Trial and Terror

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “That was smart,” Joe told Zeke.

  “I read some law books and wrote a lot of letters,” Zeke said. “Then, last August, I tracked down and called the police detective who worked my case, a Detective O’Roark. He told me he found the gun that I supposedly used in the armed robbery. He traced the serial number and found it belonged to someone else, another guy known for being a crook.”

  “Was that information admitted at your trial?” Frank asked, checking his watch.

  “It should have been, but it wasn’t,” Zeke said. “One day last spring, right before my trial started, O’Roark brought this information to the lawyer prosecuting the case. He said this proved my innocence and they should go after the other guy instead. But the prosecutor ignored this information. The other guy had skipped town, and the prosecutor wanted a quick victory.”

  “In other words,” Joe said, “the prosecutor withheld crucial evidence. Which is illegal.”

  “That’s exactly what she did,” Zeke said.

  “What was the prosecutor’s name?” Frank asked.

  “Patricia Daggett,” Zeke said, mouthing the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. “I think she has a reputation for that,” Joe told Zeke.

  “That’s what Detective O’Roark told me,” Zeke said. “He told me he knew of several other times where Daggett withheld evidence to win a case. Just minor things here and there. None of them as bad as what she did to me.”

  Frank did not know where this was leading, but he was getting the impression this visit had been a wise move. “What does this have to do with Karen Lee?” Frank asked, his brown eyes studying Zeke.

  “I’m planning to file a complaint with the head district attorney that states Patricia Daggett railroaded me into jail,” Zeke said. “O’Roark told me he had a big argument with Daggett that day last spring when he realized she wasn’t going to use the evidence he had uncovered. I asked O’Roark if anyone overheard their argument, and he told me there was a secretary nearby.”

  Frank now realized where this was going. “And after some more digging,” Frank said, “you discovered that secretary was named Karen Lee. And you figured if Lee could back up O’Roark’s story, the head DA might believe it.”

  “Man, you’re reading my thoughts,” Zeke said, leaning forward. “But by this time, Lee had left her secretary job and was acting on some soap opera. Her address and phone number were unlisted, so I wrote several letters to her at the television studio where she works. I explained the situation to her and told her how she could contact me.”

  “But she didn’t answer the letters,” Joe said.

  “No,” Zeke said, shaking his head. “Finally I got smart and found her home phone number in last year’s phone book. I called her yesterday and left a message. But she hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  “Are you aware that Karen Lee is mixed up in a trial of her own?” Frank asked. “I think it’s been a big story in some of the tabloids.”

  “I don’t read that stuff,” Zeke said. “What’s she on trial for? Bad acting?”

  Joe laughed and then explained the circumstances surrounding Karen Lee’s trial.

  “I see,” Zeke said when the explanation was done. “So Miss Lee has probably been too busy to care about my letters.”

  Zeke lowered his head. A sense of doom seemed to have fallen on him. Joe could imagine what he was thinking—a soap opera star with big problems of her own would probably never have time to help some poor guy sitting in a prison fifty miles away.

  “It’s not so hopeless,” Joe told Zeke. “Your letters were just mixed up with all her other fan letters. She’s a decent person, and maybe she will care if she learns how important your letters are.”

  “Do you think,” Zeke said, finally looking up, “you could maybe explain things to her? If she can verify Detective O’Roark’s story, I feel sure the head district attorney will see that Patricia Daggett has been abusing the legal system. I hate to trouble you guys, but . . . I’m afraid Karen Lee is my only chance of getting out of here.”

  “Zeke, we can’t promise anything,” Joe said, placing a hand against the glass, “but we’ll do whatever we can to help you.”

  “I would really appreciate that,” Zeke said.

  Joe and Zeke talked a little more, but Frank had fallen silent. Then a guard came over and tapped Zeke on the shoulder. Goodbyes were said, then Zeke and the Hardys set down their phones.

  Frank now had his hands over his face. He was deep in thought, totally unaware of all the conversations taking place in the visiting room. Finally Frank looked at Joe.

  “What’s on your mind?” Joe asked.

  “I believe Zeke is telling the truth,” Frank replied. “Do you know what that could mean?”

  “What?” Joe said, dying to know.

  “It could mean,” Frank said in a quiet tone, “that Patricia Daggett is the one who tried to murder Karen Lee.”

  14 Dark at the End of the Tunnel

  * * *

  The Hardys wasted no time catching the next train back to Manhattan. As they took seats in a half-empty car, the train left the station.

  Joe glanced out the window at the peaceful scenery passing by. Clouds drifted through a blue sky, and the rolling green water of the Hudson River followed the train tracks. Across the river, low hills stretched along the shore.

  “I’m ready,” Frank said, turning to Joe. He had barely spoken since the Hardys left the prison visiting room. While Joe patiently waited, Frank had been carefully thinking matters through.

  “Okay,” Joe said. “Let’s put this together, piece by piece. I’m still not sure I see how and why Patricia Daggett tried to kill Karen Lee.”

  “Remember, Bernie said Daggett makes it her business to know everything.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, nodding.

  “Chances are,” Frank continued, “last August she found out Zeke had contacted Detective O’Roark. A man who knew she withheld crucial evidence from Zeke’s trial.”

  “Then what?” Joe asked. “Did Daggett discover Zeke had also tracked down the name of Karen Lee?”

  “Exactly,” Frank said. “Lee probably wasn’t aware that Daggett was withholding evidence. She probably still isn’t aware of it. But if she heard the argument between O’Roark and Daggett, she would be able to back up O’Roark’s story.”

  “In other words, Zeke was right,” Joe said. “Karen Lee is the one person who could make the head district attorney believe that Daggett has been abusing the legal system.”

  “If word of this got out,” Frank said, “it would destroy Daggett’s legal career. Not to mention her dream to be elected district attorney.”

  “But is she so ambitious,” Joe wondered aloud, “that she would try to kill Karen Lee just to protect her own reputation?”

  “As we’ve seen many times,” Frank said, “there’s no telling what people are capable of.”

  “Okay, we’ve got the why,” Joe said. “Let’s move on to the how.”

  “It could have worked like this,” Frank said, focusing his thoughts. “On the night of August fourteenth, Daggett went to Karen Lee’s apartment building. She probably entered the building, unnoticed, when someone came in or went out. Like we did with the postman. Then she climbed the steps to the third floor and put on a black coat, black gloves, and a black ski mask.”

  “Then through the window in the stairwell door,” Joe picked up, “she saw Nick leaving the apartment. That was the face Nick told us he saw. Daggett couldn’t have known Nick would be there, so that must have been a stroke of good luck for her.”

  “Right after Nick got on the elevator,” Frank continued, “Daggett knocked at Lee’s door. When Lee opened the door, Daggett barged in and pulled out a knife. She tried to kill Lee, but she’s not experienced at this type of thing. Lee managed to fight her off, and Daggett fled the scene.”

  “So you think she framed Nick?” Joe asked.


  “I think she did. Very soon after the attack,” Frank replied, “Daggett began to worry that the crime might somehow get traced back to her, maybe through Zeke. But she realized if she could successfully frame someone else, she’d never be suspected of the crime.”

  “Immediately she thought of Nick Rodriguez,” Joe said, “Most likely she knew about his relationship with Lee, and she probably even knew he was angry at Lee for breaking off the engagement. And, best of all, he was at Lee’s apartment right before the murder attempt. He was the perfect suspect!”

  “She thinks Lee may have a set of keys to Nick’s apartment,” Frank said, more and more excited as he spoke. “So the next day, while Lee is out, Daggett climbs the fire escape and goes through an open window into Lee’s apartment. She finds the keys to Nick’s place. Remember, they had Nick’s first name on them.”

  “Then, using the stolen keys,” Joe said, “she gets into Nick’s apartment while he’s away at work. She brings the gloves and ski mask with her.”

  “Except they’re probably a different pair of gloves and ski mask that look just like the ones she used for the attack,” Frank said. “That way there won’t be any traces of her own hair on them.”

  “She gets some hair from Nick’s comb or brush and puts it in the ski mask,” Joe said. “Then she stuffs the gloves and mask under Nick’s mattress.”

  “The cops had examined Nick’s place the night before,” Frank said, “but Daggett, who would have already jumped into the case, convinces them to check again. The next day the cops find the gloves and mask. Nick looks guilty as sin, the cops arrest him, and he goes to trial for the murder attempt.”

  “It all fits!” Joe said, pounding the seat in front of him. “It fits perfectly!”

  “Well, it could have happened that way,” Frank said, placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “However, we have no absolute proof it did happen that way.”

  “You know,” Joe said, calming down, “on second thought, I’m not thrilled about accusing an assistant district attorney of attempted murder. If we’re wrong, we’ll look ridiculous. And if we’re right, she’s in a position to make things very difficult for us. To save her reputation, she might find a way to put us in jail. She’s probably smart enough to do it.”

  “I know,” Frank said, rubbing his face. “I wish we had some solid proof to back up our story. So far we’re still in the realm of guesswork.”

  “What should we do?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s get to the courthouse as soon as possible and talk to Bernie,” Frank said, stretching his legs as the train rushed onward.

  At one-thirty, the train came to a stop at Grand Central Terminal in Manhattan. The Hardys hurried through a door and found the subway.

  After descending two flights of steps, the Hardys paid their fare and headed for the platform. Frank drummed his fingers on his pants, waiting for the train that would take the Hardys downtown.

  Then Frank noticed a man near the end of the platform, reading a tabloid newspaper. The tabloid’s cover showed a photograph of a space alien with its arms around a famous country music star. Then Frank noticed the man behind the paper also looked pretty strange.

  It was the man with the red-green hair.

  “Look,” Frank said, tugging Joe’s arm. “It’s that guy from the park. This could be a chance to find out if Daggett sent this guy to do her dirty work.”

  “Let’s go,” Joe said, already in motion.

  The man with the red-green hair turned to see the Hardys approaching. Dropping the paper, he hurried to the very edge of the platform—then leaped off into the train pit. Amazed, Joe watched the man run along the tracks, quickly disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.

  “Should we go after him?” Joe asked.

  “Oh, why not?” Frank replied sarcastically. “Compared to leaping into a burning building, this is nothing.”

  Frank and Joe lowered themselves into the train pit, then began running along the tracks. Darkness surrounded them, and they heard their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. They also heard footsteps clattering in the distance ahead.

  “Watch out for the third rail!” Frank called to Joe. Both Hardys knew the thick railing that ran parallel to the train tracks carried the electricity that powered the trains.

  “No problem!” Joe called back.

  Then, as if he were back on the football field at Bayport High, Joe put on a burst of speed. He rushed past steel beams and electrical cables, gaining on the fleeing footsteps ahead. Taking a flying leap, Joe seized the man by his coat and said, “Hey, buddy, I’d like to finish that conversation we started yesterday!”

  The man spun around, and Joe could see the guy’s pocketknife. With a flick, the long blade shot out. The man lunged with the blade at Joe’s face.

  “I don’t think so,” Frank said, grabbing the man’s wrist before the blade could reach Joe. Twisting the man’s wrist, Frank said, “Drop it!”

  “Ahhh!” the man cried in pain, letting the knife fall to the tracks.

  All three of them were panting now. “Do you know what that is?” Joe said, jerking the man’s head toward the dangerous third rail.

  “Yeah, I know what it is,” the man said. “If you touch it, you get fried like a piece of bacon.”

  “Well, that’s what’s going to happen to you,” Joe said roughly, “unless you do some talking.”

  The man’s eyes glared like a creature with rabies, but he seemed to get the point. “How can I be of help to you boys?” he spat out.

  “Who sent you after us?” Frank asked.

  The man hesitated, then spoke. “Some lawyer in the DA’s office,” he said. “Daggett or somebody.”

  “You’re doing real well,” Joe said, still holding the man. “Now, how do you know Daggett?”

  Frank glanced up the tunnel toward the station. He realized this would be a very inconvenient time for a train to come. This interview needed to be real fast.

  “I’m scheduled to go on trial for burglary in a few weeks,” the man explained. “Daggett is prosecuting the case. Yesterday morning she called me up and said she’d go easy on me in court if I’d do her a small favor. She wanted me to scare you away from whatever you were investigating.”

  Frank recalled seeing Daggett on a pay phone at the courthouse the day before, immediately after she met the Hardys. Shortly after that, Frank realized, the man with the red-green hair had appeared in the park.

  “When Bernie filed the motion for us to view the evidence,” Frank told Joe, “Daggett knew we were on the case. When she met us, she figured out we were the ones who learned about the missing keys. Because that’s another example of withholding evidence, it must have made her nervous.”

  “Look, I don’t have any idea what this business is about, and I don’t care,” the man said, itchy to get away. “It’s nothing personal. I was just trying to save my own skin.”

  “We’re touched,” Joe said.

  “Watch it!” the man cried, pointing to the ground. Joe jumped, seeing a gigantic rat scurry over the tracks straight for his shoes.

  In a flash, the man pulled free of Joe. He tore down the tracks, yelling, “Sorry, fellas, just remembered I’m late for a very important appointment!”

  Joe started after the man, but Frank grabbed his arm. “I hate it when you do this!” Joe yelled.

  “Let him go!” Frank yelled back. “Now we know for sure Daggett’s the one we want.”

  “But we still don’t have any hard evidence!” Joe protested. “That’s why we need that creep.”

  “No,” Frank argued. “Even if we could haul that jerk into court, no one would believe him.”

  A rumbling sound made both Hardys whip around.

  Two beams of light pierced the tunnel.

  “The train is coming!” Joe exclaimed. “We didn’t hear it pull in!”

  “And now it’s pulling out,” Frank said.

  The train’s engine rumbled as it accelerated out of the station
. Like the eyes of an approaching monster, the headlights grew larger and larger.

  “Hey!” Joe yelled, waving his arms at the train. “Stop! We’re standing on the track!”

  “Stop!” Frank called out. “Stop! Stop!”

  Frank saw a driver through a window in the train’s front car, but the driver did not seem to see the Hardys. Frank glanced at the concrete walls on either side. The tunnel was just wide enough for the train, leaving no extra room for the Hardys to escape its path.

  The train was now picking up speed.

  “He doesn’t see us!” Joe yelled frantically.

  “Only one thing to do!” Frank shouted. “Run!”

  15 The Whole Truth

  * * *

  Frank and Joe dashed down the tracks, away from the approaching train.

  “Yesterday I saw men working on the tracks!” Joe yelled over the train’s engine. “There must be a safe place they go when a train comes through!”

  “This would be a great time to find it!” Frank called back.

  Running with all his might, Frank felt the ground vibrating under his feet, and it seemed his heart was slamming against the wall of his chest. The train’s rumble was now echoing nightmarishly loud in the tunnel.

  Headlights flooded the Hardy’s path, but the driver still was not slowing or stopping the train. It seemed the train was almost up to full speed.

  Frank could sense the train breathing down his back, just about to crush him. He figured he and Joe had about three seconds left.

  “Against the wall on the right!” Joe yelled.

  By the light of the train, Frank saw several man-size indentations in the tunnel’s wall. Frank realized that must be where the repairmen went.

  Frank and Joe both dived up against one of the indentations. They froze, still as statues.

  A second later, the train roared by, the cars rattling on the tracks with a deafening racket. The silver train was only inches from the Hardys, but that was enough to save their lives. Seconds later the train was speeding away, showing only two red lights on the rear car.