Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

Sam made a mental note to check out the last few weeks’ editions of the New York Times, Post, and the Daily News to see what had been written regarding Sara Hunt’s murder.

“One thing puzzles me, Rog. How come nobody here was informed of Sara Hunt’s death until today? You’d think that someone would have been notified before now.”

“Hell if I know. The only thing I can figure is that Sara apparently no longer has any ties to Smithtown; family or otherwise. She wasn’t born and raised here-her family is originally from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania-and she only lived here for a couple of years. Her family moved back to Pennsylvania not long after Sara’s graduation.”

Sam vaguely recalled now that Sara Hunt had been “the new kid in town” when she started attending Smithtown High her junior year. He said, “She surely made some friends while she was here, though. In fact, I seem to recall that she hung out with Marsha Bradley occasionally, if I’m not mistaken. At any rate, I’d like to at least let the town know that Sara Hunt is dead. It may be old news, but I certainly think it’s worthy of mention.”

Roger thought it over and said, “Okay, go ahead and do it. I don’t think Thompson will give a shit. But don’t even hint that there might be a connection between the two murders. All right?”

“Gee, thanks for letting me do my job, good buddy! I’m forever grateful,” Sam jabbed. In a more serious tone he added, “I won’t tie them in, don’t worry. I’ll just go with the angle, ”Former Local Woman Found Murdered In New York,” or something to that effect. I’d like a recent picture of her though, and some background info if you’ve got any there.”

Roger leafed through the stack of papers lying on the desk and pulled out the New York police report. “I’ll make a copy of this report for you. As for a picture, I’ve already asked Mancuso to send me everything he has as soon as he gets a chance. There’ll probably be a picture of some kind coming.”

“Okay.”

“By the way, when are you going to be done writing the other article? Thompson’s been breathing down my neck to get Marsha’s file back from you.”

“I’m going straight over to the paper and finish it after I leave here. I’ll drop the file off on my way home,” Sam promised.

“Okay. I’m going to take MacPherson and go question some of the Bradley’s neighbors. I’m holding off on questioning Dave again until tomorrow. Give the poor guy a chance to get settled back into his home.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Christ, I really feel for the guy. Imagine going back to that house and trying to get on with your life after what happened there.”

“I’d sure hate to be in his shoes right now, no doubt. He’s got to deal with his kid too, remember. It’s times like this when I feel thankful I’ve never gotten married. All I’ve gotta do is worry about my own fat ass and nobody else’s,” Roger declared.

Sam said, “But the good definitely outweighs the bad in having a family. I wish I still had mine.”

Roger shrugged. “I know you do, buddy. At least they’re still among the living.”

“Thank God for that. Well, I’d better get moving. This article isn’t gonna write itself.”

Roger scooted out of his chair and stood up. “I’ll make those copies for you.”

“These too,” Sam said, handing him the copies of the yearbook.

Roger smiled, headed for the door, and led Sam over to the copy machine. When he was finished, he handed the completed copies to Sam and said, “Classified info, remember.”

“Right. Catch you later, Roger,” he said, then made his way out of the Smithtown Police Department.

On Thursday evening, Ann sat at the kitchen table and fumbled with the business card, trying to decide whether or not to call him. It had been a slow week at the office with plenty of time for her mind to drift, and what time hadn’t been spent mourning Marsha Bradley had been spent thinking about Jerry Rankin. Karen’s incessant urging had also come into play-to the extent that Ann now practically felt obligated to call Jerry just to make Karen happy and to be done with it once and for all. Heaving a nervous sigh, she reached for the phone and dialed his number. After four rings she started to hang up, half hoping he wasn’t home. Then he suddenly answered.

“Jerry Rankin,” he said.

Ann forced herself to speak. “Uh, Jerry, this is Ann-we met on the parking lot at the supermarket last Sunday?”

“Ann, yes-what a pleasant surprise! I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to call. How are you?”

“Fine,” she replied, suddenly feeling a little more at ease. His cheerful voice with that irresistible English accent had a reassuring quality to it. “And how have you been?”

“Very well, thank you,” he replied. “I’m so delighted you called, Ann. To be real honest, I’ve spent this entire week thinking I was a bit too forward last Sunday and deduced that I must have scared you off. I’ve always felt a bit awkward meeting someone for the first time like that anyway, and almost always manage to somehow put my foot in my mouth, as was the case that morning.”

Ann gave a little laugh. “I don’t do so well myself, as you might have noticed.”

“I thought you handled it wonderfully-anyone else probably would have told me to take a hike under the circumstances. I’m truly flattered that you’ve given me another opportunity to talk to you again.”

Ann gushed, wondering if he was really as sincere as he sounded. “Were you late for your appointment?”

“Almost, but I managed to make it just in the nick of time. I was showing a house in Muirfield to a client who was sort of, well, the pushy type. He’d insisted on seeing this particular house on Sunday morning at eleven-thirty and I already knew I’d be pressed for time anyway because of church services, so I sort of fouled myself up by trying to fit in the grocery as well. Looking on the bright side, though, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise, so I have no regrets.”

“I was a little curious why you were shopping in my neighborhood when I noticed that the address on your card was on the other side of town. Your church must be close by, I assume,” Ann said.

“Yes, it’s just a few blocks north of the supermarket.”

“And do you work out of your home exclusively, or do you have an office as well?”

“Just my home. I’m an independent broker and really have no need for an office,” he explained.

Ann said, “I hope I’m not being nosy, but how long have you lived in Columbus?”

Jerry chuckled. “You’re not being nosy in the least, Ann. I’ve been here just a little more than a year. I moved here from Cleveland shortly after my wife passed away. I had to get away from there-too many memories and all that. The real estate market is better in this area anyway. Columbus is quite a boom town now and I’m afraid to say that Cleveland is swiftly heading for the skids.”

Ann sympathized with his wanting to get away from memories-she had done the very same thing herself. “Has it been a hard adjustment for you to make-living here as opposed to Cleveland?” she asked curiously.

“It was a little tough at first, I must admit. Fortunately, though, business has been so good that I haven’t had a great deal of time to dwell on it. Have you lived in Columbus all your life?”

“Not hardly,” Ann laughed. “I just moved here a few months ago, as a matter of fact.”

“From where, may I ask?”

“Smithtown. It’s a little town in the southern part of the state.”

“I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it directly across the Ohio River from Kentucky?”

“Yes.”