The May Day Murders

by Scott Wittenburg

Roger felt the pressure and looked at his friend determinedly. “Well, we’re going to have to ask some people some more questions, for one thing. Canvass the neighbors again, just in case they’ve recalled something that might have slipped their minds when we last spoke to them. We’ll check and see if there have been any reports of prowlers in a twenty-block radius of this neighborhood in the last couple of weeks, too. And, it looks like I’m going to have to ask Dave some painfully personal questions about his wife-which I really hate to do. Find out if she was truly as faithful to him as he’s been leading us to believe, and ask him if she ever had any opportunities to play around on him that he can think of. He’s probably going to hate my ass for doing it, but we’ve got to check out every possibility, eh buddy?”

  Sam grinned, pleased to hear that his friend wasn’t going to let him down. Roger was a man of his word, if nothing else. “That’s right, Detective Hagstrom. And if you need any help with the legwork, I’ll gladly offer my services.”

  “I’ll let you know.” He glanced at his watch and said, “Why don’t you take your pictures so we can get the hell out of here. I’m getting thirsty.”

  Sam looked around the room and said, “Fuck it. Let’s just go.”

  Roger was tempted to rib him, but decided not to. “Want to hit the tavern and tie one on?”

  It only took Sam a second to think about it. “Lead the way.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Ann stood in the doorway staring at her sleeping daughter and debated whether or not to wake her up. It was tempting, just to get back at her for coming home so late last night and worrying her half to death. But she relented when she saw how peaceful her daughter looked all snuggled up with her head buried underneath her pillow. She turned and quietly closed the bedroom door behind her.

  She crept down the stairs and went into the kitchen, wrote Amy a quick note, then gathered up her things and headed out the front door. It was noticeably cooler than it had been the day before and the sun was shining brightly as she got in her car and started it up. As she was backing out the driveway, it suddenly dawned on her that she’d forgotten to call Mr. Ogilvy about fixing the floodlight in the backyard and made a mental note to call him the moment she got back home. The supermarket wasn’t far, only a few blocks away, so Ann drove slowly, taking in the quiet peacefulness of the neighborhood on a Sunday morning.

  Ann waited for a traffic light to change then made a right onto High Street. She reached the supermarket in another three blocks and pulled into the parking lot, relieved to find that there were only a dozen or so cars parked outside. Since moving to Columbus, she’d gotten in the habit of doing her grocery shopping on Sunday mornings since it was rarely crowded then. Shopping had a certain therapeutic value to it, she had learned long ago. It helped to get her mind off things that were troubling her.

  She went inside, grabbed a shopping cart, then spent the next half hour or so meandering through the aisles. When she was finished, she headed for the least crowded checkout line and waited.

  There were only a couple of customers ahead of her: an elderly woman with a nearly full cart, and the man standing directly in front of Ann, who had only a few items. She’d seen the man before, last week in fact, and she remembered him because he was wearing the exact same thing he’d worn last Sunday-a gray wool suit and no overcoat. Her hunch was that he had just gotten out of church and had stopped by to pick up a few things before going home. He was strikingly handsome, she had to admit; tall, muscular build, with neatly styled longish blonde hair. His eyes were green, she recalled. A very dark, rich shade of green as stunning as it was unusual. He was probably about forty she guessed, and appeared fit and youthful with his trim, athletic physique and bronze, tanned skin-no doubt the result of numerous trips to a tanning salon.

  The elderly woman was unloading her cart and taking her good old time about it. Ann heard the man in front of her sigh impatiently. She observed the handful of items he’d placed on the conveyer: a pound of ground chuck, a package of hamburger buns, a jar of pickles, a head of lettuce and a six-pack of Coke. Glancing over at the express lane, she wondered why he didn’t simply go over to it instead of putting up with the old lady like this, and then noticed that there were a half dozen people standing in line there.

  The checkout girl was quickly losing her patience as she was being forced to wait while the elderly woman took each item out of her cart, one by one, and set them on the counter for her to scan. The woman was old, granted, but far from feeble. Ann deduced that she was the type of ancient hag who seemed to wear her general contempt for the world on her sleeve and was thoroughly enjoying what she was doing. She saw the twisted smirk on her face each time she leaned over her cart to retrieve the next item. She could almost envision the old lady sliding in behind the wheel of her ‘68 Oldsmobile when she was finished here and purposely driving fifteen miles an hour all the way to her home just to tie up traffic.

  The man sighed again, and began tapping the lid of the pickle jar nervously with his fingers. Although his back was to her, Ann could almost see the subtle scowl on his handsome face as he waited his turn. Suddenly he glanced back, apparently to see how many more people were being held up by this woman. He smiled a little when he saw her, shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness, and turned around again. Ann had smiled back at him, unable to resist the temptation. His demeanor was quite charismatic.

  When the woman had finally placed the last of her groceries out on the counter to be scanned, she took out her well-worn billfold and produced a wad of one-dollar bills then started counting them out. When she had at last counted out the thirty-eight ones she needed, she fumbled through her change purse to cover the sixty-four cents and handed the coins to the checkout girl, snatched her receipt, then went on her merry way. Ann began taking her groceries out of the cart as the man stepped forward to be checked out.

  “Sorry for the wait, sir,” Ann heard the checkout girl say to him.

  “That’s quite all right-it wasn’t your fault,” the man replied good-naturedly. His voice was deep and pleasant, with the slightest trace of an English accent.

  “Nine fifty-three,” the girl told him.

  Ann watched as the man handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Out of ten?” she said. “Thank you sir. Have a nice day.”

  “You, too,” he replied. He picked up his bag and headed for the door.

  Ann resumed taking out her groceries and noticed that the man had forgotten the six-pack of Coke. The checkout girl noticed it at the same time. “Sir! You forgot-” she shouted, but the man was already out the door.

  Ann hesitated a second, then peered at the checkout girl. “I’ll take it out to him.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it,” the girl said, relieved.

  Ann swooped up the Coke and ran out the door. She spotted the man just as he was about to get into his car. ”Sir!” she called after him.

  He turned around as Ann continued running toward him. “You forgot this,” she said, holding up the six-pack of Coke.

  The stranger smiled at her and said, “Oh, thanks! This is what happens when you’re in a hurry, I guess.”

  When she drew up to him, breathless, Ann handed him the Coke and said, “I’m sure that woman in front of us wasn’t much help either.”

  He grinned. “Hell could have frozen over in the time it took that old biddy to get those groceries out of her cart!”

  Ann laughed and said, “I’d better get back inside.”

  He seemed disappointed. “Thanks again, uh…”

  “Ann.”

  “Thanks, Ann. It was very kind of you.”

  Ann nodded, then turned to leave.

  “Wait a second, Ann.”

  She turned back around. “Yes?”

  “This may sound terribly forward of me, but I’d really like to repay you somehow for your kindness. Like dinner, perhaps?”

  Ann suddenly felt uncomfortable. She replied, “That’s not really necessary…”

&nb
sp; “Jerry. Jerry Rankin. I’m sorry-that was very rude of me putting you on the spot like that, and I see now that you’re married. Please accept my apology, Ann.”

  Ann glanced down at her wedding band then back at him. He seemed genuinely embarrassed and in fact, ashamed of himself for hitting on her. Ann realized that she could simply let him go on thinking that she was married and that would be the end of it but for some reason, she didn’t. “I’m divorced.”

  Instead of looking relieved, Jerry Rankin frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ann. I’ve just recently become a widower and have a pretty good idea of what you must be going through. My life hasn’t been the same since I lost Marie… it’s been a very difficult adjustment to make.”

  Ann felt a wave of pity. “I’m sorry too, Jerry. I might as well be honest with you-I was the one who wanted the divorce- but it hasn’t made it any easier to ‘adjust,’ as you put it.”

  He suddenly glanced at his watch. “Listen, Ann. I’m running late for an appointment and I know you must go back inside, but I would be delighted if you’d reconsider my offer.”

  Before Ann could object, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to her.

  “If you should change your mind, or simply want to chat sometime, just give me a call, okay? No catch, no strings.”

  Ann stared at the card for a moment, then took it from his proffered hand. “I’ll think about it, Jerry. But I can’t make any promises.”

  He smiled broadly and said, “I understand, Ann. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll only feel regret that we never had the chance to get to know each other. You’re a lovely woman, as well as kind.”

  His flattery made Ann melt a little. “Thank you, Jerry. I’ll think about it-I promise. I’d better go back inside now.”

  “Nice meeting you, Ann. Good day,” he said and stepped into his BMW.

  “Goodbye,” Ann said, then turned and walked away.

  When Ann returned, the checkout girl had already bagged her groceries and was standing patiently by the register.

  “Did you catch him?” she asked.

  Ann nodded. “He was very grateful. How much do I owe you?”

  “Sixty-seven forty-two,” the checkout girl replied.

  Ann quickly wrote out a check for the amount, feeling the eyes glaring at her from behind. She handed the check over and showed the girl her driver’s license.

  “Thanks,” she said as she cleared the register and gave Ann her receipt.

  “Thank you.”

  Back in her car, Ann took Jerry’s business card from her purse and studied it. He was a real estate broker, apparently working independently, and the card listed a Dublin address with a local phone number. She wondered if she’d made a mistake in accepting it, then decided that she hadn’t; the ball was in her court, after all. She stuck the card back into her purse and started up the engine.

  When she got home, she could hear the television coming from the family room as she carried the grocery bags into the kitchen. After setting them down on the table, she decided to go in and see if Amy wanted any breakfast.

  “Good morning, sleepy head,” she said as she entered the family room. Amy was sitting on the sofa watching cartoons.

  “’Morning, Mom,” she mumbled, not taking her eyes off the tube.

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  “No. I’m not hungry.”

  “You need to start eating, young lady. Let me fix you a bowl of cereal,” Ann insisted.

  “I’ll eat later, Mom. Let me wake up first, okay?” she whined.

  “All right-but don’t forget. Any calls while I was gone?”

  “Karen called. I told her you’d call her back.”

  “Speaking of calls, who was it that called in the middle of the night?” Ann asked, suddenly recalling the phone ringing at three a.m.

  Amy glanced over at her. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Amy. I know damn sure it wasn’t for me!”

  “Really, Mom-I don’t know who it was. Some crank caller.”

  Ann immediately sensed there was more to this. “What do you mean? Did they say anything?”

  “He sure did-it was some pervert!” she replied with a scowl.

  Ann winced. “What did he say, Amy?”

  Amy’s eyes returned to the television. After some hesitation, she said, “He just breathed really hard at first-you know. Then he said something…”

  Ann felt her pulse quicken. She strode over so she could face her daughter. “Tell me what he said, Amy.”

  Amy was silent for a moment, and then she looked directly into her mother’s eyes. “He said, ‘I want to fuck you.’”

  Ann recoiled, but kept her composure. “Is that all he said?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you say?” Ann asked, her hands beginning to tremble.

  Amy leered at her. “Nothing, Mother! Do you think I’m crazy? I hung up the phone right away!”

  “Well, you did the right thing, sweetie. And if he ever calls again, just hang up on him again. Don’t stay on the line.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  Ann could see that Amy was upset about the call but was trying her hardest not to show it. “Do you have any idea who it could have been, honey?” she asked.

  Amy’s eyes had returned to Bugs Bunny. “No.”

  Ann couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or not, but gave her the benefit of the doubt. “Did he sound young or old?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t tell, Mom. I was half asleep, you know.”

  Ann stared at her a moment and could feel her nerves becoming taut as she thought about her little girl being traumatized by an obscene phone caller. Once again, she wished Sam were here to help her now-he’d know what to do. But he wasn’t here, and it was just two of them.

  Then she recalled the sounds she thought she’d heard in the backyard as a huge wave of apprehension swept over her. Maybe it hadn’t been her imagination after all. And the front porch light…

  The floodlight! she thought. She must call Mr. Ogilvy right away.

  But first, she sat down beside Amy and asked, “Are you all right, honey?”

  Amy looked directly into her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mom.”

  Ann embraced her. “I love you, sweetie,” she whispered, feeling a sudden urge to cry.

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  Ann hastened to compose herself and started to get up, but Amy held onto her. “Don’t worry, Mom. Everything’s going be all right,” she whispered gently.

  Ann rested her head on her shoulder. “I know.”

  She hugged her a few moments longer, then stood up again. “I think I’ll go call Karen back.” She started to leave, then stopped herself, and turned to Amy. “I really wish you’d wear a robe or something to cover yourself up,” she said, regarding her daughter’s scanty attire: a threadbare tee shirt and panties.

  Amy looked at her, her mouth agape. “God, Mom-don’t be so paranoid!”

  Ann stared at her reproachfully, let out a sigh and left the room.

  She stopped in the living room to get her address book out of the end table drawer, and took it with her into the kitchen. After finding Mr. Ogilvy’s telephone number, she picked up the phone and dialed. He answered after the second ring.

  “Mr. Ogilvy, this is Ann Middleton.”

  “Yes? How are you, Mrs. Middleton?”

  “Fine, thank you, but I have a little problem. The light in the backyard is acting up again.”

  “What’s that? Is the bulb burned out?”

  Ann could almost see the crotchety old man’s dour expression as he spoke. “I don’t think so, Mr. Ogilvy. It must be shorting out again because it goes on sometimes, then goes out for a while, and then comes on again. Just like it was doing before.”

  There was a pause. Then, “Can’t be-I fixed that wiring last time I was there. Must be something else.”

  Ann didn’t want to argue with
him. “Well, whatever it is, I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at it. As soon as possible, if you don’t mind.” she asserted.

  Another pause, then he said, “All right, Mrs. Middleton. I’ll stop by sometime this afternoon and take a look at it.”

  “Thanks a lot, Mr. Ogilvy. I really do appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome,” he grunted, and hung up.

  Ann pushed down on the button and dialed Karen Walker’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Karen. Amy told me you called while I was at the supermarket.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Not real great.”

  “What’s the matter? Is it Marsha?” Karen asked, concerned.

  “No, not that, something else… Last night I thought I heard a prowler in the backyard-two different times, as a matter of fact. Amy was at the movies-at least she was the second time-and I was here all alone. Anyway, I looked out the window to see what was making the noise, but that damn floodlight that’s always acting up wasn’t working. I could see fairly well though, and didn’t notice anything unusual, so I figured it must have been either an animal or just my imagination. I didn’t mention this to you last night, but the front porch light was off when we got back from Smithtown, too. It looked like someone had screwed the bulb out partially, because it was loose in the socket and not burned out. Again, I thought it was just pure coincidence and didn’t give it much thought at the time.

  “Well, now I’ve just learned that Amy got an obscene phone call in the middle of the night! This guy apparently did the heavy-breathing routine, then said, ‘I want to fuck you.’ Amy, God love her, wisely hung up on him immediately. Jesus, Karen, this is so frightening! I’m scared…”

  “All right, Ann, now calm down a second,” Karen said soothingly. “Do you think the prowler and the caller might have been the same person?”

  “I don’t know, Karen. I’m not even sure that there was a prowler. All I know is that some sick son of a bitch terrorized my daughter on the phone!”

  “Well, I certainly don’t blame you for being upset-I’d be too. Have you reported it to the police yet?”