Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Blood Money (5 page)
"Well - " Frank shrugged. "Joe and I were in town, we read about Daniel Carew getting shot, and we just got involved."
"Just like that? You got involved in a murder case?" Ned asked. He didn't seem to believe it.
"Sometimes we try to help our father out," Frank replied. He didn't bother to mention the fact that he and Joe had also handled numerous cases on their own.
"Well, I suppose I can understand it, in this instance," Ned said. "I should probably get more interested in this case myself - seeing how deeply it affects my father. Come on," Nolan turned and headed for the kitchen, motioning Frank and Joe to follow. "Let's sit down and talk. There's a fresh bag of potato chips in the bread drawer if you're interested."
Joe smiled his thanks and opened the drawer Ned pointed to.
"So, tell me about this from the beginning."
Frank started by recounting what had happened when he, Joe, and their father had gone to the reading of Moran's will. He had gotten as far as the shouting match between Tommy Poletti and Daniel Carew when Ned interrupted him.
"I was thinking about going with my father that day, but - " Ned shook his head. "I wasn't sure I could be responsible for my actions with all those people there. After they stymied his career - " He broke off in midsentence and looked across the table. "I guess I'm not making much sense, am I?"
Frank and Joe exchanged a quick glance.
"Yes, you are - we heard about what happened to your dad from our father."
"He got a raw deal," Ned said angrily. "You know, after my mom left, he did everything for me. Everything. So when those people start calling him names ..." His voice trailed off.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Frank offered.
"Yeah," Joe said. Frank saw he was about halfway through the big bag of potato chips already.
"Thanks." Ned smiled. "Anyway, that was all a long time ago. So - you were at Moran's house. What do you think? Are both these killings related to that will?"
"Both these attacks - Chief Peterson didn't die," Frank said, correcting him. "And my gut feeling is - yes, they're related, somehow."
"I don't think Tommy Poletti killed Carew," Joe said. "But it does seem like an awfully big coincidence for the two incidents to come so close together - and at this particular time."
Ned was silent for a moment. "All right - if it isn't a coincidence," he asked, "then who's doing it? Which one of the other beneficiaries?"
Frank ticked off the list on his hand. "We started with Hugh Nolan, Johnny Carew, Daniel Carew, Samuel Peterson, Fenton Hardy, Thomas Poletti, and William Delaney. Daniel Carew is dead, Peterson's been attacked - "
"So - Delaney, then," Joe cut in. "It's got to be him."
"I don't know very much about any of those people," Ned said. "But my money's on Johnny Carew."
"You think he'd shoot his own son?" Frank asked dubiously.
Ned shrugged. "No, I suppose not. But from what my father's told me, he seems like the most coldhearted of the bunch. And don't forget," he said, "there could be more than one killer."
"Boy, we've been down this road before." Joe yawned and pushed his chair back from the table. "I think I'm going to hit the sack, guys. See you in the morning."
"Good night, Joe," Ned said.
"Good night." Frank leaned forward over the table. "I think the police are going to get a lot more serious about this case - and its connection to Moran's will - now that Chief Peterson's been poisoned."
"I hope so," Ned said. "Have they found any trace of the man who attacked him?"
Frank shrugged. "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," Ned chuckled. "A white shirt isn't exactly an identifying mark."
Frank vainly tried to stifle a yawn. He was falling asleep at the table. "I guess I'm a little tired, too."
"It is late," Ned said, nodding. He cleared the table and led the way back into the living room.
"I think your father has my bed," Ned said, staring down the hall.
"I'll flip you for the sofa," Frank offered.
"That lumpy old thing?" Ned shook his head. "It's all yours." He picked up the sofa's back cushions and arranged them into a makeshift mattress. "I'll make do with these."
"Good night, then." Frank said. He settled back onto the couch - and within minutes was fast asleep.
***
Frank woke to the smell of frying bacon and the warmth of the sun in his eyes. He showered, dressed, and went into the kitchen.
Hugh Nolan, Ned Nolan, and Frank's father were sitting around the breakfast table, eating, and reading the morning paper. Joe was there as well, but he had pushed his chair about three feet back from the table and was keeping his eyes away from anything that looked like food.
"Morning, everybody."
"Morning, Frank. Help yourself to bacon and eggs," Hugh Nolan said.
Frank nodded his thanks, even though he wasn't particularly hungry yet.
Joe groaned. "It feels like there's a lead weight in my stomach. I don't think I'll ever be hungry again."
"That's why you're not supposed to eat after midnight," Frank said.
"The papers say the police have released Tommy Poletti," Fenton Hardy said, sipping his coffee.
"They finally figured out he's not guilty," Joe said. "I guessed that all along."
"That also means the police are back to square one in their investigation," Fenton said. "Poletti was their only suspect."
"So they don't know any more about who the killer is," Ned said thoughtfully. "Or who might be next."
The doorbell rang.
Frank and his father exchanged a quick glance.
"You expecting anyone, Hugh?" Fenton asked.
Nolan shook his head.
"I'll get it, Dad," Ned said, standing.
"Careful," Fenton Hardy said, instantly serious. Frank noticed the bulge of a shoulder holster beneath his father's sport jacket.
Ned returned with two men, one tall and thin, the other short and stocky. Both were dressed in suits.
"Fenton Hardy? Hugh Nolan?"
Fenton and Hugh stood.
"I'm Detective Martin," the smaller man said, flashing a badge. "This is Detective Stevens. Could we talk to you for a moment? In private?"
Fenton and Hugh led the men to the living room.
"What's this all about?" Ned asked.
Frank shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
When the four men returned a couple of minutes later, Fenton Hardy spoke first.
"These men have just come from a meeting with Chief Peterson and the mayor, boys. The word's come down from the top on this one. It's been decided that the three of us - that is, Hugh Nolan, myself, and Chief Peterson - should disappear for a while." He smiled. "I think I know the perfect place, but we'll have to stop at home first."
"Where's that, Dad?" Frank asked.
Fenton shook his head. "It's better that we keep the location secret," he said. "I'll tell your mother that a case has come up for me but that she should expect you and Joe home tonight."
"But, Dad - " Joe began.
Fenton Hardy shook his head firmly. "No buts. You two get to the library and get to work."
"Anytime you're ready," the smaller of the two detectives said. "We'll take you to the chief."
The two older men said their goodbyes - and then, just like that, they were gone.
"I don't like this at all," Frank said, staring out the living room window. On the street below, he saw the four men get into a squad car and drive off.
"Me neither," Joe said.
"What can you do about it?" Ned said. Then, assuming the subject was closed, he switched to another. "So, are you two going to the midtown library today?"
Frank met Joe's eyes, then shook his head.
"We're not leaving the city."
"But your father said - "
Now Frank stared at Ned.
"Whoever's behind the killings - if we assume for the moment that it's one person - he's already managed to infiltrate a precinct station and almost kill the chief of police."
"So?" Ned asked.
"So, what if the killer has a contact inside the police department? There's a great chance he could find our fathers, no matter where they hide." Frank shook his head. "We're not leaving until this killer is caught."
"All right," Ned said. "What can I do to help?"
"Well," Frank said, "I think a good place to begin is with that list of beneficiaries."
"Motive and opportunity?" Joe asked. That was where they usually began when they had a list of suspects - narrow it down by checking to see who had the motive and who had the opportunity.
"They all have the same motive," Ned pointed out. "Moran's money - ten million dollars. That leaves us with opportunity."
Frank shook his head. "The police are probably doing that right now. And they have a lot more than three people to check out alibis," he said.
"Well - if we can't check opportunity, and they all have the same motive - " Joe smiled suddenly. He saw what Frank was getting at. "They might not all have exactly the same motive, right?"
"Right," his brother replied.
"What do you mean?" Ned asked.
"We're talking about ten million dollars here," Frank said. "Which is admittedly a lot of money. But to, say, Tommy Poletti, it's worth more than to Johnny Carew, who's probably got at least that much already."
"I see," Ned replied. "So what do we do now?"
"We find out how much they're worth," Joe said.
Frank nodded. "Exactly."
"How are we going to do that?"
"I've got a couple of ideas," Frank said. "I'll tell you on the way."
He stood to go.
"On the way where?" Ned asked.
"Just north of the Wall Street area," Frank said.
"Hold on," Joe said. "Let me get a little something to eat."
"I thought you were never going to be hungry again," Frank said.
"Well," Joe said, piling a few slices of bacon and a big spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate. "Detective work always gives me an appetite."
***
An hour and a half later the three boys were in the waiting room of Vance Johnson's office.
It had been Frank's idea to start digging at the lawyer's for information: impartial information on the people they were most interested in - Billy Delaney and Johnny Carew.
"Mr. Johnson will see you now," Johnson's secretary called out. She led them into the lawyer's office - a large, airy room with high ceilings and a wall of bay windows that looked out onto lower Broadway. Thick, meticulously arranged law volumes lined the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one wall. Another wall was dominated by oil portraits of several very distinguished-looking individuals, and the fourth wall was almost completely hidden by a line of massive oak filing cabinets and an old-fashioned water cooler.
It all seemed very proper and respectable. Yet Joe wondered how much of that respectability Johnson had was genuine. After all, he had been Joshua Moran's lawyer.
Johnson was seated behind the massive oak desk, scanning a single sheet of paper. Other than a small stack of papers piled neatly in front of him, his desk was bare. He rose as the three boys entered.
"Mr. Johnson," Frank said, stepping forward, "thank you for agreeing to see us." He nodded in Ned's direction. "This is Ned Nolan."
"Hugh's son, I assume," Johnson said crisply, shaking hands with all of them. "So, I gather this is about Mr. Moran's will."
"That's right," Joe said. "We - "
"Well then, gentlemen." Johnson laid his palms flat on the table and stared directly at them. "My time is valuable - how may I be of service to you?"
Frank seemed slightly taken aback at his formality. Joe, too, knew that was a bad sign, but Johnson's attitude was understandable. He'd probably been grilled by the police more than once during the last few days and obviously wouldn't welcome more questions - especially from three people he probably saw as little more than overly enthusiastic teenagers. Check that, Joe told himself with a glance at Ned, who was past his teens. Two teenagers.
Joe was trying to think of something witty and charming to say when he noticed a large, framed photo. In the photo Johnson was standing with another, much younger man, whom Joe recognized instantly.
"Hey," Joe blurted out. "That's Tommy Poletti."
"Why, yes. That picture was taken the day after the Rose Bowl, the year Tommy was Heisman winner." Johnson nodded. "USE lost, but Tommy was magnificent."
"Five touchdown passes, nineteen straight completions," Joe said. "I remember watching it." Truthfully, he did. It was one of the first football games he'd seen on television - and still one of the best.
"Greatest single game a quarterback has ever had - in my opinion," Johnson said. "But then, Tommy wouldn't settle for doing any less, once he got to the Rose Bowl. That's just the kind of boy he was. Is. I've been close friends with the family for years - worked for his late father for almost four decades."
Joe had a sudden hunch. "The Poletti family - that's how you came to work for Mr. Moran, isn't it? Tommy's relationship with Emily?"
"Why - yes," Johnson said. He seemed somewhat surprised. "When the two of them first started seeing each other in college, Tommy asked me to keep an eye on her family's affairs."
Joe glanced questioningly at Frank, who nodded. Joe knew that that nod meant, Go ahead - it's your show. "Mr. Johnson, we'll try not to waste your time. I'm sure the police have already asked you questions, but we're" - he indicated the three of them - "personally interested in this case in a way that they can't be. It's our fathers' lives that are at stake."
"I see," Johnson said. He crossed to a group of armchairs in the far corner of his office and sat down, indicating that the Hardys and Ned should follow suit.
"I understand your particular closeness to this case, but I'm not sure what I can do to help you."
"Well. . ."
Frank broke in. "We're trying to find out a little more background - financial background - on some of the people Mr. Moran named as beneficiaries. Especially Johnny Carew and Billy Delaney."
Johnson thought for a moment. "Well, as I was telling the police, I know very little about Mr. Carew's activities. I can only make inferences, based on conversations I had with Mr. Moran before his death."
"Every little bit helps," Ned said.
Johnson nodded. "Mr. Moran felt that Mr. Carew's various real-estate holdings were worth upward of one hundred million dollars. His own personal fortune, he estimated at somewhat less than half of that."
"So ten million dollars would still be a lot of money for him," Frank said.
Johnson nodded.
"But would he kill for it?" Joe asked.
"That's the thing about money," Ned put in. "No matter how much you have, you always want more."
"What about Delaney?" Frank asked.
Johnson snorted. "Ten million dollars would be a fortune for him."
"But I thought he'd been running Moran's," - Joe was about to say gang, but stopped himself in time - "businesses for him while Moran was in jail."
Johnson nodded. "Running them into the ground."
"I noticed he and Tommy didn't get along too well."
"Nor do he and Emily," Johnson said. "She's particularly uncomfortable having him live in that townhouse with her."
"They live together?"
"It was her father's request. But now that he's gone - well, I expect Delaney will be moving out shortly."
"How does she feel about all this - the killing, I mean?"
Johnson sighed deeply. "She's quite upset. She has me working to find a way to invalidate her father's will."
Joe was surprised. "Why? Won't that affect her share of the estate?"
"Perhaps," Johnson said. "That's uncertain. But she really has very little interest in that money, if you can believe it."
"I do find it a little hard to believe," Ned said quietly.
Johnson glowered at him. "Emily wants only to marry Tommy, and she would just as soon never see a penny of her father's wealth. She was never close to him."
Joe decided he'd bet money that Johnson had gotten involved with Joshua Moran only at Tommy Poletti's prompting - and quite reluctantly, at that.
"What do you think?" Frank asked. "Is there a chance of getting Moran's will set aside?"
"I hadn't thought so until recently. However, I think I may have found something. ... " He pulled out a manila folder.
"Ah, yes," Johnson said, thumbing through the pages. "It occurred to me that if we can prove that Mr. Moran lacked testamentary capacity at the time he made out his will, we may be able to have the entire document declared void."
"Testamentary capacity - you mean, whether or not he was in his right mind?" Ned asked.
"Exactly," Johnson replied.
"Your ten-thirty is here, Mr. Johnson," his secretary said over the intercom.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hunter. I'm afraid that's all the time I can spare, boys. I hope I've been of some help."
"You have, Mr. Johnson," Joe assured him. "And thanks."
They shook hands all around, and Johnson promised to keep them up-to-date on his efforts to have Moran's will nullified.
Back down on the street, they talked about the information the lawyer had given them.
"He had a lot to say," Ned said. "Especially after you recognized that picture, Joe."
"True," the younger Hardy replied. "It seems to me that he's anxious to put this whole affair behind him."
"One thing seems certain," Ned said. "From what he told us, Delaney needs the money a lot more than Carew."
"With Josh Moran dead, he could begin to lose control of his gang," Joe said. "Add that to his financial problems - "
"And you get a prime suspect," Ned said, finishing Joe's thought. "Delaney could be our man."
"Johnson doesn't like Delaney very much, though," Frank said thoughtfully. "We have to consider the possibility he's not giving us entirely accurate information."
"That's true," Joe admitted. "And Delaney can't be the actual killer - he's a lot bigger than the man I ran into in the hospital."
"On the other hand, Delaney could have hired someone to do that," Ned suggested.
Frank nodded. "I think it's worth our paying Mr. Delaney a little visit."
