Flesh and Blood

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "That's right," Chet blurted out. "I remember him taking pictures of us at the beach for some project he was working on."

  "That project was us," Joe added.

  "That sounds fine," Frank said with reservation. "However, who's the guy in the raincoat and ski mask who tried to shoot us and then helped kidnap Callie?"

  Joe slumped in his seat. Hard as he had tried before, Joe rarely matched Frank's logic for looking at a problem from different angles. Joe liked to move straight through a problem. Frank liked to go over, under, or around a problem.

  "What we need to do is find Mangieri and Don and get this thing settled before someone gets killed," Frank said.

  "Like our father."

  "Stop at that convenience store," Frank ordered Chet.

  "Why?"

  "I'll tell you in about five minutes."

  ***

  Frank had the others wait in Chet's car. He shoved a quarter into the pay phone outside the convenience store and punched a familiar number.

  "Hello," Con Riley said at the other end of the phone."

  "Con," Frank said, then paused. He was glad that Officer Riley was at home.

  "What is it, Frank?"

  "I need a big favor."

  Static hissed back at Frank. He knew that Con was thinking, considering what Chief Collig might say, what might happen to his career.

  "First tell me what it is."

  "Callie was almost killed a short while ago. A bomb at Mangieri's place."

  "Why didn't you call that in, Frank?"

  Con's tone was as authoritative as it was agitated. Like an adult's.

  "I should have, Con." Frank tried to sound genuinely sorry. "But I was afraid Chief Collig would put Joe and me in jail."

  "Do you blame him?"

  "No."

  "I'm listening. But don't be too sure I won't hunt you down and throw you in jail myself."

  "Fair enough." Frank took a breath. He had to present this just right to Con or the police veteran would be true to his word. Then Frank and Joe would be helpless to stop Mock from killing their father.

  "Dad and Mom and Aunt Gertrude were supposed to have left Philadelphia earlier today, but they haven't arrived."

  "You think Mock has Fenton?" Con sounded concerned.

  Frank was relieved at the change of tone in Con's voice.

  "I don't know, but Mock isn't an amateur. That bomb was professional, Con. What I need, what Joe and I need, is for someone with official jurisdiction to contact the highway patrol to see where Dad's car is."

  "Then what, Frank?"

  "I need to get into city hall tonight."

  "And?"

  "And I need access to the police computer."

  "I don't have a problem with your first request, Frank, but let me see if I understand you about the other two. You want me to help you break into city hall in the middle of night and then sneak you into police headquarters to use our main computer?"

  Frank didn't hesitate. "Yes."

  "It would be easier to deliver the moon, Frank."

  "I know, Con. But we're talking about my father's life. We're talking about one of your closest friends."

  Again the line hissed static at Frank. The moments seemed like long minutes.

  "Okay." Con sighed. "This is for Fenton. And for Stan Williams."

  "Who?"

  "My partner who was killed."

  "I understand," Frank replied.

  Frank then explained to Con that he intended to get into city hall through one of the basement windows in the rear of the old building and then make his way to the old file room in the basement.

  He wanted to find the original adoption file for Bobby Mock.

  He returned to the sedan and quickly explained his plan to the other three. They decided to meet back at the Hardy home at nine P. M., after dark. Then they took Callie home. Chet dropped Frank and Joe off at their van, and then he went home, also.

  ***

  "Look who we have here," Joe said as he spotted Don West's red sports car sitting in their driveway. "He's been pretty smart up until now."

  "We've still got to prove he really is Bobby Mock," Frank warned Joe.

  "No problem." Joe stopped the van and hopped out. He checked Don's car.

  "Where is he?" Joe asked as he followed Frank to the house.

  "Right here," Don said as he stepped from behind a hedge, holding a hunting rifle aimed straight at Joe!

  Chapter 11

  "Take it easy, Don," Frank said, holding up his hands. "We don't want to hurt you."

  "Hurt me?" Don laughed, but Frank could tell that it wasn't the type of laugh that results from something being funny. Don's laugh arose from nervousness and fear. "That's just like you Hardys. I have a thirty-thirty deer rifle aimed at Joe's heart, and you threaten me."

  "We know who you are," Joe said bluntly.

  "Yeah? Well, why don't you tell me who you think I am!" Don shouted.

  Frank could see the tension in Don's eyes and the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. The finger squeezing the trigger of the deer rifle unfolded and then folded around the trigger again. Frank didn't know Don very well, but he knew enough about human nature to sense that Don was a fuse about to blow.

  "You're Bobby Mock," Joe announced.

  "I've been told that's what you believe," Don replied, his voice nearly cracking.

  "Who told you?" Frank asked, suddenly aware that someone had betrayed them.

  "Liz. She got a message from Callie and then called me."

  Frank took a step to Don's left. "I don't believe you. Just like I don't believe the story about the box hitting you in the cheek. You got that bruise when Joe hit you at the hospital last night."

  Watching Frank's move, Joe stepped to Don's right. They had to distract Don so one of them could jump him and take the gun away.

  "Stay where you are, Joe!" Don ordered through clenched teeth. "You too, Frank. I'll use this if I have to." Don raised the barrel of the gun for emphasis.

  "You going to kill us in cold blood in front of our house?" Joe asked.

  "No," Don answered calmly. "I'm not going to kill you."

  "We're not going to let you kill our father, either," Joe said.

  "I don't want to kill your father," Don said.

  "What?" Joe blurted out, confused. "But - "

  "I don't want to kill anybody. I'm not Bobby Mock."

  Frank saw the tension drain from Don, and the finger folded around the trigger of the rifle relaxed. Don lowered the rifle and held it down in front of him.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know what else to do." He handed the rifle to Joe.

  Stunned, Joe stared at Don for a second, then slowly took the rifle from Don's hands. He looked at Frank, who only returned his questioning gaze.

  "I've admired the two of you ever since I moved to Bayport. You've got a pretty mean reputation for bringing in the bad guys. When I heard you were after me, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to explain." Don paused and sighed.

  "Explain what?" Frank asked.

  "That I'm not Bobby Mock. That I didn't plant the bogus file on Chet. I really found it at city hall, and a box really did fall and hit me."

  "How did you know when Bobby Mock's mother died?" Joe asked, gripping the rifle in his hands.

  "I did the research for Liz before she called you two. It was in an old article about Leonard Mock's trial."

  "He's right," Frank said with a nod of his head. "I read the same article this morning in Dad's file."

  "That still doesn't explain why you've taken such an interest in us the past two days," Joe said, still skeptical.

  "I told you - I admire you guys. Because of my dad's occupation, I've had to move around a lot, and I never really made friends very easily, never joined any clubs or went out for sports. I was real lucky to find Liz. When I saw that I might be able to help you two, I leapt at the chance." Don smiled. "I guess I should have looked before I leapt, huh?"

 
Frank laughed. "I believe you," he said. He looked at his brother. "Joe?"

  Joe stared at Don and then glanced over at Frank. He fingered the safety switch on the rifle and was surprised to find that it was locked. He looked at Don and smiled. "Yeah, I guess I believe you, too. But that leaves one question. Who told Liz we thought you were Bobby Mock?"

  "I guess the real Bobby Mock set that one up," Don said, taking a deep breath. He held out his hand to Joe. "I'm sorry I pointed that rifle at you."

  Joe grabbed Don's hand in a firm grip. "I understand. You still want to help us find Bobby Mock?"

  "You mean it?" Don asked excitedly.

  "How do you feel about back alleys and breaking into city hall?" Joe said as they headed into the house.

  "What?" Don replied, a puzzled expression on his face.

  ***

  The alley behind city hall was littered with garbage thrown about by the previous day's tornado.

  Frank, Joe, Callie, Chet, and Don zigzagged their way through the mess to the rear of the building.

  Don and Joe had gone in Don's sports car while Frank, Callie, and Chet had used Chet's sedan. They parked the cars several blocks away and made their way moving from shadow to shadow in the moonless night.

  Joe had wanted Don to "borrow" his father's keys to city hall, but Frank had vetoed the idea on the grounds that, if caught, Mr. West could be implicated. Joe still liked his idea, especially after stubbing his toe several times on the garbage.

  "Here," Frank said, and he put his arms out to halt the group.

  "How can you see?" Chet said, frustrated.

  "He's got the eyes of a cat," Joe answered.

  Frank ignored both of them. He knelt down by the basement window and pushed against the glass. He didn't really expect it to be unlocked, but he was hoping it might have been broken by the storm.

  He wrapped his hand in his handkerchief, broke the glass, and then unlocked the window.

  He checked up and down the alley. He just hoped that Con was standing out in front of the police station to distract any other cops who might patrol the alley.

  He slid in across the window and jumped to the floor. Callie followed, then Joe and Don. Chet was a tighter fit, but he did make it through.

  Frank shut the window.

  "Now you can turn your penlight on," Frank said to Joe. "But keep the beam on the floor."

  "I've done this before," Joe reminded him pointedly.

  "The old records section is in the subbasement," Don said. "I can show you where I found the bogus file on Chet."

  Once downstairs, Joe tried a light switch. To their surprise, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered on.

  "This might be easier than we thought," Joe said.

  "Okay," Frank said as the others formed a semicircle in front of him. "Don, how did you find the file on Chet."

  "Everything's on computer. I just waited until the computers came back on-line and then searched for the case file number."

  "How did you do that?" Frank asked.

  "I pulled up the file on Robert Edward Mock," Don explained.

  "You didn't find the right file," Frank announced.

  "How do you know?" Don asked.

  Frank pulled the folded newspaper clippings from his shirt pocket. "Because of these," he announced. "Look." He laid the news photos on a desk. "In all four news photos, Mock is surrounded by a crowd of people."

  "That makes sense," Callie said. "Mock's trial was the biggest sensation to hit Bayport in years."

  Frank smiled at Callie. He returned his gaze to the photos. "I missed it the first few times I went over them, but then I spotted him."

  "Who?" Chet asked.

  "Bobby Mock. There." Frank pointed at a kid in the first photo who was half hidden by the crowd pressing around Leonard Mock. "And there." He pointed at the second photo, and again, the same kid was present. "And there, and there." In the third and fourth photos, the kid was more visible.

  For the first time they all got a good look at a young Bobby Mock, his white blond hair uncombed, a half moon birthmark just above his upper lip.

  "He's tall for six years old," Joe said.

  "That's been our mistake from the beginning," Frank said. "We all assumed Bobby Mock was our age. He's not five in those photos. He's at least eleven or twelve."

  "That means we're looking for someone who's twenty-three or twenty-four," Joe announced.

  "I still don't understand how I picked up the wrong file," Don said.

  "It's not your fault. You got the file you were meant to find," Frank replied. "Didn't they used to write all the case numbers in a big log?" Frank asked Don.

  "They still do," Don answered. Then he snapped his fingers. "Bobby Mock's real case file could be found in the old handwritten log."

  "Right," Frank replied with a smile.

  Don darted down a row of shelves and disappeared. He returned moments later.

  "Here it is," he announced, holding up a thick two-by three-foot book. "The old case log." He laid the book gently on the desk as though it were a valuable volume of literature.

  Frank flipped through the yellowing pages. "Look at this." The others looked over Frank's shoulders. "Mock, Robert Edward, adoption granted."

  "Does it say who adopted Mock?" Callie asked.

  "No." Frank leaned up. "But it gives us the case number."

  "Chet, I'll need your help getting the file box down from the shelf," Don said as he wrote down the case number. Then he and Chet disappeared toward the rear of the file room.

  "That still doesn't explain why Mangieri's involved," Callie said.

  "For money," Frank replied. "What bothers me is how he got out of jail," Frank added.

  "Got it!" Don announced as he and Chet trotted back up to the desk. He handed the file to Frank, who placed it on the desk. He turned the cover back.

  Staring back at them was a small photo of the same kid they had seen in the news photos, his eyes dark with fear and worry, his face a scowl, his hair mussed.

  "Bobby Mock," Frank said.

  "He looks so scared - and lonely," Callie whispered.

  Frank flipped over the first page. The second page was a court order taking custody of Bobby away from Leonard Mock.

  The third page was a request by a young couple to adopt Bobby Mock and legally change his name.

  The fourth page granted the request.

  Frank cleared his throat and said, "Robert Edward Mock then became - "

  "Robert Edward Stewart," a deep voice said from behind them.

  They all spun around. Officer Stewart stood at the base of the stairs, his .357 drawn and pointing at the group.

  "Now, who'll be the first to die?" Stewart asked with a smile.

  The fluorescent light bounced off Stewart's white blond hair and created a shimmering halo over his head like that of an angel of death.

  Chapter 12

  "I always liked the meticulous way you thought, Frank," Stewart said. A sly grin spread across his face. "I made only one mistake - keeping that old file down here."

  "That wasn't your only mistake," Frank said. "Officer Riley knows we're down here, and he'll - "

  "Ah, yes. Officer Riley," Stewart interrupted. "My partner. Supposed to be watching the front, isn't he? He told me what you were up to, thought I would want to help, being a fellow cop and all. Quite a weird twist of fate, huh? I mean the son of the man who killed his partner now kills him."

  "What?" Joe blurted.

  "Don't get so excited, Joe," Stewart said. "He's not dead - yet. Let's just say he's resting. He's at the top of the stairs, unconscious. He's safe. For now."

  "How did you get the file changed?" Frank asked.

  "My first job was working the night shift at city hall," Stewart answered without hesitation. "That's when we hit on the plan."

  "Plan?" Callie asked.

  "The plan to set Chet up to throw us off," Frank answered. Frank shifted and Stewart braced himself. "You're nervous, Officer S
tewart."

  "I'd be foolish not to be nervous."

  "What now?" Callie asked.

  "I say we rush him," Don growled.

  "Yeah? You plan to be the first hero to die? I left a message with Liz that you were me." Stewart let out a bone-chilling laugh and waved the magnum among the five teenagers.

  "How did you get Officer Riley in here?" Joe asked.

  Stewart shrugged. "I suggested we check up on you kids, make sure you were okay. We told the cop on the night shift to take a break, that we would watch the place for a while."

  "You're not getting away with this," Frank said.

  "I've already gotten away with this," Stewart replied, smiling. "Riley doesn't know what hit him." Stewart held up his gun, and Frank could see a little blood on the butt end. "However, that's not the story Chief Collig will hear. No, what really happened is that Officer Riley and his partner, that's me, thought we heard looters breaking into city hall. When we investigated, gunfire erupted, and Officer Riley was killed, but not before he killed three of the looters." Stewart pulled a second gun from behind him. "This is Officer Riley's gun. I, of course, killed Frank and Joe Hardy."

  "What about our guns?" Joe asked with a smirk.

  Stewart put Officer Riley's gun down on the desk. He knelt down, keeping his dark eyes and the silver magnum trained on the group, and pulled a snub-nosed .38 from an ankle holster. "Here, catch!"

  Stewart threw the gun at Joe, and Joe caught the gun and pointed it at the police officer.

  "Don't insult my intelligence, Joe. It's empty. And now it has your fingerprints on it. Hand it back to me. Gently."

  Joe looked at the pistol. He began to hand the gun to Stewart, then he threw it down one of the aisles, where it clanked to the concrete floor and slid under one of the shelves of files.

  "That wasn't very smart, Joe." Stewart's triumphant grin twisted into an angry frown.

  "You'll never find it under all those files," Joe said calmly. "How are you going to explain that one, wise guy?"

  Stewart straightened himself and grabbed Riley's gun.

  "Let's see, which of you gets killed by Officer Riley, and which of you is the lucky one that is killed by the hero, Officer Stewart?"

  "You're not going to kill us?" Don said, a little cry in his voice.