Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Blood Money (8 page)
Frank walked straight toward the front door as Lewis reached up and tapped the smiling bouncer on the shoulder.
He turned.
"Detective Mike Lewis, NYPD," he said. "Mind if we come in?"
"This guy's really keen on getting ID, Detective Lewis," Frank said. "Better show him yours."
Lewis flashed his badge.
The bouncer growled in frustration and motioned the detective forward.
***
"We found the gun right behind the skylight - up on the roof," a uniformed officer said, handing a revolver to Lewis. Twenty minutes had passed, and the detective, several uniformed officers, and Frank and Joe were gathered on the street outside Cosmos. Delaney's body had already been taken away by an ambulance. Carew was inside the club, refusing to answer any questions.
"And that's where you say you traced Poletti to?" the detective asked Joe. Lewis, along with a squad car, had been assigned to watch Johnny carew - and so he had been in perfect position to grab Joe and Tommy Poletti after the shot had been fired. They'd been expecting this "summit" between Carew and Delaney for months, Lewis explained.
"That's right," his brother nodded glumly. "Although I didn't actually see him fire it."
"Of course he didn't!" Poletti shouted. "Because I didn't have anything to do with this!"
"Maybe you'd better wait till your lawyer gets here before saying anything, Tommy," Lewis said, not without a touch of sympathy in his voice.
"I don't need any lawyer," Poletti said fiercely. "Why would I have come with the kid" - he indicated Joe - "so willingly if I shot Delaney, anyway? Huh? Answer that!"
Lewis shook his head. "That's not my job, I'm afraid." He opened the rear door of the squad car. "My job is to get you downtown now."
Poletti exhaled and climbed in the backseat - but not before shooting Joe an angry look.
"I'll let you know what happens," Lewis said.
Lewis nodded. "Good work, boys," he said.
"Yeah - " Joe stood shaking his head as the police car drove off. Right then he didn't feel as if he'd just done anything that anyone would call "good work."
***
"Well, I'm just not sure, that's all," Frank said. It was morning and he was sitting in the Nolans' living room, discussing the case with Ned and Joe. Delaney's killing had happened too late to make the morning papers, but the news had been all over the radio.
"How can you not be sure, Frank?" Ned asked. "They've got the murder weapon, and the killer."
"Think, though," Frank said. "Why? Why would Tommy Poletti kill to increase his share of ten million dollars when he's going to get a lot more than that once he marries Emily Moran?"
"Murderers don't reason that way," Ned said firmly. "Or maybe he's not going to marry Emily - I don't know. What I do know is that this seems to be over. We can tell our fathers to come home now."
The phone rang. Ned answered it.
"It's for either of you," he said, holding out the receiver.
"I'll take it," Frank said. He grabbed the receiver.
"This is Frank Hardy."
"Frank, this is Detective Lewis. Just thought you and your brother would want to know. We ran a ballistics test on that gun. It's the same one that killed Daniel Carew." Lewis was silent a moment. "We're charging Tommy Poletti with murder one."
"You're sure?" Frank asked.
"Sure as we can get without a confession."
Frank sighed. "All right - thanks."
He hung up the phone and turned to his brother, who'd been unusually quiet all morning. The news of Poletti's guilt had hit him pretty hard.
"They say they're going to charge Poletti," Frank told them.
"It's over, then," Joe said.
"I don't think so," Frank replied firmly. "What about this, Joe? Johnson said Emily Moran had asked him to find a way to invalidate the will - don't you think Poletti knew about that? Why would he risk his neck killing Carew and Delaney when the whole document might be nullified?"
"It's over, Frank - face it," Joe repeated. "We're not going to find some magic clue the police overlooked this time."
"I'm not looking for any magic clue," Frank said. "I'm looking for the truth - and if you're going to sit here moping all day, I guess I'll have to look myself." He stood up and grabbed his coat.
Joe didn't move.
"I'm going to try to talk to Emily Moran," Frank said. Without another word, he stalked to the front door and threw it open. He sucked in air and gave a low whistle.
Framed in the doorway were two men. Carew's goons. He recognized one of them from the club.
"Oh," the man said, smiling. "Now this is a pleasure we didn't anticipate." He drew a gun with one hand, and with the other he roughly shoved Frank back into the apartment.
"I've been looking all over town for you - and you show up here." He pointed his gun at Frank. "I guess this is going to be my lucky day."
His companion stepped in behind him and shut the door.
"So you're Ned Nolan," the man said to Frank.
"No, I'm Ned Nolan." Ned and Joe had appeared in the arch between the hall and the living room. "What's going on here?"
"Frank, who is this guy?" Joe asked.
"I'm his fairy godmother," the man said. "It don't matter who I am. What matters is this," he said, flicking his gun. He motioned Ned and Joe toward the door. "Let's go, all three of you."
Joe shrugged and stepped forward, then suddenly stopped and planted his feet. He swung his elbow to the side and knocked the goon's gun out of his hand.
In a flash his hand was inches from picking it up. He stopped half bent over when he heard the unmistakable sound of a trigger being cocked.
Joe looked up. The second gunman had a revolver to Ned's head.
"Leave the gun alone," the man said simply.
Joe had no choice. He stepped back.
"One more trick like that, kid," the first guy said, bending over to pick up his revolver, "and you'll be staying here - permanently. Now let's go."
The three of them were taken back to Cosmos - and to the office Frank had seen the previous evening. Johnny Carew was there himself, waiting.
"What's going on, Terry?" Carew asked the man who'd brought them there.
"This" - he waved his gun at Ned - "is Nolan's son. And this" - he indicated Frank - "is that punk who was in here last night. I don't know who the other one is."
"Ah, but I do," Carew said, carefully scrutinizing first Frank, then Joe. "You're Hardy's two boys, aren't you?"
"That's right," Frank said.
"Playing detective, are you? Hope to follow in your father's footsteps?" Carew asked the question with a smile, but there was underlying malice to his words.
"Why are we here?" Joe demanded.
"Feisty, eh? I like that." Carew laughed and sat down behind his desk. "All right, I'll tell you."
"It has to do with Josh Moran's will, doesn't it?" Frank asked.
"It does at that," Carew nodded. "Moran's will - and my son's death." He silently stared off into space for a moment. When he began talking again, his voice was lower, more intense.
"I had a funny thought last night, when the police were hounding me with questions about Billy Delaney." He lifted his gaze to Frank's. "I was thinking how funny it would be if one of the people the police would never think of questioning - one of the 'good guys' - had actually killed my son. Somebody who could really use Josh Moran's money - somebody like Hugh Nolan, for instance, or maybe even Fenton Hardy.
"So I sent Terry and Monk" - he nodded at the men standing guard at the door - "to find those two and bring them here for a little talk. Instead, I got you."
He nodded to Terry, who moved forward and laid a hand on Frank's shoulder and guided him, none too gently, into a chair in front of Carew's desk. Joe and Ned were also marched over and made to sit in chairs next to Frank.
"So," Carew asked, folding his hands and leaning forward on his desk. "Where are they?"
"We don't know," Frank said.
"Come now - that won't do," Carew said, shaking his head. "Where are they?"
"He just told you," Ned said. "We really don't know. Besides, haven't you been paying attention? The police have your son's killer - and Delaney's - in custody. Tommy Poletti."
Carew waved a hand in dismissal. "That's a load of garbage."
Joe did a double take. "You don't think Poletti killed your son?"
Carew shook his head. "Tommy Poletti? A killer? Never. The police will figure that out soon enough. If they don't, they're even bigger fools than I thought."
Frank leaned back in his chair and exchanged a look with Joe.
"I don't know where my father is," Frank said. "That's the truth. But you're wrong if you think he's had anything to do with the killings."
"Your father's a man of principle - is that it? Well, we're talking about ten million dollars here, sonny," Carew said. "That much money buys a lot of principles."
"Not my father's," Frank said firmly.
"Or mine," Ned added.
At that, Carew laughed harshly. "Hugh Nolan? Not interested in money? You don't know him very well - do you, sonny?"
"What do you mean by that?" Ned asked angrily, rising from his chair. He was upset enough to attack Carew with his bare hands.
The gang lord studied Ned calmly for a second, then shook his head. "Never mind. All right, you say you don't know where your fathers are. I'll accept that - for now." Now Carew looked directly at Frank. "But the next time you want to play detective, you play with someone else, okay?"
"We don't play at being detectives, Mr. Carew," Frank said calmly. "Especially where our father's life is concerned."
"And I don't play around when it comes to whoever killed my son!" Carew slammed his fist down on the desk. "You make sure you understand that."
He glowered at Frank for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Get them out of here."
Terry and Monk escorted them down to the street.
"Carew doesn't think Poletti did it either," Joe said, more to himself than anyone else. "Guess I'm beginning to believe the killer is still on the loose."
"I told you," Frank said. "I'm going to see Emily Moran. You two coming?"
Joe grinned. "You bet. Ned?"
Ned shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think so." He was still clearly upset by Carew's accusation - an accusation Joe decided might be right after his discovery in the library.
But in Ned's mind they were still just doubts - and Joe didn't want to upset Ned any further without real proof.
"Well, we'll see you back at the apartment later," Frank said. "Come on, Joe - let's go play detective."
***
This time, their reception at Emily's was slightly more pleasant. Emily Moran, even though she looked even more tired and upset than the last time they'd seen her, was happy to talk with them.
"We appreciate your taking the time to see us, Ms. Moran - especially today," Joe said. Delaney's death had apparently enabled Emily to rid herself of the man's entourage as well. The house seemed deserted except for the three of them.
She nodded distractedly. "Yes, I talked to Vance, and he said you were trying to find the killer." She forced a grin. "Besides, there's not much else I can do right now. The police are questioning Tommy again."
"I hope you don't think this is rude," Joe began, "but - why did your father put Tommy Poletti into his will?"
"Dad didn't exactly like Tommy," Emily said. "He was in jail of course when I first met Tommy, and he never approved of him. I think my dad wanted me to see someone who could help run his business." She stopped suddenly to look at her watch. "The police are supposed to call me when they're finished questioning him," she said, apologizing.
"They take a long time sometimes," Joe offered sympathetically.
"Don't I know it," Emily said, smiling. "You're talking to Josh Moran's daughter, after all." It was the first time Joe had seen her genuinely amused at something, and it made her look about five years younger.
Suddenly Joe wanted very much for Tommy Poletti to be proven innocent.
"I just wish there was something I could do to help him," Emily continued.
"There may be," Frank said. "Announce that you've found a way to have your father's will nullified."
Emily looked confused. "How will that help Tommy?"
Joe explained. "By flushing out the real killer."
"So you don't think Tommy's guilty?" Emily asked, her eyes glistening.
Frank and Joe both shook their heads. "No," Joe said.
"All right," she nodded firmly. "Give me a minute - I'll get my coat. Then we'll go talk to Vance to have him make the announcement."
It was just after two o'clock when they reached Johnson's office. The place was completely deserted.
"That's strange," Frank said, shaking his head. "I wonder where everybody is."
"Out to lunch?" Joe suggested.
"I don't think so," Frank said. "Look." He pointed at a half-eaten sandwich lying on the secretary's desk. Next to the sandwich, her computer was still running.
The brothers exchanged a puzzled glance.
Emily Moran crossed to Johnson's office door and rapped on it loudly.
"Nobody in there either," she said.
"I guess we come back later," Frank said. He turned to go.
"Joe! Frank!" Emily Moran screamed. "Here!"
She was standing next to a copier and pointing at the floor. Both brothers rushed to her side.
Johnson's secretary - Mrs. Hunter - was lying on the floor, still and unmoving.
Frank bent down and felt her wrist. "She's alive."
"Get her some water," Emily Moran commanded, lifting Mrs. Hunter's head onto her lap.
Frank scanned the area for a refrigerator or a water fountain. Nothing. Then he remembered the water cooler in Johnson's office. He ran for the door, reached out to yank it open - and pulled his hand back instantly.
The doorknob was hot.
"Look!" Joe said, pointing at the space around the door. A thin wisp of smoke was wafting out.
"Oh, no," Emily said, a look of horror spreading across her face. "It's on fire!"
