Witness to Murder

by Franklin W. Dixon

  He grinned sheepishly at her. "Well, I guess I was being a little careless. I was thinking about the good fishing back there in those streams. I really appreciate your stopping. I was afraid no one was going to pull over."

  "Normally I wouldn't. I never pick up hitchhikers. Most of them are jailbirds. But you look like my brother Homer's grandson, Peter Hobbs. You don't know Peter, do you?"

  "No, ma'am." They continued driving and talking for another hour. Joe couldn't believe he was sitting there making small talk with this woman. But at least she was driving the speed limit, and by some rare bit of luck she was headed to Bayport also.

  "Decided to go live in the city, he did," she said, picking up the thread of conversation she had dropped an hour earlier. "Said he could get a job in New York. Don't know why anyone'd want to live in the city, though. Peter took a job as a policeman," the old woman continued. "Don't know why anyone would want to be a policeman."

  Police! Joe groaned. His appointment with the Bayport police.

  "Are you hurting?" the woman asked when she heard Joe's groan. "Should I take you to a hospital?"

  "No, ma'am. I'll be all right. I just remembered something. What time is it?"

  "Near nine o'clock. I've got plenty of time. My dentist appointment's at ten right here in Bayport, and then I thought I'd do some shopping at the Bayport mall. Maybe take in a movie. Not too many movies I like to see these days, but I do like a good cry or a love story."

  "I don't suppose you'd have time to drop me at High Street and Elm, would you, ma'am?" Joe interrupted gently.

  "Why, that's very near my dentist. Maybe your luck is changing." The woman laughed softly, and a pleased look came onto her face.

  Joe certainly needed a change in luck. "Yes, ma'am, I hope so. I'm lucky you weren't afraid to pick me up."

  "That's right," she agreed, and slowed up to pull up against the curb. "This close enough to where you need to go?"

  "Sure is, ma'am." Joe unlatched the car door. "And thanks again."

  "You're welcome. Maybe you should see a doctor."

  "I will." Joe slammed the door and waved. He limped until she drove out of sight, then tossed his crutch into a nearby trash basket and sprinted home.

  With any more of the luck his rescuer mentioned he could get home, shower, call a cab, and get to the police station in plenty of time. What he had to decide before he got there was how much of this story to tell Officer O'Hara. Would she believe any of it? Could the police find Annie any sooner than he could?

  Nearing the Hardy home, Joe pulled up short. His luck must have run out. Stopping on a lawn two doors from his house, he stared.

  A police car was parking in front of his place. It looked like Officer O'Hara in the driver's seat. What had happened to bring her here instead of waiting for Joe at the station? And what would she do when she found Joe gone?

  Chapter 14

  Frank Hardy stood in the doorway of his house trying to make a decision. He knew Joe wasn't home, and he didn't know how long he could cover for him.

  "Good morning, Officer O'Hara. Officer Riley," he said, trying to be pleasant. It was good Con was there, maybe he could defuse any unpleasantness. "What brings you here so early?"

  "This is not a social call, Mr. Hardy." Officer O'Hara was all business. "I suspect you know that. I'm here to see your brother."

  "He had a bad night." Frank stalled, wondering where Joe could be. He knew that his taking off with Annie was a bad idea. But his appointment with the police wasn't until ten. "I knew his appointment wasn't until ten so I didn't wake him. Is something wrong?"

  "That's what I'm here to find out. We got a call at the station telling us Joe had left town. Was he skipping out on his bail?" "Who told you that?" Frank asked. "The call was anonymous. But I decided it was worth following up." Officer O'Hara was growing impatient.

  "Joe is innocent, Officer O'Hara, and he's cooperated with you from the beginning. Why would he have any reason to skip out?" "That's what I want to find out." Frank took the risk of being blunt even though he didn't want to annoy Officer O'Hara any further. She already believed that Joe was a murderer.

  "Excuse me for saying so, Officer, but I think your time could be better spent finding the people who are really responsible for Phil Sidler's death. The jewel thieves. It's obvious there's a connection there."

  "Are you telling me how to do my job now?" O'Hara started past Frank into the foyer.

  Officer Con Riley followed her in with an apologetic shrug and a rueful smile for Frank. Frank read the gestures to say he'd better produce Joe and satisfy the young officer's curiosity.

  "Do you have a search warrant, Officer O'Hara?" Frank asked, politely but firmly blocking her entry into the living room.

  "Do I need one, Mr. Hardy?" O'Hara asked back.

  Frank finally gave in and sighed. He'd protected Joe as long as he could. "Joe's room is upstairs." He followed O'Hara, however, prepared to keep talking.

  Officer O'Hara marched briskly up the stairway and down the hall. She knocked sharply on the door Frank indicated and smiled grimly when she got no answer. Twisting the knob, she strode in. Frank was shocked to see Joe's bed a jumble of blankets and the spread in a pile on the floor.

  He didn't even try to hide a relieved grin as the bathroom door opened.

  "Officer O'Hara," Joe Hardy said, his face a picture of surprised innocence. "I thought my appointment was at ten. Got anxious to see me?" Joe's timing was perfect, his entrance suspiciously well planned. He strolled in from his bathroom, wrapped only in a long towel, hair wet and tousled. He was perfectly decent, but he wasn't dressed for greeting guests. He held another towel to hide his scraped wrists.

  Officer O'Hara stepped back, completely flustered. "Oh — I — " she stammered. Then she regained her composure. "Excuse me, Mr. Hardy, there was no answer to my knock on your door, and I had been led to believe — "

  "Believe what, Officer?" Joe grinned, pretending to be unaware of the woman's embarrassment. "That I'd forgotten my appointment with you? I was just getting ready." "Fine, Mr. Hardy. I'll wait while you finish dressing and give you a ride." Officer O'Hara spun around quickly and left the room, followed by a greatly amused Con Riley. He didn't say anything to Joe or Frank, but he didn't have to. "Joe, where have you been?" asked Frank when he was alone with his brother. He had enjoyed Joe's act so much that he had trouble sounding angry.

  "Frank, listen, I'm going to talk fast." Joe turned immediately serious. "The van is on that little dirt road we used to take when we went fishing with Dad. North of here about an hour." For the first time Frank noticed the abrasions on Joe's wrists. He stepped forward, taking Joe's hand. "What happened? You need to see a doctor."

  "There isn't time. I'll pour some antiseptic over them when I'm dressed. Our elusive tall man forced Annie and me to return to Bayport, but Cutter's men caught up to us before we could get here. They've taken Annie, Frank. We've got to help her."

  "I had to swear to Dad I wouldn't go back to Cutter's hideout. Not without New York City cops. He's going to contact some of his old buddies on the force today and set everything in motion."

  "Then I'll have to go alone, Frank. Annie's life is in danger now — not later."

  "Tell the Bayport police the whole story, Joe," Frank urged.

  "Getting Annie out of there is my number-one priority, Frank, but you know as well as I do that we've got to find the diamonds—to connect Phil to the robberies. And to clear Annie and then me. I want you go get the van. Take a can of gas."

  "You ran out of gas?" asked Frank.

  "I don't want to hear it, Frank. Just go get the van." Joe rummaged through a drawer.

  "I have a better idea." Frank paced the floor while Joe dressed. "I'll send a tow truck for the van, and we'll borrow Callie's car. It'd take too much time to go out and get the van right now."

  "I will report Annie missing, and I won't interfere with the NYPD, but I think it's up to us to find her. Dad would understand tha
t."

  Back in the bathroom Joe poured some hydrogen peroxide over his wrists, wincing as the antiseptic bubbled and fizzed in the scrapes and cuts. He shrugged off the bandages that Frank pulled from the medicine cabinet. "Don't need them. Pick me up at the station in half an hour." Joe ran down the stairs.

  Frank used Joe's extension phone to make his calls.

  "Of course you can borrow my car, Frank," said Callie when he reached her. "But I'm going along. I'm tired of never seeing you." "This may be dangerous, Callie. I don't want you along."

  "I don't care what you want, Frank. I can drive. You may need me. I won't go inside, but I'll keep the engine running." Frank knew better than to argue with Callie when she was in that mood. Besides, she might be right. They could need her if they had to make a quick getaway. Cutter's men and the tall man, whoever he was, knew the van. They wouldn't be looking for Callie's car.

  Callie picked Frank up and they drove to the police station. Joe was already pacing the sidewalk outside.

  "Reflash of the whole case," he explained as he hopped in the back seat of Callie's little green car. "That's all they wanted to do. Waste of time. They didn't even want to hear what happened yesterday. I told them I hadn't been able to locate Annie, but they weren't concerned."

  "I guess even they're convinced she's part of the gang," Frank said. "But they can't do anything until they get some hard evidence against her."

  While Frank wanted Annie safe, he did remind ' Joe that Annie, if involved, had gotten herself into this mess.

  "Ready for a little trip to New York City, Callie?" asked Frank as they hopped into the car.

  "Filled the tank before I picked you up. You navigate." She spun efficiently out of the lot and headed for the expressway.

  "I'm glad you remembered to get gas," said Frank, looking at Joe and hoping to get a smile. But Joe stared into the distance as though he hadn't heard what Frank said.

  Frank and Joe reviewed all they knew about the case on the way to the city, but what they arrived at was that they had no concrete evidence that would convict Cutter. And that the identity of the tall man was still a mystery. His involvement in the case seemed to be independent of the police or the jewel thieves.

  "Find a space or double-park, Callie," Frank instructed as they entered the underground lot that held the key to Cutter's hideout. "Head the car for the exit and wait. We might need to get out of here fast."

  "If we ever get inside." Joe seemed less optimistic than Frank about finding the secret for getting upstairs to Cutter's secret apartment.

  Facing the solid concrete wall, Frank and Joe didn't know where to start looking. Somewhere there was a hidden panel, a button, or switch, that brought down and opened an elevator large enough for a car. The limo seemed to have disappeared into thin air, so that had to be the explanation.

  The wall was cold to the touch and rough-textured. Frank patted, punched, searched, having started at the middle and headed right. Joe, beside him, moved to the left, fingering the solid wall in the same manner.

  In a matter of minutes, they met back in the center where they'd started. "Nothing," both agreed.

  "There has to be someplace we haven't touched, some combination," Joe said. He pounded the wall with his fist in frustration.

  "That's a fairly astute assumption, boys," a voice behind them said.

  "What — you — " Joe and Frank swung around as one. They had been too intent on the wall to realize they were being watched.

  "What a nice surprise to find you here, Joe." The tall man, looking weary and dressed in very rumpled clothing, leaned casually on a green Chevy — one of the only cars in the garage.

  His smile was casual, almost gentle.

  But the 9mm Beretta in his hand was all business.

  Chapter 15

  "You boys are in good company," the tall man continued. "I couldn't find the combination to get inside, either. My real hope was that one of Cutter's men would come down and show it to me." , "What do you mean? You left us there in that police station," said Joe. "What did you tell them, anyway?"

  "I asked them to stall you for as long as possible, thinking that if Cutter's men thought you'd reported them to the police, they'd give up on you—for then. I showed my credentials to the officer and explained the situation. It didn't work, though. By the time I got a ride from one of the officers back to my car and returned, I saw Cutter's thugs follow you out of town."

  "If you're so all-seeing, Mr. Wise Guy, I guess you saw them tie me up and leave with Annie."

  "I didn't know you weren't in their car. I just saw the car pull off the road and then return. I assumed you were in the car with Annie. I followed them back to the city, but unfortunately I lost them in traffic on the way back. By the time I got here, they'd done their disappearing act."

  Joe started to lunge for the man, but Frank stopped him. "Settle down, Joe. We don't have time to fight with someone who might be on the same side we are. Why don't you put your gun away, whoever you are. Admit it—you haven't gotten any further than we have. At least we've been inside this place."

  "True. And you did leave in one piece. Luck, maybe."

  "Who are you?" Joe was willing to talk only if he knew who he was talking to. "You showed the police something convincing. Why don't you try your credentials out on us?"

  The tall man slipped his gun into a shoulder holster inside his suit jacket. Then he held out his hand. "Brookshier. Selden Brookshier. CSO."

  Frank shook hands, but Joe ignored the man's friendly gesture. "CSO?" Frank asked.

  "Central Selling Organization—out of London. Diamonds. That last shipment was ours, and we frown on people killing our couriers and helping themselves to our property. This sight never arrived."

  "Sight?" Frank questioned. "I thought we were looking for diamonds."

  "A sight is a package of rough diamonds purchased by one of our clients, usually a dealer or a diamond cutter," Selden Brookshier explained. "The value of a parcel averages about a million dollars. This one happened to be worth three times that."

  "Do the Bayport police know you're here?" Frank asked. "Are you working with them?" That must have been how Brookshier walked into Phil's room. He'd stopped at the police station and picked up a key.

  "Yes, but as you've seen, I try to keep a very low profile. The fewer people who know who I - am, the better. We don't like any publicity about our shipments. The more people who know about them, the more likely we are to become targets for thieves. We suspect someone on the inside told Phil Sidler—who at the time worked for Cutter—of this delivery. A woman who worked for the dealer."

  "Annie?" Frank said.

  "Exactly. She handled the correspondence and plane tickets. She knew her employer had viewed the stones, sent the check for them to London, and was expecting them. She wouldn't know the exact delivery time, since we don't say, but all that took on her part was a little patience."

  "You're guessing." Joe didn't want to hear that Annie was involved in the robbery. "Do you have any evidence that Annie was involved?"

  "No more evidence than we have against Cutter, but it all adds up. We attribute half or more of the jewelry jobs in this state to Cutter and his gang. We've caught people who work for him, but never Cutter or any of the higher-ups. We've never gotten enough evidence on Cutter that we thought would stick. Annie and Phil may have done us a favor in the long run, but neither may live to be thanked. I doubt if anyone lives to brag about double-crossing Cutter."

  "We've got to get Annie out," said Joe, suddenly realizing that time might be running out for his friend.

  "Come on." Frank returned to searching the rough concrete wall, starting to feel a sense of frustration knowing that they were near Cutter's hideout.

  "Of course!" Frank said suddenly. "We should have been using our eyes instead of our sense of touch. Look here." He pointed to what might be mistaken as a grease spot on the gray wall.

  Pressing on the spot started the sound of whirring, gr
inding, and purring. Slowly, large double doors, wide enough for a car to drive through, opened before them. The trio hopped inside and looked over the selection panel. "Any suggestions?" asked Frank.

  "Start with One," Joe suggested. "We don't have to get off if it's wrong."

  The elevator was painfully slow. Frank hoped some signal upstairs wasn't tipping off a guard that they were coming.

  A ping sounded for Floor One, and the doors ground open to reveal another small parking garage. The black limousine sat directly in front of the elevator doors, ready to move out when needed.

  Angrily, Joe punched Three. "It makes sense that Cutter would live on top."

  But when the door opened on Floor Three, they saw immediately that this choice was wrong. Avocado green indoor-outdoor carpet led away from the elevator. Frank clearly remembered a plush, cream-colored pile — the luxurious surroundings that Daniel Cutter cultivated.

  "I don't believe it." Joe pounded on the elevator wall as the doors slid closed, and Frank pushed the button labeled Two.

  It was evidence of Cutter's faith in his ingenious hideaway that there was no guard in the hall on Floor Two. Frank, Joe, and Selden Brookshier moved silently into the hall, looked both ways, and headed down the hall to the right. A murmur of voices floated out the second door they came to. Frank motioned to Joe, who slid in front of the doorway. The threesome poised to listen.

  "I knew you'd come to your senses, Annie." It was Cutter's voice, cold, sinister, mocking. "Too bad you held out for so long. Wouldn't it have been easier on you to have just led us to the diamonds without all this fuss?"

  "You slime." Annie's voice was shaky, but angry still.

  "Greedy people never win, Annie. Your share of the three million would have been generous, and with Phil out of the way, you could have had a percentage of his cut. You took care of him for us, so you earned it. He was scum. I usually don't hire such lowlifes, but I was careless this time.

  "You're a strong and beautiful woman, Annie Shea. Not only could you have parlayed your cut into a bigger bankroll, but you could have kept working for us. The pay goes up with every successful job. Who knows, with your looks and polish, I might have taken a special interest in you."