Hot Tracks (6 page)

“Don't move,” a deep voice growled. “You're under arrest for suspicion of car theft.”

N
ANCY WHIRLED AROUND
to see B. D. Hawkins glaring at her. “Let me go. I'm not the thief,” she protested.

“Sure,” he scoffed. “You've got the right to remain—”

“What do you think you're doing?” Bess yelled angrily, hurrying across the parking lot toward Nancy and the detective. “That's my friend!”

When she got to Nancy, Bess reached over and whipped off Nancy's ski cap so that her friend's reddish blond hair tumbled to her shoulders.

“Remember me, Nancy Drew?” Nancy said.

The detective's mouth fell open in surprise. He quickly unlocked the cuffs as the squad car pulled up.

Raul Quinones got out, his face purple with rage. “What are you two doing here?” he demanded, glaring first at Bess and then at Nancy.

Before either of them could reply, Stan Powderly jogged into the lot from the side street. He was breathing hard. “I couldn't catch him,” he said. “Heard a car drive off, though.”

“Did you see the car?” Quinones asked.

Powderly shook his head.

“You let him get away?” Bess said in disbelief. “After all we went through!”

“After all
you
went through?” B. D. Hawkins sputtered. “We've been parked in that side street for an hour. We would have nailed the guy if you two hadn't butted in.”

Nancy glared back at him.
“We've
been waiting around for
two
hours. We almost had him when you decided to jump me. So don't blame us.”

“How was I supposed to know it was you? We usually don't share stakeouts with kids dressed like army commandos,” Hawkins scoffed.

“Enough,” Detective Quinones said sharply. “We all made mistakes, and because of it the real thief got away. Now we're back to square one.”

“Not really,” Nancy put in. “When I grabbed the guy's coat, something fell from it.” Bending down, she hunted around in the gravel.
“There,” she said, pointing under a nearby car. “It's the slim jim. I could see the thief wasn't wearing gloves, so I bet you'll be able to lift prints from it.”

Quinones pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. After wrapping the fabric around the tip of the slim jim, he carefully picked it up. Nancy saw several greasy marks on the metal.

“Get an evidence bag, B.D.,” Quinones instructed. He turned to Nancy and Bess. “I want you two in my office first thing in the morning for a complete report on what happened tonight.”

“Shouldn't we go now?” Bess asked eagerly. “Maybe Nancy can find the guy in the mug books.”

Raul wearily rubbed his eyes. “That'll take hours, and it's almost midnight already. Be there at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”

Nancy watched as Detective Hawkins carefully bagged the slim jim, then sealed it with evidence tape. When he noticed her watching, he stopped writing on the tape. “Good night,” he said firmly.

As Nancy and Bess walked back to the Mustang, Bess said, “I'm really sorry about falling, Nan. My leg went to sleep, and when I tried to move, it just buckled under me.”

“Don't worry about it,” Nancy told her. “I'm hoping the police will get prints from the slim jim. If the guy has a record, the police
should be able to nail him—and maybe find your car.”

Bess smiled. “Let's hope so.”

• • •

Friday morning Nancy was tapping her foot impatiently as she waited in front of the garage where she'd just dropped off her car. Bess was supposed to have picked her up already. It was twenty after eight, and the police expected them at the station at eight-thirty.

“Nancy!”

Nancy watched as Bess pulled up in an old silver convertible. “What do you think of these wheels?” Bess asked.

“Pretty nice,” Nancy said, hopping in on the passenger side. “It had better get us to the police station fast.”

“No problem.” Bess shifted into first and stepped on the gas. The car jerked forward, then promptly stalled out.

Flashing Nancy a confident grin, Bess turned the key again. “Don't worry. I'm not used to driving a stick shift, but I'll get the hang of it. My dad gave me a few lessons this morning.”

The car made a grinding noise, coughed, then sputtered to life. “See?” Bess checked behind her, then pulled into traffic. She shifted into second, and the car shuddered once before jerking ahead.

“Uh, Bess, why did you get a stick shift?”

Bess grinned. “I told my dad to rent the sportiest model he could find. You know, to
take my mind off the Camaro. I didn't know the sportiest one would also be the oldest—and the hardest to drive. So far it's been fun, though.”

Nancy couldn't help laughing. “Let's just hope we make it to the police station in one piece!”

By the time they arrived at the station, it was twenty to nine. The two girls hurried up to the auto theft office, where they found the three detectives in the outer cubicle. From the sober look on Detective Quinones's face, Nancy guessed that something was very wrong.

“Sorry we're late,” she apologized.

“We had car trouble,” Bess added, giggling.

Raul Quinones got right to business. “Let's start with the description of the guy you tried to take on last night,” he said to Nancy. “Stan's got the mug books.”

“First, could I explain why we were there?” Nancy asked. She briefly told them about the incident at the warehouse. “We think the car carrier went after us because we were getting close to the chop shop.”

Quinones shot Stan Powderly a stern look. “I thought you said you didn't find anything when you checked out that area.”

“I didn't,” he said defensively. He pulled a notepad from his back pocket. “I made a sketch of the area and noted what business is in each building.”

Nancy pointed out the building where they'd zoomed up the ramp. “R. H. Shipping,”
she said, reading the name Powderly had penciled in. “All of these shipping places sound as if they'd provide good cover. They could move cars or parts in and out, and no one would know.”

Powderly gave her a dubious look. “I talked to someone at every place,” he assured Detective Quinones. “They seemed legit to me.”

“Check them out again,” Quinones snapped at the two detectives. “We may be overlooking something. Now, about the guy we almost caught in the parking lot.”

Nancy described the man. “I'm pretty sure he's the same guy we saw driving Bess's car. Even though it was dark both times, the red ponytail was pretty unique.”

B. D. Hawkins listened with a bored expression on his face. It was obvious to Nancy that he didn't think much of her opinions. “The lab should have some prints for us by now,” he said when she was finished. “I'll go ask.”

He left, and Detective Quinones retreated to his cubicle. For the next two hours Nancy and Bess paged through the mug books with Stan. Nancy didn't see a single picture of the guy with the red ponytail.

Several times Detective Quinones stalked in and out of the office. When they were done, Nancy and Bess went over to his cubicle. He was staring at the computer screen on his desk, a scowl on his face.

“Sorry, but the guy I saw last night isn't in
the mug books,” Nancy told him, poking her head in.

He stared at Nancy for a moment, as if gauging something. Then he stood up and said, “That's okay. Uh, come on in a second. I want to tell Bess her VIN.” He gestured for the two girls to enter his office, then said to Stan, “Why don't you return those mug books.”

“What's a VIN?” Bess asked Detective Quinones when he turned back to the girls.

“Your Vehicle Identification Number,” Quinones answered, distracted. “All cars have it etched on the dashboard, the door, and the engine block. It's on your registration and in the computer. That's how we can identify a stolen car—or what's left of it.”

As he spoke, Quinones again stepped into the other cubicle. Sticking his head into the hall, he glanced back and forth. What was going on? Nancy wondered. He was acting like a caged animal.

When he came back he brought two chairs from the outer cubicle and gestured for Nancy and Bess to sit down. Nancy hoped this wasn't going to be bad news about Bess's car.

Detective Quinones sat down at his desk. Without meeting the girls' eyes, he cleared his throat and began to speak.

“As you know, our investigation into the recent auto thefts hasn't been going well—at least not as well as I'd like.” Reaching over, he swiped at a cobweb clinging to his rubber
plant. “Well, this morning I had a long meeting with Chief McGinnis, and we discussed several things.”

Finally Quinones looked up at Nancy. “He said you were a friend of his, Nancy. He also said you were a crackerjack detective, and that I should enlist your help in tracking down the car thieves.”

Nancy could tell that Quinones wasn't happy with the chief's suggestion. “I'm not sure I understand,” she said. “Last night I was only trying to help Bess get
her
car back. We didn't mean to get involved in your investigation.”

“I know,” Quinones said with a nod. “But now there are—complications.”

“Like what?” Bess asked, puzzled.

“First thing this morning I checked with the lab,” said Quinones. “They told me that no fingerprints were found on the slim jim.”

Nancy sat up straight. “But that's impossible!” she exclaimed. “You saw those greasy marks on it yourself. There
had
to be prints.”

Detective Quinones was very sober. “The labs boys tell me that somebody wiped the slim jim clean.”

“But who would do that?” Bess asked, her blue eyes opening wide. “And why?”

Nancy's mind was racing. “The same person who could tip off the thieves about when the cops would be patrolling the riverfront area,” she said.

“Nobody knows about the patrols except the cops, right?” said Bess, confused.

Nancy nodded. If what she was thinking was correct, this was very serious.

“Someone's sabotaging your investigation in order to help the thieves, right?” Nancy guessed.

Detective Quinones's face told Nancy that she was correct.

“Since the saboteur was able to wipe the slim jim clean,” she went on, “that means there's a bad cop in the police department.”

D
ETECTIVE
Q
UINONES
nervously ran his fingers through his dark hair.

“None of us likes to believe there's a bad cop on the force,” he said, looking at Nancy and Bess, “but several other things have happened to make me suspicious. The slim jim only confirmed it.”

Quinones cleared his throat and added, “I hope you'll be able to help me out, Nancy. Of course, if you run into Stan or B.D. your explanation will be that you're only helping Bess get her car back.”

Bess's blue eyes opened wide. “You don't suspect that it's one of them?”

“B.D. handled the evidence bag last, but it could be anyone,” the detective said wearily.
“I've been taking precautions to stop whoever it is. I even changed last night's stakeout plans at the last minute. Every time we've had a surveillance before, the thieves have hit somewhere totally different. That made me suspect a leak.”

Nancy leaned forward excitedly. “There's something else, too. Stan and B.D. both heard us say we were going to the warehouse yesterday,” she said. “They could have warned the people there.”

“Then it isn't Dirk,” Bess said, brightening.

Quinones raised his brows. “Dirk?”

“Oops!” Bess's hand flew to her mouth.

Nancy explained who Dirk was and why they thought he might have warned the people at the chop shop.