The May Day Murders (27 page)

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paper where he had jotted down the new unpublished telephone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 against 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.