The May Day Murders (6 page)

She eventually learned that the heroine
of the novel, like herself, occasionally caught herself longing for
her ex-husband. But she refused to let this stand in the way of her
new-found freedom and the fact that there were other men in the
world; and that there was a very good chance that she might someday
find a man she could love just as much as she had once loved her
ex—maybe even more so. The heroine, however, was strong and
independent, unlike herself, with a more open mind. Ann realized
that she needed to start being just as strong and independent as
the heroine; otherwise she could never hope to shrug off her past
and find someone else to take Sam’s place.

The plot thickened, and during one of
the more intense encounters between the heroine and the tall dark
stranger, Ann found herself longing to be in her place; to be held
in a stranger’s arms and doted on by someone who loved and
respected her for who she was. This longing, along with the richly
detailed rendering of the scene, actually made her feel vital and
optimistic for a change … if not downright horny.

Ann became so engrossed in the romance
novel that she lost all track of time. Then it suddenly dawned on
her when the eleven o’clock news came on that Amy hadn’t come home
yet.

CHAPTER 3

Lustful eyes peered through the
partially closed mini blinds and watched Amy Middleton as she
closed the bathroom door and went over to the bathtub to turn on
the water. She was fully clothed, wearing a black skirt cut just
above the knees, a black cardigan sweater and a white blouse
buttoned all the way to the top. She bent down, rested a knee on
the edge of the tub, and held her fingers under the running water.
She turned the hot water knob a little further to the right until
she was satisfied with the temperature, then stood up and began
removing her sweater.

He observed Amy as she haphazardly
flung the sweater onto the floor then turned and faced the mirror
above the sink. As she watched herself in the mirror, she slowly
unbuttoned her blouse, seemingly distracted by the image of her
face. His heart raced madly as she fumbled with a couple of buttons
half way down before she finally unfastened the last one. She
brought her hands up near her neck and laggardly removed the
blouse, allowing it to rest on her shoulders for just a moment
before finally taking it all the way off and flinging it into the
corner along with her sweater. He could feel his pulse surge as he
stared at her breasts, concealed for the moment by a flimsy sheer
white bra. It was the kind with the little meshed holes
strategically placed in just the right spots that left little to
the imagination.

Amy continued staring at her reflection
in the mirror and brought her small, delicate fingers to the front
of the bra and unfastened it, exposing her milky white breasts. Her
nipples were rosy-red and erect, the curves of her breasts round
and firm. She brought each arm through the straps of the bra and
pitched it into the growing pile of clothes in the
corner.

His unblinking eyes stared intently as
Amy slipped out of the skirt—the movement surprisingly swift and
graceful. His gaze was locked onto her smooth, slender legs as she
tossed the skirt onto the floor and pulled down her cottony white,
nearly see-through panties.

The window began steaming up and the
Observer
silently cursed under his breath. Amy was still
fairly visible as she leaned a little closer to the mirror for a
better look at herself. He could hear his own breathing now—short,
uneven gasps, as he stared at Amy’s luscious body from head to toe.
What he wouldn’t give, he thought, to jump on top of her right this
moment!

He felt the lump in his pants throb
relentlessly as he strained his eyes to see through the droplets
forming on the windowpane. Steam was everywhere now, a thick
blanket of fog keeping him from eying his prey. He nearly screamed
out loud in his frustration and for a brief moment felt the nearly
uncontrollable urge to crash through the bathroom window and finish
off what she had already started.

His foot suddenly slipped off the shrub
he was standing on, causing the elastic-like branches to spring
noisily against the side of the house. Instinctively, he glanced
first through the window at Amy, who apparently hadn’t heard
anything over the running water, then looked around the backyard.
To his horror, he saw Amy’s mother peering out through the kitchen
window. He stood there frozen in his awkward position for several
moments, confident that she probably couldn’t see him even if she
tried—the yard was pitch dark and he was only partially in her
field of vision.

Finally, after what seemed like a
lifetime, he saw Amy’s mother back away from the window. His eyes
returned to the bathroom. All he could see now was the obscured
form of Amy Middleton through a shroud of steam as she stepped into
the tub, closed the shower curtain and disappeared completely from
his sight.

CHAPTER 4

Sam knew that Roger was pissed off at
him, and he couldn’t really blame him. After all, he was off-duty
today and midway through a bottle of Jack Daniels when he had
called the lieutenant to set up a time to go over to the Bradley
house. What really had irked his friend was the fact that the
Bradley’s were to be allowed to return to their home tomorrow
morning; which meant that in order to comply with Sam’s request,
they would have to go over there this evening—no doubt the last
thing Roger Hagstrom wanted to be doing in his present state of
inebriation.

Sam had asked Roger why the police were
surrendering the Bradley house now, all of a sudden, and he’d
replied that the investigation of the murder scene was officially
completed. The house had already been dusted for prints and gone
over with a fine-toothed comb, so there simply wasn’t anything left
to do there. And besides that, he’d added dryly, Dave Bradley did
have a right to live in his own home.

Sam told Roger that he would pick him
up at five-thirty and as he pulled into the driveway of his
friend’s two-story frame house, he wondered what kind of shape
Detective Hagstrom would be in by now. He pulled up beside the
house and laid on the horn. A moment later, Roger emerged from the
front door carrying a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the
other. Roger Hagstrom was short and stocky with rusty brown hair,
wore a two-day old stubble, wrinkled khakis, and a ragged Kent
State sweatshirt as he lumbered over to Sam’s Jeep and opened the
door.

“
Yo,” Roger greeted as he
climbed in.

He wasn’t blasted yet, Sam thought to
himself. “Yo, Rog. Sorry about interrupting your bliss,” he said,
throwing the gearshift lever into reverse.

“
Fuck it,” Roger growled
good-naturedly. “Nothin’ else shakin,’ anyway. Just another drunk
day in this sleepy old burg.”

Sam turned his head and watched as he
backed out of the narrow driveway and onto the street. “It’s been
pretty lively around here this past week or so, you’ve got to
admit.”

Roger nodded. “True. But socially
speaking, let’s face it: this town’s the skids.”

Sam smiled knowingly. “No
shit.”

“
You want a taste?” Roger
asked, proffering his glass of straight Jack Daniels.

“
No thanks—too early for
me,” Sam replied. “Did you make it to the funeral home
today?”

“
Yeah, I went this
afternoon. Just missed you guys, as a matter of fact. Only stayed a
couple of minutes, though. I can’t stand that depressing
shit.”

“
I know what you mean. Dave
sure looked rough, eh?”

Roger nodded. “Yup, I really feel for
the guy—Marsha was one hell of a lady. She really loved that kid,
too. I sure hope the little tyke snaps out of it.”

“
What’s the latest on Tommy,
anyway?” Sam inquired. “Have you heard anything new?”

“
He’s still got a zipper on
his lips and that’s all I know. No one really wants to bother
either of them now, so the shrink’s backed off for the time
being.”

“
Any chance he’ll come
around soon?” Sam asked as he pulled onto Coles Boulevard and
headed west.

“
Hope so. Otherwise, I don’t
think we have an ice cube’s chance in Hades of catching this
bastard,” Roger said, the exasperation evident in his
voice.

Sam reached into his jacket, pulled out
a Marlboro and pushed in the cigarette lighter in the same motion.
“Ann is taking this really hard, as you can imagine. I never
thought I’d say this, but I’m sort of glad she’s living out of town
right now. I’m not so sure she’d be able to hang around here and
keep her sanity with all the reminders of Marsha staring her in the
face all the time. Ann’s pretty sensitive anyway, as well you know,
and it’s probably best that she’s where she is for the time
being.”

“
Out of sight, out of
mind?”

“
Something like that. I sure
do miss her, though,” Sam added, his tone of voice somber. He lit
up his cigarette and slowed down for a stop sign.

“
I know you do, man,” Roger
said sympathetically. “But you can’t spend the rest of your life
pining for her. You need to get out once in a while, buddy. At
least get laid, if nothing else!”

Sam grinned sardonically. “Sort of a
slim market out there for that, don’t you think?”

Roger guffawed. “Pretty fucking lame, I
admit. This bachelor’s been stalking these hills for a coon’s age
and ain’t never seen times as lean as they are nowadays. All the
decent chicks blow out of this burg as soon as they graduate high
school anymore.”

Sam chuckled at Roger’s
hillbilly-inflected accent and said, “Can’t really blame ‘em, can
you?”

“
Nope.”

Sam swung a right onto Tindall Drive
and drove a couple of blocks until he spotted Oakridge Court. He
turned left onto Oakridge and slowed down, observing the handful of
impressive stately houses situated on either side of the
cul-de-sac. All of the two and three-story homes were surrounded by
huge sprawling grounds, meticulously landscaped, and set back a
good thirty or forty yards from the street. Sam drove the length of
the court and pulled up the long winding driveway leading to Dr.
David Bradley’s house.

The enormous brick and wood bi-level
was awesome, complete with a heated swimming pool off to the right
in the rear. Towering spruce trees lined either side of the
grounds, forming a natural boundary before giving way to the
foothills behind that afforded privacy from the neighboring
houses.

“
Dave’s dental practice has
been good to him,” Roger quipped acidly as Sam pulled up to the
three-car garage and parked.

“
No doubt,” Sam replied. He
turned off the engine and reached for his camera lying on the
floorboard.

“
You aren’t really going to
take pictures, are you?” Roger asked, his expression
incredulous.

Sam grinned over at him. “Of course I
am. The lighting should be perfect this time of day.”

Roger shook his head slowly and opened
the door. “Why do I have a funny feeling they aren’t gonna show up
in Monday’s paper?”

“
I may surprise you this
time,” Sam said as he got out.

They strode across the driveway and up
the walk leading to the front porch. Sam headed straight across the
front yard until he was directly in front of the house. Roger
looked on impatiently as Sam peered through the camera viewfinder,
made a few quick adjustments, then snapped a couple of shots from
slightly varying angles. He then walked over to the east side of
the house, near the pool, and took a few more shots before
continuing around to the back. A few minutes later, he returned and
joined Roger, who was still standing on the front porch tossing the
key up in the air and catching it. “Get some good ones?” he asked
with more than a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

Sam leered at him indifferently. “Just
keeping everything honest, buddy. What would the department think
about this special privilege you’re giving your journalist friend
if he didn’t follow through with what he was supposed to be
doing?”

“
It wouldn’t give a flying
fuck,” Roger replied, deadpan, and unlocked the front door and
stepped inside. As Sam followed behind, he felt that same eerie,
indescribable sensation he always had whenever he was in the
proximity of where death had raised its ugly head. And even though
he knew that Marsha Bradley’s body was now buried six feet
underground in a cemetery plot, he could still sense her presence
inside the house the moment he entered it.

They stood in the ornate, marble-tiled
foyer and Sam looked around. To his immediate right was the living
room; the staircase leading to the second floor straight ahead. To
his left, the den. It was enormous and resembled an amusement
arcade more than anything else with its full-sized Brunswick pool
table, pinball machine and big-screen television. He had only been
in this house a few times before the night that Marsha was
murdered. The Bradley’s had only recently moved here last winter, a
couple of months before he and Ann had been divorced. Before the
shit had hit the fan, he and Ann had come to their house warming
party and were given the grand tour.