Ann recited her number, and then Jerry said, “Wonderful. I’ll see you tomorrow evening at eight o’clock.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Jerry. See you then. ‘Bye.”
“Goodbye, Ann.”
Her head was spinning when she hung up the phone. Then it suddenly hit her.
Amy! How was she going to react to all of this? she thought in a sudden fit of panic.
Ann’s first impulse was to call Jerry Rankin back and immediately break the date with him. She picked up the phone and started to dial his number, wondering how she could be so selfish to make a date with someone without first discussing it with her daughter. Then she suddenly stopped herself, hung up, and dialed Karen’s number instead.
“Karen, it’s me. I’ve just done something really awful!”
“Good Lord, Ann, what’s happened?” her friend asked.
“I just made a dinner date with Jerry Rankin for tomorrow night and I didn’t even talk to Amy about it first!”
“You what? You’ve made a date with him already?” Karen asked incredulously. “Ann, that’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you!”
“Well, I’m not proud of me. It all happened so fast, Karen! I talked to him for a few minutes, got to know him a little better, and before I knew it I was accepting his invitation for dinner without even giving a thought to Amy. I’m so ashamed…”
“Settle down now, dear.” Karen consoled. “It’s not the end of the world. The important thing is that you actually followed through with this thing and now you’re actually going out on a date. That’s good, honey-not bad. Now tell me exactly what happened.”
Ann managed to get a grip on herself and proceeded to tell Karen about her phone conversation with Jerry Rankin. When she was finished she said, “I’m going to call him back right now and break off the date.”
“Don’t do it, Ann,” Karen advised. “Listen, if you call him back and cancel out now, you may never get this opportunity again. Not only would it be rude, but you’d probably scare him off in the process. I truly think you’re over-reacting to this as far as Amy is concerned. After all, you’re just going out to dinner with this guy, right? It’s not like you’re jumping right into a relationship or anything. He could just as well be one of our clients at the travel agency, for all intents and purposes. The point I’m making is, wait and see if something develops with this Jerry fellow before confronting Amy with it. For now, just tell her you’re going out to dinner with one of our clients and leave it at that. You’ll save both Amy and yourself a lot of unnecessary tension that way, Ann-believe me. I’ve gone through the very same thing you’re going through now and one thing I learned is this: don’t dare tell the kids about a relationship until you’re absolutely sure that you have a relationship in the first place.”
Ann thought it over a moment. Then she said, “Maybe you’re right. It’s just that I don’t like sneaking around-I want to be honest with Amy.”
“And I agree-you should be honest with her. But give yourself a little slack, dear! You’re entitled to a little privacy in your life; Amy doesn’t have to know your every move. If something develops with this guy, by all means tell Amy about him and go from there. But until then, let it be a non-issue.”
Even though Karen’s sober advice made her feel a little better, Ann was still unsure of herself.
“I guess I could just tell Amy that I’m going out for dinner tomorrow night and leave it at that. She’s going to the school football game so I’ll probably make it back home before she does. She’ll never know the difference.”
“There you go! It’s no big deal when you think about it. I have to admit I’m excited for you, though. Where are you two going?” Karen inquired enthusiastically.
“I have no idea-he never brought it up.”
“Aren’t you excited?”
Ann sighed. “I was until I thought about Amy. Now I’m not so sure.”
“C’mon, get excited! Amy will be fine. You’re going to have a great time, dear. I just know it!”
“I’ll probably feel better once he comes by to get me. Until then I’m going to be a nervous wreck,” Ann declared.
“You’ll be fine. Remember, it’s just a dinner date with a nice guy. That’s it-no big deal. Right?” Karen coaxed.
“I guess so… I think I just heard Amy out front so I’d better go.”
“Okay. We’ll talk more about this at the office tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”
“All right, Karen. And thanks. See you tomorrow.”
Amy was coming in the front door as Ann hung up the phone. She snatched up Jerry Rankin’s business card from the kitchen table and slid it into her purse just as Amy entered the room.
“Hi sweetie! Did you get all your homework done?”
Amy threw her books down on the table with a scowl then walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I hate algebra! This dick we have for a teacher assigned us two whole pages of problems for tomorrow!” Amy whined.
“Were you able to do them all?” Ann asked, watching her as she took out a can of Pepsi and popped the tab.
“Most of them. I’ll do the rest in study hall,” Amy replied, taking a slug. “We have anything to eat?”
“There’s some fried chicken in the fridge. Didn’t you eat over at Amanda’s?”
“I had some ice cream.”
Ann looked at her reproachfully. “You told me you were going to eat supper at Amanda’s-ice cream sure doesn’t sound like supper to me.”
Amy grimaced and said, “Her mother made a casserole and I swear to God it looked just like dog barf, Mom! I couldn’t have eaten it if someone paid me!”
“Well, eat some chicken then. There’s a tossed salad and some Jello in there too.”
“I’ll just have potato chips instead. Where are they?”
Ann stood up and went over to Amy. “You have got to start eating right, Amy! I’ll fix you a plate and you’re going to eat it.”
“I don’t want chicken, Mother!” Amy protested, glaring at Ann defiantly. “Can’t I just order a pizza instead?”
Ann wanted to put her foot down, but refrained. She sighed and said, “I guess so-it’s better than potato chips, anyway.”
Amy smiled triumphantly, having chocked up another victory. “Thanks, Mom.”
She picked up the phone and ordered a medium pepperoni pizza from the local pizzeria, to be delivered, and gave them the address. After hanging up she turned to Ann and said, “A bunch of us are staying over at Amanda’s after the game tomorrow night. Is it okay?”
Ann wanted to say no-she didn’t particularly want to spend another weekend night alone-but reconsidered when she realized that she could avoid explaining her dinner plans to Amy if she wasn’t going to be home anyway. “No boys, I presume?”
Amy gave Ann one of her finer performances. “Of course not, Mom! Amanda’s mom is very strict about that sort of thing, as you well know.”
No, she didn’t know, Ann thought to herself. She only knew what she’d been told by two teenage girls. “I guess it’s okay, then,” she said. “What time has Mrs. Givens told you to be home after the game?”
“Ten-thirty,” Amy answered.
“Well, see that you mind her, then.”
“I will, Mom.”
With that, Amy left the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Moments later, Ann could hear Guns ‘n’ Roses blaring from her stereo and sighed as she took out her billfold and found a ten dollar bill to cover the pizza. She strode into the living room and laid the money on the table by the front door then made her way into the family room. She sat down on the sofa, turned on the T. V, and picked up the romance novel lying on the coffee table.
Before she began reading, her eyes stared out the window at the backyard, now brightly illuminated by the floodlight that Mr. Ogilvy had fixed last Sunday. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. There hadn’t been any more signs of prowlers or any obscene phone calls since last weekend. She had called the police
as Karen had suggested, and the officer promised her that a cruiser would do routine drive-bys past the house for a while. There was little else they could do, he’d told her. As for the obscene phone call, he suggested that she call the phone company and inform them of the call, which Ann had done. The phone company rep told her that if the calls persisted she might want to consider getting an unpublished phone number. Ann had thanked the woman, telling her she would think about it.
Sam had called later that same evening to ask how she and Amy were doing. He’d told her that there still weren’t any significant breaks in Marsha’s murder investigation, but that the police had a lead they were checking on that could be important. He didn’t elaborate. Ann almost told him about the prowler and the obscene phone call but decided against it. She figured it would only needlessly worry him. And besides that, Ann had resolved, she was on her own now and had to start learning how to deal with her problems herself instead of relying on Sam.
Ann opened the paperback to the bookmarked page and began reading. As she read, her upcoming dinner date with Jerry Rankin was in the back of her mind. Since meeting him, she’d whimsically substituted the tall dark stranger in the novel with Jerry, and the heroine with herself. Their relationship was really starting to bloom as the story progressed.
CHAPTER 8
Sam pulled off Route 52 and proceeded to make his way down the winding, slippery road. Rain was coming down in buckets and there was a thick dense fog setting in as he navigated the Jeep effortlessly through the quarter-mile long quagmire leading to his country home.
When he pulled up beside the house and cut the engine, he could hear the roar of the swollen creek over the din of the pelting rain. He grabbed his briefcase, opened the door and bailed out, holding the briefcase awkwardly over his head. He slammed the door shut with his foot and bolted toward the porch, deftly side-stepping the puddles along the way. Once inside, he made his way into the den, set the briefcase down on his desk and emptied out its contents before plopping himself down in the swivel chair.
Fridays were always hectic at the paper, but the latest developments in the Bradley murder case had made this a particularly grueling one. Roger had received another call from Lieutenant Mancuso of the N.Y.P.D. earlier that morning. The DNA samples taken from Marsha Bradley’s body had been compared to those taken from Sara Hunt’s body. Lieutenant Mancuso had called to report the results: a perfect match.
It was conclusive now: Marsha Bradley and Sara Hunt had been raped and murdered by the same man.
Roger told Sam that he was flying to New York to compare notes with Mancuso and to go over another lead that had just cropped up regarding Sara Hunt’s case. Evidently, someone from her neighboring apartment building had called the police and informed them that he’d seen a man lurking on the fire escape outside Sara Hunt’s apartment on the night she’d been murdered. The witness had been summoned into police headquarters and his claim was substantiated. The police were just in the process of working with the witness and a sketch artist to try and put together a composite photo of the suspect when Mancuso had called.
Roger had asked Sam to do a little investigation of his own while he was in New York. He wanted him to call Ann and ask her if she’d ever known Marsha Bradley to have been in contact with Sara Hunt recently; and if so, when, and in what respect. Roger had already interrogated Dave Bradley. He’d told Roger that as far as he knew, Marsha hadn’t seen nor heard from Sara Hunt since high school. Roger wondered if perhaps Ann might know something that Dave Bradley didn’t.
After hanging up from talking to Roger, Sam had promptly called Ann at the travel agency where she worked in Columbus to fill her in on the latest details of the case. She had been stunned to learn of Sara Hunt’s murder and Sam could sense that his ex-wife was as troubled over this new twist in the investigation as he was. It was all hitting just a little too close to home for comfort and they both knew it. Sam asked Ann if Marsha had ever mentioned Sara Hunt in any size, shape or form since high school. She replied that she hadn’t, but went on to say that Marsha had hung out with Sara Hunt for a brief period near the end of their senior year at high school. Ann had always felt that Sara didn’t particularly like her, and as a result, she and Marsha had ended up having a temporary falling out in their friendship during this period. The three of them simply couldn’t get along with each other, Ann explained. At any rate, Marsha eventually quit chumming around with Sara and started hanging out with Ann again. In all that time since, Marsha had never so much as breathed Sara Hunt’s name to Ann.
At first Sam was relieved when he heard this. It meant there was still the slim possibility that there wasn’t any concrete connection between Sara Hunt’s murder and Marsha Bradley’s-except for the fact that they had both been murdered by the same person. Maybe it was just pure coincidence they had both once lived in Smithtown. Hell of a slim one, he had to admit, but nevertheless a possibility.
Then he thought: who am I trying to kid? Every indication so far suggested that the murderer had personally known both Marsha Bradley and Sara Hunt. And the only connection between the two women appeared to be that they had attended the same high school over twenty years ago. This implied that the murderer had most likely lived in Smithtown around the same time as well.
And that wasn’t good at all…
He mustn’t upset Ann needlessly, Sam had resolved. There still wasn’t anything in the case to indicate that she was in any kind of danger, but he cautioned her to be on her guard nonetheless. Afterwards, just as he started to hang up the phone, Ann had suddenly stopped him. She started to say something, then cut herself off. She told him never mind, that it wasn’t anything important. Ann had frequently done this sort of thing as long as he’d known her and it never failed to pique him. He had pressed her to tell him what she’d started to say but she wouldn’t relent, so he’d ended up getting pissed off and hanging up on her.
Sam took out a cigarette and lit it up. It wasn’t until after he had called Ann that everything really started sinking in. There was a murderer on the loose who had killed two Smithtown women in cold blood; and one of them just so happened to be his wife’s best friend. And, his wife’s best friend had at one time befriended the other victim. These were documented facts now-not idle speculation. And the implications were almost as scary as the facts themselves. Whom ever it was that had raped and murdered Marsha Bradley and Sara Hunt had known them both personally-he was certain of that now. And odds were, unless something came up to prove otherwise, the murderer knew Ann, too.
Sam leafed through the contents of his briefcase until he found the copies of the marked pages in Sara Hunt’s 1970 Smithtown High School yearbook and studied them. He looked over the nine graduating seniors’ headshots, wondering if one of them might be a cold-hearted murderer. Although Roger hadn’t brought it up earlier, Sam was certain that he too now realized the sudden significance of Lieutenant Mancuso’s half-hearted hunch. For not only had this evidence resulted in tying in two related murders, it may very well end up pointing to the murderer himself.
The five men still living in Smithtown had been checked out and interrogated by the police, and every one of them had clean records and solid alibis for the night Marsha Bradley had been murdered. This narrowed the potential suspects down to four, and the police were having a tough time discovering their exact whereabouts. All they knew for certain at this point was that none of the four men had local criminal records.
Sam still remembered two of the men, and neither seemed likely to be the type capable of rape and murder from his recollection of them in high school. Stanley Jenkins had been a nerdy, straight-A student; the type who wore thick horn-rimmed glasses, had zero personality, and made everyone sick because the teachers loved him-he always did his homework and excelled in academics. Buford Jackson, the other one, was a black guy who was as big as an ox, dumber than a coal bucket but one of the funniest, most likable guys in the entire class. Buford was probably either working somewher
e as a laborer with a wife and ten kids, or doing stand-up comedy on the Holiday Inn circuit.
The remaining two men both looked like they were capable of almost anything sinister-even murdering their own mothers. They were what all the kids back then referred to as “hoods.” Both wore scowls instead of smiles in their class photos. Both had “automotive class” listed as their only academic credits. And both had probably packed switchblades whenever they decided to show up at school. Ernie Jones and Clyde Kastings: two guys you definitely didn’t want to bump into after school had let out for the day…
And both prime suspects, in Sam’s book.
As he scrutinized their faces, he wondered what possible motive one of these men could have to rape and strangle Sara Hunt in New York City, then two weeks later travel the five hundred miles to Smithtown to do the same to Marsha Bradley. It seemed incomprehensible the more he thought about it. Yet, it had happened. And there had to be reason.
What was the link between Sara Hunt and Marsha Bradley?
He set the yearbook copies aside then began reading over the articles written in the New York papers regarding Sara Hunt’s murder. Just as Lieutenant Mancuso had mentioned, the press coverage had been uncharacteristically lacking-in fact, damn near pathetic. The only articles covering the murder had been written the following day; there had been no follow-
up. Details were scarce in all three of the articles, particularly the one in the New York Times, which had been little more than a cursory obituary: ASPIRING ACTRESS FOUND MURDERED
New York City detectives reported that the body of Sara Marie Hunt, 39, was discovered in her Soho apartment by her roommate at approximately 2:30 A.M. Tuesday morning. Miss Hunt was reportedly beaten, sexually assaulted, and strangled to death by an unknown assailant who remains at large. Police say the incident is under investigation.
Miss Hunt, formerly of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, had lived in New York for the past ten years and appeared in a few off-Broadway productions as well as some local television commercials. She was employed part-time as a waitress at a Greenwich Village restaurant at the time of her death. She is survived by her parents, William and Clare Hunt, of Harrisburg.
The May Day Murders Page 9
