The May Day Murders (25 page)

“
Hell if I know. Maybe he
planned on investing it in the stock market—or the drug market,
which wouldn’t surprise me. At any rate, we’re going to do some
nosing around in Vegas and L.A. to see what we can find out. Surely
someone must have come in contact with Stanley at one time or
another while he was living in either city. We’re also working on
tracking down Cindy Fuller to see if she could enlighten us on
Stanley’s possible whereabouts. Who knows, maybe he even took
another stab at winning her heart since his release form the nut
house after conceding that setting her dorm on fire hadn’t been a
happening way to create a strong and lasting relationship. We’re
dealing with a loony here, buddy, and you gotta go a little crazy
yourself in order to catch a crazy,” Roger declared.

His friend’s statement suddenly
registered in Sam’s mind as he realized what he was implying here;
that Stanley Jenkins is a certified nut case and totally
unpredictable. Without reason, logic and rationale on your side,
you’ve got to use “alternative means” in order to make some kind of
educated guess at what was on this demented killer’s mind. Those
means would be to attempt to try and think like an insane person
would think, given his known profile. No small order, indeed, Sam
thought. And if nothing else, it certainly left one with some
chilling possibilities of what may happen next …

“
What about the state
hospital? Couldn’t you get some help from the doctors there? Maybe
get an idea of what was on Stanley’s mind while he was receiving
treatment?” Sam asked his friend.

Roger shook his head slowly from side
to side. “Already tried that route—no luck. Patient confidentiality
has put a quick end to that possibility before it ever got
started.”

“
You’re kidding! You mean
they won’t tell you anything even though it’s all but a fact that
Stanley Jenkins is a fucking murderer? I thought you could force
doctors to release their records when it involves a murder case!”
Sam exclaimed.

“
That’s not enough to do it.
Only when a patient/suspect has knowingly threatened to murder
someone does patient confidentiality go out the door. And that’s
not the case we have here. It’s a bitch, I know, but it’s the
fucking law.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was
hearing. How could a murder suspect be protected by the law when it
was more than apparent that he had murdered someone, for
chrissakes? It made absolutely no sense at all, especially
considering that the murderer was still at large and most likely
would kill again. The information that one of Stanley’s former
doctors could offer may well mean the difference between life and
death for some innocent, law abiding person.

“
And they call that
justice?”

“
There ya go…”

“
Well, what about Tommy
Bradley, then? Have you shown the computer composite of Stanley to
him yet?” Sam wanted to know.

“
Glad you asked, before you
give yourself a coronary. The kid is apparently in much better
shape now and we’ve cleared the way to show him the composite and
interview him tomorrow morning. That could well ice this whole
thing if he positively ID’s Stanley Jenkins.”

“
That’s some good news, at
least. But even if you get a positive ID and confirm the murderer,
it’s not going to help you catch the sonofabitch. Which reminds
me—what’s the dope for the press release? I want to get started on
that thing and get Stanley’s mug out for the world to see so we can
nail him.”

Roger thumbed through some papers on
his desk and handed Sam a document. “Here’s the official statement.
As you can see, we’ve pretty much let the cat out of the bag there.
You can embellish it to some degree of course—the only thing the
chief’s really concerned about is the details of the pending
investigation. You now know the specifics, Sam, so be sure not to
put in anything that might tip the creep off. That’s
all.”

Sam looked the press release over and
nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m actually impressed; this is surprisingly
honest and straightforward for a change. Finally, the public can be
adequately informed of what is really happening in this
town.”

“
I thought you’d
approve.”

Sam stood up. “I’d better get moving. I
think I’ll stop by the office and pick up all the shit I need then
take it home—we can’t get this out until tomorrow evening’s paper
anyway. As excited as I am about writing this article, it would
figure that I’m going to have to do it while I’m dead
beat.”

Roger Hagstrom grinned. “I don’t
suppose Shelley Hatcher has anything to do with that.”

“
Let’s just say she hasn’t
helped any,” Sam replied as he turned to leave.

“
You’re one lucky
sonofabitch. Take care, buddy.”

“
You, too,” Sam said as he
went out the door.

He stopped by the
Observer
and
collected all the files and documents pertaining to Marsha Bradley
and Sara Hunt’s murder investigations. Before leaving, he ran into
the sports writer, Al Clarkson, and briefly told him what he’d just
learned at police headquarters. Al’s reaction, as expected, had
been that of absolute shock.

The sun was just setting over the
western foothills as Sam drove home. It was one of those
spectacular late autumn sunsets, the sky bursting with radiant hues
of yellow, orange and magenta gradually giving way to a deep shade
of cold blue. He reached over and turned on the heater as he felt
the chill of the crisp evening air and decided that tonight would
be as good a time as any to break in the fireplace. He’d been
looking forward to firing it up ever since he’d first laid eyes on
it last spring.

He pulled into his driveway and
retrieved the mail from his mailbox before continuing on to the
house. Once inside, he brewed a pot of coffee and ate a cold
chicken sandwich. Afterwards, he went into the den to get a fire
started in the fireplace and noticed the tiny light on the
answering machine flickering. He played back the
message:

“
Hi Sam—it’s me. I thought
you’d be home from work by now but it looks like you’re not. I just
called to thank you for a wonderful weekend—I really had a great
time! Hopefully, we can do it again sometime soon. I know you told
me you needed some time to think things over and I’m sorry to
bother you like this, but I just couldn’t help it. I miss you
already! Oops, I shouldn’t have said that, should I have? Oh well,
sorry about that. I’ll go now before I make you mad. Feel free to
call me if you happen to get the urge, okay? Otherwise, I’ll try
calling you later in the week. Love ya, Hon! Bye-bye.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile to himself
as he listened to Shelley Hatcher’s message. It hadn’t been
twenty-four hours since she’d left to go back to Ashland, KY and
already she was pestering him. It was beginning to look like the
girl was more hung up on him than he’d ever imagined.

He went back over to the fireplace and
finished stuffing in the kindling wood then placed a few medium
sized logs on the grating. He struck a match, lit the crumpled
newspapers and watched as they caught fire and ignited the
kindling. Once the fire was burning steadily, he went over to his
desk, sat down and turned on the computer.

Sam sat and stared thoughtfully at the
computer screen, recalling the past weekend. Shelley had ended up
staying over Saturday and that night proved to be every bit as wild
and crazy as the night before had been. The next morning, or
rather, afternoon, he had awaken feeling not only severely hung
over but surprisingly at ease for a change. Shelley Hatcher and his
desire to be with her had somehow prevailed over Ann and everything
that went along with his former wife. For the first time since the
divorce, he felt content—not so much because of what he’d done with
Shelley Hatcher this weekend but more of the fact that he had
actually done it in the first place. There was a
difference.

In a nutshell, he at last felt
free.

Ann had her life; he had
his.

Love was no longer a pain, or even an
issue. It had become something that had once existed but no longer
existed.

After breakfast, he and Shelley had
decided to go for a drive in the state forest. They had parked the
Jeep and taken a long walk hand in hand—a few kisses now and then
but no sex. Fun without sex: something new in his life since the
divorce. Then they’d driven back to the house and Sam had pulled
Shelley’s car out of the mud, told her what an excellent weekend it
had been, then in the same breath told her that he needed some time
to think things over. She seemed to understand what he was telling
her and kissed him before climbing into her car and heading back to
Kentucky.

When Sam had gone to bed later that
night, he hadn’t been able to get to sleep. He found that he
couldn’t turn his thinker off. He started thinking about Ann and
Amy and realized that although he may have fallen out of love with
his ex-wife, he still loved the both of them in a way that simply
couldn’t be labeled. And he knew that he would always love them in
this special way.

Then he had begun thinking of how empty
and meaningless his life would be if something bad ever happened to
the most important girls in his life, just as he had so many times
before. He realized that he would always care for them and that
he’d never quit worrying about them. And ever since Marsha Bradley
had been murdered, he had acquired an uneasiness that he knew would
never go away until Stanley Jenkins was caught and put
away.

Then his thoughts had drifted to
Shelley Hatcher and how she was like a breath of fresh air amidst
all of the malevolence going on. When he was with Shelley, the
world suddenly seemed to stop turning. All the bad went away and
everything was good again. Ann became a distant memory, the past
evaporated and the future was within his grasp.

Then he’d think about the murderer
again.

The murderer continued prevailing
throughout it all.

Stanley Jenkins had to be
stopped.

Sam had finally fallen asleep at around
3:30 in the morning. Then he’d had a nightmare. In the nightmare,
he was lying on a beach with Shelley Hatcher. They were alone on
the beach, stark naked, making love. Suddenly he’d heard a
telephone ring. He’d opened his eyes and reached for the phone
lying beside him on the sand. It was the police calling—they told
him that Ann and Amy had been found in their home raped and
strangled to death. He’d started crying and turned to Shelley to
tell her what had happened. She had started laughing hideously…

Sam’s eyes remained focused on the
computer screen.

This murderer has got to be stopped…

He opened up MS Word for Mac and began
typing:
Suspect Sought In Bradley Murder …

CHAPTER 16

On Wednesday morning, Ann Middleton had
a smug grin on her face when Karen Walker strode over to her
desk.

“
What are you grinning
about?” she asked Ann.

Ann replied, “That was Sam I was just
talking to. He apparently tried calling me last night and got a
recording that my telephone number had been changed to an
unpublished number. He was madder than hell—he had actually thought
I’d changed my number because of him!”

Karen chuckled. “Did you tell him the
real reason you did it?”

“
It was tempting not to, but
of course I told him the truth. Then he got all upset at me because
not only had I refrained form letting him know about the
unpublished number, which honestly had slipped my mind, but I
hadn’t told him about the obscene phone calls either. He’s been
really worried about the murder case anyway and now he’s all
paranoid that Stanley Jenkins made the obscene calls and is out to
get me.”

“
You shouldn’t come down on
Sam for that, Ann. He’s only looking out for you and Amy, which is
understandable.”

Ann sighed. “I’m not criticizing him
for that, Karen. I know he means well and I’d be lying if I told
you that I don’t appreciate his concern. It’s just sort of fun
seeing him all bent out of shape over nothing. That’s a terrible
thing to say, I know, but I guess this Shelley Hatcher thing has
sort of gone to my head and I’m still having trouble dealing with
it.”

“
Aren’t you being a little
flippant about this Stanley Jenkins character, Ann?” Karen asked.
“I mean—you act as though there isn’t even the slightest chance
that he might come after you.”

“
Well, of course there’s a
slim chance, I suppose. But you’ve read the article in the
Dispatch—why should I feel any more threatened by him than anyone
else? Hell, you’re just as much at risk as I am.”

Karen shook her head. “Not true. The
article said that he seems to prefer beautiful women, remember.
That definitely puts me out of contention as a potential
victim.”

“
You’re talking nonsense,
now. And I think that Bill will agree with me on that,” Ann
declared to her friend.

“
Bullshit!” Karen exclaimed
good-naturedly. “Have you told Sam about the prowler,
yet?”

“
I was going to until I saw
how upset he was about the phone calls. Then I decided not to. I
mean, why get him uptight over a false alarm, anyway? Ever since I
learned from Amy that she had indeed come home to change clothes
last Friday I have quit worrying about it. It’s been quite awhile
since that incident in the backyard and I’m not even sure it was a
prowler I heard that night.”