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 The phone company rep told her that if the calls persisted she might want to consider getting an unpublished phone number.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.