"That's right," Joe agreed. He turned away from his brother now and faced Johnny Carew directly. "What about it, Mr. Carew? Is that how it happened? Is that how you killed Billy Delaney?"
The man's face went through a series of expressions, from surprise to anger to shock, and back again. Finally he just started laughing.
"You really are Fenton Hardy's sons, aren't you?" Carew said. "So what? So what if it was me who had Delaney killed. You'll never prove any of it."
"I guess not," Joe said. "But tell me, where did you get the revolver - the one the police found up on the roof?"
Carew raised his eyebrows in mock disapproval. "What? Even you don't know the answer to that one, sonny?"
"Maybe you could help us out with it," Joe suggested.
Carew looked at Joe strangely for a second and then burst out laughing all over again.
"Help you out on it?" he asked, shaking his head. "Sure. Why not? I found that revolver at the scene of my son's death. I decided to hold on to it - thought it might come in handy."
"Guess it did, huh?" Joe asked, leaning forward on Carew's desk.
"Yes, it did at that," Carew said. "You know, suddenly I'm tired of you two," he said, all traces of his good humor suddenly gone.
He waved Terry forward.
"Take care of them, will you?"
Terry grinned. "With pleasure, boss." He drew his gun and motioned the Hardys back, away from Carew's desk.
"Come on, fellas," Terry said. "We're going for a little trip."
"What are you going to do - kill us?" Frank asked.
Carew nodded. "You got it, smart boy. We're going to kill you."
"Good," Joe said. "That's what I was waiting to hear."
The old man looked at him strangely.
Then, without warning, the door to Carew's office banged open, and a half-dozen uniformed police officers charged in, their guns drawn and raised high. Detective Lewis strolled in just behind them.
"What's this?" Carew roared. "Breaking and entering! You'd better be prepared for - "
"We're prepared, Johnny," Lewis said, holding out a folded piece of paper. "Here's our warrant."
"Suspicion of murder?" Carew asked, reading off the paper. "You got no proof of any of this." He sneered. "What're you going to do - hold me downtown on some half-baked charge - "
"Not half-baked, Johnny," Lewis said. "Not this time." He held up a small box for Carew to see. "It's all down on tape."
Joe stepped forward and began pulling off the hidden microphone he'd been wearing.
Involving Lewis in their plan had been Joe's idea. And when the detective had suggested he wear a wire, thinking that the crime lord might be looser with his tongue in front of a couple of teenagers, Joe had readily agreed.
Now he stood in front of Johnny Carew, holding up the recording device for the gang lord to see.
"Surprise," he said, smiling at Carew.
The old man shook his head, his mouth moving wordlessly.
Lewis snapped the cuffs on him.
"You have the right to remain silent," the detective began, leading Carew away. "Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. ..."
***
Two hours later Frank was fixing himself a cup of tea in the Nolans' kitchen and listening to the news on the radio. He was waiting for the news to break about Johnny Carew. Right then the day's big story involved the weather. Experts were predicting the arrival of the decade's worst blizzard sometime the next day. Joe was sitting at the table behind him, finishing off the bag of chips he'd started the other night.
It was early evening, and they were waiting for Ned to come home. It looked as if he hadn't been at the apartment all day.
"He was really upset after what Johnny Carew said this morning," Frank said. "It'd be nice to pass on some good news to him."
Joe nodded his agreement. "You'd be upset, too, if someone accused Dad of being a crook."
Frank had a sudden thought. "Joe, could Hugh Nolan have been the guy at the police station - the one in the wig who poisoned Chief Peterson?"
"No," Joe said decisively. "The man at the police station had to be a lot younger, and he didn't have Nolan's limp. And I'll bet the police have checked all the beneficiaries' movements that day a thousand times. If Nolan was anywhere near that station, they'd know about it."
Frank shook his head. "If we could only find out who that man at the station was."
"Well, we don't have a lot to go on," Joe pointed out. "A white shirt isn't exactly an identifying mark."
Frank laughed. "You know, Ned said the same thing the other night - "
The shock of realization struck him like a physical blow. He almost dropped the mug he was holding.
"Frank?" Joe asked. "Frank, are you all right?"
His head was spinning. Frank sank down heavily into one of the kitchen chairs, next to his brother.
"Two days ago - I should have seen it two days ago," Frank said.
"What?" Joe asked.
Frank shook his head, still lost in his own world. "How could he have known?"
Joe frowned. "Frank, you're talking nonsense. What are you trying to say?"
Frank slowly turned to his brother. "That first night we stayed at the Nolans'," he began, his voice growing firmer. "That first night we met Ned."
"Go on," Joe urged.
"After you went to sleep, we stayed up a little while longer, talking - "
In his mind, Frank could hear their conversation replaying itself, word for word. . . .
"Have they found any trace of the man who attacked the chief?" Ned asked.
"I don't know yet, but I doubt it. I probably got a better look at him than anyone, and I don't think I'd recognize him if he walked up to me and shook my hand."
"I suppose that's understandable. A white shirt isn't exactly an identifying mark. ..."
"A white shirt isn't exactly an identifying mark," Frank repeated. "Ned said the same thing you did."
"So what?" Joe asked.
"So this," Frank said. "It was the night of the attack. We'd barely discussed the incident at all, and there weren't any reports of it in the news. So how did Ned know the guy was wearing a white shirt?"
Joe let out a long, low whistle. "I see what you mean," he said.
"It was Ned, Joe," Frank said. He laid his palms flat on the table and looked at his brother. "Ned is the killer."
Chapter 16
"I don't know, Frank," Joe said, shaking his head. "It feels right, but - it's awfully thin. We'll need a lot more proof to make it stick."
"Okay - what about this?" Frank stood and shut off the water he'd been boiling for tea. "Who needs the money more than Hugh Nolan?" he asked. "Look at this place. Look at the way Nolan lives. And if it is Ned, he had a good reason for getting Daniel Carew - he's Johnny's son. And a better reason for getting Chief Peterson. He was the one who slandered his father's name and ruined his career."
"If it was slander," Joe pointed out. Then he had another thought. "What if Hugh and Ned are working together?"
"What if," Frank agreed, nodding grimly. "If that's the case, Dad's in a lot of trouble."
He thought a moment. "I think we need to find out a little bit more about Ned before we go to the police."
"Agreed," Joe said. "His father mentioned he'd just gotten out of the army. Let's start with that."
Frank picked up the phone - and within a few minutes he was speaking with an army lieutenant he and Joe had met on a previous case.
"I can't get you the man's complete service record," the officer said.
"What can you tell me about him?" Frank asked.
"What it says here is that Ned Nolan served in the special forces and was an expert in unarmed combat. He was honorably discharged last year."
"Thanks, lieutenant," Frank said. He hung up and told his brother the information.
"Nothing conclusive there," Joe said. "But that guy in the white shirt was certainly an expert in unarmed c
ombat."
"All right," Frank said. "Let's go tell Lewis."
Even at that time of night they found the detective hard at work in his office. His desk was swimming in paperwork, but he welcomed them just the same.
"Good news, fellas," Lewis said. "We got the D.A.'s office to recommend no bail for Carew and his friends."
"That's great," Frank said. "Detective Lewis, we have something we'd like to talk about with you - " Frank began.
"Let me guess," Lewis interrupted. "You want us to bring back your father, too?"
"Too?" Frank asked.
"Yeah, Hugh Nolan's kid was in here earlier today. Wanted to know if the old man could come home yet."
"What did you tell him?" Frank asked.
"I said the case wasn't closed yet. We don't know if Carew was behind the chief's poisoning - and it doesn't seem likely that Carew would kill his own son, does it?" Lewis shrugged. "Anyway, Ned talked to his dad when the chief checked in today and found out where they are. He's going to visit them."
Frank turned pale.
Just then, Lewis's phone rang. "Excuse me a second," the detective said. He picked up the phone and started talking.
"Frank," Joe began, "if Ned knows where they are - "
Frank shook his head and quieted his brother with a glance.
Lewis finished his call and turned back to the Hardys. "So, anyway - unless you can tell me who the killer is, I'm afraid we're going to have to keep your dad out of sight."
"I understand," Frank nodded. "We just want to talk to him, though. You wouldn't happen to know where they're staying - or have any way we could get in touch with him?"
Lewis shook his head. "Not till tomorrow, when they check in again. Sorry." He looked at Frank more closely. "Say, there's nothing the matter, is there?"
Frank shook his head. "Not a thing. Thanks anyway."
"You're welcome." Lewis sat back down at his desk. "Sorry I couldn't be more help," he said, picking up another stack of papers and sifting through them.
Joe waited till they got outside before he spoke.
"Why didn't you want to tell him about Ned?"
"Think about it," Frank said. "Ned's probably killed one man already and seriously injured another. Now he's looking for his father. Why? Because he's just found out that one of the basic truths in his life, that his father got a raw deal from the police, might be a lie." Frank shook his head. "He's a time bomb, just waiting to go off. If that happens while he's with Dad and Chief Peterson - "
"But how are we going to find them?" Joe asked. "We don't even know where to start."
"You're wrong - we've actually got a pretty good idea," Frank said, pulling a train schedule out of his back pocket and checking it over carefully.
"Come on, if we hurry, we can get the last train out of Bayport."
" 'I think I know the perfect place - but we'll have to stop at home first,' " Frank said, repeating the words his father had said just before he, Hugh Nolan, and Samuel Peterson had gone into hiding.
" 'Home' has to mean Bayport, but 'the perfect place'?" Joe shook his head. "You've got me there."
They were sitting across from each other on the train, trying to figure out what their father's cryptic words had referred to.
"And why would he have to come home first?" Frank added.
"Mom would have talked to him," Joe said. "She'll know."
The boys got in late and slept in their own beds until almost seven in the morning. Their mother was up by then working, trying to fix the faucet in the kitchen sink.
"Hi, Mom," Frank began. "Have you - "
"What in the world - " Laura Hardy turned to face them, an expression of shock on her face. "Where have you two been?"
"We meant to call, but - "
"Your father told me to expect you a couple of days ago!" Laura Hardy yelled, throwing down the pliers she'd been using. "And all you can say is you meant to call?"
"Mom," Frank said, "we need to find Dad."
"I don't know where he is. He came home in a rush - " She stopped yelling suddenly and looked closely at her two sons. "What's the problem? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"No, Mom, that's not it at all," Joe said quickly. "We have a message for him."
He hated lying to his mother, but he didn't want her worrying - or calling in the police.
"Two days ago your father rushed through this house like he had a tiger on his tail," she said. "All he told me was that he had some kind of urgent case that was going to take him out of town for a while - he didn't know how long."
"And he didn't say where he was going?" Frank asked.
"Not to me."
"Thanks, Mom." Frank turned to Joe. "Let's check his office."
"Wait a minute," their mother said, smiling. "What are you going to do now - just run off again without telling me where you're going?"
The brothers exchanged a quick glance.
"Mom," Frank said, "when we find out where we're headed, you'll be the first to know." With that, he and Joe disappeared into their father's office.
An hour later, though, they were no closer to finding out where their father, Chief Peterson, and Hugh Nolan were hiding - and where Ned Nolan was heading.
"Nothing," Frank said, shutting down his father's computer. "Whatever that perfect place was, there's no record of it here. We're going to have to split up - comb the town - and find anyone who might have seen Dad leave or might have talked to him."
"Don't go far," their mother said as they were walking out the front door. "They're expecting a big storm later this afternoon - might even turn into a blizzard. I want you home before that happens."
"We'll be back before long, Mom, don't worry," Joe said.
"And if you find your father, remind him about that foreign film festival he promised to take me to. It's only running another couple of days, and I want to see it!"
"We'll do that," he assured her.
***
Frank's first stop was Callie Shaw's house.
"I've been all over town the past few days, Frank, and I haven't seen your dad anywhere," his longtime girlfriend said. The two of them were in the Shaws' den, standing in front of the fireplace. Callie was wearing a green sweater, jeans, and the thick gray socks Frank had given her for Christmas. She'd been curled up in front of the fireplace, reading a book, when Frank had rung the doorbell.
"In fact, I haven't seen your dad since Christmas, Frank," she continued. "Not that I've seen much of you since then, either. What's going on? You and Joe were supposed to be back from New York a couple of days ago."
"I can't talk about it now," Frank said. "But if you do see my dad, or talk to anyone who has seen him in the past few days, call my house and let me know. Thanks." He kissed her on the cheek and headed for the front door.
"Wait a minute!" Callie chased him as far as the front door, then stopped. She wasn't wearing any shoes.
"You could at least say goodbye!" she yelled.
"Goodbye!" he yelled back. "I'll call you later!"
She stood there in the front door for a minute, hands on her hips, staring after Frank as he drove off down the street.
***
Chief Collig hadn't seen their father.
Fenton Hardy's poker partners hadn't seen him.
Even Chet Morton, who practically lived downtown, where their father usually worked, hadn't seen him.
Joe was trudging down Bayports main street when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, Joe. What's the matter? You look like your best friend died." Joe turned to see Officer Con Riley - the one member of the Bayport Police Force he and Frank always got along with.
"It's not that serious," Joe said. Yet, he added silently.
"Good," Con replied. He glanced up at the sky and shook his head. "Say, you'd better get back home. That blizzard is supposed to kick in about an hour from now. And when it does, the roads around here are going to be just about impossible to drive on."
"The bli
zzard," Joe muttered, shaking his head. "Terrific." He'd forgotten all about it. More good news.
"It will be - for anybody who wants to get some skiing done," Con said. "You really ought to try to make it up to my cabin sometime."
Despite his black mood, Joe managed to smile. "I will - that's a promise." Con Riley had a little cabin way back in the Vermont mountains, right near a beautiful set of ski trails, that he just loved to get away to for weekends. He'd issued an open invitation to the whole Hardy family to join him up there, "whenever you all aren't too busy solving crimes," as he put it.
"Say - how come you're not up there now, Con?" Joe asked.
"It's a little too crowded at the moment," Con said, a mischievous smile on his face.
Joe stopped suddenly in his tracks and stared at the man.
"Whoops," Con said. "Guess I let the cat out of the bag, huh?"
Joe grabbed the older man by the shoulders. "Con - that cabin. Is my dad up there now?"
Con must have sensed something in his voice, because he immediately turned serious. "That's right, Joe. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Joe said. "Not anymore. Not as soon as you give me directions to your place."
"You're not going to go up there today? Not with the blizzard coming?" Con asked incredulously.
"I've got to," Joe said grimly. "That blizzard's not the only trouble heading their way."
Chapter 17
Joe called Frank, who had just returned home, and told him what he'd found out.
They were on the road within the hour.
"Based on the directions Con gave us, we ought to be there around dinnertime," Joe said. He reached into the cooler on the seat between him and Frank and pulled out a soda. Before they'd left home, they'd completely stocked the van with enough food, drink, and supplies for a very long trip, which Joe sincerely hoped this would not be.
"Sit back and relax," he told Frank. "It should be smooth sailing from here on out."
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