The May Day Murders (3 page)

Sam had vehemently objected to keeping
the case so hush-hush. He had argued that the public had a right to
know the facts about the murder. Public knowledge, he insisted, may
actually help to open things up. Somebody might come forward with
some vital evidence who may have otherwise remained silent, for
instance. Or, if the killer had been a local man, then there was
always a chance that someone local might be able to point a finger
at him, having learned the details surrounding the case. Roger was
sympathetic to Sam’s argument, but Chief Thompson had refused to
budge an inch. He had told Sam, in his infinite wisdom, that it
might be a good idea to advise the public to be on their guard and
to impose a curfew on their kids, but beyond that, he was not to
report any more than what had been established. Sam had been forced
to comply.

Sam took a drag off his cigarette and
stubbed it out in the ashtray. He didn’t like being muscled around
like this, and he had let George McNary, the managing editor of the
Observer
, know it. McNary, of course, had given him his
usual pompous recitation about freedom of the press and how he had
always believed in it unconditionally when he’d been a reporter
just starting out back in the “good old days.” But, McNary had gone
on to say, times have changed and one has to adapt. Furthermore, he
added, it was never a good idea not to comply with the police.
Hence, the old fart had whimped-out as he always did, and Sam again
found himself praying for the day when the ultra-conservative,
stubborn dick-head finally retired.

Sam had already written two follow-up
articles concerning Marsha Bradley’s murder and now wondered how
much more he could expound on it. The piece for Monday’s edition
was supposed to tie in with her memorial service today, and its
intent was to more or less eulogize one of Smithtown’s most beloved
and popular citizens. That was fair enough, he thought, but he’d
much rather be reporting the facts of the case, or better yet, that
her murderer had been apprehended …

He glanced down at the police photo and
once again felt a cold chill shoot down his spine. He had known
Marsha Bradley well, and like everyone else who’d known her,
couldn’t understand why anyone would want to murder such a
wonderful woman. The familiar wave of contempt swept over him and
Sam felt his blood begin to boil. Somehow, he thought, they would
catch the low-life asshole who did this to her and make him pay
dearly for it.

And he wanted to be there when it
happened.

Sam now wanted to return to the murder
scene as soon as it could be arranged. Dave and Tommy had been
staying at Dave’s mother’s house until the police finished up with
the investigation of their house, which would be soon—perhaps even
tomorrow. Sam hadn’t remained very long at the Bradley house the
night of the murder because Roger had insisted on letting his crew
do their work. Now, Sam wanted to do his.

Maybe, he thought, the police had
overlooked something. It was a long shot, he realized, but there
was always the possibility. It had happened before, hadn’t it? As
thorough as Roger and his men were, Sam had seen first hand how
they had missed seeing the forest for the trees a few times in the
past. The edge always seemed to be missing in a lot of police
work—that overwhelming drive to leave no stone unturned, that
driving motivation to capture the full picture.

Sam, however, was motivated beyond
words—certainly more than a handful of Smithtown cops would ever
be. This was a dear friend of his who had been assaulted and robbed
of her life—not to mention his ex-wife’s best friend. Sam had made
a pledge to himself from the very beginning that he wasn’t going to
sit around on his hands while Marsha’s murderer was still at large.
He was going to do what ever was in his power to see that this
bastard was brought to justice.

Again, Sam tried to imagine himself in
Dave Bradley’s shoes right now. What if it had been Ann instead of
Marsha who had been murdered? he wondered. How would he deal with
it? Could he deal with it?

He didn’t even want to think about it…

Sam picked up the phone and dialed
Roger Hagstrom’s number.

CHAPTER 2

It was seven-thirty when Ann Middleton
pulled into her driveway and shut off the engine. It wasn’t until
she reached for the door handle that she noticed the light on the
front porch wasn’t lit, making her wonder if she’d forgotten to
turn it on before she and Amy had left for Smithtown earlier that
morning.

“
Do your remember if I
turned on the porch light before we left?” she asked, turning to
Amy.

Amy, still half-asleep from the drive,
replied, “Yes, you did, Mother.”

“
I wonder why it isn’t on
now.”

“
Maybe it’s just burned
out,” Amy suggested sleepily.

“
Maybe …”

Ann opened the door and got out. Amy
followed suit and walked sluggishly around the car to join her
mother.

“
I wish they’d fix that damn
streetlight,” Ann groaned as they walked cautiously up the walk in
the darkness. “Watch your step, honey.”

Ann held onto the porch railing as she
led the way up the four steps leading to the porch of the modest
Cape Cod. She opened the storm door, groped around until she
finally managed to get the key into the lock, and freed the dead
bolt.

In the dim light afforded by a
nightlight plugged into the wall at the far end of the room Ann
located the switch and turned the living room lights on. She
noticed that the other switch, the one that worked the porch light,
was up, confirming that she had indeed turned it on. She waited
until Amy was inside then stepped back out onto the porch and
reached up to unscrew the bulb in the fixture. Noticing that it was
already practically screwed all the way out of its socket, she
tightened it up instead. It came on.

“
That’s strange,” Ann
muttered to herself.

“
What’s that, Mom?” Amy
asked from inside.

“
This stupid light—it wasn’t
burned out. It was just loose in the socket.”

Amy peered out through the door. “Maybe
the boogie man did it!” she giggled.

“
That’s not funny!” Ann
scolded, shooing her back inside.

“
Just kidding, Mom,” Amy
chuckled, and made a beeline for the stairs leading to the second
floor.

Ann strode through the living room to
the kitchen, removed her coat and flung it over the back of a
chair. Mandy, their three-year-old calico cat, suddenly emerged
from the laundry room and squinted up at Ann with that unmistakable
look that said it was well past feeding time. Ann reached down and
petted her before going over to the cupboard to get the Meow
Mix.

Even though they had stopped off at a
Shoney’s near Chillicothe for supper on the way home, Ann realized
that she still felt hungry. Deciding that it was probably due to
the stress and emotions of the day, she went over to the
refrigerator and took out a container of yogurt, got a spoon and
dug in.

Amy suddenly waltzed into the kitchen.
“I’m going to the movies with Amanda.”

Ann swallowed a spoonful of yogurt and
stared at her daughter reproachfully. “What have I told you about
asking first, young lady?”

Amy pouted before replying. “Okay, Mom.
Can I please go to the movies with Amanda?”

Ann tried to hide her disappointment.
She had hoped that Amy would stay home with her tonight—she didn’t
want to be alone after today. But Ann knew that they would only get
into an argument if she objected, and that was the last thing she
needed right now. “Okay, honey,” she sighed. “Do you need a
ride?”

“
No, Amanda’s mom is picking
me up in half an hour. I’m going to take a quick shower and change
first.”

“
Back by ten,” Ann
warned.

“
Mother! The movie doesn’t
even start until eight-thirty!”

Ann shook her head in resignation and
said, “All right. But I want you to come straight home when it’s
over. Do you hear me?”

“
Yes, I hear you,” Amy
whined. She shrugged her shoulders and made a face before storming
out of the kitchen.

Ann was hurt and angry at Amy’s lack of
consideration. Her daughter had to know that she was overwrought
from the memorial service but Amy’s social life apparently took
precedent over her mother’s emotions. For what had to be the
hundredth time since she and Amy had moved to Columbus, Ann wished
that Sam was there to help her get a handle on their daughter. She
was starting to doubt that she could ever do it alone.

With a sigh, Ann finished her yogurt
and decided to give Karen a call. Maybe her friend could help cheer
her up a bit. She went over to the phone and dialed Karen’s
number.

“
Karen, it’s me. What are
you up to?”

“
Hi, Ann. Just sitting here
waiting for Bill. How did it go today?”

“
Horrible,” Ann replied.
God, Karen, this is awful. I just can’t believe she’s
gone!”

“
I feel so sad for you, Ann.
I know how much she meant to you. All I can say is that she’s gone
to a much better place,” Karen declared compassionately.

“
I guess so.”

“
How was her
husband?”

“
Devastated. Cried like a
baby through the whole service. I really feel sorry for him. And
poor little Tommy. He wasn’t even there.”

“
The poor child. Has he
spoken to anyone yet?” Karen inquired.

“
No, and Sam informed me
that he’s practically having to be force-fed, too. It’s just awful
… He won’t even speak to Dave! God only knows what that poor
little boy must have gone through that night.”

“
I shudder to think. Have
the police gotten any more leads on who might have done it? They
mentioned it again on the six o’clock news, by the way, but they
didn’t give any details. They just said that the investigation is
still under way.”

“
No. Sam’s friend, Roger
Hagstrom, the detective who’s in charge of the case, told Sam that
nothing new has turned up. Apparently, they’ve done about all they
can until they can interrogate Tommy. And that could be a long
time, according to Roger.”

“
In the meantime, there’s a
psycho killer on the prowl,” Karen said.

“
It’s frightening, isn’t it?
I told Sam that I hope they hang him by the balls when they finally
catch him.”

Karen chuckled. “You sure have a way
with words, Ann.”

“
It just infuriates me!
Marsha was the nicest, most decent woman you could ever know. And
for some crazy bastard to do that to her just makes me want to go
out and find the monster myself and make him suffer.”

“
I don’t blame you one bit.
Not to change the subject, but how is your ex doing? Did you two
get along?”

“
I have to admit that I
couldn’t have made it through all of this without Sam. For a while
I almost forgot we were divorced, in fact. Sam’s basically a good
man, and he’s always been at his best during a crisis.”

“
You miss him?” Karen
asked.

Ann sighed and paused a moment before
answering. “Well, yes and no. I miss the stability of having Sam
around more than I miss the man himself. And Amy … Christ!
She’s turning into a regular delinquent! I know for a fact that she
drinks because I’ve smelled alcohol on her breath a couple of
times. And she’s smoking cigarettes now—I don’t think I told you
about that yet. Found a pack stashed under her dresser yesterday.
She’s become incorrigible, Karen. She hardly ever minds me anymore.
I know that the divorce has a lot to do with it—she still resents
it—and she blames me for it ever happening. She wants Sam and I to
get back together; that I know for sure. This is so difficult,
Karen …” she added, her voice wavering.

“
C’mon, dear, pull yourself
together. You’ll get through all of this. You just need to get your
mind off everything for a while. You’ve been through an awful lot
lately, but things will look up. As for Amy, I’m sure she’ll come
around eventually. Just give her some time. Part of her problem has
to do with her age, bear in mind. I sure wouldn’t want to be that
age again! Remember how tough it was? Teenagers are in their own
little world and tend to shut everyone else out of it. But Amy’s a
good kid. She’ll come around—you can count on it.”

“
I wish I were as optimistic
as you are, Karen. As usual, you’re probably right—I only hope I
don’t have a nervous breakdown in the meantime. There are just so
many things going on that I feel out of touch with. Like Amy’s
choice of friends at school, for instance. They all seem okay, but
what do I know? We’ve only been in Columbus for three months and I
still hardly know a soul in this neighborhood. And I’ve only met
one of Amy’s friend’s parents so far—Amanda Givens. Her mother’s
divorced and seems to be a nice enough gal, but her home is
apparently the big hangout for all of Amanda’s friends. How do I
know that she’s keeping an eye on things when all those teenage
girls are congregating there?”

“
Ann, you worry too much!
Woodcrest is one of the best suburbs in Columbus and has an
excellent high school. Amy’s in good company, believe me. Speaking
of which, how’s her schoolwork coming along?”