The Strangler
Mary Jane Dunne turned off of Naumkeag Road and drove up the long, winding driveway that led to her one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old farmhouse. When she and her late husband bought the place twelve years earlier, they relished its picturesque charm and seclusion. They both looked forward to escaping the noise and traffic of the city and enjoying the peace and quiet of the country. However, only eight years after moving from New York to northwestern New Jersey, Mary Jane's husband was killed in a car crash, leaving her alone in the house for the last four years.
Being on her own did not frighten Mary Jane. In fact, she felt much safer living in rural Warren County than walking the crowded city streets of Manhattan. During her twelve-year tenure in the small New Jersey Community, there had been no murders, muggings, rapes, drive-by shootings, purse snatchings or carjackings. Normally, the only action that the local police department—by New York standards the modern equivalent of Mayberry's Sheriff Andy Taylor and Deputy Barney Fife—saw was an occasional drunk and disorderly or the local bad boys defacing public property with graffiti or playing mailbox baseball.
Earlier that year, however, Mary Jane's serene complacency was thoroughly shattered. In early April, Dottie McEntire, a thirty-eight-year-old mother of three, was found strangled in a vacant field in the back of a strip mall. Before the furor in the town could die down, a second victim was discovered, followed closely by a third. Clearly, Andy and Barney were hopelessly out of their depth, so the New Jersey State Police were called in. Not only did the state detectives take the lead role in the murder investigation, but a dozen troopers were also assigned to patrol the main streets and back roads.
Knowing that a homicidal madman might be on the loose in her neighborhood, Mary Jane no longer felt safe in her secluded farmhouse. For the first time since leaving New York, she locked her windows and bolted her doors both day and night.
The former New Yorker was not the only one in town who feared for her safety. Dr. Thalia Schulman urged one of the hospital orderlies, a black belt in karate, to teach the local women some simple self-defense techniques. Police Officer Mylie Daldry suggested women carry whistles and cans of mace or pepper spray in their handbags. Tension in the town had grown so great that one could almost feel it in the air.
One evening, two weeks after the discovery of the third victim, Mary Jane drove home from work, pulled her Subaru wagon directly in front of the house and waited inside the car with the doors locked and the engine running until she was reasonably certain that there was no one lurking in the yard. All appeared to be clear, so she emerged from the car and hurried to the front door. After quickly unlocking it, she crossed the threshold and immediately relocked the door behind her.
Once inside, the widow went from room to room on both floors of the farmhouse, checking to see if any windows had been broken and making sure that no one had entered the dwelling while she was at work. Only after she was assured she was alone in the house did she kick off her shoes and head for the kitchen. Tired after putting in a hard day at work, Mary Jane reached into her freezer, took out a frozen dinner and popped it into the microwave.
The tomblike stillness of the old farmhouse made her feel uncomfortable, so she put her dinner on a folding tray and took it into the living room. She pointed the remote control at the television and pushed the power button. The TV came on in the middle of a special news broadcast.
"... was found in the vicinity of Frog Pond Road and Route 94. This is the fourth victim of the strangler who has been preying on women in Warren County. More details at eleven. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming."
Fear stronger than she had ever known before raced through Mary Jane's veins. The strangler had struck again and only two miles from her own home! For several minutes, she nervously paced the floor. Then she rechecked all the windows and doors.
I have to get my mind off these murders, she thought once she had determined the house was secure. What I need is a good comedy to cheer me up.
She opened the media cabinet beside her television and took out a DVD of Dogma. The film's irreverent humor was sure to improve her mood. At the point where Rufus, the thirteenth apostle, falls from the sky at the feet of Bethany, Jay and Silent Bob, however, Mary Jane thought she saw a shadow pass in front of her living room window. The fear returned, and she paused the movie and went to the closet for a flashlight.
Her heart raced as she shined the flashlight's beam through the window and out into the front yard. No one was there—not now anyway. But could someone have passed by the living room moments earlier and be hiding on the side of the house now? If so, could he get inside?
He'd have to break the windows to do so.
Mary Jane quickly devised a plan just in case such a thing should happen. At the first sound of shattering glass, she would head directly for the first-floor bathroom. There were no windows there, and the door was made of thick, solid oak. It would take a chainsaw to get through it.
The frightened woman knew that all she had to do was stay quiet and listen for sounds of an intruder. Of course, that meant she could not listen to the television or radio. She turned off the TV and DVD player, went to her bedroom and got a paperback book off of her nightstand. It was The Killer Angels, a Pulitzer Prize-winning book by Michael Shaara that told of the three-day battle that took place in 1863 in the rolling farmlands of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.
After reading about twenty-five pages, Mary Jane began to feel sleepy; reading—no matter how interesting the material—often had a soporific effect on her. Yawning, she went back to the kitchen for a strong cup of coffee. As she waited for the water to boil, she gazed out the rear window. A sudden movement caught her eye. Something or someone was out there!
She forced herself to remain calm. It might only be a deer or a bear. Still, it wouldn't hurt to call the police and report a possible prowler. Mary Jane picked up the telephone receiver and waited for the dial tone. There was none. She clicked the cradle several times—a gesture she had seen in dozens of thrillers and mystery movies—but the phone was dead.
Why? she wondered.
She still had electricity, so it was not a question of a utility pole being down.
Someone must have cut the line! she concluded, suddenly angry with herself for never having gotten a cell phone.
Her trembling hand reached into the kitchen drawer and took out a long carving knife.
What if the killer has a gun? she wondered momentarily. What good would a knife be?
Then she remembered that it was a strangler who was terrorizing the town. Would a man choke his victims if he were carrying a gun?
For twenty minutes Mary Jane sat in a kitchen chair outside the bathroom door, tightly clenching the knife in her hand. She was poised, ready to make a dash inside should she hear anything out of the ordinary.
* * *
Mary Jane was tired but feared falling asleep, for she believed that if she did, she might never wake up again.
I can't do this every night until they catch the killer—if they catch him at all.
She had a close unmarried friend who lived in a small house near the police station. Mary Jane was sure that her friend would not mind if she stayed with her for a few days or even several weeks. In times like these, single women often stuck together for their mutual protection.
Mary Jane's eyelids felt so heavy she could barely keep them open. Then it occurred to her that she would be safe if she fell asleep on the bathroom floor behind the locked door. It would not be too comfortable, but she would gladly trade comfort for safety and peace of mind.
She went upstairs to get her pillow and blanket out of the bedroom. On her way back down, Mary Jane was startled by a loud knocking on the front door. There was no window or peephole in the door, so she had no way of seeing who was outside. The knocking was repeated.
"Hello?" a male voice called.
Should she answer or remain silent and hope the unknown caller went away?
"Mrs. Dunne?" the voice called. "Are you in there? Are you all right?"
Who was it? How did he know her name?
"This is the police. Open up."
Mary Jane ran to the front door, but her hand stopped just short of touching the doorknob. What if he was only claiming to be a police officer? What better way to gain her confidence and get her to open the door?
"Mrs. Dunne?"
The voice accompanied a renewed, louder assault of knocking.
"I'm here," she said, pressing herself against the back of the door.
"Mrs. Dunne, I'm Trooper William Dempsey of the New Jersey State Police. Are you all right, ma'am?"
"How can I be sure you're really a police officer?" she asked.
The trooper did not answer immediately. Then after several moments, he replied.
"I'll stand outside your front window so that you can see me."
Mary Jane walked to the window, looked outside and spotted a young man wearing the familiar uniform of the New Jersey State Police. As she shined the flashlight beam at him, he held up his badge for her to see. Relief flooded over her, and she opened the door.
"Oh, officer, am I glad to see you!"
The trooper entered the house.
"I wanted to make sure everything is all right," he explained. "Are you aware that there's been another murder?"
"Yes. I heard something about it on the television. The body was found near here, I believe."
The trooper stared at her suspiciously. Surely, he didn't suspect her!
"I only caught the tail end of the news bulletin. Who was murdered this time?" she asked.
"A motorist just driving through—no one from town."
Mary Jane suddenly remembered her manners.
"Would you like a cup of coffee, Officer ...? I'm sorry, I forgot your name."
"Dempsey. Trooper William Dempsey. Yes, thank you, ma'am. I could use a cup about now. I've been searching these woods for hours for any sign of the killer."
"Is that why I didn't hear your patrol car pull up into the driveway?"
"Yes, ma'am. It's parked over on Frog Pond Road."
Mary Jane went to the kitchen, put the coffeepot on the stove and turned the radio on low. There was no further need to listen for breaking glass with an armed police officer in her house.
"You said you were glad to see me," Trooper Dempsey said as he took a seat at the table. "Why is that?"
"First, I thought I saw someone outside. I went to call the police, and that was when I learned that my phone was dead."
"I'll bet you were frightened."
"That's an understatement. I was downright terrified! I was just about to lock myself in the bathroom for the night when you arrived."
Trooper Dempsey smiled, and when he did he resembled a Star Wars-era Harrison Ford. Mary Jane idly wondered if he was married.
"You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Mrs. Dunne. I've been all through the surrounding woods, and I can assure you that the strangler is not outside."
"Another cup of coffee?" the widow asked, loath to see the officer leave.
"I don't mind if I do," the trooper said with a smile as he looked at his watch. "I've been off duty for about ten minutes now, so I won't be wasting the taxpayers' money if I have a second cup."
"Well, I'm a taxpayer, too, and I'm very grateful to you for stopping by and inquiring as to my safety."
"Mrs. Dunne—it is Mrs. Dunne, isn't it?" Dempsey asked.
Mary Jane nodded.
"If you don't mind my asking, where is Mr. Dunne? Working late?"
She shook her head.
"I'm afraid there is no Mr. Dunne. Not anymore anyway. I'm a widow."
"I'm sorry."
Mary Jane rose to pour the trooper another cup of coffee.
"Sit still, ma'am," he said. "I can get a refill myself."
The light, easy-listening music—more commonly referred to as "elevator music" by many people—came to an end.
"This is your eleven o'clock news update," the announcer began, "brought to you by the good people at your local Subaru dealership who invite you to discover the beauty of all-wheel drive by test-driving a new Subaru WRX today."
Dempsey dropped his spoon, and it clattered to the floor.
"Our top story tonight: the strangler has claimed yet another victim."
The trooper bent to pick up the spoon.
"The body of a New Jersey state trooper was found behind the wheel of his patrol car late this afternoon on Frog Pond Road near its intersection with State Highway 94. Trooper William Dempsey's partially clad body was found slumped over the steering wheel ...."
Mary Jane had no time to scream, as strong hands clamped down on her shoulders from behind. While the strangler's fingers tightened around her throat, she heard the newscaster's advice, the familiar warning she had heard dozens of times since the discovery of Dottie McEntire's body in the field behind the strip mall: "Area residents should lock their doors and not open them for anyone." It was a warning Mary Jane Dunne should have heeded.
DISCLAIMER: No cats were strangled during the making of this website. (But I was tempted!)
