My brother and I had had another case end on the dam itself. And let’s just say that it didn’t end well. If our Moriarty knew about the sites of our many near-death experiences, then the city dam ranked up there with the best of them. Now we had a clue leading us to the next site in question. Maybe we could finally get ahead of the guy.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.” I headed toward the garage door. “It’s time to put plan B into action.”
“Like Jenkins said, this guy won’t stop until we’re locked up,” said Joe. “So one of us needs to get locked up.”
I sent Drew a text.
16
PLAN B
JOE
I SAT ON MY BIKE at the top of the hill overlooking our street. I had taken the alley to make sure no one could see me get into position and parked in the shadows. I could see almost the entire street laid out before me; it didn’t take long before the headlights of Frank’s car lit our house. I watched the car back out of the driveway, the white bulb behind the broken taillight shone almost as brightly as the reverse lights.
I kept my lookout as the car slowly pulled away. As we hoped, one of the parked cars pulled out; the brown SUV’s headlights turned on, and it began to follow my brother’s car. I pushed off and followed both of them.
Frank’s car was cruising slowly enough that I had no trouble keeping up with the car following far behind. Like the most boring parade in the world, we snaked through neighborhood streets on our way toward the main part of town.
Then Frank’s car came to a complete stop at a four-way intersection and took a right. A police cruiser followed him through, snapping on its blue and red flashing lights. We were right on schedule.
I slowed and stopped as the SUV pulled over to the curb and turned off its headlights. My brother’s car pulled over in the distance.
The cop car stopped behind my brother’s and two officers got out. They walked up on each side of Frank’s car, their flashlight beams washing over the car as they went. While one officer stood at the driver’s window, the other inspected the backseat with his flashlight. He leaned closer to the car before opening the back door. The officer reached in and came out with a sheet of paper. He held it and examined it with his flashlight. Of course I couldn’t make out the words from this distance, but I already knew what it was. It was the stolen manuscript page that Drew had planted on my brother’s backseat. The driver was caught red-handed.
Fortunately, the SUV pulled away from the curb and rolled forward. It must have been satisfied with the traffic stop. I prepared to follow on my bike. Unfortunately, the car began a U-turn.
I pedaled hard and headed for the space between two parked cars. I skidded to a stop and climbed off my bike just as the SUV completed its turn. I ducked down when its headlights snapped on and it drove in my direction.
Once the car passed, I climbed back onto my bike and pedaled after it. No longer trailing my brother’s car, the SUV drove much faster. I had to work to keep up with it. Luckily, it couldn’t pick up much speed driving through the short residential streets.
I kept pace as the SUV zigzagged through the different neighborhoods. But when it turned onto one of the main roads leading out of town, I knew that there was no way I’d be able to keep up. I turned onto the road after it and shifted my bike up to its highest gear. I pedaled as fast as I could and was up to a decent speed. The car’s taillights grew smaller and smaller ahead of me.
But I had a pretty good idea where it was going. This is my hometown, after all.
17
ANOTHER FAMILIAR PLACE
FRANK
THE PAVEMENT TURNED TO RED gravel beneath my bicycle tires and my handlebars wobbled when I turned onto the uneven terrain of the dam’s small access road. The roar of the dam’s spillway grew louder the closer I got.
I hoped Hector made out okay with the police. Plan B was to give the crook exactly what he wanted. We had hoped to make him think that Joe or I had been stopped by the police for the broken taillight. Then, when the cops found the stolen manuscript page, they would arrest one of us. Little did he know, we’d asked Hector to drive Frank’s car. Our friend was sure to be brought in for questioning, but instead of confessing to a crime, he would tell them everything that had been happening, as we had explained it to him.
For better or for worse, Lieutenant Wolfe would find out we had been investigating the crime. I just hoped we could give her a crook to go with that crime. Maybe that would lighten the punishment.
The clay tire tracks were our last and only lead to go on.
I saw the gravel road stretch up a hill before me in the moonlight. I switched to a lower gear and pumped harder as I drove up the incline. The ground leveled off when I reached the edge of the dam itself. The small metal gate meant to keep vehicles off the dam was wide open. I seemed to be on the right track.
I pedaled onto the dam and pulled to a stop to catch my breath. The deafening sound of rushing water masked my heavy breathing. I peered over the side and saw giant white streams of water blasting from openings in the side of the tall dam. The water spread as it dropped hundreds of feet to the river below. Through the mist, I saw the small river snake away into the woods beyond.
The last time I was here, I almost fell over the side myself. My brother and I were on the trail of an art thief named Bill Reynolds. We had tracked him to the dam and found his stash of stolen art in the pump house in the middle of the dam. After a confrontation where Reynolds tried to push me over the side, the art thief had gone over himself. The man had survived the fall and had been sent to prison. But this was yet another location where the Hardy brothers had nearly met their end.
I got back onto my bike and pedaled across the dam. The surface was cement and level so I made better time. I hid my bike behind the old pump house. The building wasn’t much more than a small shed that had fallen into disrepair. The dam had since been automated, and the building seemed to be abandoned to all but the occasional vandal. Graffiti decorated the walls, and most of the small windows had been smashed. The main door was held shut with a small padlock.
I pulled out my flashlight and examined the lock. It was new and oddly low on the door, as if it had been installed by a kid. I moved to the window and shined the beam through the broken glass. The room was empty, the equipment having been removed long ago. Only a few old worktables and empty pallets remained.
The last time I was here, Reynolds had worked at the station and had stashed his stolen art behind large banks of equipment. Now there didn’t seem to be anywhere to hide anything. Still, the lock on the door suggested something was inside. I rolled my bike to the side of the building and found a window with the least amount of jagged glass. I used a piece of wood to knock away the remaining shards before carefully climbing through.
Once inside, I took a closer look at the interior of the shed. More graffiti tags decorated the walls, while empty spray paint cans and trash littered the floor. It seemed to be a strange collection to be kept under lock and key. Maybe the city had installed the lock to keep more kids from coming up here. Maybe some kids just wanted to lock up their fun new clubhouse.
My flashlight’s beam fell onto an old worktable. A blue folder sat on its dusty surface. I crept closer and opened the folder and found two pages from the manuscript. The clues had paid off; I was definitely in the right place.
I saw something out of the corner of my eye and killed the flashlight. Two white dots appeared at the other side of the dam. They were headlights. Someone was coming.
I glanced around for a place to hide. The last time we were here, there had been plenty of things to duck behind. Now there was nothing but shadows.
The car was approaching fast. I couldn’t hear the engine over the sound of the rushing water, but the lights grew brighter. They streamed through the pump-house windows, chasing away what shadows remained. I crouched down against the wall. It was too late to crawl back out the way I had come.
I
crept toward the door as the car pulled to a stop in front of the building. The headlights switched off and the interior was filled with deep shadows once more. I couldn’t hear the car door open over the sound of the water, but I heard the rattle of the padlock.
The only choice I had was to hug the wall beside the door and wait for the crook to enter. Then I could sneak out through the open door. Hopefully the sound of the water would mask my footsteps. Once outside, I could call the police and we would have our Moriarty.
The door opened and a tall figure marched in. He headed straight toward the worktable. I didn’t stick around to find out who he was. I ducked outside and pulled out my phone. I dialed 911, but the call failed.
I groaned inwardly. Why is there never cell service when you need it most?
“Hey!” a voice shouted.
Caught, I spun around and was blinded by a flashlight. I squinted but could only make out a silhouette at first. He lowered the light and my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim moonlight. That’s when I recognized him.
Josh Jenkins held the flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other.
18
LAST RELAY
JOE
I NEVER REALIZED JUST HOW hard it was to pedal a bike at full speed and make a phone call. I gripped my wobbling handlebar with one hand and redialed my brother for the third time. Once again, the call just went to voice mail. I hung up and glanced at the screen. I suddenly knew why my calls weren’t getting through. The closer I got to the dam, the weaker my cell signal became.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket and concentrated on getting to the dam as quickly as possible. The turnoff was only another mile away, but my strength was dwindling. With the track meet, the skateboard ride, and the bike ride across town, I was nearly spent.
I made it a few more yards before something snapped below. My legs pedaled faster with no resistance whatsoever. My bicycle chain had broken.
Then the dangling chain tangled around my back tire and I lost control. I swerved off the road and couldn’t keep my balance when the tires hit the soft shoulder. My bike and I tumbled to the ground.
Breathing hard, I got to my feet. I only had a couple of scrapes and bruises after my tumble, but my bike wasn’t so lucky. The front tire was warped and the broken chain was tangled around the spokes of the back tire. I wasn’t getting to the dam on that tonight.
I left the bike where it was and began to run down the road. I couldn’t let Frank handle Bayport’s Moriarty alone. I kept telling myself it was just like one of my long-distance relays.
As I neared the red mud turnoff, the trees around me began to brighten. I glanced back and spotted headlights approaching. I paused and waved from the grassy shoulder but kept running. Maybe I could get a ride. The night grew brighter as the vehicle approached. It was a big white van. It slowed and pulled up alongside of me.
The passenger window lowered. “You okay, son?” asked the man driving.
I stopped and leaned forward to catch my breath. I held up a finger, letting him know that I wasn’t ignoring the question. “Bike . . . trouble,” I said between breaths.
I glanced up and got a better look inside. A heavyset man sat behind the wheel. He had thick white hair and a white beard. He wore a friendly smile, and he was clearly concerned about the kid running alone in the dark.
“Can I give you a ride or something?” the man asked.
I held up another finger as I caught a few more breaths. Not getting into cars with strangers may have been Safety 101—it’s the first thing they taught us in elementary school, after all—but this was an emergency. I didn’t know what kind of situation my brother was in, and going by our track record, it could be a matter of life and death.
“Thanks,” I said. I was breathing easier now. “That would be great.”
I heard the door locks click and I opened the passenger door. I climbed in and buckled up.
“Where you headed?” the man asked.
I pointed ahead. “Do you know where the city dam is?” I asked. “Down a little dirt road, up on the right?”
“Sure do,” he said as he put the van in gear. “Been there many times.”
The man began to drive, and I noticed how the van had been modified. Instead of pedals, the man accelerated using a small lever on the steering wheel. Another lever jutted out and must’ve been the brake.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the rest of the van was open; no other car seats were installed. However, a wheelchair was parked just behind the two front seats. There was some kind of lift installed just behind it, connected to a large door on the passenger side. It must have been how the man exited the vehicle in his wheelchair.
“Thanks again,” I said, finally catching my breath. “This is kind of an emergency.”
“You in some kind of trouble?” the man asked.
“No,” I replied. “But I have a feeling my brother is.”
19
COMING TOGETHER
FRANK
BOY, WAS I IN TROUBLE.
I don’t know what kind of fear our Moriarty put into Josh Jenkins, but it was enough for him to get a gun involved and aim it right at my chest.
I slowly raised my hands. “Look, Josh, we can figure this out. I know this guy threatened your family, but we can go to the police.”
Jenkins shook his head. “No police. I told you that already.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “No police. But my brother and I can help you. We can find out who—”
Josh sneered. “Oh, yeah. Bayport’s big detectives. Following all the clues. Well, guess what? Your brother’s in jail, Josh Jenkins is going to disappear, and you’re going for a little swim.”
“Disappear?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
He flicked the pistol twice, motioning me toward the edge of the dam. “Come on, get over there.”
From the corner of my eye, I spotted headlights in the distance. Someone was driving onto the dam. Josh hadn’t noticed them yet. I moved toward the edge as he instructed. But I inched away from the approaching headlights, making Josh turn his back to them. I didn’t know who was coming, but between keeping an eye on me and the sound of the water, maybe Josh wouldn’t notice right away. I might get a chance to run for it.
“Let’s go,” Josh ordered. “Climb over.”
I backed against the handrail. It came up to my waist, and it wouldn’t be any trouble to swing my legs over. But past the rail was a drop into the spillway that I didn’t think I’d survive. I wasn’t in a big hurry to climb over to find out. I had to stall for time.
“There has to be another way,” I said. “Maybe there’s something else. . . .”
“Something more important than family?” asked Josh.
Behind him, the headlights grew brighter and caught Josh’s attention. I thought this would be my chance to get away. However, Josh backed toward the pump station, letting him cover both me and the approaching vehicle.
A white van I didn’t recognize pulled to a stop behind Josh’s SUV. The passenger door opened and Joe stepped out.
“Stay in the car, sir,” Joe told the driver. He raised his hands and slowly walked toward us. “Mr. Jenkins? Josh? What’s going on?”
“Well, look who it is,” said Josh. “I thought you’d be rotting in a cell about now. How did you talk your way out of that one?”
While Joe approached, I noticed the driver of the van moving around inside. Was he going to try something?
“Listen, Josh,” Joe continued. “We can work this out. No one has to get hurt.”
Jenkins shook his head. “Stop calling me that. I’m sick of going by that name.”
Behind Joe, a wide door slid open in the side of the van. A bearded man in a wheelchair appeared and jutted out on a special lift. The lift slowly lowered to the ground.
“Then what’s your name?” Joe asked.
“Bill Reynolds,” Jenkins replied.
Joe and I exchanged a glance. “No way,
” said Joe. “That guy was in his forties. You’re way too young.”
The van’s lift reached the ground with a loud crunch. Its corners chipped away bits of rock as it hit the cement. If I had to guess, when the lift rose again, there would be small right-angle divots in the cement—the same kind of marks we’d seen on the garage floor from earlier.
“Let me guess,” I said to the guy formerly known as Josh. “You’re Bill Reynolds Junior.”
“Very good, Frank,” said the bearded man. He grinned as he wheeled himself closer. “Long time no see.”
The man was older, had grown a beard, and had gained some weight, but it was Bill Reynolds. Bill Reynolds Sr. The Bill Reynolds from our past.
Bill Jr. smiled. “Like I said, family is everything. Boys, meet your Moriarty.”
That’s when I remembered that I had seen that white van before. In the Bayport Museum parking lot.
20
REICHENBACH FALLS
JOE
I COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. I had hitched a ride with the guy. The same guy who tried to throw my brother over the side of the dam a few years ago. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him. I guess that’s what the Santa Claus look will do for you. Now both Frank and I stood next to the railing with our hands up.
“I thought you were in prison,” I said.
“Oh, I was,” said Reynolds. He wheeled himself closer. “But I got time off for good behavior. Plus . . .” He pointed to his legs. “Special consideration for my current condition.”
When Reynolds had gone over the side of the dam years ago, Frank and I had heard he had survived but with several broken bones and cracked vertebrae. No one said anything about him ending up in a wheelchair.
Frank shook his head. “We didn’t know.”
“How could you? I recovered from the fall,” Reynolds said. “But let’s just say prison hospitals aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. They missed a bone fragment near my spinal cord. One minute I’m working in the prison laundry, the next I’m paralyzed from the waist down.”
Stolen Identity Page 7
