Into Thin Air (2 page)

“It blew up, right?” Nancy asked. The story of the fiery helicopter explosion had been in all the newspapers.

“Right! To smithereens. They never found his body or any of the missing money—just a few pieces of his bloody clothing were recovered.”

“So what did that have to do with you?” Nancy asked Mark.

“Slade decided I was the one who had tipped Johnson off! At least he accused me of it. He gave me the heave-ho. Fired me on the spot.”

“What kind of evidence did he have?” Nancy asked.

“None that he shared with me—I was just out. My whole life fell apart after that,” Mark continued, gazing at the curtains. “Slade wouldn't give me a recommendation to find another job, and when I couldn't keep up my car payments, I lost my car. My apartment was too much for me, too. Then to top it off, my girlfriend, Linda Bates, broke up with me.”

Mark focused on Nancy and her two friends now. “I can't give up,” he said. “I have to solve the case and recover my reputation.”

“Hmm. What have you done?” Nancy asked.

Mark frowned. “Not much yet. I had to get a job first—I'm working at a pizza place. But the way I figure it, Johnson must have stashed the
money somewhere in River Heights. After all, it's where he ran to. I've got to find that money—that's my main priority.”

“Johnson is dead, though. Who'll lead you to the money?” Nancy asked. “You can't dig up all of River Heights.”

“But that's just it, Nancy,” Mark said, shaking his head, his eyes narrowed. “Johnson isn't dead. I know because I saw him just the other day.”

D
ID
I
HEAR YOU RIGHT
?” Nancy asked.

Bess's blue eyes were round. “Johnson isn't dead? How can that be?”

“What about the helicopter crash?” George broke in.

“I know, but I tell you I saw him,” Mark insisted. “He was downtown just a couple of days ago.”

Nancy put up a slender hand. “Wait a minute, Mark. Could it be someone who just looked like him? Do you have any proof?”

“I do. Right here.” Mark got up from his carton and walked over to a table he was using as a desk. “I like to keep everything right at my fingertips.” He proudly held up a manila envelope.
A sheaf of papers slid out of it onto the floor.

“Oops,” Mark said, bending down to gather them up. He handed an instant photograph to Nancy, who stood to take it. She glanced at the fuzzy picture of a crowded street.

“That's him right there!” Mark said excitedly. “He's the fifth figure over from the left. He's kind of blocked by the lady with the baby carrier on her back.”

Nancy scanned the photo, counting blurry heads until she came to the fifth figure. All she could see was a dark-haired man with a mustache, wearing sunglasses and a flat gray cap.

“This photo isn't very clear,” she said.

George and Bess stood behind Nancy to peer at it over her shoulder.

“Which one is he?” George asked.

Nancy pointed to the half-hidden figure.

“I don't see what you're talking about,” Bess said, leaning in closer.

“In front of the baby in the backpack,” George told her.

“This photo wouldn't hold up as evidence, Mark,” Nancy said. “That guy could be almost anyone.”

“It's not just anyone, though!” Mark insisted. “It's Christopher Johnson! Here—I'll show you another picture of him. You'll see what I'm talking about!”

Mark shuffled through the file of papers until
he came to a glossy booklet. “This is the Anderson Corporation annual report. His picture is on the inside cover. Here!”

Mark held it up so Nancy, George, and Bess could see it. Nancy read the short biography under the photo. Apparently Johnson had been a graduate of an Ivy League school and served time as an officer in the navy.

“This man is blond,” Bess pointed out. “The man in the other picture has dark hair and a mustache.”

“Come on, Bess,” Mark said huffily. “What could be easier than growing a mustache and dyeing your hair?”

“I guess,” Bess said dubiously.

“I don't know, Mark,” George put in. “Look at that suit, and those wire-rimmed glasses. The man in the corporate report is so businesslike. The guy in the photo almost looks like a derelict.”

Mark frowned. “Of course. It's a great disguise for someone like Johnson—especially after all the publicity that followed the explosion.”

Nancy turned away from the booklet to study Mark. “We're not saying you didn't see Johnson, just that you'll never prove it with this photo.”

Mark bit his lip and stuffed the photo and the annual report back in the envelope. “Well, if the man in the crowd wasn't Johnson, why
did he take off like a scared rabbit when he saw me?”

This time Nancy's interest was piqued. “I assume you went after him?”

“Sure, and I would have gotten him, too, if he hadn't run across some railroad tracks just before a freight train came by. By the time it passed, of course, he was gone.” Mark flipped the folder back onto his desk. “Just my luck,” he said with a touch of self-pity in his voice.

“Well, maybe your luck just changed. Nancy's here to help now,” Bess said.

Mark's mouth turned up in a smile, but his deep blue eyes remained troubled. “Can you help me get Johnson?” he asked.

Nancy shook her reddish blond hair back over her shoulders. As much as she liked Mark, she wasn't going to jump into this case without giving it some thought. Most of Mark's story sounded reasonable to her, but so much of it hinged on his declaration that Johnson was still alive. From what Nancy had read about the helicopter explosion, that didn't seem very likely. She'd need more evidence than a blurry photograph to convince her.

“Let me think about it, okay, Mark?” she told him. “I'll let you know.”

Mark was obviously disappointed as he walked the girls to the door. “Well, thanks for hearing me out, anyway.”

“She'll help you,” Nancy heard Bess whisper to Mark. “You'll see.”

“Are you guys staying or coming?” Nancy asked Bess and George from the top of the stairs.

“Coming,” Bess said, picking up her handbag.

“Me, too,” George called. “See you, Mark.”

The girls headed down the stairs. The Bradford sisters were still on the porch, Frances doing her needlepoint, and Marie sweeping, the headphones back on her ears.

“How's our new tenant getting along, girls?” Frances asked, raising her eyes from her needlepoint.

“Oh, fine,” George answered with a smile.

“That's good,” Frances said. “It isn't always easy for a young man on his own.”

When they reached the sidewalk, George turned to Nancy. “So, what do you think, Nan?”

Nancy Drew tilted her head to one side and bit her lip. “I don't know yet. I'd like to get the facts on that helicopter explosion, to see if it was possible for anyone to have survived it. Beyond that, I'd like to know a little more about Mark. After all, I've only just met him.”

“I agree.” George nodded. Bess was obviously disappointed.

“Let's go get a soda. I want to make a couple of calls,” Nancy suggested.

Soon the three girls were seated in a booth at a diner not far from George's.

“Order me an iced tea,” Nancy told her friends. She got up and headed for the phone booth. Inserting a coin, she dialed the River Heights Police Department and asked for Chief McGinnis. The veteran chief of police had known Nancy since she was little and usually complained about the scrapes Nancy got into. Nancy didn't take his complaining seriously, and he helped her out whenever he could.

“Hello, Nancy!” McGinnis said the minute she announced herself. “What can I do for you?”

“It's about the embezzlement case at Anderson Industries and the helicopter that exploded,” Nancy began. “I was wondering what you could tell me about it.”

“Nothing that hasn't been in the news already,” the chief replied. “I saw the chopper blow apart with my own eyes.”

“What about the stolen money?” Nancy asked. “Was any of it found in the wreckage?”

“Nope, but I have to tell you, there wasn't much of anything left after that explosion,” the chief added.

“Is it possible that the money was never on board the chopper?” Nancy asked.

Chief McGinnis paused a moment before answering. “Anything's possible. But probable?
That's something else. Johnson spent almost three years embezzling that money, and he came up with a very clever scheme to do it. Why would he make his getaway without taking it with him? No, if you ask me, the money was burned up.”

McGinnis's explanation made more sense to Nancy than Mark's story. “That's all I wanted to know, chief. Thanks for talking to me.”

“Always a pleasure,” the chief said with a chuckle. “If I know you, you're on the trail of a mystery, but I think the Anderson case is dead in the water. That's the way it goes sometimes, Nancy. We just can't catch all the bad guys. At least Johnson didn't get away with it.”

“Not the way he intended,” Nancy replied.

After talking to Chief McGinnis, Nancy phoned directory assistance in Brewster to ask for the number of Crabtree and Company Detective Agency. She knew that her call to the agency was going to be difficult. There was a bluff that she had used in some of her other cases that would probably work, though, if she played it just right. She paused before dialing, thinking of what to say.

“Crabtree,” said a sour female voice. “How may we help you?”

“Hal Slade, please,” Nancy said.

“One moment and I'll connect you to his secretary.”

There was a click. Nancy was on hold. Soon another voice came over the wire.

“Mr. Slade's office.” Again it was a woman. “He's not in right now. Can I help you?”

“I'm with Fayne and Marvin Investigations in River Heights,” Nancy said, making up the name of a detective agency. “We're considering hiring a Mr. Mark Rubin as an associate, and he listed Crabtree and Company as his last employer.”

“You mean, you want a recommendation?” The secretary sounded startled.

“Yes,” Nancy went on. “He says he had some success at your firm.”

“He does?” The woman on the other end of the line sounded increasingly uncomfortable. “Well, I guess he did. He's very hardworking. He put in tons of overtime when he was here.”

Clearly Slade's secretary was trying to put a positive face on things. Nancy decided to push harder. “He told us he solved a few cases for you, including the Anderson case,” she said.

“Oh.” The secretary sighed. “I don't know what to say. I like Mark, and I hate to ruin his chances of getting another job, but I honestly don't think that detective work is the right field for him. He doesn't handle stress very well.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“I guess I'd say Mark is—well, unstable.”

“What do you mean?” Nancy asked.

“Well, he gets fixated on things and he won't
listen to reason. Like the Anderson case, for example. The perpetrator is dead. The police have closed the case and so has our firm. But apparently Mark doesn't think so, and now he's out chasing ghosts. I probably shouldn't say this, but I think he needs a long rest.”

“I see,” Nancy responded. “Thanks for speaking with me. Who am I talking to, by the way?”

“Linda Bates. I'm Mr. Slade's secretary. Perhaps it's best if you speak to Mr. Slade when he gets back to the office. Would you like to leave your number so he can phone you?”

“That won't be necessary,” Nancy said quickly. “I'll pass your comments along to my colleagues. If we feel the need, we'll be in touch with Mr. Slade.”

She quickly said goodbye and hung up, feeling a knot in her stomach. Linda Bates was Mark's girlfriend—at least, she had been. Therefore, Nancy reasoned, she must know him pretty well, and she didn't seem to think he was very reliable.

Nancy didn't like any of this. If Mark Rubin really was a little crazy, then he could be a pile of trouble!