Murder at the Mall

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Oh, that’s another thing I heard,” I said. “I heard that if your company builds a new megamall there, teens aren’t going to be allowed after dark.”

  He slammed his huge hand down on the table, so hard that I flinched in my chair. “Now, you see? Someone goes and starts spreading rumors, and all of a sudden, the air is filled with vicious lies!”

  “So you wouldn’t be keeping teens out?”

  “Of course not!” he said, forcing the smile back onto his lips. “Teens would be welcome, even after dark—so long as they’re accompanied by an adult.”

  Aha! So it was true!

  “And since you’ve heard so much, I assume you’ve also heard that some group of wacky enviro-nuts is threatening violence to stop any deal.”

  “I … yes, I did hear something like that.”

  He nodded. “These people will do anything, Joe, to protect their precious turtles, snails, tadpoles—whatever. As long as it’s not people! Here at Shangri-La, we care about people first and foremost.” He sat back in his chair and looked me over to see if I was buying his argument.

  I didn’t know what to think, to tell you the truth. I heard what he was saying, and it made sense, kind of. Still, I knew that it wasn’t only mosquitoes living in that marsh. And when he said that about teens having to be accompanied by an adult—well, if you’re a teen, you know how most of us would feel about having to be chaperoned every time we wanted to go to the mall.

  He opened a drawer of his desk and took out a photograph, handing it to me. “There,” he said. “See that bug? That’s what they’re trying so hard to save! Can you believe it?”

  It was a pretty ugly bug, I had to admit. Lots of eyes and legs and feelers. Still, if it was a dying breed …

  “Hey, I have an idea,” I suggested. “If Shangri-La buys the mall and builds their project, how about adding a teen center to it, so kids my age have someplace fun and safe to hang out and shop?”

  “Shop? Kids don’t shop! They just ‘hang out,’ as you call it—not buying anything, and scaring away people who have real money to spend!”

  “Now wait a second, Mr. Eberhardt,” I said. “I know lots of kids who have their parents’ credit cards and buy tons of stuff.”

  He laughed that closed-mouth laugh again. “Not the kind of expensive merchandise I mean to sell.”

  “So you are planning to buy the mall and make it over!”

  “I’m not saying that. It’s just a ‘what-if’ at this point.”

  By this time, I was kind of ticked off at him. “But really, Mr. Eberhardt, your plan isn’t about doing something good for people—it’s all about money, isn’t it?”

  His smile vanished, and he looked me right in the eyes. “Isn’t everything, Joe?”

  Eberhardt punched a button on his phone. I figured he was buzzing his receptionist, but I didn’t hear a sound coming from the reception area outside the office.

  I turned toward the doorway, expecting to see the receptionist come in to escort me out. Instead, Bob Meister appeared. When he saw me, his face grew dark with suspicion.

  “Bob, is this the young fellow you told me about yesterday?” Eberhardt asked him.

  “It sure is,” Meister answered.

  “You know, Joe, I have a lot of respect for your father. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to put up with his son snooping around my business, especially when it’s got nothing to do with him. I understand that, being the son of a famous lawman, you’re naturally curious about all sorts of things. But a word of friendly advice—it would be smart for you to stay out of this.”

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Ralph Eberhardt

  Hometown: Boston, MA

  Physical description: Age 50, 6′ 4″, 220 lbs. Well-groomed, well-dressed, in good shape for his age. Tall, manicured, and very impressive.

  Occupation: President and chief executive officer of Shangri-La Enterprises, LLC.

  Background: From one of the old families, he grew up in Boston, went to the best private schools, attended Harvard and Wharton Business School, then rose to the top of the business world. Moved to Bayport to start his own real estate development company, Shangri-La. Now owns lots of buildings and properties in and around town, as well as other places, and is hungry for more. He is also a big contributor to Bayport charities, including the PBA, vets, firefighters, and EMS. Last year he was given the key to the city for the new playground he donated to Bayport.

  Suspicious behavior: His tactics to buy the East Side Mall sure look shady—especially the fact that he has a guy like Meister doing his dirty work.

  Suspected of: Setting up a situation where Applegate will have to sell the mall to him.

  Possible motives: Money, money, and more money. Oh, yeah—and power, too.

  I stood up. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Eberhardt?”

  He walked around his desk and stood in front of me, our faces only inches apart. “Threatening you? Good heavens, no! Just giving you a friendly word of advice, Joe. There are dangerous people out there who would do anything to stop the sale of the East Side Mall. And I do mean anything.”

  He stuck his hand out, but I didn’t take it—he’d already squeezed my fingers into powder once, and once was enough.

  “Have a nice day, Joe,” he said. “And give my best regards to your father. Bob will escort you out.”

  Meister gestured toward the door, and I went out, with him right behind me. I kept going, past the reception area to the elevator bank, where I pressed the down button and waited.

  “You’d better keep away from here,” Meister warned, just loudly enough for me to hear. “And from the mall, too, if you know what’s good for you. Is that clear?”

  The elevator door opened. I stepped inside, then turned to face him. As the doors closed, I smiled and said, “Clear as glass, Mr. Meister.”

  8.

  Up on the Roof

  It looked like rain, so I parked my bike in the indoor parking deck, then headed inside to the mall. The human traffic was pretty heavy for that time of day. I figured lots of people were curious after reading the papers that morning.

  In fact, there was quite a crowd gathered outside In the Groove. Above them a large blue tarp hid the roof where the glass had fallen. There was a drain in the tarp, hooked up to a long hose that ended in a huge trash can—Oskar’s improvised flood control, I guessed.

  The whole area under the tarp was roped off, and a mall security guard was trying to keep people away from the store’s entrance. “Move along, please, everyone,” he kept saying—but nobody listened.

  There was Adriana, craning her neck as though she were looking for someone. “Hey!” I called out, waving.

  She brightened when she saw me, but she still looked scared and anxious. “Hey, Frank,” she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek as I reached her. “Have you seen Steph?”

  “Uh, no,” I answered, disappointed as I realized it wasn’t me she’d been looking for.

  “I’m worried,” she said. “She’s never late. And after last night …”

  “Let me see if I can track her down.” I took out my cell phone and pushed number five on speed dial.

  It picked up after one ring. “Police headquarters. Officer Reilly here.”

  “Con? It’s Frank Hardy.”

  “Oh, hello, Frank. How’re you feelin’? Still a little stunned, I’ll bet.”

  “No, I’m okay,” I assured him. “I’m trying to find out what happened to that woman you were looking for. Stephanie Flowers? You know, the one with STEMM?”

  “Oh, her—she’s a piece of work, I’ll tell you. Yeah, we caught up with her pretty quick. She was at her apartment, but she tried to knock out the two rookies I sent to bring her in. Nearly caught one of ’em on the chin, too—they had to cuff her, hands and feet.”

  “Wow. She must have been pretty upset,” I said.

  “Well, I guess!” exclaimed Reilly. “Anyways, we booked her on conspiracy charges.”

 
; “What?”

  “And she’s mighty lucky we didn’t throw in resisting arrest,” he added.

  “What was the evidence for conspiracy?” I asked.

  “Well, to begin with, she’s not just a part of this enviro-nut group, she’s apparently the head of it, or at least one of the leaders. So that makes her responsible, at least for the graffiti.”

  “Aw, come on, Con—that’s just circumstantial.”

  “Agreed, Frank, but it’s still pretty clear-cut—especially when you factor in that poncho.”

  “Oh, yeah? What about it?”

  “We found a couple of long blond hairs inside the hood, residue of glass powder on the sleeves, and a diamond-tipped cutting tool in the pocket. Oh, yeah, and the poncho was a women’s medium. How’s that for evidence?”

  “Whoa.” I had to admit, it looked pretty bad for my new boss. I felt awful about it—not just because she seemed like a nice lady who really cared about the environment, but because Adriana might lose her job now.

  “Is she still there?” I asked Reilly.

  “Why, you want to interrogate her?” He laughed, knowing that police work was in my blood.

  “Actually, she’s my new boss here at the mall.”

  “No kidding! Since when?”

  “Since yesterday. About fifteen minutes before the glass came down.”

  “Hmm. What a coincidence…. It couldn’t be that you and your brother were nosing around this case, could it?”

  “Hey,” I said, “it costs money to keep bikes like ours. We need jobs.”

  “I’ve seen them bikes,” he told me, “and you’ve got a point there. You and Joe be careful on ’em, you hear?”

  “We will. Thanks, Con.”

  “Anyway, the Flowers dame isn’t here. Somebody posted bail for her—she’s free till the grand jury convenes.”

  “Really? Who bailed her out, do you know?”

  “Ah, I was down at the doughnut shop when it happened. Let me check—can you hold on a second?”

  “Sure thing. Take your time.”

  While I waited, I filled Adriana in.

  “But that’s so wrong!” she said in a loud whisper, trying to keep our conversation private even though there were dozens of people milling around. “There’s no way Steph would do something like that—I know her!”

  Unfortunately, you hear that a lot in detective work. All those people who think they “know” the accused are usually dead wrong.

  “Frank?”

  “Yes, Con?”

  “A messenger came in with the bond, posted in the name of AA Associates.”

  “AA Associates? That’s not very helpful, is it?”

  “Sorry. Maybe you can track them down, though. You and Joe are pretty good at that sort of thing, last I heard.”

  “Okay—thanks for your help.”

  “Yeah, sure thing. And sorry about your job, but you’ll find another. Hey, come to think of it, they’re hiring down at the doughnut shop!”

  “Uh, thanks, but no thanks,” I said, and ended the call. “Okay,” I told Adriana. “Now what?”

  “Frank?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was just thinking … if Steph’s not with the police, and she’s not here … then where is she?”

  I shrugged. “At home, maybe?”

  “She would have called and told me not to come in,” Adriana said. “She would have called you, too, if she had your number.”

  “Okay, well, maybe she’s meeting with her group—you know, an emergency STEMM strategy session to figure out her defense, get legal help, that kind of thing?”

  “I guess …”

  “That’s if she’s innocent. If she isn’t …”

  “Frank!”

  “Just supposing … she might have skipped bail and left town for good.”

  “No possible way. Like I said, I know her. Steph cares way too much about this place to run away.”

  “I wonder who AA Associates are,” I said. “I think I’ll do a little Internet search tonight.” Something the police should have been doing, of course. But they were sure they had this case solved—why should they even care who posted Steph’s bail?

  As for me, my mind was still open. There were too many angles to this case, and too many suspicious characters around it, for me to close the books so fast.

  Still, I had to admit that it looked bad for Steph. When it comes to crimes, ninety-nine out of a hundred times the obvious answer is the right one. And so far, all the actual evidence was pointing to one person—my new and possibly former boss.

  “Have you got a key to the store?” I asked Adriana.

  “Uh-huh. Why?”

  “Let’s go in.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now.”

  “Move along, please,” the security guy told us as we ducked under the ropes and made for the door of the store.

  “She works here,” I explained, pointing to Adriana. “And we need to go inside to get the purse she left here yesterday—in all the commotion, she forgot to take it with her.”

  “Yeah, I understand,” he said, “but I can’t let anybody in there.”

  “Come on, pal.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Look, she’s got a key, okay? She wouldn’t have a key if she didn’t work here.”

  He made a face. “I guess it’d be okay,” he said reluctantly. “But no hanging around in there. If Mr. Applegate comes around, I could get in trouble.”

  “We’ll be right out. Promise,” I said, and we ducked inside the store before he could change his mind.

  When we were inside, I turned to Adriana. “Did Steph own a rain poncho?” I asked her.

  “A poncho?”

  “Yeah, you know, the kind that folds up into a little bag?”

  “I … think so,” she said, trying to remember. “You know, she did have this black one she used to hang in the storeroom. I remember she’d put it on when deliveries came in through the back and it was raining.”

  Then it hit me. “It was raining yesterday. Remember? She came out, said she was leaving, then she looked up at the skylight—at the piece of glass that came down fifteen minutes later—and she said, ‘It’s starting to pour.’”

  “It was, too,” Adriana said, nodding.

  “So why wasn’t she wearing the poncho?”

  “I don’t know … maybe she hadn’t taken it out of her purse yet.”

  “But you said it used to hang on the hook in the storeroom.”

  She gasped. “That’s right!” she said.

  We ran back to the storeroom. “That’s the door that leads to the loading dock,” Adriana said, pointing to it. “And that’s the hook she used to hang the poncho on.”

  “Now, I found it over by the stairs leading to the roof. But if Steph saw it was pouring and didn’t have it in her bag, why didn’t she come back in here to get it?”

  “I have no idea,” Adriana said.

  “Maybe … just maybe, it was because she knew it wasn’t here!”

  “But if she didn’t have it on her, it would have been here, Frank.”

  “Not if someone else had taken it earlier.”

  “But who would do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m just saying it’s possible.”

  “Frank?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you take me up there?”

  “To the roof?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Wh-what for?”

  “I want to see it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because until I do, there’s no way I’ll believe Steph did this.”

  The truth was, I wanted to go up there myself. When you’re trying to picture how a crime was committed, and what sort of person could have done it, there’s no better place than the crime scene itself. And so far, only Joe had seen it.

  We left the store, thanked the security guard, and walked down the promenade. There was that same bunch of kids, sitting on the low marble
shelf by the emergency stairs.

  I counted seven of them: Five guys, two girls.

  They were staring at us, and I didn’t like the look in their eyes. I couldn’t help feeling they were sizing us up. Targeting us, almost.

  My guess was that the police had already taken these kids in and questioned them—pretty harshly, no doubt. That could explain why they looked so ticked off.

  Still, there was something about them that creeped me out as we opened the stairway door and left them behind. I could feel their eyes on us right up till the moment the metal door slammed shut.

  I held Adriana’s hand and guided her up the two flights of stairs to the roof. We got there, only to find the emergency door shut.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, fishing out my lock-picking contraption.

  “Won’t the alarm go off?”

  “I’ve got that covered,” I said, placing a magnetic disk on the alarm box. The disk was a gift from ATAC, given to me and Joe for use on a previous case (some things are just too good to return when the case is closed).

  The disk sent out interference to jam the alarm’s frequency and disable it while I picked the lock.

  “We’re good to go,” I stated, pushing the door open.

  Out on the roof, nothing had changed. The hole in the skylight was still there—which made me think that maybe this mall deserved to get sold to the highest bidder. After all, any self-respecting shopping center would have had it replaced by now, instead of just putting up a tarp.

  The graffiti was still there too. Silver paint, I noted. Then I noticed something else….

  “Hey,” I said to Adriana. “See where it says STEMM?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look—the Ms don’t interlock!”

  Her eyes widened. “If it were written by a STEMM member, they would have known how to draw their own logo.”

  Just then the stairway door banged open behind us. The buzz-cut brigade emerged onto the roof one by one, until all seven of them were blocking our only exit.

  “Yo,” called the tallest of the boys. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” I said.

  “Go ahead. Ask.”

  “Okay. What are you doing up here?”

  “Following you,” he replied.