Collision Course (6 page)

Joe stopped in midsentence, his eyes riveted to the name typed on the front of one of the file folders on the desk. "Bingo!" he called out. "This one has McCoy's name on it."

Joe opened the folder and shuffled through the papers inside. He kept up a running commentary. "Press releases, pictures of McCoy and his car, a couple of contracts, some canceled checks. It looks like Arno was paying McCoy to appear at races."

Joe turned over one of the checks and looked at the back. Then he flipped over several more. "Mmm — this is strange. McCoy endorsed all of these checks to some outfit called Clarco Industries. But I don't see anything here worth killing him for ... "

Joe's voice trailed off as he pulled out one of the documents. The silence drew Callie's attention, and she turned to look at Joe. He wasn't sitting anymore his feet were planted firmly on the ground, and he was leaning over the desk, reading intently.

"What is it?" Callie asked.

Joe didn't reply. He just kept on reading.

"Come on, Joe," Callie urged. "What is it?"

"An insurance policy," he said at last, looking up with a triumphant smile. "A life insurance policy for a million bucks."

"So Arno has some life insurance. So what?"

"Arno has some life insurance," Joe repeated. "But not on his own life. This policy pays off on McCoy's death!"

Joe jumped up and waved the piece of paper in Callie's face. "Do you know what this means?" he asked excitedly.

Callie didn't say anything. She was staring at something over Joe's shoulder — something in the doorway, Joe realized.

"It means you're in the wrong place at the wrong time," a cold, smooth voice answered.

Joe Hardy knew the voice that had just threatened him, and he didn't like it any more now than he had the first time he heard it. Well, Joe thought, I came here looking for Russell Arno, and now I've found him.

Joe was in a tight spot. He had his back to Arno, and Arno was blocking his only exit. Joe thought about spinning around and trying to take Arno by surprise. That might buy enough time for Callie to get away. But the man could be armed. Joe gritted his teeth and decided to go for it anyway.

I got Callie into this, Joe told himself. It's up to me to get her out.

Callie was looking right at Arno, and she spoke before Joe could act. "Oh, Mr. Arno! Thank heaven you're here!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together as if she was about to start praying. She was doing her best imitation of a little lost girl. It was almost good enough for an Academy Award, and Joe hoped it was good enough to fool Arno.

"We were just passing by," Callie continued, "when we saw your door was open. We came in to make sure everything was all right. We were afraid something might have happened to you."

Joe was impressed. Callie might just pull this one off. He felt a slight tug on the piece of paper he was still holding in his hand. He looked down and realized that Callie was trying to pry it loose and quietly stuff it in her purse.

Joe shielded her with his body, hiding Callie's actions from Arno's view. He turned to face the promoter as Callie closed her purse with the insurance policy tucked inside.

"So you were taking a little stroll around the fairgrounds at — " Arno paused to glance at his watch. "Not a very convincing story. What do you think, Mr. Hardy?"

"What are you doing here this late?" Joe countered.

"That's none of your business," Arno snapped. "But I have nothing to hide. I was in my room at the motel when someone tripped the silent alarm in the office."

"Wait a minute," Joe said. "How did you know the alarm went off?"

"Mobile phone," Arno said simply. "The alarm here sends a signal to my personal phone. I take it everywhere — a clever device, don't you think?"

"Wouldn't it make more sense to hook up the alarm to notify the police?" Callie asked.

"It might," Arno admitted. "But I'm on the move a lot, traveling from city to city, following the racing circuit. I'd have to make special arrangements with the police in each city. It's easier this way."

"So why didn't you call the police?" Joe persisted.

Arno shrugged. "The motel is closer to here than the police station. I didn't want the burglar - excuse me, burglars—to get away before the police arrived."

Joe reached across the promoter's desk and grabbed the telephone. "Look, Mr. Arno, we're telling you the truth. The place was like this when we got here. But if you don't believe us, let's phone the police right now." He was bluffing, and he was betting Arno wouldn't call.

Who would believe that the two of them had just sort of stumbled onto the scene? Joe had already talked his way out of one tight spot that night. If Arno called his bluff—and the cops - things could get very ugly.

Arno moved around the desk and sat down in his chair. His hand rested on the telephone for a moment as he sized up Joe and Callie. Joe's gaze was steady as he returned the man's stare. Go ahead, Joe's eyes dared, make your move.

Finally Arno let go of the phone and moved his band to his inside coat pocket. "No," he said, "I don't think that will be necessary. But the question is, now that I have you, what do I do with you?"

Now who's bluffing, Joe wondered. Does he have a gun? Joe's whole body went tense, ready to leap across the desk and crash into the promoter at the first glimpse of a concealed weapon.

"I guess you could just shoot us." Joe smiled, raising the stakes. "But that would be too messy, wouldn't it? Too many loose ends. Too many questions."

"What are you talking about?" Arno replied, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "I don't suppose either of you has a light? No, you wouldn't. Nobody does anymore. This is the only place I can smoke without being nagged." He gave them a foul look.

"But we weren't talking about my bad habits, were we? We were talking about murder, I believe. And you were just about to tell me why I would want to shoot you."

"You probably wouldn't," Joe said. "Shooting isn't your style. Accidents are more convenient, aren't they?"

"Ah, that's it," Arno said, laughing. "You and your girlfriend are slinking around playing junior detective. You think Angus McCoy was the victim of foul play, and I'm the closest thing you have to a suspect. You came here looking for evidence and tore the place apart when you couldn't find anything."

"I told you we didn't ransack your office," Joe snapped. "And I think I have a pretty good idea why you would like to see McCoy dead." Joe was tightly gripping the edge of the desk with both hands. He leaned over to look directly into Arno's face—and accidentally pushed one of the ' file folders onto the floor.

It landed with a soft plop, and Joe glanced down at the noise. Nice move, Joe, he said to himself. Brilliant timing.

The label on the file read "McCoy, Angus."

A hand reached down and picked up the folder. "Find any worthwhile reading in here?" Arno asked, opening the file and sorting through the contents.

"We weren't looking for anything," Callie insisted. "We were just — "

"I know, I know," Arno interrupted. "You were just passing by." He took a key ring out of his coat pocket and unlocked the top desk drawer. He casually pulled out a gun and leveled it at Callie. "And I'm sure you're both quite anxious to leave. But would you mind if I search you before you go? Something seems to be missing, and I don't like it when people walk off with my property."

Joe mentally kicked himself. He had let Arno's quick routine lull him into letting down his guard. CalIie opened her purse slowly. "There's no 1 for that, Mr. Arno," she said, removing the crumpled insurance policy. "I think this is what u're looking for." The promoter reached for the document with his free hand, but Callie let go of the paper just before he grasped it, and it fluttered to the floor. Arno stooped down to pick it up, and his aim wavered slightly.

Joe moved like lightning. Still clutching the side of the desk, he heaved it up and over on top of Arno. Then he slammed all his weight into it, Pinning the man down.

"Oof!" the promoter grunted as the weapon flew out of his hand and skittered across the floor. "Grab the gun!" Joe shouted to Callie. "Ugh," Callie replied, carefully lifting the automatic pistol. "I hate these things." She looked at Joe. "Now what?" "I'll hold him while you call the police," Joe said.

"Great idea," Callie said. "Where's the phone?"

"Down here," a muffled voice came from underneath the overturned desk. "I'd make the call myself if the thing were still working. I guess it wasn't designed to have large pieces of furniture dropped on it. Come to think of it," Arno said, "neither was I. How about letting me out from under here? I think we can clear up this whole misunderstanding."

"Only after you hand me that insurance policy," Joe demanded.

Arno stuck out his hand and waved the document like a white flag of surrender. Joe snatched it away and handed it to Callie. He dragged the desk off Arno and said, "Okay, you can get up now—but slowly."

Arno grabbed on to a leg of the toppled desk and hauled himself up. "That insurance policy doesn't prove anything," he said. "It's common business practice. McCoy was my star attraction. The deals I make with cities like Bayport guarantee that McCoy will be there for the race. Without McCoy, I could lose a lot of money."

"So why'd you pull a gun on us?" Joe asked roughly.

"Look, kid," the promoter snapped. "I'm getting tired of your questions. You say you didn't break in here. You say you were just passing by and found my office this way. I'll take your word for it—but don't press your luck."

He glared at them. "Now get out of here before I change my mind—and leave the policy and the gun here. It would be real unfortunate if the police found you with a stolen firearm."

Joe took the document and the pistol from Callie. He deftly removed the clip and cleared the chamber, ejecting the bullet that had been loaded and ready to fire. "You go ahead, Callie," he said. "I'll be out in a minute."

· He handed the piece of paper to Arno and tossed the unloaded weapon into the farthest corner of the office. "You be real careful where you aim that thing," Joe said as he stormed out the door. "Next time I might just make you mince meat." " "I still don't trust him," Joe muttered to Callie · as they walked away. "But I don't have any evidence!"

"You ever wonder why girls always lug around big heavy purses wherever they go?" Callie asked.

"Huh?" Joe frowned. "What's that got to do with — "

"It's just in case they come across some evidence," Callie grinned, reaching into her hand-bag and pulling out a videocassette. "While you were reading files, I was reading tape labels.

Check this one out."

Joe squinted in the dark trying to read the handwritten scrawl on the side of the plastic case. He stopped under a streetlight and held up the cassette to catch the light. " 'Master tape,' " he read aloud. " 'Angus McCoy Bayport Grand Prix Time Trial.'"

"Maybe this is what whoever broke into Arno's office was looking for," Joe mused. "But why didn't they take it?"

"Because they couldn't find it," Callie answered. "It wasn't on the shelves with the other tapes. It was in the VCR."

Joe just stared at Callie. "I can't believe it," he said. "Frank and I have both been so busy trying to unearth clues that we forgot Arno had the whole thing on videotape!"

It was almost noon the next day before Joe Hardy stumbled out of bed and staggered downstairs, looking for his brother. Joe hadn't meant to oversleep, but it had been a long night.

Frank wasn't anywhere in sight. Only his aunt Gertrude was home, puttering in the garden. "Is Frank around?" Joe asked. "There's something I want to show him." "You just missed him," Gertrude said, looking up from her tomato plants. "Callie picked him up a while ago, and they drove over to the hospital to see that nice Cohen boy. Poor thing. Did you hear what happened to him last night?" "Yeah, I kind of heard something about it," Joe said evasively. If his aunt ever found out that Frank and he had almost gotten killed saving Phil Cohen from the fire, she'd have a heart attack on the spot. -

"I think I'll go over to the hospital, too," Joe told his aunt. He dug in his hip pocket, fished out the keys to the van, and loped across the lawn to the driveway.

"Oh, that reminds me," Gertrude called after him. "Your brother told me to tell you to take the van and meet him at the hospital."

Joe turned and smiled at her. "Say, Aunt Gertrude, you know what I think I'll do?"

"What?"

"I think I'll take the van and meet Frank at the hospital."

"You do that," she said, nodding as she plucked a ripe tomato and dropped it into her basket.

Joe drove to the hospital by the fastest routes. He wanted to make sure Phil was okay — and he was anxious to talk with his brother.

When Joe got there, he found Phil sitting up in bed, talking with Frank and Callie.

"Come on in, Joe," Phil greeted him. "Your brother tells me you saved my life. I guess I owe you one."

"I had a little help," Joe replied, looking right at Frank.

"Hey, what are brothers for?" Frank said.

"Look, Frank," Joe started, "I'm sorry — "

"No, I'm sorry," Frank interrupted. "We both said some things we really didn't mean, but at least you had a reason. Scott's your friend, and maybe I should have checked out all the other leads before pointing my finger at him." "Well, I'm beginning to have my doubts, too," he admitted. "I haven't exactly done a tremendous job of digging up evidence that will stick to the other suspects. I thought I had something on Arno, but that guy's got an answer for everything."

"We were lucky he didn't have us arrested for assault," Callie added.

Phil coughed and said, "That reminds me. It took me a long time to go over that electronic device that seems to be so popular with the assault and arson set."

"Did you find out anything?" Frank asked. "Hard to say for sure. The circuitry was too complex for a simple remote triggering device. So you were thinking it was some kind of detonator for a small explosive or something, you'll have to think again."