Witness to Murder (3 page)

Frank had ducked so that the blow only glanced off his skull. But it did momentarily make him black out — enough to keep him from identifying the man later. All he knew was that the man was very tall—and agile. Shaking his head once, Frank looked around and saw he was alone. He' staggered out into the hallway and recovered enough to weave down the stairs.

Out on the street he looked both ways. An elderly woman was making her way slowly toward the corner of the block. A tomcat, scarred from many battles, looked back at him before rolling his back once and moving on. But no tall man. The man had been unbelievably quick. He had reacted to seeing Frank in the room in a fraction of a second. Who was he?

Frank knew it wasn't logical that he was the same person who had ransacked the room earlier. The search had been thorough enough not to be Continued or repeated. And how did the man get Into Phil's room? It seemed that he had a key. Had Phil been accompanied to Bayport?

The hotel clerk had disappeared, so Frank didn't bother to find and question him about the stranger. He'd probably gone out for coffee, Frank decided. Tight security in this place.

There was no way of knowing where the tall man had gone, why he had been there in the first place, or whether he might return. But Frank didn't want to leave without checking out Phil's room. He might not get a second chance.

Frank gently probed the spot on his head where he was hit. He could feel an egg forming, but at least he wasn't bleeding. He decided to take one more chance.

He slipped back up the stairs and into Phil's room - This time it remained empty. Frank searched for a few minutes. Nothing. It was pure luck that Frank had turned up that matchbook cover on the fire escape. Of course, it could have belonged to a previous occupant. The month had been dry, so the condition of the cover would have remained the same for several weeks. - After climbing down the fire escape — just in case the hotel clerk had returned to his post Frank got in the van and headed for home. He needed to talk to his father and Joe.

"Where's Dad?" asked Frank, striding into the den.

Joe was slumped in a chair, dully watching an old movie on television. Mr. Hardy had insisted that Joe stay in the house because he was out on bail. Fenton Hardy knew Joe could get in trouble and then the police would have no choice but to lock him up.

"He left for the police station right after he told me not to leave the house for the tenth time." Joe followed Frank into the kitchen. "What did you find out, Frank? And where have you been?"

"Police station. Nothing new." Frank debated whether or not to tell Joe about the incident in Phil's room but chose to keep it to himself in case Joe decided to investigate.

"Well, I've had it with sitting around, Frank! I've got to find out where Annie is and whether she's okay." He started to pace the kitchen. "I've been calling her place all day and there's no answer."

"I can see you've been worried," Frank said, staring into the open refrigerator. "No milk, no ice cream. Where's the chocolate cake Aunt Gertrude made yesterday?"

Joe grinned, almost like his old self. "That'll teach you to leave me here alone."

"You ate the whole thing?" Frank muttered, not believing it. "It's only four-thirty."

"Frank, give me my keys to the van. I'll stop by a bakery on the way back from checking on Annie."

Joe's grin vanished. Frank had used Joe's keys when they had driven to the police station after the accident. He had conveniently kept them. Just telling Joe to stay at home would never work for long — no matter who gave the order. While Joe might not directly disobey his father, he had always made excuses for "forgetting." · · "I'll go with you," Frank said. "Let me go to the station and talk to Dad, then I'll come right back and we'll find Annie." "Stop treating me like a kid, Frank." Joe tried to get his hand into Frank's pocket, and the two started to tussle among themselves.

"Boys!" Gertrude Hardy, the Hardys' aunt and baker of the consumed chocolate cake, appeared in the doorway. "Every time I think the two of you have grown up, I find you acting like children. If you want to wrestle, please go out-Frank grinned at the scolding. It was good to see his aunt back to her old self. One of the boys' cases had revolved around their aunt's being falsely accused of murder. Frank suddenly realized that now a second member of the Hardy household was in the same circumstances. He sighed and glanced at Joe, who was staring longingly out the window as if he were jailed.

"I hope you're going to start dinner early, Aunt Gertrude," said Frank - "I'm starved, and thiS human garbage disposal has emptied the kitchen in one afternoon."

"I'll start supper soon. Oh, by the way, your father called. He said to tell you that neither of you is to leave the house until he comes home. He wants to talk to both of you."

Frank was glad to have his father back up his opinion—for the eleventh time—that Joe should stay put. He exchanged a glance with his brother and checked his pocket for Joe's car keys, then settled for an apple to hold him till dinner. He went up to his room to think.

Dinner was quiet, with each member of the Hardy family caught up in his or her own thoughts. Finally Mrs. Hardy spoke. "Fenton, what's the latest on Joe's case?"

Mr. Hardy looked at both Joe and Frank. Frank got the idea his father didn't want to discuss the matter at the dinner table.

"Officer O'Hara is unbendable," Mr. Hardy said, pushing away his half-eaten dinner. "I think my 'unofficial connection' to the department is hurting you, Joe. I'm sorry. She doesn't want anyone to think she's playing favorites by letting you off easily." Aunt Gertrude frowned, then harumphed.

"Surely no one else down there thinks our Joe run over someone deliberately." "Women!" Joe scoffed, unable to resist baiting. "Why the Bayport Police Department had to hire a woman is beyond me." Joe's mock-chauvinistic attitude set everyone laughing. It was a relief. This was one family that neededa laugh.

Aunt Gertrude, who had argued equal rights for women for years, pretended to be offended by Joe's remarks. "Are you saying that women won't make good detectives?" Joe grinned and helped himself to Aunt Gertrude's apple pie. think they make better cooks."

"I refuse to contribute to this discussion." Fenton Hardy filled his coffee cup, and headed for his study.

While Joe started in on the pie, Frank excused himself and followed his father. "I checked out Phil Sidler's hotel room, Dad." Frank told his father what had happened there.

The fact that Phil's room had been searched and that someone wanted his identity kept secret told Frank there was more going on in the case than a simple automobile accident.

His father confirmed his opinion, and then tried to stop Frank's investigation.

"Frank, I got some more information late this afternoon. The police checked out Phil Sidler. He's a strong suspect in a recent diamond robbery in New York. The robbery looked like it was related to a number of similar crimes around the state. There's a strong connection to one gang."

"Then they think Phil Sidler was a member of this gang?" Frank gingerly rubbed the back of his head where the lump was now perfectly formed.

"Yes, and, Frank — " Fenton Hardy got up from his desk and walked over to the window, looking out. He was silent for a while.

"What is it, Dad?" Frank asked, breaking the quiet.

Mr. Hardy swung around and walked back to face Frank. "The New York district attorney's office is claiming that Annie Shea might also be part of this gang. I think O'Hara maybe thinking Annie got Joe involved."

"That's crazy," Frank said, getting to his feet. "What's with that woman? How could she think Joe's a thief!" "Calm down, Frank. She doesn't know Joe. And our getting angry at her won't help him any. Although I have to admit that I had the same reaction at the station."

"I didn't tell Joe about going to Phil's room and about it being searched. I don't like keeping secrets from him. Do you think we should tell him about Annie?"

"I don't know, Frank. I guess we both know what he'd say."

"Let's sleep on it, Dad." Frank headed for his room. "A thief and a murderer!" he muttered. "Perfectly dumb."

In the morning, when he and Joe were eating their late breakfast, Frank decided to tell everything. After all, Joe had everything at stake, and Frank was beginning to feel that he needed his partner to help him.

"Joe, I have some bad news," Frank said buttering his toast and spreading Aunt Gertrude's homemade strawberry jam on top.

"Shoot. I'm getting used to it." Joe polished off a second glass of milk.

"The police on the Sidler case suspect Phil of being part of a recent diamond heist. It seems he might have been part of a gang."

"So I found a criminal for them. Maybe, they'll thank me instead of accusing me of murder." Joe's tone of voice suggested his depression had turned to anger.

"Joe ..." Frank hesitated. There was only one way to tell Joe this — straight. "Joe, the cops have heard from the New York DA's office. They think Annie might be part of the gang."

Joe stared at Frank in disbelief. "You'll think up anything to get at Annie, won't you, Frank? I know you don't like her, but I never thought you'd say anything like this."

"I didn't make it up, Joe. Call Dad. Call the police department. Talk to Con," he said quietly and evenly.

"I'll do better than that." Joe pushed away from the table. "I'll ask Annie. She'll tell me the truth."

"I'm going with you to look for her, Joe." "Not if you're going to accuse her of being a crook."

"Joe, I don't know what's going on here any more than you do. I have no idea if Annie is guilty or innocent. I'm just telling you what Dad told me. But I don't want you to be alone. I don't want anything to happen so O'Hara will have an excuse to lock you up."

Joe studied Frank's face. Finally he said, "Okay, big brother, looks like I'm stuck with you. Let's go."

The Hardys first drove to Mr. Pizza to see if Annie would be coming in that day. Joe's face was grim as they approached the back door.

"Hey, Tony," Joe said as they walked into the kitchen, where Tony Prito was dumping flour in a large bowl to make dough. "Annie around?"

"Joe, sorry about your troubles," Tony said, greeting the Hardys after turning on the mixer. "Let's move away from the noise," he said, and strolled over to a corner. "Annie won't be in today. But, well, she was here earlier. She sneaked in during the night and slept in the back room."

"She slept here last night?" Joe didn't know what to make of this news. "Why?" "This morning when I found her she asked me not to tell you. But under the circumstances, think you should know. She's scared, Joe, really scared." Tony crossed back to the mixer to check on the dough.

"But — but Phil Sidler is dead. What is she afraid of now?" Joe drummed his fingers on a countertop. "Where was she going when she left here?" he asked.

"Don't know." Tony raised his voice to be heard over the whir of the machine. "I guess she went back to where she's staying. She asked for her pay this morning and quit her job — "

"Let's go, Frank," Joe said, cutting off Tony.

They dashed to the van and took off for Annie's apartment. "Let me see Annie alone, Frank?" Joe asked as Frank snugged up to the curb.

"Sorry, pal. I'm going in with you." Frank thought of Phil's room, and he had a bad feeling about this one.

Joe shrugged and bolted. Frank followed as soon as he had pocketed the keys.

Inside, the old apartment building was even worse than it looked on the outside. The stairway was dark — all the bulbs were broken or burned out. The institutional green paint was peeling, and the combined odors of stale cooking grease and damp turned the boys' stomachs.

Joe referred to the row of mailboxes in the entryway before taking the stairs two at a time to the third floor. The creak of each step accented the soft thud of Joe's sneakers hitting the treads.

Right behind him, Frank snatched at Joe's arm when they reached the third floor. "Joe, wait. Whoever searched Phil's apartment may have done the same to Annie's. Or maybe he's doing it now. If we go busting in there — "

Joe shrugged off Frank's grasp. "You're right. If they've hurt Annie, I'll ... " Clenching his teeth, Joe forced himself to slow down. The boys crept slowly along, looking in both directions.

The door to the first apartment in the third-floor hall was ajar. Joe glanced in. A small child with huge brown eyes peered up at him. Frank stepped around to see what Joe was looking at. He smiled.

"ramgue, shut that door and get in here," a shrill voice sounded. But the child only stuck her thumb in her mouth and continued to stare at Frank, who waved.

He moved back to glance over the banister, viewing the entire stairway. They'd seen no one but the child, and everything seemed normal enough. Somewhere, the muffled sound of a blaring television set spewed out - a game show, the announcer's voice probably describing dozens of wonderful prizes.

Joe pointed to the last door in the hallway. Quietly they made their way down to it. Each took a position on either side of the door. Joe started to knock, but at his touch the door creaked open.

"Annie? What — " Joe called out. He pushed the door back and stepped into the room, Frank acting as his shadow.

The room was in the same condition as the one in the Bayport Downtowner. Chairs were overturned, the upholstery ripped open, dirty cotton stuffing was strewn beside them, looking like the spilled guts from a corpse. One wall of the room had been turned into a makeshift kitchen pots and, pans now spilled out in front of it.

Almost soundlessly Joe headed for a room off to the left. He swung the door open.

The bedroom was in a similar state. Blankets had been tossed to the floor in a heap. The mattress had been slashed and gutted the chairs. Drawers were piled on the floor, their contents dumped out. Annie's clothing had been tossed everywhere. A red sweater hung limply from the mirror like a flag on a windless day.

Joe, out of patience and no longer cautious, shouted out frantically. "Annie! You here?" He pushed open the door to the tiny bathroom and glanced at the tub. He was almost afraid to look.