Pronto, in fact.”

  Sam was stunned. “Did I hear you say what I think I heard you say?”

  “You heard me right, buddy. Hold on a second…”

  Sam could hear someone speaking in the background.

  “Chief Thompson says he hopes there’s no hard feelings.” Roger said.

  “Roger, what in the fuck is going on?” Sam demanded, his sense of humor waning.

  The detective laughed. “We hit pay dirt, man! That’s what’s going on!”

  “You caught the murderer?” Sam asked incredulously.

  “No, but we now sure as fuck know who he is, without a doubt. Listen, get your ass down here and I’ll tell you all about it.” Lowering his voice to a near whisper he added, “The chief knows everything.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Sam hated suspense and Roger knew it. Swearing under his breath, he quickly put his papers in order and left the office.

  When he arrived at the police station, Sam noticed that nearly every police cruiser was parked outside, prompting him to sense that what ever was going on was a big deal. He parked the Cherokee and entered the station, feeling the electricity of activity the moment he stepped up to the desk sergeant.

  “Go on in,” Mark O’Brien said, obviously expecting him.

  Roger Hagstrom and the chief were standing outside Thompson’s office as Roger spotted him and gestured Sam over.

  “Hi Rog, Chief.”

  “Hello Sam,” Thompson said, extending his hand. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  Sam shook the black man’s hand and glanced over at Roger imploringly.

  “Come on in,” the chief said, holding his office door open.

  “Thanks,” Sam replied as he followed Roger into the office. Roger showed him a chair across from Thompson’s desk and Sam sat down.

  “You like some coffee?” Roger asked, stepping over to the coffee machine.

  “Yes, thanks,” Sam replied.

  Chief Thompson sat down at his desk and waited until everyone had his coffee before speaking.

  “I’m going to be up front with you, Sam. Lieutenant Hagstrom has informed me that you’ve already been shall we say, ‘enlightened’ on the Bradley murder case, so I don’t feel any need to go over the background information. Therefore, we’ll skip directly to the business at hand.”

  Sam felt like a school kid being lectured to as he sat across the desk from the chief of police. He’d never particularly liked Frank Thompson but had to admit that he respected the man. He was scathingly blunt and had that kind of authoritarian demeanor that demanded one’s attention whenever caught in his presence.

  “Hagstrom tells me that you have a fairly extensive background in photography,” Thompson continued.

  Sam nodded. “Yes, I guess you could say that. Photography was my original career choice until I learned that newspaper reporting paid better,” he replied sarcastically.

  Chief Thompson held up a transparent plastic bag with a label marked “Evidence” stuck to it. “Then perhaps you could tell me what you make of this.”

  He handed the plastic bag over to Sam. Inside the bag he saw a blank Polaroid print.

  “David Bradley’s housekeeper found that print this morning in Tommy Bradley’s bedroom,” the chief explained. “It had apparently fallen and wedged itself inside one of Tommy’s toys and out of plain view. At any rate, Hagstrom’s men somehow missed this during their investigation but fortunately for us, the Bradley housekeeper’s eyesight is still in good working order,” he added with a sardonic glance toward Roger.

  Sam eyed the Polaroid. “Do you think the murderer dropped this?”

  Thompson grinned. “We know that the murderer dropped it. In fact, we now know who the murderer is-again, thanks to the Bradley’s housekeeper.”

  Roger Hagstrom took over from there. “Mary Willis, the housekeeper, wisely refrained from touching the print and immediately called Dave Bradley to tell him what she’d found. Dave then called me and
I went over to check it out. And lo and behold, we dusted for prints and actually got some. Our hunch was right, Sam! We compared them against Stanley Jenkins’ prints and they’re a match.”

  “Jesus!” Sam exclaimed. “So Stanley really is Marsha’s murderer?”

  Roger nodded. “Yup. We finally have the hard evidence we need to charge him.”

  “But how did you get Stanley Jenkins’ fingerprints?” Sam asked.

  “He’s got a police record, remember? The Epson, Indiana P.D. had mugged and fingerprinted him when he was booked on the arson charge at the college. We just received his mug sheet from them earlier today.”

  “Wow, it’s still hard to believe…”

  Thompson declared, “You won’t think it’s so unbelievable when you’ve heard what we’ve got on this guy so far, Sam. I’ll let Hagstrom fill you in on that when we get through here. But first of all, I want you to tell me exactly what you see in that evidence bag. And please keep it in the bag, by the way.”

  Roger added, “Howard Dickson has already looked the print over and all he could tell us was that it’s a dud Polaroid. We’re hoping you can come up with a little more than that.”

  Sam winked at Roger as he pictured old Howard Dickson, the semi-retired police photographer who was eighty years old if he was a day with eyes pushing a hundred trying to make sense of an “instant photograph” whose very existence he probably resented in the first place. There were certain limitations to belonging to the old school of photography, Sam felt, which Howard doubtlessly belonged to. Howard still used an old Graflex camera at crime scenes-the same one he’d owned since the Great Depression.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Sam said as he brought the bagged photograph closer to his eyes to examine it.

  At first glance, the Polaroid indeed appeared to be a “dud” as Howard Dickson had reported. The image was basically all white and muddy grey near the bottom of the square image frame where the rollers hadn’t evenly distributed the developer as the print passed through them. It was a common occurrence with instant cameras-the rollers got old with age and eventually failed to compress the developer packet enough to disperse the processing chemicals evenly throughout the exposed latent image on the print. The result was a virtually white and/or unevenly developed print with traces of the grayish colored developer fluid appearing near the bottom under the transparent Mylar covering.