The May Day Murders

by Scott Wittenburg

  I’m finally starting to like it a little better here now that I’ve been here a while. Columbus is so big compared to Smithtown and sometimes it’s a little scary when you think about all of the crime and everything else that’s going on here. I’m sure glad we don’t live on the East Side-all you ever hear about on the news are all the drug-related murders that always seem to be going on. Woodcrest is a pretty small suburb-sorta like Smithtown in a way-and I’m glad we live here. It feels safer and the kids are pretty nice. I think I’m finally adjusting to school. I’ve made a few friends that I really like and most of the kids are pretty cool. I’m trying to get better grades, too, Dad. I guess you can’t ask for miracles to happen overnight, though! (So please keep this in mind when you see my grades for this nine weeks!)

  I don’t know if Mom told you but I’m going to the Homecoming Dance this Friday. I’m going with a really nice guy who I think you would like if you ever met him. His name is Jason and he is adorable! I sent you a picture of me in the dress I’m going to wear to the dance. Isn’t it cute?

  I overheard Mom talking to her friend, Karen, and she was telling her about you dating some woman who I could tell Mom doesn’t like. Dad, I really do wish you guys would get back together but I know it may not ever happen so I want you to know that I’m not mad at you or anything. You have your own life now and I guess if you want to go out with a lady other than Mom, it’s your business.

  Mom will probably kill me if she ever finds out I told you what I’m about to say. She’s actually going out with some guy! She tells me that they’re just friends but I’m not a fool-I know there’s probably more going on than that! I met him the other day when he came over for dinner. His name is Jerry Rankin or something like that and I can tell you right now, Dad, that I don’t like him. So you don’t have to worry about any competition with Mom. He’s pretty nice looking, I guess, but he’s a real dweeb!(I think you’d call him a square.) He tries to act real cool, like he knows all about teenagers and everything, but I think it’s all just a big act to impress Mom. Anyway, I’m telling you this so if Mom keeps going out with this guy and tells you about him, you’ll know that he’s not even in your league and that I’ll never like him, so don’t worry about that.

  Well, I’d better go now. I love you, Daddy, very, very much. And I miss you very much, too. Write to me or call me and let me know when we’re getting together again, o. k?

  Love,

  Amy

  Sam smiled to himself as he folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. It was more than obvious that his daughter had better taste in men than her mother did. This Jerry character sounded like a real prize-probably some fucking muscle-bound yuppie that spends most of his free time working out at the local health spa and the rest of the time with his nose buried in the Wall Street Journal.

  Sam examined the picture of Amy again and felt a pang of apprehension as he considered how much his little girl had grown up in the last year. She was a beautiful young woman now-no longer the cute little girl in pigtails she used to be. She resembled Ann even more than ever-the same long, thick auburn hair, the same fair skin and now, the same flawlessly proportioned body.

  He could only pray that she remained a virgin for at least another half dozen years…

  Sam carried the snapshot with him into the den and stood it up on the mantle, near the antique kerosene lamp he’d recently picked up at a flea market. He then went over to the phone, checked the time-it was only 6:15-and doubted if Amy had left for the dance yet. He began dialing Ann’s number and stopped himself midway, recalling that she had a new number now. Swearing under his breath, he dug into his wallet and found the slip of paper where he had jotted down the new unpublished telephone number.

  Amy answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, kiddo! I just got done reading your letter-when are you leaving for the big dance?”

  “Hi, Dad! Well, the game starts at 7:30 and Jason’s picking me up at around 7:15,” his daughter replied excitedly.

  “He’s old enough to drive?” Sam said, beginning to smell a rat.

  “Uh, yeah-isn’t that cool?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is. So I assume that Jason is a sophomore?” Sam asked guardedly.

  A brief pause, then, “Well, no. He’s sort of a junior.”

  Christ, Sam thought. Does Ann know this?

  “I see,” he said. “Has your mother met Jason yet?”

  “No, but she will soon…”

  Sam felt his pulse quickening more by the second as he tried to digest all of this. Here was his little 14-year-old-girl going out with a guy two years older who no doubt would love nothing better than to take advantage of her naive innocence. Had Ann lost her mind?

  Struggling to keep his composure, he said, “This Jason fellow doesn’t drink, does he, Amy?” No, of course not, he thought to himself-and bears don’t shit in the woods, either.

  “Oh no, Daddy! He’s on the soccer team-Jason’s an athlet e!”

  There’s your answer… “And is he a safe driver?”

  Amy chuckled. “He drives like an old lady! I know, because he’s brought me home from school a few times. Quit worrying, Dad! I’ll be fine!”

  “Well, just be a good girl, sweetie-that’s all I ask. And have a good time. Is your mother around?”

  “She’s in the bathroom right now,” she replied. Amy lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “She’s getting ready for a big date with Mr. Rankin.”

  Sam’s blood pressure went up another notch. “Oh, is that so?”

  “Yeah,” was the whispered reply. “And he’s taking her to his country hideaway tomorrow.”

  Sam was stunned. It was one thing for Ann to be dating some yuppie asshole, but to be openly shacking up with him under his daughter’s nose was an absolute outrage.

  “And where might this little hideaway be, sweetie?” he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “I don’t know for sure-somewhere in Hocking County… don’t tell her I told you!”

  “I won’t, Honey. I would like to talk to her, though. Why don’t you see if she can come to the phone now, okay?”

  “You’re gonna tell her, aren’t you? Please, Dad, swear you won’t!”

  “I am not going to tell her-I promise. I want to talk to her about something else.”

  “Okay. I’ll see if she’s out of the tub yet,” Amy said and set the phone down.

  A moment later, Amy returned. “She’ll be here in a minute. I guess I’d better get off-I need to start getting ready.”

  “Have a great time tonight, kiddo.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. And don’t worry about me-I’ll be fine! Bye!”

  Amy dropped the phone and a few seconds later Ann got on. “Hello Sam, what’s up?” she said.

  “I’d like to know what you’re doing letting my daughter go out with a fucking man is what’s up!” Sam lashed out.

  “Settle down, Sam!” Ann exclaimed. “First of all, Jason’s not a man-he’s only seventeen years old! And second of all, I don’t think you realize just how much this dance means to Amy. She’s been moodier than hell lately and hasn’t exactly been an angel with her chores or schoolwork, either. But ever since she’s been asked to this dance, she’s been cheerful and happy for a change and I’m not about to ruin it for her. Besides that, it’s only a dance, Sam, not an orgy! I’ve told her that there is to be no drinking and that she is to be home no later than eleven-thirty. Plus, I’ve asked around about this Jason boy and from what I’ve heard, he’s a nice young man. Now, do you have any more criticism as to how I should be raising my child?”

  Ann always had a knack for making him feel like a turd. “No, Ann, I don’t,” he managed to say. “I’m just concerned about her, that’s all. It would have been nice, though, if you would have at least discussed this with me beforehand.”

  “You’re right about that and I apologize,” was all she said.

  Sam wanted to put in a few cents more but decided agains
t it. He had argued with Ann enough lately and simply wasn’t in the mood to argue any more. Besides that, he had to get on the road as soon as possible. “Well, I’ll let you go then,” he said. “Do you know if Amy will be there tomorrow evening?”

  “Probably not until late-that’s a Saturday night. Why?” Ann said.

  “I was thinking about calling her to see how the dance went, that’s all. I’m getting ready to go out of town on an assignment and I won’t be back until some time tomorrow evening.”

  “Well, I should be home by ten at the latest, so one of us will be here anyway. You know how Amy is-she doesn’t make any plans until the last minute.”

  “All right, I’ll try calling when I get back, then. By the way, the latest on Stanley Jenkins is that the girl whose dorm he torched in college died in a car wreck in Colorado a couple of months ago.”

  There was a brief moment of silence before Ann said, “That seems a little odd, doesn’t it?”

  “Roger and I both thought so. But apparently there weren’t any signs of foul play according to the Colorado State Police. The car she was driving went over a cliff in the mountains while she was going around a curve that is notorious for causing fatalities so they ruled it an accident.”

  “Sounds like it was just coincidence, then,” Ann said.

  “Well, if you ask me, there’s been too many coincidences in this whole damn case. First Marsha, then Sara Hunt, and now this. There has to be a connection of some kind.”

  “If anyone can figure it out it will be you and that alcoholic cop friend of yours,” she declared sarcastically.

  “Sometimes, Ann…”

  “I was just kidding, Sam! I like Roger and you know it.”

  “I’m beginning to worry more about you than Roger.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Your attitude, Ann. I think your newfound independence is going to your head. The world isn’t by any means any safer than it used to be, but you seem to think it is.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about, Sam?”

  “Think about it. I’ve got to go now.”

  “Fine, so do I.”

  “Take care, Ann.”

  Click.

  Sam breathed a long hard sigh after replacing the receiver in an effort to compose himself. That same old familiar wave of alienation swept over him like a dark cloud and only served to fuel the anger he was feeling at the moment.

  He never did like being this out of touch with his family even before the divorce. But it really wasn’t until this moment that he realized just how little influence, if any, he had over his ex-wife and the upbringing of his only child. Until now, it hadn’t seemed quite so significant.

  Ann had always been a conservative, levelheaded woman-but she seemed different now. She appeared to be almost apathetic in regard to disciplining Amy-like she was willing to roll over and play dead while Amy did whatever she damn well pleased. And as for Ann’s new boyfriend-this Rankin creep-he sounded like the type of yuppie asshole he had always resented, and the type he had always thought Ann resented as well.

  At least she wasn’t shacking up with him over the weekend, as he had feared. His little ploy to find out if Ann was planning on doing so had worked flawlessly-Ann hadn’t even suspected why he asked about Amy’s plans for the following night. He knew that Ann would never leave Amy alone at the house overnight if she’d intended on staying over with Rankin. At least she hadn’t gone that far off the rocker… not yet, anyway.

  But what was bothering him the most in the back of his mind was the mere presence of this Jerry Rankin character in the overall picture. Sam already felt threatened by him for some reason and it went beyond petty jealousy. Something about him just didn’t seem right. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Ann had seemed to change practically overnight ever since she’d first mentioned that she was seeing him or if it was something else. At any rate, Sam was at least content in knowing that Amy didn’t like this guy-and had she indicated that she did like him, well, he wasn’t sure how he’d react to it. He wouldn’t have been thrilled, that’s for sure.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Sam left the den and went into his bedroom to pack. He checked the time and realized that he was going to have to hurry if he was going to make it to Ironton in time for the big political bullshit debate he’d gotten roped into covering. Why hadn’t the candidates for the statehouse chosen Smithtown to bore the pants off of instead of Ironton? And who gave a flying fuck which one of these assholes won the election anyway-they were both a pair of hillbilly dimwits.

  At least he had something to look forward to after the debate. Since Ashland, Kentucky was directly across the Ohio River from Ironton he couldn’t find any reason not to take Shelley up on her invitation to spend the night at her place as opposed to driving all the way back to Smithtown at night. In fact, the prospect of throwing back a few beers and devouring her sweet little body afterwards almost made the prospect of the debate worth suffering through.

  In another five minutes, Sam was packed and out the door. As he pulled away from his house, he started wondering how Roger was doing in L.A. and whether or not he’d been able to find out anything on Stanley Jenkins. The detective had been there for two days now and Sam had only heard from him once-when he’d called yesterday to let him know that California girls were everything they were cracked up to be and more… Typical Roger Hagstrom banter.

  It had become more and more apparent that apprehending Stanley Jenkins was not going to be easy. He had covered his tracks meticulously so far, which no doubt helped justify the Smithtown P.D. paying for Roger’s trip to L.A. to investigate further. Even with Stanley Jenkins’ mug shot plastered all over creation and after all of the media attention on the case, there hadn’t been one single confirmed sighting of the suspect yet. It was as though Stanley Jenkins had never existed. Since L.A. was believed to be the only confirmed place in the past twenty years that Stanley had lived for any length of time, Roger was hoping that there might be some kind of trail to pursue there.

  Ironically, the long awaited interview with Tommy Bradley had turned up very little of anything new in the case but had lent insight into the absolute cold heartedness of his mother’s murderer. During the interrogation, the youngster had told Roger that a man had come into his bedroom with his mother the night she’d been murdered and had ordered Marsha to lock her son in the closet. The room was dark and the only description Tommy could give of the man was that he was tall and had dark hair. When Roger had shown the police composite to Tommy for identification the boy stated that he couldn’t be sure but he didn’t think the murderer looked like the composite of Jenkins, reiterating that it had been awfully dark in his room and it was hard to see clearly.

  While locked in the closet, Tommy said that he had been unable to hear anything going on downstairs except for intermittent high-pitched beeping sounds that he heard about fifteen minutes after the murderer had forced his mother out of his bedroom. Sam had later offered his theory that the sounds were possibly the Polaroid camera in self-timer mode, which clicks off the seconds with a tone while the photographer is scrambling to become part of the scene being photographed.

  Tommy told his interviewer that he had been in the closet for around a half hour or so before the murderer had returned to his room. He had stepped over to the closet door and asked Tommy if he was okay through the door. Then he had told the boy that his mother was dead and had gone to heaven. Tommy had started crying and asked the killer why his mother was dead. The killer had made no reply. Then Marsha Bradley’s murderer left the room and little Tommy had remained in the closet until Dave arrived home and found him there.

  Sam felt a chill run down his spine every time he tried to imagine little Tommy Bradley locked in a closet all that time after being told by a total stranger that he had just murdered his mother. Was it any wonder why the kid had been so traumatized? And was it not more than obvious that Stanley Jenkins was not only a demented, perverse
murderer but a sadistic son of a bitch as well?

  Sam had opted to spare Ann the unsettling details of the Tommy Bradley interrogation as well as the tidbit of information one of Roger’s men had managed to gather after tracking down Stanley Jenkins’ former college roommate. The man who used to share a room with Stanley during his brief but illustrious college stint told the police that Stanley had made an interesting remark one night while he was drunk and tripping on acid. Stanley told his roomie that he had the hots for some chick back home and that one day he was going to “track her down and jump on her bones whether she is a willing participant or not.” The roommate hadn’t taken Stanley’s remark seriously at the time but he admitted that the incident was so bizarre that he hadn’t been able to forget it in all these years.

  So some questions were raised as a result of this tidbit of info: was Marsha Bradley the girl Stanley had been referring to? Or had it been Sara Hunt? And if it had been either one or the other, why would he rape and murder them both? And twenty-some years later, no less?

  Again, no rational connection could be established between the two murders. The only optimistic aspect of this new information was the remote possibility that perhaps Stanley Jenkins had murdered all he was going to murder-if indeed he’d been referring to either Marsha or Sara in his conversation with his roommate. At least it seemed now that Ann was more or less safe-Sam knew for a fact that she had never so much as spoken a word to Stanley Jenkins back in high school or she would certainly have mentioned it to him by now.

  As he reached the outskirts of Smithtown, Sam had to force himself to get his mind off the murder investigation and on to something less troubling, like Shelley Hatcher. He didn’t want to think about Stanley Jenkins or Ann or anything else negative in his life right now. All he wanted to do was focus on Shelley and the great time he was going to have with her once this fucking debate thing was over.