Kickoff to Danger (7 page)

“What? Someone who can make a plea bargain?” Mr. Morton shook his head, his expression fierce. “My son told me he didn't hit that boy, and
I believe him. If someone doesn't believe he's innocent, I don't need them!”

He turned to his wife, gently leading her outside. It was as if a wall of ice had grown between the Hardys and the Mortons.

A piece of paper fluttered to the floor as the door slammed shut.

Joe picked it up. It was the number of the lawyer Mr. Hardy had written down for Mr. Morton.

The Hardy family stood in silence…for about two seconds.

“I can't believe you did that,” Laura Hardy said to her husband.

“Chet didn't put Biff in the hospital!” Joe insisted.

“I didn't say he did.” Joe knew when his dad began talking in that tone of voice, his patience was just about running out. “I was suggesting that right now Chet needs a good lawyer more than he needs a detective. Like some other people, they were too emotional to hear me.”

Laura Hardy gave her husband a level look. “What a surprise, considering the other upsetting things you were telling them.”

“Things their lawyer apparently never told
them—or didn't succeed in getting through.” Fenton snorted. “Not surprising, if he specializes in real estate.”

Joe nodded. Dad had a point there.

“I just wanted Chet and Jill to understand that real life isn't like the lawyer shows on TV. People aren't usually saved by a big speech or a lucky clue popping up five minutes before the show ends. I spent too many years as a cop not to know how it really works.”

Laura Hardy continued to glare at her husband. “And you couldn't break that to them more gently?” she asked. “Or was it Mr. Morton throwing his—ahem—weight around?”

“Like lawyers, private eyes usually have to deal with people who are in trouble—sometimes even hysterical,” Fenton said.

“Like our friends the Mortons,” Laura Hardy said.

Fenton nodded. “They're the worst kind of clients until they calm down a little. And I did give them the best advice I could. If they want to help Chet, they'd be better off looking for a good lawyer before they start looking at detectives.”

“That doesn't mean that we can't start digging right away. Right, Dad? What do you say, Frank?” Joe questioned.

Frank nodded, and Fenton Hardy gave his approval. “You boys have a better idea of the sys
tem, and you know what's happening at school. If Chet's parents couldn't get him out, even with a lawyer, that means Chet isn't
just
being questioned. He's been formally charged by the district attorney.”

Frank frowned. “And if Biff takes a turn for the worse—”

Fenton nodded. “So will the charges.”

The next morning, Tuesday, the boys left the house early, before school. Joe was behind the wheel, bringing the van downtown. He managed to find a parking space only a block from police headquarters.

“You think Con Riley will tell us anything?” Joe asked Frank as they got out of the van.

The older Hardy brother shook his head. “Probably not, if he's at his desk. But if we can catch him alone—there's a chance!”

Officer Con Riley was just coming out the door of the building, and Joe and Frank rushed to catch up with him.

“How's it going, Con?” Joe asked. Both brothers were on a first-name basis with the big officer. He was the closest thing they had to a connection on the force.

“It will go a lot better after I have a shower, a shave, and some time in bed,” Riley replied. His uniform was rumpled, and he was whiskery and red eyed.

“You look like you pulled an all-nighter,” Frank said.

The police officer nodded. “With your friend Chet.”

“If you're looking for a confession, I'd say you were out of line,” Joe said.

“I'll tell you who was out of line,” Riley said angrily. “Those television people! They should know better than to splash a kid's picture around like that.”

Frank shrugged. “At least the TV people aren't holding an innocent kid in jail.”

“Sticking up for your friend does you credit.” Riley stretched and sighed. “And after spending a night talking to him, I have to say he's stuck to his story. But his prints are the only ones on that shovel—”

“That wasn't on the news,” Joe said.

“And it won't be.” Riley shook his head. “I must be half-asleep to give that away. I'll have to trust you boys to keep it quiet.”

“Don't worry, Con,” Joe said.

No way would they be spreading that fact around. It just made Chet look guiltier.

When Frank reached his homeroom that morning, he found a message waiting for him. “Mr. Sheldrake wants to see you right away.”

Just as he reached the assistant principal's
office, who came walking down the hall to join him? Joe Hardy.

“I guess we should have expected this,” Frank said, opening the door.

Old Beady Eyes sat behind his desk and gestured to two empty chairs. “I'm hoping you'll be able to shed a little light on yesterday's…incident. According to Jimmy Brooks, you sent him to my office to report what was going on with the book bags. I'd like to hear exactly what happened after that.”

Is it my imagination? Frank thought. Or is he nervous?

Shrugging, Frank started off with what he had seen in the hall. Joe added what he had overheard in the locker room, then they both told what happened after they met.

Sheldrake frowned, balancing a ballpoint pen between two fingers. He looked at Frank. “So, you can identify one of the football players involved.” Then he turned to Joe. “And according to you, Mr. Logan and Mr. Hooper were also involved.”

“Chet said Logan is the one who punched him,” Joe said. “Isn't that what he told you, Frank?”

The assistant principal shook his head, looking definitely harassed. “I only want what
you
saw or heard,” he said. “Not what other people told you.”

“You make it sound like we'll be testifying in court,” Frank said.

The assistant principal said nothing. But the uneasy look in his eyes got stronger.

Finally Sheldrake sighed. “You can go to class.”

As the boys left the office, Joe turned to Frank. “What was that all about?”

“Information,” Frank said quietly. “Last night the cops whisked us off to make a statement. Almost everything Sheldrake knows about this mess comes from what he heard on TV.”

Joe's face lit with understanding. “And he's supposed to know everything that's going on in this school.”

Frank nodded. “You can bet there'll be a lot of people worried about their jobs after this.”

“As if it wouldn't be hard enough getting to the truth,” Joe growled.

In English class Mr. Weeks didn't even try to control the students. “I hope you have as much fun with my replacement,” he said.

For the first time, the class grew quiet. “Replacement?” Dan Freeman echoed.

I'll bet it hurts him to talk, Frank thought. Half of Dan's mouth was bruised and swollen.

Weeks nodded. “I am—I was—the moderator for the debate team. That mean's I'm responsible for not stopping what happened yesterday.”

The teacher suddenly looked very young. “I don't see any reason to drag things out, so I
offered my resignation this morning. As soon as the school board chooses a replacement, I'll be out of here.”

“But—but—” Dan sputtered.

“No more to discuss,” Weeks said grimly. “Let's move on to a few dusty old sonnets.”

Frank waited behind after the classroom emptied for lunch. Mr. Weeks was slowly packing up his materials. “Yes, Mr. Hardy?”

“I'll be sorry to see you go,” Frank said.

The teacher shook his head. “One thing this school has taught me—I'm no great loss.”

“What will you do?”

“Go back to school again, maybe,” Weeks said. “See if I can be a teaching assistant for an older set of students.”

“You seem to be taking what happened yesterday pretty hard.”

Weeks stared at the floor. “A student almost died because I froze. I sat there like a lump when those four yahoos came in and stole the debaters' books. When I finally moved, I couldn't get the door open. One of them was holding it closed. I lost control of the students—some of the boys went after the bullies.”

He sighed. “And then I panicked, chasing after them. If I'd gone immediately to Mr. Sheldrake—”

The young teacher bit his words off. “But I
didn't. And as a result, young Mr. Hooper is in the hospital.”

Weeks managed the ghost of a smile. “Mr. Sheldrake considers me totally useless. I didn't recognize any of the boys who grabbed the books.”

“None of them were in your classes?” Frank asked. “I thought you might have seen Biff or Wendell Logan. I'm sure you'd remember them, after the stunt they pulled with your car.”

The teacher shook his head. “No. I didn't recognize any of the boys I saw. And as you say, I'd have good reason to remember the pair who held up my car.” He shook his head. “That incident alone should have convinced me to look for another line of work.”

Weeks headed for the door, and Frank followed, deep in thought. A certain amount of planning had gone into the operation of the day before. Grabbing the book bags to lure the nerds to the basement. Using kids who wouldn't be recognized to carry out the dangerous bits . . .

Sure. Terry Golden would have been picked out in no time. He was probably the one who'd targeted the debate team. Chet thought he was in on an initiation prank, so he was down in the basement. But he had recognized Wendell Logan's laugh while getting punched down there. It looked as though Biff hadn't even been involved, although he must have had some idea of what was going to
happen. Certainly, he knew where to go. That makes at least four people who were aware of the plan….

Plus the four guys who actually grabbed the books. And then add in the victims. The school basement must have been pretty crowded.

Having made a start by putting faces on the bullies, Frank decided to try to identify the other side.

He headed down to the cafeteria. Most of the kids had finished eating lunch and were going outside. Frank caught Dan Freeman just as he was moving out the door.

“Looks like someone really hung one on you,” Frank said.

“More than one.” Dan's lips tightened when he turned and realized he was talking to Frank. Then he winced in pain.

Dan's voice was nasty when he spoke again. “I saw you hanging around after class to speak to Mr. Weeks. So, are you and your brother going to clear up the big mystery?”

He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Except it doesn't look like much of a mystery. Just another case of jocks versus nerds. This time, though, one of the jocks took things a little too far. He wound up taking out one of his own guys. Typical genius maneuver.”

Frank had hoped to work a few questions into a casual conversation. Kiss that plan goodbye, he
thought. Dan read me like a book. And from the way he's talking, he wants to cut off any conversation before it starts.

“I don't think Chet hit Biff,” Frank said to Dan's back as he started to walk away.

The other boy turned around. “Whoop-de-doo. I don't care, Hardy. Since yesterday, I've had more people than I can count asking me questions about this nonsense. They want names of kids who might have gone downstairs to the basement. They want me to ID the goons who were waiting for us. Did I see Hooper? Did I see Morton?”

Dan's bruised lips were set in an ugly line. “And you know what? I didn't tell them anything.
Nada.”

Frank stared, a little surprised. “Don't you want—”

“I want to get out of this school and start my real life,” Dan Freeman cut him off. “I want to put this whole thing behind me. So don't expect me to play detective games with you.”

The bruised boy began stalking off, but he turned for one last word. “You want to help out your old teammate? Fine. Good for you.”

Freeman jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “Just don't expect
me
to get all teary eyed because some muscle-headed jock got what he deserved.”

Frank was surprised at the spurt of anger that shot through him. “And here I thought you were a smart guy, Freeman,” he said sarcastically.

Dan Freeman glared back at Frank. “What's the problem? I don't have enough school spirit?”

“You don't have your facts straight,” Frank told him. “Bad debating technique.”

Dan had easily shrugged off taunts from Terry Golden, but Frank's words made him shake with rage.

Good thing he hasn't got a shovel handy, Frank thought.

“What
facts?
” Freeman made it sound like a dirty word.

“For one thing, Biff wasn't one of the guys who grabbed the bags,” Frank said.

“There were more guys than—” Dan abruptly bit off his words. “Nice try, Hardy.”

“That wasn't a try, that was a fact. Here's another. My brother was in the locker room when Biff heard this whole thing going down. Biff got pretty upset.”

“Upset over missing out on all the fun?” Dan shot back. “He rushed right down when he heard about it.”

“That's not what my third fact shows,” Frank replied. “And this I saw with my own eyes.”

“What's that?” Dan mocked.

“I saw Biff lying on the furnace-room floor,” Frank said quietly. “And all around him, there were book bags.” Frank took a step forward until he was right in Dan Freeman's face. “Biff was trying to get those books—and their owners—out of the basement.”

For a second Frank managed to change Dan's bad attitude. Dan went pale and then stepped back.

But like any good debater, Freeman quickly rallied. “Brilliant deduction,” he sneered. “I figure you just made your job twice as hard.”