Hotline to Danger (3 page)

“Nancy! George!” Nancy heard Bess's anxious call from the other side of the field.

“We'd better go back to the driveway,” Nancy said. “The police will be mad if we stomp all over the area.”

“We called the cops. They'll be here any minute,” Bess said when Nancy and George met her and Tony behind the warehouse.

Ten minutes later a police cruiser and an unmarked car zoomed up the warehouse drive. The unmarked car screeched to a halt a foot away from the teens. When the detective climbed out, Nancy recognized him immediately. It was B.D. Hawkins, the officer who had helped Nancy and Bess recover Bess's stolen Camaro.

“Hey! Nancy and Bess!” B.D.'s roguishly handsome face broke into a big smile. He was wearing the same worn leather jacket and cowboy boots as the first time they had met him. A baseball cap covered his longish hair.

“Hello, B.D.” Nancy introduced everybody, then asked the detective if he was back on the homicide squad.

He nodded. “Yup. After you helped us clean up that car theft ring, I was transferred back where I belong. So where's this body?”

Nancy pointed toward the tracks. B.D. waved at the two uniformed patrol officers climbing out of the squad car. “Check it out! Then secure the crime scene,” he called. Turning his attention
back to the teens, he said, “I trust you four didn't disturb anything.”

“Uh. I felt his pulse and neck to make sure he was dead,” Nancy said apologetically. “And we walked around a bit, so we left some footprints.”

“Of course, if we hadn't been walking around, we wouldn't have found the body,” Bess chimed in.

B.D. crossed his arms. “And what were you guys doing hanging around a deserted warehouse late at night?”

“Uh . . .” Nancy stammered, then looked over at Tony. She knew hotline conversations were confidential. How much could she tell the detective?

“That's okay, Nancy,” Tony assured her. “Since there's been a murder, we'd better cooperate with the police. The caller may be in over her head.”

B.D. raised one eyebrow. “Mind telling me what's going on?”

With Bess and George's help, Nancy told him all about the call to the hotline and how they'd found the body.

Then she took the embroidered bracelet out of her pocket and handed it to B.D. “We found this outside the phone booth over there,” Nancy added. “It might belong to the caller.”

Just then a female patrol officer approached through the weeds. “The guy's dead all right,” she said.

B.D. nodded. “Radio for the lab technicians and the medical examiner, then interview these kids. I want separate statements.”

While the teens waited, the police officer went back to her patrol car, and B.D. went back to the unmarked car. He returned a few moments later with a camera with built-in flash.

“May I come with you?” Nancy asked.

B.D. hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure. Carla can take statements from your friends, and we can get your statement later. As I recall, you've got a good eye for evidence, and I could use your help.”

Nancy showed the detective where she and Bess had been when they discovered the body. Then they walked down the tracks, careful to stay out of the way of the second officer, who was cordoning off the area with yellow tape.

When they reached the body, B.D. raised his camera and shot a dozen pictures from different angles. Then he crouched down.

“Doesn't look like theft,” he said, pointing to the dead guy's back pocket. Nancy could see the rectangular bulge of a wallet.

B.D. slipped on rubber gloves, then gingerly pulled the wallet from the pocket and opened it. “Paul Remer. And he has twenty bucks still on him. Recognize the name?”

“No. But if he's from the area, Tony might.”

“Let's get him over here.” Standing up, he called out to Tony, then glanced at Nancy. “I'm
going to turn the body over. Think you can handle it?”

Nancy nodded. Grabbing one arm, B.D. carefully rolled the body onto its back. Nancy suppressed a gasp. Paul Remer's jacket was unzipped, and his T-shirt was stained with blood.

“Knife wound,” B.D. commented. “And look at this.” He pointed to the shirtfront where someone had slashed a crude letter
N
in the fabric. “
N
is the sign of the Nighthawks. I'd say this was gang related.”

“The Nighthawks!” Tony exclaimed behind Nancy.

B.D. nodded. “Yeah. You know the guy?”

“His name's Paul Remer. He works at the teen center,” Tony said, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. “Look, Detective Hawkins, I grew up in this area and know members of the Nighthawks. They may be into some stupid stuff, but they've never been violent.”

“Until now,” B.D. said tersely.

• • •

More than an hour later, Nancy, Bess, Tony, and George climbed wearily back into the Mustang.

Nancy was turning off Fourteenth Street when Tony sat up in his seat and snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute! I think I might know who our mysterious caller is.”

“What?”
Nancy took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at Tony. “Who is she?”

“I've seen Paul at the center with a girl,” Tony said. “I don't know her name, but she rooms with one of the hotline volunteers, Billie Peters. I think Billie's letting her stay at her apartment until she finds her own place.”

“I think we should check it out.” Nancy looked in the rearview mirror at Bess and George. “It's late, guys. What do you think?”

“Let's do it,” George said, and Bess nodded. “What about the police?” Tony asked.

Nancy stopped for a red light. “Let's see if we find anything at the apartment. Then I'll call B.D.” She faced the windshield again. “Where to?”

Twenty minutes later, Nancy, Bess, and George were following Tony down the third-floor hall of an apartment house not far from the teen center. One dim bulb glowed overhead, spotlighting the graffiti scribbled across the stained wallpaper.

“Nice place,” George commented.

“It's cheap,” Tony said over his shoulder. He stopped in front of apartment 3A. “This is where Billie lives. You guys met her the other day when you watched the hotline in action.”

“I remember,” Bess said. “She looks like a tackle for a girls' football team.”

“Yeah, that's Billie.” Tony raised his fist and
knocked on the door. With a squeal of rusty hinges, it opened several inches.

“That's weird,” Tony said. “It's open.”

Nancy peered into the darkness inside. After pushing the door all the way open, she cautiously stepped into the apartment. Tony, George, and Bess followed so close behind that Nancy could hear their breathing.

For a second she stood still, waiting for her eyes to get used to the dark. Except for the sound of dripping water from a faucet, the apartment was silent.

“We'd better turn on the light,” Bess suggested. “I don't want to trip over a body.”

George groped along the wall by the door but couldn't find a light switch.

“Hello! Is anyone home?” Nancy called as she reached for the flashlight in her shoulder bag. Turning it on, she walked gingerly down a short hallway to what looked like a small living room. When she swung the flashlight around the room, she could see the whole place had been ransacked. The cushions and pillows had been tossed off the sofa, pictures ripped off the walls, and the rug kicked into a corner. A floor lamp had been knocked over, and its shade was dented. Two wooden chairs were on their sides.

“What in the world happened here?” Tony asked. He was still standing by the doorway as he surveyed the small room.

“I'd say someone was looking for something,”
Nancy said. “Let's check out the rest of the place.”

The four walked through a doorway into a tiny kitchen. Nancy found the switch and flicked on the overhead light. All the drawers had been pulled out and the cupboards emptied. Cans, boxes, and silverware lay scattered across the floor. George opened a door to the left of the refrigerator. It was a tiny bathroom.

“Nothing in here but a big mess,” she said. “Someone even searched the medicine cabinet.”

“What do you think they were looking for?” Tony asked.

Nancy shook her head. Then she noticed Bess wasn't in the kitchen with them. “Where's Bess?” she asked George.

Suddenly a shrill scream pierced the air.

B
ESS
! N
ANCY YELLED
as she lunged through the doorway into the living room. In the semidarkness, she could just make out two people sprawled on the floor. One was sitting on top of the other's back.

“Nancy, help!” Bess screeched from flat on the floor.

Nancy swung her flashlight into the face of the person on top of her friend. It was Billie Peters.

“Hey, let her go!” Nancy demanded. She grabbed Billie's arm with her free hand and tried to pull her off. Billie didn't budge. “We're not the people who ransacked your place. We're from the hotline.”

Squinting in the beam of the flashlight, Billie stared at Nancy, a confused expression on her
face. Still she didn't let go of Bess's right arm, which she had twisted behind Bess's back.

“Billie, it's me, Tony,” the hotline coordinator quickly said from behind Nancy. He and George were standing in the kitchen doorway. “It's okay. Let her go.”

“Tony?” Billie said. “What are you doing here? I thought I was being robbed.”

“Uh, I think you already were,” Tony said as Billie climbed off Bess.

Reaching down, Nancy helped her friend to a sitting position. “Are you all right?”

“No.” Bess glared angrily at Billie. “She almost tore off my arm.”

“I did not,” Billie retorted. “You're just in lousy shape.”

For a few moments Billie's gaze darted suspiciously from Nancy to Tony. She was wearing a worn corduroy jacket over a blue sweater and jeans. Her thick brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wasn't wearing any makeup. She had strong features and snapping eyes, and was almost as tall as Tony.

“I want to know what you're doing here,” she demanded. “And I want to know now.”

Tony exhaled. “Oh, boy.” He looked at Nancy. “Maybe you'd better explain.”

“How about if I see whether or not the floor lamp works first?” George suggested.

“And I'd better call the police,” Nancy added,
heading over to the coffee table, where she'd spotted a phone. “B.D. is going to want to investigate this.”

Reaching out one hand, Billie grabbed Nancy's wrist with a grip like steel. “Oh, no, you don't. Not until you explain what's going on.”

Nancy locked eyes with Billie but then sighed. “That's fair,” she finally said, and slowly, Billie let go of her wrist.

While Tony gave Bess a hand up, George found an outlet and plugged the lamp in. She turned the switch, and light flooded the room. After putting the cushions back on the sofa and picking up the two wooden chairs, everyone sat down except for Billie. Tony took one of the chairs. Bess and George sat down on the couch, and Nancy perched on the arm of the sofa.

Frowning, Billie remained standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed over her chest as she surveyed the foursome. “Okay, now explain.”

Nancy began with the call to the hotline. When she mentioned the murder, Billie's mouth dropped open, and her shoulders stiffened.

“Paul Remer is
dead?”
she repeated.

“Yes. Did you know him?” Nancy asked.

Billie nodded. “From the teen center. And he and Rachel were sort of dating.”

“Rachel's your roommate?” Nancy asked. When Billie nodded, she added, “Do you think
she was with him tonight? Could she be the hotline caller?”

Billie put up her hands in protest. “Whoa, there. You sound like a cop.”

Tony leaned forward. “Nancy's just trying to find out what happened, Billie.”

“Well, don't ask me,” Billie retorted. “I barely know Rachel, except to tell you that her last name is Thackett. I met her a week or so ago. She came into the teen center with Paul. He was asking around about a place for her to crash.

“She was willing to pitch in for the rent just for sleeping on the sofa, so I figured she could stay here awhile. Besides, I work until one in the morning,” she said, pulling a waitress apron from her jacket pocket and holding it up, “and she was gone during the day. So we never even saw each other.”

“What did she do all day?” Nancy asked.

Billie shrugged. “How should I know? She met Paul at the community college, but I don't think she was taking courses there.”

“Though Paul was taking courses,” Tony said.

Bess slumped back on the sofa and yawned. “Now can Nancy call the police? It's getting late.”