Trial and Terror (7 page)

“What about?” Velloni said, eyeing Frank and Joe suspiciously. “Aren't you the guys who gave me grief yesterday?” Frank wondered if she also recognized them from last night on the rooftop.

“My brother and I stumbled on some information related to the Karen Lee case,” Joe said, “and we thought you might like to know about it.” Joe figured this was the best way to get Velloni to speak with them.

“Right now I've got to get back to the trial,” Velloni said, interest sparkling in her eyes. “Can I meet you later? Right here, quarter after five?”

“Sure,” Joe said.

“Perfect,” Velloni said, rushing away.

The Hardys took a seat in the back row of the courtroom, figuring they would watch some of the trial before continuing their investigation. First Bernie Myers called Nellie to the witness stand.

Myers got Nellie to explain that Nick had always been a model boy when they were growing up, never once getting into trouble with the law. She also explained that Nick was a very loving person, someone she and her parents could always count on.

Joe noticed a middle-aged couple sitting in the front row. By the family resemblance, he could tell they were Nick and Nellie's parents.

“Myers was right,” Frank whispered to Joe. “Nellie seems to be making an excellent impression on the spectators and jury.”

When Myers finished with his questioning, he sat down and gave Nick's arm a supportive squeeze. Frank watched Patricia Daggett stand
for the cross-examination. She studied Nellie a moment, and Nellie looked right back at her, not the least bit intimidated by the prosecutor.

“Miss Rodriguez,” Daggett said pleasantly, “I take it you and your twin brother are very close.”

“Yes, we are,” Nellie said.

“And I take it you've looked after each other a good deal over the years,” Daggett said.

“Yes, of course we have,” Nellie said.

“In fact,” Daggett said with a smile, “I'll bet when you were kids, if one of you did something wrong, the other would help cover it up.”

“Objection,” Myers called out to the judge. “Miss Daggett has no way of knowing this.”

“Sustained,” the judge said with a nod, indicating that he agreed with Myers. “Stick to the line of questioning,” he said sternly to Daggett.

“Let me put that a different way,” Daggett said to Nellie.
“Did
you help cover for each other when one of you did something wrong?”

“Objection,” Myers called to the judge. “This question has no bearing on the case.”

“On the contrary,” Daggett told the judge, “this is a very important point.”

“Overruled, Mr. Myers,” the judge said. “You may proceed,” he said to Nellie.

Daggett returned her gaze to Nellie, waiting for an answer. “Yes,” Nellie said calmly. “I
suppose Nick and I helped cover for each other when we were kids. But that doesn't mean—-”

“And now that you two are adults,” Daggett said, walking slowly toward the jury box, “I suppose you would still do just about anything to help your brother. Is that correct?”

“Within reason, I suppose,” Nellie said.

“In fact,” Daggett said, resting a hand on the railing as she gazed at the jury, “I suppose you might
pretend
your brother did not try to kill his ex-fiancée when, in fact, you know that he did.”

A flurry of whispers blew through the courtroom. “Objection!” Myers cried out, rising to his feet. “Your Honor, the prosecutor is way out of bounds here! She has no way of knowing if—”

“Sustained,” the judge said, casting a stern look at Daggett. “I will ask the jury to ignore that last comment by the prosecutor.”

“He can ask the jury to ignore the comment,” Joe whispered to Frank, “but they still heard it.”

“Which is exactly what Daggett wanted,” Frank whispered back. “She sure is sneaky.”

Daggett now approached Nellie, her high heels clicking on the courtroom floor. Something about the way she moved reminded Frank of a spider spinning a web. “Miss Rodriguez,” Daggett said, “is it true that approximately one
month before the crime you and your brother attended a Fourth of July party?”

“That is correct,” Nellie said, a worried look crossing her face.

Myers glanced at Nick, obviously unsure of what was coming. Nick kept his eyes on his sister, but Joe could see Nick's fist was clenched.

“And I believe,” Daggett said to Nellie, “Karen Lee was also at this party, wasn't she?”

“Yes, she was,” Nellie said quietly.

Frank noticed Karen Lee sitting nearby. She was nervously fingering her silky hair.

“Tell me,” Daggett said, standing near Nellie. “At this party, did you happen to witness an argument between your brother and Miss Lee?”

“Objection,” Myers said. “This has no—”

“Overruled,” the judge cut in. “Miss Rodriguez, answer the question, please.”

“Yes,” Nellie said. “I witnessed an argument between my brother and Miss Lee at this party.”

“What was this argument about?” Daggett asked.

“Karen had broken off her engagement to my brother a month before this party, and he was still upset about it,” Nellie explained, shifting in her chair.

“I understand there were some real fireworks that night,” Daggett said with a sly smile. “And I
don't mean in the sky. Tell me, did your brother become angry during this argument?”

“People often get angry during arguments,” Nellie said, struggling to stay composed.

“Just answer the question, please,” Daggett insisted.

“Yes, he became angry,” Nellie admitted.

“Did he yell at Miss Lee?” Daggett asked.

“Yes, he raised his voice a bit,” Nellie said. Joe could see that she was growing irritated with the prosecutor.

“And did he make an especially threatening comment to Miss Lee?” Daggett asked, fixing her cold eyes on Nellie. “A comment that was overheard by a number of the people present?”

“Yes,” Nellie snapped, “but it was merely a figure of speech. He didn't mean—”

“What was that comment?” Daggett said firmly.

Nellie hesitated—as if she was afraid to answer, Frank thought.

“I will remind you,” Daggett told Nellie, “that you have sworn to tell the whole truth up here. Failure to do so would be a criminal act.”

Nellie took a deep breath, then answered the question. “My brother said, ‘Karen, sometimes you make me so mad I want to kill you.' ”

Cries and whispers resounded throughout the room. As the judge banged his gavel for order, Frank glanced at the jury box. Just about every
member of the jury was staring harshly at Nick Rodriguez.

“No further questions,” Daggett said, returning to her table with a satisfied expression.

“Yeah, Daggett's good,” Frank said after a sigh. “So much for Nellie's excellent impression.”

Knowing they had better get back to work, the Hardys left the courthouse and walked to a small park across the street. The day had warmed a bit, but a gray pall darkened the sky, as if reflecting the trial's grim turn of events.

“I doubt Nick really meant what he said at that party,” Joe said as he and Frank sat on a bench, “but Daggett sure made it seem as if he did. And it doesn't help that this information came from the mouth of Nick's own twin sister.”

“At this point,” Frank said, “it may not be enough for us to come up with evidence suggesting someone else
might
have done the crime. After what just happened, to get Nick off, I think we need to
prove
someone else did it. And soon.”

Joe looked around, considering this statement. There were other courthouses in the area. Big, impressive buildings where people came to argue every imaginable legal matter—crimes, lawsuits, divorces, child custody, even traffic tickets.

Suddenly a flock of pigeons fluttered away. Looking up, Joe noticed a young man in a worn
leather jacket standing near the bench. He had a smirk on his face and a very bizarre hairdo. Half his hair was dyed bright red, the other half bright green.

“Mind if I sit down?” the man asked.

“Not at all,” Joe said, scooting over to make room at the end of the bench.

But instead of sitting at the end, the man squeezed in between Joe and Frank.

“Dude,” Joe said, annoyed, “we're having a private conversation here.”

Very calmly, the man pulled out a knife from his pocket. He pushed a button, and a long blade shot out.

“Is that right?” the man said, touching the blade to Joe's throat. “Well, right now, I want you to have a little conversation with me.”

Frank thought about grabbing the knife, but the man turned to him, keeping the blade on Joe. “You make a move for me,” the man warned, “and your brother gets cut. Got it?”

Frank nodded in response. “So, what is it you want to discuss?” he said as calmly as he could.

“A very simple business matter,” the man said. “I've been instructed by a certain party to tell you two to stop being so nosy. If you don't, I might have to cut both your noses off. Then you won't smell so good. Get it?”

The man with the red-and-green hair laughed a maniacal laugh. Then, as if nothing unusual had happened, he returned the knife to his jacket pocket and walked away.

Joe sprang to his feet, ready to follow the man, but Frank held him back.

“What are you doing?” Joe said, his blue eyes flashing with anger. “He pulled a knife on me! Let's go get the jerk!”

“That's precisely why we're
not
going to go get the jerk,” Frank said, holding Joe tightly. “Violence isn't going to get us anywhere. But I think this helps us prove Nick's innocence. Obviously the real culprit told this guy to scare us off the case.”

“Not necessarily,” Joe said as he watched the red-green man disappear around the corner of a nearby building. “Maybe Garfein sent him, not because he tried to have Karen Lee killed but just because he doesn't like us nosing into his affairs.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Frank said, finally releasing Joe. “Come on. Since I didn't let you flatten that creep, I'll buy you lunch.”

Soon the Hardys were seated in a delicatessen that was noisy with conversation and clattering plates. Joe was devouring a sandwich piled high with pastrami, while Frank was working on a sandwich of turkey and Swiss cheese.

“Okay,” Joe said, chewing away. “Even though I think Nick is guilty, I've come up with another theory. It's far-fetched, but it makes some sense.”

“Let's hear it,” Frank said.

“Those reporters said Lisa Velloni will do anything to get a story,” Joe said. “They hinted she might even do something illegal.”

“She also seemed eager to prove a woman can get a good story as well as a man,” Frank added.

“When Lee first got her soap role last May, Velloni did a story on her,” Joe said, lifting a bottle of root beer. “Now, maybe, just maybe, Velloni staged a murder attempt on Lee. She probably didn't intend to kill her. But she knew it would make a story as juicy as this pastrami. And she figured she could get exclusive rights to the story because she and Lee were already acquainted.”

“I don't know, Joe—” Frank started.

“Remember,” Joe continued, “getting exclusive rights to Lee is a big break for Velloni. This trial isn't a powder-puff piece, and Velloni has the inside track on it. She's making more money than the other reporters, and when the trial's over she could even get a book deal. And you've seen yourself how angry and aggressive she is.”

“Okay, I can see how that might be possible,” Frank said after a bite of his sandwich. “But then why would she frame Nick Rodriguez?”

“To keep suspicion away from herself,” Joe said, picking up a big pickle. “Or perhaps to make for an even juicier story.”

“But could she be so determined that she'd let an innocent man go to prison?” Frank asked.

“I don't think we can answer that until we get to know her better,” Joe said, chomping on the pickle. “And remember, it probably was her we saw in Nick's apartment last night. And if she has access to Nick's apartment, she could have been the one who planted the evidence under the mattress.”

“All right,” Frank said. “We'll put her on the suspect list. We'll have a chance to feel her out when we meet her later this afternoon.”

“So we've now got three suspects to pursue,” Joe said. “Fred Garfein, John Q., and Lisa Velloni.”

“But we still need evidence linking at least one of them to the crime,” Frank said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “And what we really need is proof that one of them did it.”

“And we need it by tomorrow,” Joe said, sliding his empty plate away. “Good luck to us.”

After lunch, the Hardys split up. They agreed to call the telephone answering machine at their home in one hour, in case they had any messages to tell each other. Joe set off to locate the apartment of John Q., and Frank walked a few blocks to police headquarters for a look at whatever physical evidence had been collected from the crime scene.

On the eleventh floor, Frank was taken into a
room containing aisle after aisle of floor-to-ceiling shelves. The shelves housed cardboard boxes, each labeled with a number. This was where the police stored evidence collected from every crime scene in Manhattan. They kept the evidence on hand until the crime was completely solved.

Frank followed Sergeant Tyrell, a burly policeman with a bushy mustache, down a long aisle. “Frank Hardy, huh?” Tyrell said. “You aren't related to Fenton Hardy, are you?”

“He's my father,” Frank said with pride.

“No kidding,” Tyrell said, glancing back at Frank. “I got to know him a bit when I first joined the force. Terrific fellow. He helped me out of a few jams.”