Eye on Crime (9 page)

“Now, with a little magic of my own,” Frank
said as he rolled the mouse around the pictures on the screen, outlining images and making them disappear, “I take Callie and Iola out of the
Monty Mania
video, drop them into the Golden Palace, do a little touch-up painting, and there you have it. Callie and Iola are actresses in whatever movie Monty Andrews wants them to star. With a touch of a button, I can even make the images move, just like a videotape.”

“So you're trying to say that Monty Andrews robbed both of those stores, and he used a computer to splice together scenes from his television show into the video surveillance equipment. I don't think your evidence is very compelling.”

“But you might be able to use it to create a reasonable doubt about the girls committing the crime,” Joe said. “That would be enough to keep them out of jail.”

“Sure, after a lengthy trial,” Stelfreeze said. “I came here thinking you might be able to prove who the real criminal was.”

“We did,” Frank said.

“I need proof,” Stelfreeze replied, “not speculation. Hard evidence.”

“Oh, we'll get some hard evidence,” Joe promised, “now that we know where to look.”

Stelfreeze left the room, wishing the brothers good luck. Frank went about shutting down the computer. Joe grabbed a towel from the closet.

“Where are you going?” Frank asked.

“To take a shower. I want to be nice and fresh when we nail Monty Andrews.”

• • •

After Joe finished his shower and Frank had a turn in the bathroom, the brothers headed out to the van.

Frank tossed Joe the keys. “You drive,” he said. “You seem to have a destination in mind.”

“Just basic detective work,” Joe replied as he got in the van. “Start where the trail left off. For Monty Andrews, that would mean the television studio.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Television is a twenty-four-seven operation. Well pick up his scent there.”

Thirty minutes later Joe was hushing his brother's applause.

“Thank you, thank you,” Joe said as the van pulled into the station's parking lot.

“Man, Joe, your timing was great.” Frank pointed to Monty Andrews as the entertainer emerged from the side door of the Bayport television studio.

“Hey, entertainment is all timing, bro. Now let's just sit here and see what that worm is up to.”

Frank and Joe sat back while they watched Monty Andrews. The actor stood by the side door, reading what appeared to be a newspaper. Monty grimaced at what he saw. After another few seconds he crumpled the paper in a big wad and
threw it into the trashcan. As soon as Monty walked away from the can, Joe edged the van slowly forward.

“Watch what car he gets in,” Joe said. “I want to see what has him so riled.”

Joe pulled up next to the trashcan, jumped out and grabbed the newspaper, and jumped right back in behind the wheel.

“Blue two-door sports car,” Frank said as he took the paper from his brother.

“Got him,” Joe responded. He put his foot on the gas and headed for the exit a few car lengths behind Monty Andrews.

“I guess Chief Collig couldn't keep this under wraps forever,” Frank said with a laugh as he straightened the newspaper. “And I quote: ‘Anonymous sources inside the police department say they are worried that a new wave of teen crime is coming to Bayport.' Then the article lays out some particulars from both jewelry heists.”

“And such news would make Monty unhappy?” Joe said with disbelief. He kept the van a few cars behind the actor's sports car as Monty drove it toward the business district. “I'd think with the cops looking for a mysterious gang, he'd think he got away scot-free.”

“Me, too. Unless he's afraid that somebody will put together the similarities between the ‘thieves' the way we did.”

The brothers drove in silence for a while, focusing their attention on the blue sports car. After a few minutes of weaving in and out of light downtown traffic, Monty pulled up in front of a large office building. Joe drove past Monty Andrews as the hypnotist got out of his car. Joe rolled the van to a stop a few cars in front of where Monty had parked.

“Maybe he's going to see his agent,” Frank said as he exited the van.

“Or his lawyer. Stay back some. There's no crowd to blend into, and he might recognize us from the other night.”

After Monty entered the office building, Frank and Joe sprinted to the door. They entered the building just in time to see the elevator door close. There weren't very many people in the building on an early Saturday morning.

“Tenth floor,” Frank announced, pointing up at the floor indicator above the elevator. That was the only floor the elevator had stopped on.

Joe followed Frank onto a vacant elevator and hit the button marked Ten.

“Here's a building directory,” Joe said. He pointed to a board next to the elevator controls. “Tenth floor has two lawyers, an advertising agency, and Eye Spy Security. That sounds familiar.”

“Here's our stop,” Frank said before the brothers could discuss anything further. The elevator
doors opened, and Joe peeked into the hallway. He nodded to indicate that the coast was clear. Then he stepped out of the elevator and swiftly moved across the hallway. Frank followed him, and two seconds later both were kneeling behind a large plastic tree that was situated across from the bank of elevators.

Both Hardys scanned the hallway. To the left of them, about twenty feet from the elevator, the hall curved. On the wall was a sign indicating that the advertising agency was down that corridor. To the right, again twenty feet away, the hallway split in two. It forked to the left at a sign indicating the direction to the lawyers' offices. In front of the Hardys, fifty more feet away, the hall ended in a large double door. The sign read Eye Spy Security—Ronald Johnson, President. The door was slightly ajar. On the carpet, thin strips of light, painted with shifting shadows, proved that the office was occupied.

A familiar voice wafted angrily through the air.

“Look,” the voice said, “I don't know what's going on here, but I know my own work when I see it. I don't want to get caught up in anything.”

There was a pause. Then the sound of soft talking reached the brothers' ears. They strained to listen, but could not make out what was said. There was a silence that was followed by more undecipherable talking. Suddenly a loud “Hey!” was followed by a thud and then more silence.

Joe noticed that the light reflecting on the hallway carpet got a bit wider. He pushed himself and Frank lower behind the tree. Then three figures strode past them and waited by the elevators directly across from where they were hiding. Joe risked reaching up and parted some of the plastic branches. In the second he chanced a glance, he saw something that did not please him: a dazed-looking Monty Andrews was slumped between two large men in suits.

When the elevator arrived, the two men dragged Monty on board. After the door was closed, Joe peeked around the tree to make sure the coast was clear. The door to Eye Spy Security was still partially ajar. Frank looked at the numbers above the just departed elevator. The lights were moving up instead of down.

“They must be heading for the roof,” Frank whispered. He got to his feet and darted across the hall to a door marked Exit.

Joe was right behind him as Frank entered the stairwell.

“Oh, now this is looking like a movie I don't want to star in,” Joe said as he saw several flights of stairs unwind above him.

“It's great exercise,” Frank replied as he started to dash up the stairs.

“Pace yourself,” Joe said as he followed his older brother. “There are fifteen floors total in this building.”

“Five flights is nothing. And Monty may not have time for us to pace ourselves.”

Frank was right. As they reached the last landing and faced the door to the roof, they heard the sound of scuffling feet.

“No!” somebody shouted on the other side of the door. “Stop!”

Frank was through the door first, and he hit the roof running with Joe at his heels.

“Uh, guys, you don't really want to do that,” Joe said as he and Frank froze in their tracks about fifteen yards from the strongmen. “Very messy.”

Both thugs looked over their shoulders at the intruders. Monty Andrews used the sudden distraction to wriggle from side to side, hoping to break free from his captors. However, neither of them loosened their grip on Andrews, who was standing at the edge of the roof, shivering with fright.

“We learned about this in physics,” Frank added. “Mass, acceleration,
splat.”

Not caring about the appearance of two teens, the thugs turned their attention back to Monty.
They pushed the struggling actor closer to the edge until one of his feet was over the side, dangling in midair.

“Here's something we learned in criminology,” Joe said, raising his voice. “It's called murder witness.”

The two thugs looked at each other. One let go of Monty and turned toward Joe. The other tightened his grip on Monty and dragged him back to solid ground. As soon as the television host's feet touched the roof, the thug slugged him hard in the stomach. Monty crumpled up like a candy wrapper and slumped to his knees, wheezing for air.

“Good, now that we have your attention,” Joe said, “let's get down to cases. Attempted murder. Thug A is six-foot-six, two hundred twenty pounds, very short brown hair, muscular, and has the bad taste to wear brown shoes and a green shirt with a blue suit.”

“Thug B,” Frank said, picking up where his brother left off, “is six-foot-nine, two hundred thirty-nine pounds, has long blond hair in a pony-tail, and is very tan. We have you made, gentlemen. If anything ever happens to him,” Frank added, pointing to the prone form of Monty Andrews, “you are the prime suspects.”

The two thugs clenched their fists. They smiled at each other and then took several slow steps toward Frank and Joe.

“I think we've made our point,” Joe said as the bad guys cut the distance between them.

“I insist,” Frank said, pointing to the door that led back into the building's stairwell. “After you.”

Joe swung the door open and bolted into the stairwell. He was down a full flight of stairs by the time Frank even hit the first landing.

“Together or split?” Joe asked. He put his hand on the door that led to the fifteenth floor.

“Split,” Frank called down to his brother. “I just want to make sure the fish are hooked.”

Joe pulled open the door and headed into the hallway. He paused for a moment. He heard footsteps soar down the stairs behind the closing door. He figured that was Frank running past. Then Joe heard some lumbering steps. The footfalls paused on the landing.

“I'm in here!” Joe shouted. “Boy, you guys sure are not rocket scientists.”

As soon as Joe finished his insult, the door flew open and the fashion-unconscious thug entered the hallway. Joe waved, turned, and sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction. He rounded the corner and shot down another corridor, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was still being pursued. He was. Joe was satisfied that he had drawn the bad guy away from Monty Andrews. He picked up his pace and turned another corner.

• • •

Meanwhile, Frank led the tan thug on a tiring chase down the stairwell.

“Ah, seven,” Frank read from a sign on the wall of the next landing. “Lucky number.” Frank opened the stairwell door and entered the seventh-floor hallway. He sprinted to the elevator and pressed the down button. Just as the car arrived, his pursuer entered the hallway.

“Fifth floor,” Frank called out to his pursuer as he entered the elevator. “You'll have to take the stairs.” The elevator door closed, leaving the thug to growl and turn back to the stairwell.

Frank emerged on the fifth floor. He leaned casually against the wall. A minute later the tan thug burst through the stairwell door.

“Tired already? They just don't build bad guys like they used to.”

The thug stood his ground and fixed Frank with an icy glare. He reached into his sports coat and drew out a long-barreled pistol.

“Now, this is supposed to be a friendly game,” Frank protested. “Besides, gunshots bring more witnesses.”

The thug shook his head with disappointment. He put the gun back in his jacket.

“That's better. Shall we?” Frank sprinted down the hallway. He saw the exit for another stairwell, pointed his intention out to his pursuer, and slammed through the door.

Frank chanced a peek over his shoulder. He was
rapidly putting floors between himself and the thug chasing him.

Frank burst through the door in front of him and found himself on the first floor. Unlike the other floors, which contained office suites, this floor was open and airy, nothing more than a square of corridors surrounded in the center by a rail that looked down on the lobby atrium.

Frank glanced around. There was a café and a newspaper stand just to his left. Both were open, although very few people were around on a Saturday. Frank reached into his pocket, grabbed two quarters, and put them on the counter of the newsstand. He picked up a copy of the morning paper. Then he walked into the café and sat down in a booth against the wall just left of the entry-way. He unfolded the newspaper and held it up in front of his face.

A waiter came over immediately.

“Just a root beer,” Frank said from behind the paper. “I'm waiting for somebody.” The waiter went into the kitchen.

Frank peered stealthily over the top of his newspaper. Only a few people passed by the front of the café, none of them the tan thug. Frank's drink came. He took a few sips behind the newspaper.

“Will there be anything else?” the waiter asked.

“Nope, looks like my friend isn't going to make it.” Frank put down the newspaper, took two
dollars out of his pocket, and plopped the money on the table. He walked to the café entryway and cautiously peeked into the hallway. Satisfied that he had given his pursuer the slip, Frank walked over to the bank of elevators and pressed the up button.