A Killing in the Market

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Right then two sharp sounds cut through the air—like a pair of gunshots.

  "Lying little—" Clifton fell to the ground, dragging Callie down with him. The motorists who had climbed out of their cars to watch now dove back inside them.

  As they fell to the road, Callie managed to slip out of the loosened grip of her captor. Quickly, she rose to her knees, still holding the briefcase in her hand.

  "Oh, no, you don't!" Clifton tripped Callie, grabbing for the briefcase handle with one hand. The gun in his other hand wavered, giving Frank his chance.

  Frank lunged forward, snapping a karate kick that sent the pistol flying off. Callie took advantage of the moment to yank on the briefcase, trying to pull it free.

  Clifton swung her around, sending her into Frank. Both Callie and Frank went tumbling backward, but Callie kept her death grip on the handle. With a snap the briefcase tore open, sending papers flying in the air around them.

  Quickly Frank and Callie scrambled for the papers.

  "Joe! Help us catch them!" Frank yelled.

  "I'll do my best," Joe replied.

  "Aaaaaaaagh!" came Clifton's voice.

  Frank, Joe, and Callie looked up from their paper chase. Clifton was buckled over against the side of a truck, holding his stomach. Standing in front of him, fists clenched, was a thick-shouldered man wearing a T-shirt and work pants.

  "Come on, you lousy coward!" the man was shouting. "You like terrorizing young girls? How about picking on someone your own size?"

  The door to the truck's cab was wide open where the man had obviously just climbed out. Frank and Callie looked over to see that the truck had rolled over the motorcycle, twisting its body and flattening both its tires. Joe laughed. "So that's where we got those great sound effects! It really sounded like two gunshots, didn't it?"

  A dull thud came from the front of the truck, and they turned to see the truck driver slumped against a car. Then, with a sharp, strong karate chop, Clifton struck the man's shoulder. The truck driver fell to the ground, helpless.

  Joe grabbed the papers from Frank and Callie, stuffing most of them into the tan briefcase. "You guys run for Callie's car. I'll take care of this." Looking to his right, he knocked on the door of a small blue sports car nearby. "Help us out with this, will you?" he called.

  The driver, a young, brown-haired woman in a silk blouse and pin-striped jacket, grinned and pushed open the rear door for Joe.

  Meanwhile, Clifton rushed for Frank and Callie, trying to cut them off before they reached Callie's car. Frank whirled around, setting his feet in a karate stance.

  The crooked detective tried to dart past, going for Callie. But Frank threw a low kick at him, moving to protect her. Pivoting on one leg, Clifton dodged, then sent a flashy high kick at Frank's face. While Frank blocked that, Clifton threw a fist to the side of his head.

  Frank gave ground, realizing he might be outclassed. Clifton came on with a barrage of martial-arts blows and kicks while Frank blocked and backpedaled, unable to launch an attack of his own.

  "Hit him, Frank! Let's get out of here!" Callie called out.

  That distraction got Frank on the ground—sent there by a smash from Clifton's elbow. Groggily, he pushed himself up on one knee, expecting a deathblow. But Clifton had been distracted too.

  The crackling sound of paper had caught his attention. He snapped his head around to see Joe frantically stuffing papers into a briefcase in a nearby car. A low chuckle escaped his mouth. "Divide and conquer, huh? Too bad it didn't work."

  Nimbly, he made his way across the lanes of stalled cars as Frank stumbled after him, yelling, "Look out, Joe!"

  But when Joe glanced up from the rear seat of the car, it was too late. Clifton had reached in through the open window to grab his neck.

  "You ought to know better than to involve innocent people," he said. In the front seat the woman stared at him in fear.

  "Give the guy what he wants," she said to Joe. "I don't want to get involved."

  Joe reluctantly reached down to the seat beside him. "No monkey business!" Clifton warned. "I can snap your neck with this hold. Now, pass over Spears's briefcase, and don't try handing me that other one."

  "You better believe you're not getting the other one," the woman said firmly. "It's mine."

  Frank had a sick feeling in his gut as he staggered toward the car.

  But Joe handed the briefcase through the window, shrugging helplessly to his brother.

  In the distance a siren began to wail. Clifton looked up. "I was hoping to keep this," he said, snatching the briefcase. "But I guess I won't be able to." He glanced back at his destroyed motorcycle.

  With fast, precise movements, he sprang into action. First he ran over to his bike and popped open the gas cap, which was now facing the ground. He placed his briefcase under it and let gasoline spill over it.

  "He's going to destroy it!" Frank said. He started to sprint toward the man.

  "No, Frank! Leave him!" Joe exclaimed.

  There was something about Joe's voice — something insistent that made Frank pull himself back. He watched helplessly as Clifton walked to the shoulder and placed the soaked briefcase on a bed of gravel. Standing back from it, he lit a match and tossed it on top.

  And with a loud whoosh the briefcase exploded into flames.

  Frank felt anger welling up inside him — anger that they'd come so close to the evidence only to watch it burn before their eyes. But more than that, he was angry at his brother. For the first time he could remember, Joe had just given up. "What's gotten into you, Joe?" he snapped. "We've lost it now!"

  Joe put his finger to his lips, signaling Frank to be quiet. He glanced up at Clifton.

  "Go! Go!" the man was screaming to everyone around him. His face was lit up with a gloating, triumphant smile. "Show's over!"

  Seconds later two police cars pulled up beside the detective, who was now looking at the charred remains of the briefcase and shaking his head.

  "Okay, what's going on here?" a police officer said, stepping out of one of the cars.

  By this time Callie had joined Frank and Joe. "Listen, I'm really sorry if I fouled things up, guys — "

  Callie was cut off by the sound of a gruff voice. "You! The three of you! Over here!"

  A police officer was signaling Frank, Joe, and Callie to the side of the road. Joe leaned over and whispered something to the woman in the blue sports car. She nodded eagerly.

  As the traffic finally began to move again, the blue sports car pulled over onto the shoulder behind the police.

  "Okay, you kids are coming with me," the officer barked.

  "Wait a minute!" Frank said. "What's the charge?"

  "This man explained how you knocked him off his motorcycle, wrecked it, spilled gasoline on his attache case, and set it on fire."

  Joe guffawed. "And what makes you think you should believe this creep?"

  Clifton had now pulled off his helmet. "I knew they'd be trying to give me trouble, but I didn't know they'd have an accomplice."

  As Frank and Joe started to protest, they were grabbed by two of the officers.

  "Sorry we didn't catch them before things got out of hand, Mr. Clifton," the first officer said, looking down at a notepad. He shrugged his shoulders. "It's our fault. They match the descriptions you phoned in exactly."

  Chapter 16

  CLIFTON SMOOTHED BACK his hair and gave Frank and Joe a smug grin. "No problem, Officer Parnell, you did what you could. Too bad about the briefcase though. It contained some important papers regarding a case I was working on." He sighed.

  "Are you going to press charges, Mr. Clifton?" Officer Parnell asked.

  Clifton scratched his chin. "I don't think so. These two young men are trying to be detectives themselves. They bit off more than they could chew, trying to compete with me on this case. Now neither of us will know the answer—and they'll have to live with that. I think that's punishment enough." He gave the police officers a meaningful look
. "You all look young. Let this be a lesson to you that professional jealousy doesn't pay."

  During Clifton's speech Joe slowly inched back to the blue sports car. The brown-haired woman quietly reached into the back seat and handed him her briefcase.

  "I don't know, Mr. Clifton," Officer Parnell said. "I think you're being awfully generous — "

  Joe marched forward, the briefcase in his hand. "Doesn't surprise me," he said. "He can avoid publicity this way."

  Clifton chuckled. "Yes. Publicity against you."

  "No," Joe said with a confident smile. "Publicity that might make people suspect the truth— that you killed Henry Simone!"

  Frank looked at Joe as if he were crazy. He knows better than to grasp at straws like that, Frank thought.

  "Way to go, Joe!" Callie said.

  "Well, well, you're impressing your friends, Joe," Clifton said. "But you realize that's a very serious accusation — not something to talk about foolishly."

  "I know," Joe answered. He swung the briefcase around and pulled out a handful of papers. "And these are very serious pieces of evidence— and definitely not foolish."

  Clifton laughed and turned toward the police officers. "I guess this is what you call playing private eye. I'm embarrassed to say I thought these boys were near-professional caliber."

  "Okay, pal," Officer Parnell said to Joe. "Give the lady back her papers."

  "Sorry," Joe replied. "I can't do that."

  "What do you mean, you can't do that?" Officer Parnell was starting to become annoyed.

  "Clifton burned them all." Joe's smile got bigger. "Except for the ones she needs. We put those under her car seat."

  Clifton stared at him, his smile slowly fading.

  "These are the papers Clifton wanted to burn." Joe held them out for everyone to see. Across the top of each one were the words Spears & Company, Certified Public Accountants.

  "What? Th - those are — How — " Clifton stammered.

  "I had a chance to skim over them while my new friend and I switched the contents of the briefcases." The brown-haired woman in the sports car beamed as Joe walked toward Clifton, reading from the papers. "I found it very educational. For instance, this sheet of paper right here — "

  Frank, Callie, and the police officers gathered around Joe. On it was a picture of a young man with a full head of hair, a bushy mustache, a broken nose, and a defiant smile. His shirt was open at the neck to reveal a gold chain and medallion. Underneath the picture was the name Edward "Cool Hand" Colson—and above it, the word Wanted.

  "Now look closely," Joe said. "Add a couple of decades to this face. Imagine a receding hairline, a short haircut, some plastic surgery to fix that nose — "

  "It's Clifton!" Frank said in amazement.

  "Eddie Colson—" Officer Parnell said, thinking back. "The leader of the Cool Hand's Crew, that New York gang that used to do the dirty work for the Mob. The Organized Crime Strike Force busted up the gang, but when they went to arrest Colson, he'd disappeared."

  "Yeah, and nobody heard about him for years!" another officer added. "I remember all the rumors: he'd died, he'd skipped the country and was living it up in Mexico ..."

  "Well, gentlemen, it seems you're looking at him now," Joe said. "And judging from the rest of the evidence in this briefcase, the Cool Hand's Crew is still alive. Only now it's called the Elite Eye detective agency!"

  "This — this is outrageous! I'll sue you for slander—" Clifton bellowed.

  "Fine," Joe said. "But you'll be doing it from a jail cell."

  Clifton furiously pointed a finger at Joe. "You can't prove a thing!"

  "Maybe I can't, but someone else can — someone who isn't alive anymore, thanks to you. Someone who worked in a respectable investment firm, who could take all your illegal money and hide it. Someone with whom you enjoyed a long business relationship, until you suspected him of skimming money off the top!"

  "I don't know what you're talking about!" Clifton said, his face crimson with rage.

  "Oh, no? Does the name Henry Simone ring a bell? Because you'll be hearing his voice a lot in court—and yours too. It seems Simone used to like to tape his phone conversations."

  Joe held up a set of cassette tapes. "I bet these will make interesting listening. And then there's this — " He held up a letter, handwritten on stationery with the letter S on top.

  "It's from Simone to Spears, a last-ditch cry for help. It seems that in the last few days of his life, after your little business arrangement went sour, Simone began to suspect that you were coming after him."

  "Coming after him?" Clifton exclaimed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm talking about how Simone's clerk was murdered by mistake. Henry Simone realized he had to move fast. Spears was the only person he trusted, so every day after-hours he'd sneak into the city—"

  "That's when he started missing dates with Aunt Gertrude," Frank said under his breath to Callie.

  "In the darkness of his empty office at Thompson Welles, he assembled his evidence against Elite Eye, which he finally messengered to Spears on Saturday. The next night Simone was murdered!"

  "I — I — " Clifton sputtered.

  "Running out of gas, Cool Hand?" Joe said. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to rest where you're going!"

  Clifton lunged for Joe, but two of the police officers grabbed him. With a solid metallic click, Officer Parnell slapped handcuffs on Clifton and read him his rights.

  At the same time, a hand suddenly grabbed Joe by the wrist. With a jolt he spun around.

  "Easy!" a laughing voice said. Joe looked around to see the brown-haired woman from the sports car. "This was a lot of fun, but, uh — would you mind giving me back my briefcase?"

  "Oh! Of course!" Joe answered. He took all the papers out of the briefcase and handed it to her. As she grabbed it, a business card fell out onto the road.

  Out of the corner of his eye Joe saw it fall. He stopped to pick it up. "That's funny. I thought we took all of these out." He handed it to her. "Here."

  "Keep it," the woman said. And as she climbed into her car and put it into gear, she gave Joe a wink and a smile.

  Eric Clifton left, too — except he went in the back of a police car.

  "Come here! Look—there they are!" Aunt Gertrude called out. Frank, Joe, Callie, and Fenton and Laura Hardy gathered around the TV set.

  Aunt Gertrude burst into applause as the metropolitan news segment showed Clifton, Bruno, and Alexandra Simone being led into the jail-house. As they passed the TV cameras, they hid their faces under their jackets.

  "So tell me again," Fenton Hardy said. "How exactly was Mrs. Simone involved in this?"

  "Well," Frank said, "she was the reason Simone chose Bayport as his escape spot. He thought he could win her back—that he could charm her into coming along with him to Europe to retire on his stolen money."

  "And he was a real charmer." Joe picked up the story. "He got Alexandra Simone to meet with him in his cottage. But she found Aunt Gertrude's knitting stuff and realized he'd been seeing another woman. While they were arguing over that, Clifton and Bruno barged in."

  "They just turned up?" Fenton Hardy asked.

  Joe shook his head. "They must have known he was in the area and had been searching for him. Clifton and Bruno snapped pictures of Aunt Gertrude and Simone walking on the pier earlier, and probably tailed Simone to the cottage. Then Mrs. Simone turned up—proof that they had the right man. So they came in after her. Simone tried to fight, grabbing the only weapon at hand— the knitting needle."

  Aunt Gertrude closed her eyes. "It didn't seem to do him much good," she said quietly.

  "They were ready to get rid of Mrs. Simone, too, but she promised to help them find the money Simone had embezzled. But first they had to cover the murder." Joe patted Aunt Gertrude on the shoulder. "I guess you were the perfect candidate for a frame-up."

  "Meanwhile, Mrs. Simone led Clifton to Justin Spears," Frank explained.
"She knew he'd been helping to hide some of Simone's shady deals. So he had to know where the money was."

  "Spears wasn't about to give up all those big bucks though," Joe said.

  "So it became like a treasure hunt," Fenton Hardy said. "Spears trying to hide the money, Clifton and Mrs. Simone looking for it."

  "But there was a third player," Frank put in. "Henry Fleckman. Spears used Fleckman's account to move the money around and to set up a patsy for Clifton or anyone else investigating Simone's crooked deals. Fleckman wasn't going to take that rap. But he did want to take the money."

  "But why would he try to kill you?" Fenton Hardy asked. "There was no reason."

  "He probably just panicked. Anyway, Spears wound up getting double-teamed," Joe said. "Fleckman's goons roughed up Spears's assistant, but it was Clifton's people who finally killed Spears. Mrs. Simone had them stake out his office and wiretap his phone. That's how they found out about the evidence he was sending us. They killed him and phoned Clifton that the evidence was on the train—and you know the rest."

  "Except, of course, Fleckman and his four goons are in the can awaiting trial for attempted murder—among other things," Frank said.

  "Amazing," Mr. Hardy said. "You boys did a terrific job."

  Aunt Gertrude looked skeptical. "Well, I don't know if I'd say that. I'm still out fifty grand!"

  Joe shook his head grimly. "I guess Simone needed cash for his getaway. But it hasn't turned up. I guess Mrs. Simone could tell us something. She mentioned the cash in her testimony, but it's hardly a solid lead."

  "What did she say?" Frank asked.

  "Oh, just something about Simone saying he hid the money with no sweat — "

  Suddenly Aunt Gertrude bolted up from her chair. "No Sweat! Frank, Joe! Drive me to the police station right away!"

  "Why?" Joe asked.

  "Don't ask questions, young man! Just do it!"

  Fenton Hardy gave his sons a stern look, and they took Aunt Gertrude out to the van.

  Minutes later they were at the station house. Aunt Gertrude charged up the stairs and burst through the front door.

  "Buy low, sell high! Make a killing in the market! No sweat! Squawwwwk!" the parrot screamed back in the lounge, where he was still being kept until a new owner could be found.