Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

“Release her, Jenkins, or the next one is for you.”

Ann watched as Stanley shut his eyes. “Please don’t shoot me!” he whined. “I give up!”

“Stand up and put your hands behind your back,” the officer commanded.

After Jenkins complied, the officer handcuffed him.

“Got him, sir!” he hollered in the direction of the door. “Are you all right, Ma’m?” he asked Ann. The officer picked up a sheet draped over a chair and sheepishly handed it to Ann.

“Yes, thank-you,” Ann replied gratefully. She covered herself up with the sheet and got up onto her feet.

“Open the door, Griggs,” someone demanded from the other side of the door.

Keeping his pistol trained on Jenkins, Officer Griggs went over and opened the hatch door. Sam was the first man inside. He ran over and threw his arms around Ann as he glanced at Stanley Jenkins and did a double take when he saw the notorious Jerry Rankin for the first time.

“God Sam, I’m so glad to see you!” Ann cried as Sam held her tight.

“Me too, honey,” he replied.

Roger entered along with the officers from the Hocking County Sheriff’s department. Ann saw the astonished look on Roger’s face when he saw Stanley Jenkins, alias Jerry Rankin.

“Jesus Christ, Stanley! It looks like you got a bit more than just a little nip and tuck from your plastic surgeon!” he exclaimed.

Stanley frowned and looked away.

Roger stepped over to Ann and gave her a quick hug, winked at Sam and turned to face Jenkins.

“Stanley Jenkins, you are under arrest for the murder of Marsha Bradley. You have the right to remain silent…”

A week later, Sam was sitting at his desk when the telephone rang. He finished the sentence he was typing, located the phone underneath the pile of wadded up papers and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Have I caught you at a bad time?” Ann asked.

“No, not at all. How are you doing?”

“Okay,” she replied, not sounding very convincing.

“You’re lying,” Sam said. “What’s wrong?”

There was a moment of silence before Ann replied, “That kid of ours is going to put me into an early grave…”

“What did she do now?”

“It’s what she didn’t do! I reminded her three times to clean up her room before she left to got out with Amanda, so I go to the grocery store and come back and what do I find? Her room hasn’t been touched! What in the world is wrong with her, Sam? Why won’t she ever mind me?”

Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was afraid that it was gong to be a little more serious than this.

“Well, Ann. Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Yes, please.”

“She needs to be disciplined a bit more convincingly. You are way too easy on her!”

“But-”

“Let me finish before you get all defensive, okay? Although I think you’re being too easy on her there’s such a thing as being too hard on her and that could be even worse. My advice is to do as you’ve been doing, but with a little more edge behind it. She’s a good kid, Ann. And she’s got a good mom who loves her. She’ll be okay.”

“She’s got a good dad, too,” Ann declared.

“True.”

“She misses her dad and I miss him, too.”

“That could be fixed, you know,” Sam challenged.

Ann sighed. “I know, Sam. And don’t think I haven’t been giving that a lot of thought lately.”

There was an uncomfortable pause and Sam resumed typing, cradling the phone.

“Why are you working at home on a Saturday afternoon?” Ann asked, breaking the silence.

“I’m not working. Exactly…”

“I can hear your typewriter-wait a minute! What are you doing using the typewriter? Sam, are you actually working on your manuscript?” she asked excitedly.

“Well, not exactly. I’m working on a new one.”

“Sam, that’s wonderful! What are you writing about?”

“A deranged murderer.”

“You mean Stanley, don’t you?”

“Sort of. A first I thought of doing a true crime thing and writing a documentary of what happened but I changed my mind. I mean, I spend day in and day out writing about real things in the real world and I want to do something different for a change. Something that I’ll enjoy doing. So, I decided to make it a novel instead-based loosely on Stanley Jenkins. I figured who in the hell would believe the truth anyway? It’s rather ironic, in a sense.”

“I think that’s great, Sam! And I’ll be frank-I don’t think I’d want you to write about it. I was such a fool, Sam. I can’t believe I let myself get sucked in by him!”

Sam stopped typing. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Ann. Stanley Jenkins was a master manipulator. A genius in his own demented way, when you really think about it. He was cold and calculating, and knew how to play on people’s fears and emotions. Had it down to an art, in fact. Just be thankful that you’re still around to talk about it.”

“Did he confess to killing Cindy Fuller, too?” Ann asked.

“Oh, yeah-he was more than obliging to the police. He confessed everything. He gave Roger the whole low-down, right down to the very last detail, to all three murders. Roger said that Stanley was quite proud of his accomplishments. That man is one sick son of a bitch, that’s for sure.”

“I still can’t get over how stupid I was! If only I’d driven by his alleged home in Dublin, or at least checked to see if he really was a member of that neighborhood church. Then I would’ve known that something was wrong and…”

Sam cut her off, “Ann, dear, listen to me. Don’t blame yourself for what you could have done. Remember that first of all, you had no reason to suspect Jerry Rankin of anything. He was just some good looking guy who happened to meet you at the supermarket and then one thing led to another until you eventually went out with him. Stanley knew that the church story and his falsified residence in Dublin was a gamble, but he was banking on the hunch that you wouldn’t check up on him in the time it would take him to accomplish what he’d set out to do.”

Ann sighed. “I guess you’re right. But how come I never once noticed that he’d been in the house, or that he’d bugged the phones? How in the hell could he get away with all of that and neither Amy nor I notice anything?”

Sam lit up a cigarette and replied, “The guy was a fucking master sleuth-that’s all I can say. Roger learned that Stanley had always been a spy freak-read every secret agent book he could get his hands on when he was a kid. Used to read them late at night while his parents were asleep. His parents are yet another story altogether, by the way. It’s little wonder why Stanley ended up being so psychotic and fucked up. Anyway, James Bond was his hero and by the time Stanley was thirteen or so, he’d become obsessed with agent 007 and started fantasizing about being a spy. He used to sneak out of his house at night and go peep-tomming all over town. Got pretty good at it apparently-he never once got caught. Had he gotten caught, his mother probably would have murdered him. He spent a great deal of time casing you out back then, by the way.”

“I know, he told me,” Ann moaned.

“Anyway, he told Roger that this Larry Underwood kid peeping at Amy just about blew his cover. Apparently, Stanley had been in the back of the house one night screwing around with the telephone wires when he heard the Underwood kid climbing over the fence. Stanley ran around the side of the house just in time and hid in the bushes. Then he watched the kid as he proceeded to peep into the bathroom window presumably at Amy as she showered. Stanley realized that the boy could eventually pose a problem for his own agenda but he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with him. He couldn’t bust the kid, not then, anyway, because the kid would most likely wonder what in the hell Stanley was doing there in the backyard. So Stanley started keeping a keen eye on the Underwood kid as he spied on Amy over the next couple of weeks, trying to determine his routine. Then, once Rankin had “accidentally” met you and became a legitimate presence in your life, he struck. He had a hunch that Larry Underwood would come around on the night of Amy’s homecoming dance so when he did, Stanley was ready for him. Roger said that Stanley had wanted to, quote, ‘murder the fucking amateur,’ but opted instead to merely rough the boy up a bit.”