Trial and Terror (10 page)

“I hope you don't mind,” Velloni said as she drove down the street, “but I always listen to the police scanner when I drive. When a crisis occurs, I like to be one of the first to know about it.”

“Why listen to music when you can have this?” Joe said. “This is better than any of those cop shows they have on TV.”

“Now here's the way it works,” Velloni said. “You tell me a little about your information, and then I tell you if I think it has any value to me.”

The Hardys had decided they would loosen Velloni up by giving her some information, then they would try to learn some more about her. “There's a fan who's obsessed with Karen Lee,” Joe said. “He writes to her, and we've seen him following her. And we think he may have something to do with the attempted murder.”

“Sorry, I'm not interested,” Velloni said, switching lanes to get past the heavy traffic. “Soap stars are always getting letters from crazy fans. It's no big deal. The fans are usually shy, quiet types who wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“Well, I guess you're more interested in Karen Lee's side of the story,” Frank said, carefully watching for Velloni's reaction. “How convenient for you that you already knew her when—”

“Shh,” Velloni said, turning up the volume on the scanner.

After a moment, Velloni switched lanes again, causing several horns behind her to honk. “A fire just broke out a few blocks away,” Velloni told the Hardys. “Do you mind if we make a little detour?”

“Well, I guess—” Frank began.

“I can't resist a good catastrophe,” Velloni said, swinging the car into a frightening turn. “And I'll bet the fire is at one of those garment factories near Chinatown. I've been wanting to do a story on how dangerous those old places are.”

Velloni turned again, driving down a street lined with twinkling lights and Italian restaurants. “Welcome to Little Italy,” Velloni said. “This is where you get the best bread and pastries in town.”

After a few more turns, Velloni was driving down a street with kosher butcher shops and electrical stores. Frank noticed there was Hebrew lettering in most of the windows. “Hey, watch it!” he cried as Velloni plowed through a red light.

With another turn, Velloni was driving down a narrow street in Chinatown lined with stores selling fresh fish and vegetables. When Velloni came to a truck blocking the street, she drove the car halfway onto the sidewalk, forcing several men hauling boxes to leap out of the way.

“You're as bad as the taxi drivers!” Joe yelled from the backseat.

“Worse!” Velloni said, swinging into another street lined with grimy warehouses and other buildings that looked as if they had seen much better days. A group of people was gathered near one of the buildings. Black smoke was wafting through an open door next to the fire escape on the fifth floor.

“Great, we've beaten the fire trucks,” Velloni said, screeching to a stop. Then Velloni slammed out of the car. The Hardys watched her tear up the iron fire escape all the way to the fifth floor. Standing in the smoky doorway, Velloni pulled her camera from her purse and snapped a few pictures.

Then Velloni entered the building.

“She shouldn't be doing that,” Frank said to Joe. “It's way too dangerous.”

“Those reporters were right!” Joe exclaimed. “Lisa Velloni will do anything to get a story!”

Two minutes later, Velloni was still in the building and the fire trucks had not yet arrived. “I don't like this,” Frank said, opening the car door. “We should go in after her. She might be trapped in there by the flames.”

“Or it might be a trap for us,” Joe said.

“What do you mean?” Frank asked.

“I'm getting bad vibes about Lunatic Lisa,” Joe said. “Maybe she really did stage the attack on Lee. And maybe she now realizes we're onto
her. This could be a ploy to get us inside a burning building. If we die in there, we won't be able to blow the whistle on her.”

“We need to risk it anyway,” Frank said, running a hand through his brown hair. “If you're wrong, Lisa Velloni may die in there. Come on.”

The Hardys left the car and clambered up the fire escape to the fifth floor. They looked through the open door. Clouds of black smoke drifted through a large room jammed with huge rolls of fabric and tables with sewing machines. The overhead lights were on, but there was no one in sight.

“Lisa!” Joe called into the room. “Lisa!”

There was no answer. “Let's go,” Frank said, leading Joe through the door.

The smoke curled and twisted. A smell like that of burnt toast filled the room. The Hardys both covered their mouths and noses with their coat sleeves to keep smoke from entering their lungs.

An orange glow radiated from the far end of the room. The Hardys could see the fire jumping and flickering in the hallway beyond.

“Lisa!” Joe cried out.

“Over here!” Velloni's voice called from the hallway. “Please come! I need help!”

As he moved forward, Joe wished he could see Velloni, but she was out of sight. Was it because she was trapped in the hallway by flames, or was
it because she was lying in wait for the Hardys with a weapon? Either way, it was a deadly situation.

Joe's throat was dry with fear, his eyes now smarting from the swirling smoke.

Frank and Joe both knew they had no choice but to enter the smoky fire.

The smoke grew blacker and denser as the Hardys neared the hallway. Joe coughed into his coat sleeve as he kept moving toward the fire.

“Hurry!” Velloni called.

Her voice was close. Ready to defend themselves, Frank and Joe reached the hallway.

Velloni was crouched several feet into the hallway, looking toward a room at the opposite end of it, as if searching for something. Flames were climbing the right wall near the room, devouring it with a vicious crackle. The orange-scarlet colors of the fire burned bright.

“What are you doing?” Joe cried, pulling at Velloni's coat. “We've got to get out of here!”

“We can't,” Velloni protested. “I was taking
some photos through the window when I heard screams. So I came inside. There's a girl trapped in the room at the other end of this hallway.”

“Hello!” Frank called.

“Help!” a female voice yelled from a room across the hall. “The fire's in here! I can't get past it.” The girl sounded terrified.

Joe knew this wasn't a setup. Velloni must really be trying to help.

“She's getting weak from the smoke, and those flames are going to spread soon. We have to do something!”

Sirens wailed in the far distance.

“The fire trucks are finally coming,” Frank said. “Maybe we should wait.”

“They may be too late,” Velloni said.

Across the hall, something exploded. The trapped girl screamed with terror.

“That explosion was probably from some kind of chemical dye,” Velloni said. “That's probably how the fire began in the first place.”

Frank realized Velloni was right. If they didn't do something fast, that girl might perish in the flames.

“Okay, let's get her out,” Frank said, glancing around. “Joe, cut off two long pieces of fabric, the thickest you can find. You guys will throw it against the flames in the hallway, and I'll make a run for it.”

A minute later, Joe and Velloni were each holding the end of a long strip of fabric. Frank
closed his eyes, psyching himself up for the death-defying journey he was about to make.

There was another explosion. Opening his eyes, Frank saw a bright flash of flame across the hall.

Joe and Velloni waved the fabric against the hallway's right wall, covering as much of the flame as they could. Frank dashed through the hallway, hugging the wall on the left. Though the flames were not quite touching him, he could feel the intense heat on his hands and face.

Frank rushed into the next room. Through half of it, fire was roaring and leaping with gleeful abandon. The place was swamped with smoke and as hot as the interior of a furnace. Through stinging eyes, Frank saw a young girl crouched in a far corner, away from the flames.

“You're going to be just fine,” Frank said, moving to the girl and scooping her into his arms. “Hang on.” Firmly holding the girl, Frank moved to the edge of the hallway and yelled, “Go!”

Joe and Velloni threw another piece of fabric against the flames, and again Frank charged through. Frank's eyes were watering so badly he could barely see, and the heat was clawing painfully at his face, but he just kept throwing one foot in front of the other until . . .

Panting hard, Frank reached the other side and set the girl down. She was coughing and scared, but for the most part she seemed to be all right.

“The last place we were in was too cold,” Joe
said, taking the girl's arm, “and this place is too hot. Come on, let's beat it!”

By the time the group reached the ground, four fire trucks, an ambulance, and a police car had arrived on the scene. Firemen with oxygen tanks on their backs barged up the fire escape while others began unrolling a giant hose from a truck.

A paramedic escorted the girl to an ambulance to see what medical care she required. Another paramedic looked over Velloni and the Hardys. In spite of the fact that their hands and faces were blackened with smoke, the paramedic found all three to be in okay condition.

“You guys have got some real guts,” Velloni told the Hardys as they joined the growing crowd of people watching the action.

“We do what we have to do,” Frank said modestly.

The firemen were now smashing out windows on the fifth floor to let the heat escape. As Velloni's red hair blew in the wind, it reminded Frank of the leaping flames he had just seen.

“So that
was
you in Nick's apartment,” Frank blurted out suddenly. “And on the rooftop, too.”

“We've just risked our lives together,” Velloni said. “I think we can be honest with each other now. Yes, I broke into Rodriguez's apartment last night. Picked the lock. When you two came in,
I hid behind a couch. Then I ran up to the roof.”

“Why were you in Nick's place?” Joe asked.

“I have access to Karen Lee for information on this case,” Velloni explained. “But Nick and his family are refusing to talk with me. So I wanted to see what I could find on Nick. And I'll bet you guys were there for the same reason.”

“So why did you knock my brother off the roof?” Joe said, giving Velloni a light shove.

“I . . . I didn't,” Velloni said, surprised.

“You knocked me off the roof,” Frank stated.

“What?” Velloni said, looking bewildered. “I just meant to knock you down so you wouldn't follow me. Then I ran to get out of there. I had no idea I knocked you over the edge. If there's any way I can make it up to you, let me know.”

“You can tell me something,” Frank said. “Do you have a carpet or rug in your apartment?”

“No, I don't,” Velloni said, looking confused. “Why?”

“No reason,” Frank said with a shrug.

“Well, fellas,” Velloni said, pulling a tape recorder from her large purse, “if you'll excuse me, I want to interview the little girl we just rescued. I wonder if she had just been on the premises with someone or if she actually worked here. I might be able to get a really important story out of it!”

Joe watched Velloni hurry to a cluster of women
standing near the ambulance. “The fact that she would risk her life to save that girl makes it seem less likely she's our culprit,” he said, scratching his head. “I just wish we could have gotten some carpet fibers from her.”

“We did,” Frank said, pulling a packet from his coat. “I got some from the carpet in her car, and I get the impression she spends a lot of time there. We've got samples now from three suspects.”

“Great,” Joe said, noticing how smoke-blackened his hands were. “Now we just need some good soap.”

•  •  •

Several hours later, a cleaner Frank and Joe were walking along Fifth Avenue, looking at the elaborate Christmas displays in the store windows. Overhead, white holiday lights glimmered the length of the entire street. The night air was sharp, but a good many people were out strolling, many carrying shopping bags.

“That was a great steak dinner,” Joe said.

“Best I've had in a while,” Frank agreed.

Right after the fire, the Hardys had taken all the fiber samples to Sergeant Tyrell, who said he would send them to the crime lab and would have a report, probably before nine that night. Frank and Joe had decided to stay in the city. If the fibers from one of their suspects matched up, they wanted to pay a visit to that particular suspect immediately.

“Maybe you should have gotten Callie one of
these,” Joe said. He was pointing at the window display of one of the world's most famous jewelry stores. Several luminous diamond rings were resting on a drape of red velvet.

“No problem,” Frank said. “These probably don't cost much more than our family's house.”

As the Hardys resumed walking, Frank checked his watch. It was ten past nine. Frank's stomach was jittery. So far none of the leads he and Joe had followed had turned into anything definite. That meant everything depended on the fibers Sergeant Tyrell was late calling about.

As he passed the spectacular structure of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Frank found himself wondering about the other article of evidence he had seen, the tiny piece of pink enamel. What was it? And did it have anything to do with the attempted murder? Frank still could not imagine what the object was.

“Cool,” Joe said as he and Frank came to the plaza at Rockefeller Center. A crowd of people were looking down on a vast skating rink, filled with people skimming across the ice.

“That's an amazing tree,” Frank commented. In front of a skyscraper across the rink, a huge Christmas tree soared seven stories high, decorated with brightly colored lights and ornaments.