“We’re on to you, Stanley, so give yourself up,” another voice said. Ann immediately recognized that distinctive voice-it was Roger Hagstrom!
“We’ve got your entire house surrounded, so I suggest you open this door and let us do our job. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Roger said.
What little color Stanley’s face had drained away. He was kneeling now with one hand over Ann’s mouth and the other over his wound. His eyes frantically surveyed the room in a desperate effort to figure out his next move.
They both heard the sound of more footsteps scurrying up the staircase.
“Ann, are you in there?”
It was Sam!
On impulse, Ann grabbed Stanley’s wrist and wrenched his hand away from her mouth. “Sam!” she cried.
In a flash, Jenkins slapped her hard on the cheek and Ann slumped to the floor, reeling from the blow.
“Ann!” Sam shouted. “Are you alright?”
Jenkins suddenly snatched up a coil of picture hanging wire from the table and forced Ann up to a sitting position. He knelt behind her and wrapped a length of the wire around her neck.
“No!” she cried.
Ann felt the wire cut into her flesh and screamed hysterically.
“Your wife’s life is quite literally in my hands, Sam,” Jenkins shouted. “If you want her alive, then I suggest that you, your sidekick and the rest of this lynch mob back off now!”
There was an unintelligible mumbling of voices for a moment, then Ann heard Roger Hagstrom say, “Don’t harm her, Stanley. We’ll do whatever you say,”
Stanley chuckled nervously. “That’s very prudent of you, Roger. I’ll tell you my demands in a moment, but first I’ve got to know something. How in the fuck did you find me out? I purposely left a couple of little clues for you to ponder over but that was only to incriminate Stanley Jenkins, certainly not his alias.”
“The picture, Stanley,” Sam said. You took a Polaroid of my daughter and she sent it to me. Your prints were all over it.”
Stanley contemplated this for a moment, then said. “I’ll buy that Sam, but what prompted you to check out the prints in the first place?”
“You should have sprung for a new camera, Stanley. Your pinch rollers on that old relic are about shot. You might say that they left an incriminating trail.”
“ Fuck!” Jenkins gasped, realizing his folly. And with that, Stanley Jenkins snapped.
Ann felt the wire tighten around her neck and at the same time heard a rustling come from behind her. A shot rang out and Stanley immediately released his grip.
Ann spun around just as a young officer sprinted across the room from the balcony. He placed the barrel of his service revolver against Jenkin’s temple.
“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…”
Epilogue
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.”