Scott Wittenburg: The May Day Murders

Ann stared blankly at the kitchen table as her thoughts shifted to Marsha. She felt a tear come to her eye as the stark reality of her death hit home once again. Already she missed her lifelong friend, and she knew that life would never be the same without Marsha Bradley in it. Before moving to Columbus, Marsha had been her confidante and sounding board during the divorce, always there to comfort and support her. Marsha had in fact been one of the few reasons she had been hesitant to move out of Smithtown after the divorce. Perhaps had she not moved away, Marsha might still be alive today…

Ann held her head in her hands and shut her eyes. She suddenly felt very alone, living in a strange new city in unfamiliar surroundings. Had she done the right thing? Would she have been better off forgiving Sam for what he’d done and staying with him, instead of stirring everything up as she had? The after-effects of the divorce had so far been anything but auspicious. Nobody was happy. Not Sam, not herself, and certainly not Amy.

And now, Marsha Bradley was dead.

Was somebody trying to tell her that she’d made a mistake?

The sound of the squeaky hot water faucet coming from the bathroom reminded her that Amy was going out tonight and that she’d be left alone in the house for the rest of the evening. She had never really gotten used to not having Sam around since the divorce-especially at night-and she had been even more apprehensive about it since moving to Columbus. Even though Woodcrest was supposedly a “safe neighborhood” as suburban neighborhoods go, it didn’t make Ann feel any more secure. The porch light suddenly crossed her mind and she wondered how the bulb could have gotten unscrewed so far. Could the wind have done it? she wondered. Certainly not! Maybe it had been loose all this time, barely making contact, and had just happened to back itself out far enough to go out while she and Amy were gone. Yes, she decided, that’s probably what had happened.

Just then, Ann heard a rustling noise outside, coming from the back yard. She stood up and ran over to the window and peered out. The yard was pitch dark and she recalled that the floodlight mounted on the roof had never worked right since they’d moved in. Ann had attempted to replace the bulb herself but it was too high up for her to reach, so she had called the landlord and asked him to do it for her. Mr. Ogilvy had come over the next day with his ladder and a new bulb, and having finished replacing the old one, had informed her that there was a short in the wiring and that he had gone ahead and repaired it. Since then the light had worked sporadically, going off and on randomly, as if it had a mind of its own. Ann hadn’t yet taken the time to call Mr. Ogilvy back to tell him that it still wasn’t working right.

She would call him first thing in the morning, she decided.

Ann’s eyes adjusted somewhat to the darkness as she looked around the yard as far as she could see from her vantage point. Finally, a couple of moments later, she felt assured that there weren’t any intruders outside. Probably a raccoon or opossum, she thought to herself.

Ann realized that her heart was racing now and she looked down at her hands to find that they were trembling. She smiled wryly, telling herself that she was letting her imagination get the best of her. She simply had to try and get her mind off of everything, she resolved. Maybe get into a good book after Amy left.

Ann turned around and strode out of the kitchen. She paused outside the bathroom and opened the door a few inches. “Save me some hot water, kiddo!” she shouted into the steamy bathroom.

“Okay!” Amy hollered back from the tub.

Ann closed the door, went upstairs and peeked into Amy’s bedroom. It was a mess as usual, but she had hoped that it would have lasted longer than this. She’d helped Amy tidy up only yesterday and it already looked like a tornado had blown through it. With a sigh, she crossed the hall to her own room and entered.

As she sat down on the side of the bed to take off her shoes, Ann looked around the room and felt grateful that she and Amy had been fortunate enough to rent this house, as opposed to having to live in an apartment. She had Sam to thank for that. When she had informed him that she and Amy were moving to Columbus, he had been predictably shocked and angry with her. He had fumed that it wasn’t fair of her to move his daughter out of town, and accused Ann of making an already bad situation even worse. This had made her feel guilty, but she explained to him that she couldn’t bear to live in Smithtown any longer, and asserted that she wanted someday to return to college and get her law degree. Furthermore, she needed to get Amy and herself settled in before school started in the fall so Amy could get herself adjusted.

Sam had reluctantly given in and wanted to know where she intended to live. Ann had replied that they would get an apartment and Sam had immediately objected, insisting that they at least try and find a house to rent because apartments weren’t safe. Sam had subsequently made a few calls to some friends he knew living in Columbus and one of them had tipped him off about this house in Woodcrest. Sam had even driven up with Ann and Amy to check it out and had ended up paying the first month’s security deposit as well.

The house was perfect, all things considered. The rent was reasonable and it was roomy for its size. Ann particularly liked the family room that had been added on to the rear of the house, complete with a working fireplace and a bar.

Sam was a good man, in spite of his faults, she thought to herself The image of seeing him emerging from that bitch’s apartment, arm-in-arm, flashed through her mind and made her teeth clench. She would never be able to forget that look on Sam’s face when he had spotted her parked across the street, watching them…

Sam had supposedly been working late at the Observer that night. He’d called Ann at around dinnertime and told her that he was running behind on an article he was writing, and that he had to finish it up that evening so it could go to press in the morning. It wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, he’d said, and he told Ann to go ahead and eat dinner without him. She had immediately suspected foul play, because Sam had rarely stayed late at work in the many years they’d been married. He had always preferred bringing his work home to finish because, as Sam put it, he would “rather be at home with his family than cooped-up in that fuckin’ office.”

Besides this break from the usual, Sam’s tone of voice had sounded different that evening, a little more distant than usual, as if he was already feeling guilty for what he was scheming to do. Ann’s suspicions mounted when Sam had called her the second time, at around nine o’clock. He was a little drunk, Ann suspected, when he told her that the article was taking longer than he’d anticipated and that he needed another hour or so. Ann had managed to remain calm though, telling Sam not to worry, that she fully understood.

There had been a few rumors going around town at the time that Sam had taken a sudden interest in a certain young woman whom the paper had recently hired as an apprentice photojournalist. Her name was Shelley Hatcher. She was around twenty years old and fairly new in town; having recently moved to Smithtown from somewhere in Kentucky. Apparently, Sam had taken Shelley under his wing since he himself was an accomplished photographer, and in fact, always shot his own pictures for his articles in the newspaper.

Ann had a funny hunch what was happening, so she had made a quick phone call to one of her friends who once mentioned that she knew where this Shelley woman lived. Apparently Shelley had had a few wild parties at her apartment and Ann’s friend, who lived nearby, had twice seen the cops come to break them up because of complaints about the noise. Ann got Shelley’s address from her friend, trying her hardest not to arouse her suspicions yet knowing all the while that she wasn’t fooling her for a second.