The May Day Murders (20 page)

“
Anyway, Stanley evidently
wanted to make up for lost time from his high school days. He
started asking out every beautiful chick on campus with hopes of
having better luck than he’d had in high school, now that he was
suddenly so hip and popular in his own mind. But unfortunately, he
got shut down every time—just like high school. There was one girl
in particular he had his eyes on. Her name was Cindy Fuller. A real
knockout, from what I’ve been told.”

“
Wait a minute, Rog,” Sam
interjected. “Before you go any further with this fascinating
story, do you mind telling me how in the hell you found all of this
out?”

“
A real stroke of luck,
that’s how. Tom Slater—you know him, the rookie who just joined up
last year—is the officer I assigned to track down the men in the
yearbook. When Tom discovered that Stanley Jenkins had a police
record in Epson, Indiana, he nearly flipped out. Coincidentally,
Tom’s older brother had gone to Fountainhead the same time Stanley
had. Most of this dope, Tom got from his brother. Now, can I
continue before I get any further ahead of myself?”

Sam nodded with a laugh. His friend was
really on a roll.

“
Thank you. So this Cindy
Fuller babe was a real fox and Stanley had zeroed-in on her. He
asked her out countless times, got turned down just as many times,
then apparently became downright obsessed with her. He started
stalking her—hanging around her dorm all hours and following her to
her classes—that kind of shit. The guy wouldn’t let up on her
despite her constant refusals to go out with him. Then, one night,
Stanley sort of flipped out.”

Roger paused long enough to gobble down
a fistful of fries, then said, “He tried to burn down her fucking
dorm!”

“
What?”

“
Stanley was tripping on
acid one night and I guess he figured that if Cindy Fuller wasn’t
going to play ball with him that he might as well make her pay for
it. So he took a can of gasoline, poured it in under the crack of
her door and all through the hall of her dorm, and lit a match. He
was caught almost immediately by campus police, who saw the flames
and Stanley running like a bat out of hell away from the
scene.”

“
What happened to Cindy
Fuller?”

“
Her room was empty when
this all happened so nobody got hurt. They had the fire under
control within minutes and the whole thing was basically a farce.
But it could have been much more serious.”

“
So what happened to
Stanley?” Sam asked.

“
He was charged with
aggravated arson and attempted murder. He got himself a good lawyer
who pushed for a temporary insanity plea, citing that Stanley was
under the influence of a hallucinogen at the time and not in his
right mind. A psychiatric evaluation was ordered and that’s when
things really started getting ugly for poor Stanley.”

Sam lit up a cigarette. “What
happened?”

“
They determined that
Stanley Jenkins was psychotic and a sociopath, among other things.
The judge, who didn’t like Stanley in the first place—I guess
Stanley was less than agreeable throughout the proceedings—ordered
him to a minimum of one year in the nut house.”

“
Whoa!”

“
It gets even juicier.
Stanley was committed to the Indiana State Hospital and remained
there for four fucking years before they finally let him out. That
was in ‘75 …
May First, 1975,
” Roger added, winking at
Sam.

“
May Day!
” Sam
exclaimed.

“
Interesting, eh? Now get
this: there has been only one person as far as we know who has
heard from or seen Stanley Jenkins in the last fifteen years, and
that would be his mother. And that was in 1980. Since then, it
appears as though Stanley Jenkins has dropped off from the face of
the earth.”

Sam said, “You’ve already talked to his
mother?”

“
Briefly,” Roger replied.
“Ironically, Slater had already telephoned Stanley’s mother once
before when we first started investigating the yearbook pictures.
The records had shown that Mrs. Jenkins had moved in with her
sister in Cincinnati shortly after her husband passed away back in
‘74 so Tom had called her to inquire about Stanley’s whereabouts.
She’d told him that he was living in California and that he was
working for a chemical firm there. After a few more questions, Tom
was satisfied that Stanley was probably clean and not worth
pursuing as a suspect, so he thanked Mrs. Jenkins and scratched him
off the list of potential suspects. Then, Stanley’s record suddenly
showed up last night—so we naturally had a renewed interest in him.
And now Mrs. Jenkins suddenly has a totally different story…”

“
What did she tell
you?”

“
When I called her, I
immediately got the feeling that she knew we were going to call her
again—call it ‘investigative intuition,’ for lack of a better word.
Anyway, she hesitantly admitted that she had lied before—that she
really didn’t have any idea where Stanley could be now. She told me
that the last time she’d heard from him was back in 1976. He’d sent
her a postcard from Vegas—she wouldn’t elaborate on what the
postcard said. Then she suddenly asked me why I wanted to know and
I just told her that we were conducting an investigation, but
didn’t give her the specifics. I asked her if she had any idea,
even the slightest hunch, where we might be able to locate Stanley
and she promptly said ‘no’ and hung up on me.”

“
Damn, this is getting
weirder by the minute.”

“
No shit. When I tried
calling Mrs. Jenkins back, surprise of surprises, she didn’t answer
the phone. It’s starting to look like she’s hiding something and we
just may have to go down to Cincinnati to persuade her to be more
cooperative. At any rate, that’s more or less where we stand
now.”

Roger Hagstom sat and stared at Sam
expectantly like a victorious general on a battlefield.

When it became apparent that he had no
more to say, Sam said, “Is that it?”

His friend’s eyes widened. “
’Is that
it?’
Is that all you can say? Hell, you’re almost as bad as
that cock-headed doubting Thomas I work for!” Roger snapped in a
voice that was too loud.

Roger Hagstrom’s face flushed as he
looked around and saw that half the restaurant was now staring at
him.

Sam waited a moment for everything to
calm down again then said, “Jesus, buddy, I didn’t mean to get you
all bent out of shape! I was just wondering if there was more to
the story, that’s all.”

Roger collected himself. “That’s cool—I
guess I was just a little pissed that your reaction to all of this
seemed about the same as Thompson’s. He thinks I’m jumping to
conclusions just because I haven’t been able to come up with any
concrete leads on this goddamn case yet. But look at the facts! We
know that the murderer is pretty damn smart, right? Stanley Jenkins
is intelligent, if nothing else. Hell, the bastard was a model
student in high school, for chrissakes! We also know that whoever
killed Sara Hunt was tall with long dark hair. Stanley is over six
feet tall if he’s an inch. Granted, he was a lanky son of a bitch
and wore pop bottle eyeglasses back in high school, but people do
change considerably in twenty years; he’s probably put on weight
and wearing contact lenses now. And what about ‘
May Day?
’
Doesn’t it seem just a little too coincidental that the murderer
left behind those words on Marsha Bradley’s body and that May Day
just so happens to denote the day of Stanley Jenkin’s emancipation
from the loony bin?

“
But by far, the most
incriminating evidence is the marked page in the yearbook and the
fact that Stanley knew both women; not to mention his damning
psychiatric profile and the fact that he’s a psychotic, flipped-out
lunatic who spent four years in a mental institution for stalking a
beautiful chick and trying to torch her just for refusing his
advances. Hell, what more do we need?”

“
Evidence,” Sam replied
flatly. “I’m no lawyer, but I know enough about criminal law to see
that all you have is speculation and a bunch of circumstantial
evidence in both of these cases. And you can’t arrest and convict
somebody solely on that shit.”

“
You’re forgetting
something, Sherlock,” Roger smiled. “We’ve got the hair and semen
samples as evidence. And that’s all it would take to
convict.”

This had slipped Sam’s mind. Somewhat
embarrassed, he said, “You’re right … That’s why you’re a cop
and I’m not. And I have to agree that it looks like Stanley Jenkins
could possibly be the murderer. But tell me, honestly, Roger. Would
you ever in your wildest dreams believe that he is capable of
sadistically raping and murdering two women in cold blood? Jesus,
he’s the last person I’d ever suspect in this case. He was such a
fucking …
nerd
!”

“
No doubt about that,” Roger
nodded in agreement. “I’d never have guessed him to be the type,
either. But by the same token, who would have ever thought that he
would grow his hair long, drop acid, and try to set a school dorm
on fire? Those are documented facts.”

“
Good point. I guess my
biggest problem with all of this is why? Why would Stanley Jenkins
murder Marsha Bradley and Sara Hunt? What was his
motive?”

Roger heaved a long sigh. “Hell if I
know. But I’m gonna find out, by God. In the meantime, I’ve got a
lot of questions to ask a lot of people once we locate
them.”

“
What people, for instance?”
Sam asked.

“
The psychiatrist who
handled Stanley’s case, for one. Plus Stanley’s lawyer and Cindy
Fuller. And his college roommates, if he had any. Also any friends
and acquaintances he might have had while living in Vegas. It’s
going to take a lot of down and dirty police work, but I’m
convinced that there is someone, somewhere who knows Stanley
Jenkins and what he’s been up to for the last twenty
years.”

“
Sounds like that could take
a long time,” Sam said.

“
It will, no doubt. But it
has to be done. We’re also working on a computer-enhanced photo of
how Stanley might look today to show to little Tommy Bradley. I
forgot to mention that the little tyke is finally beginning to snap
out of it, from what I’ve heard. I think Dave is going to give his
consent to let us interview him soon, in fact. And if Tommy
actually saw his mother’s murderer and can give us a positive I.D.
on him from the computer photo of Stanley, we’ll be in business.
Then, maybe the chief will get off my back and eat a little humble
pie. Damn, I can’t think of anything I’d rather like to see right
now!”

“
Have you let Mancuso in on
any of this?” Sam asked.

“
I’d like to wait until I
have a little more to go on, but that wouldn’t be right. I’m going
to call him as soon as I get back to the station. No sense in
fucking around with egos and all that bullshit,” Roger said. He
smiled slyly and added, “Still, it would be nice to confirm my
theory before I filled him in—just so he’d realize that we’re a
little more on the ball than he gives us credit for back here in
Small Town, USA.”

“
I almost hate to mention
this, but isn’t there a possibility that Stanley Jenkins might be
dead?” Sam said.

“
That has crossed my mind,
of course, and we’re checking up on it now, as we speak. I’ll bet
he ain’t, though.” Roger finished off his hamburger and said, “Did
you have any luck with Sara Hunt, by the way?”

Sam shrugged. “No, I didn’t learn a
damn thing. She just didn’t live in Smithtown long enough to make
oodles of friends, I reckon. Some of the people I talked to
remembered her, but that was about the extent of it. I called Ann
as well, but she told me that as far as she knows, Marsha hadn’t
kept in touch with Sara since high school.”

“
Actually, that’s good to
know. Dave Bradley told us the same thing—that he was fairly
certain Marsha hadn’t had any correspondence whatsoever with Sara
all these years. Which would indicate that whatever connection
there may have been between Marsha Bradley and Sara Hunt had been
established back when we were all in high school. Mancuso has
spoken to Sara’s parents of course, and they, too, have no
knowledge of their daughter having been in contact with Marsha
Bradley. In fact, they couldn’t even recall ever meeting Marsha
Bradley when Sara was living here, so the girls must not have been
too awfully close to one another.”

“
That’s not surprising. Sara
Hunt was always sort of a snobbish bitch, if you ask me. Ann
couldn’t stand her, either. Not exactly Miss Popularity, as I
recall.”

“
Hell, maybe there isn’t any
real pertinent connection between the two women; other than the
simple fact that they had known each other in high school. We need
to get more dope on Stanley Jenkins. That’s all there is to
it.”

“
I can give you a hand,” Sam
offered.

“
I’ll let you know on that,”
Roger replied tentatively. “For the time being, it’s all pretty
much going to be just routine police work. Besides that, you’re
better off staying in the background for now. In fact, if Thompson
finds out that we’ve had this little chat, he’ll blow a goddamn
gasket.”

“
I don’t know why he’s so
fucking paranoid,” Sam retorted. ”Surely he knows that McNary
censors practically everything I write, anyway, even if I were
stupid enough to try and print anything about this investigation.
Where’s the trust?”