Joe found the keys in Strong's pants, and the Hardys, Chet, and Tom left.
Out in the hall Joe tossed Strong's keys up in the air and caught them with a snap.
"You must be raring to go to find that letter, Joe," Frank said with a grin.
To Frank's surprise, Joe shook his head, and an intensely thoughtful expression came over his face. "That can wait," Joe said. "I have a hunch that now might be a good time to double back to the con and find Rockwitz."
Frank opened his mouth to argue, then changed his mind. Usually, when Joe had one of his hunches, it was worth acting on.
The dealers' room was abuzz with talk of the kidnappings when Joe, Frank, Chet, and Tom returned. Chet and Tom went off by themselves, while Joe led Frank toward the far end of the room, where he'd spoken to Rockwitz earlier that day.
The room was packed and Joe and Frank made slow progress. They were constantly forced to sidetrack around thick groups of conventioneers who were examining and buying artwork. They still hadn't reached Rockwitz's table when they ran into Tom, who was upset.
"Frank, Joe, I've got to talk to you right away," Tom said.
"What's wrong?" Joe asked.
"I just got offered a piece of artwork that I know has to be either stolen or a fake," Tom said miserably.
"What?" Frank asked.
Tom bit his lip and squinted uncomfortably behind his wire-framed glasses. "I went over to Rockwitz's table, but it was a mess. A lot of his artwork was packed in boxes. I asked what was up, and he tells me he's leaving the con early.
"But then he comes over and says that since I've been such a good customer, he's going to offer me a special deal," Tom went on. "He pulls out the Wonder Comics cover with the giant robots from Johns's art collection."
Joe shot a knowing look at his brother. That was the same cover he'd seen earlier.
"Go on, Tom," Frank said, nodding.
"So I say to him, 'What this? This piece of art got burned on Thursday.' Rockwitz just laughed. He offered it to me for a thousand bucks. That's about a tenth of what it's worth. Said he had to unload it quick. Rockwitz wouldn't be selling it at such a low price if there wasn't something shady going on."
Joe's mind clicked into action.
"We better get over there fast," Joe said to Frank.
When they got to Rockwitz's table, it was almost bare. Rockwitz was moving with frantic haste as he piled boxes in a low cart. When he caught sight of Joe, his face grew pale.
"Can't talk now, guys," Rockwitz said with a nervous look. "Got to go. There's been a - uh, death in my family. Uh, so if you'll excuse me ..."
Joe stepped right in front of Rockwitz and shook his head. "No, you don't. You're not going anywhere until you answer a few questions."
Rockwitz stared at Joe and dismissed him with a shrug. "I don't have to talk to you. You're not the cops."
"No," said Frank, leaning across the table, "but they might be interested in an art dealer who's involved in fraud."
"Tom told us you offered him one of the pieces of art that supposedly got burned yesterday. What's going on with Johns's art collection?" Joe asked in a hard voice.
"Nothing. There's nothing illegal going on," Rockwitz said quickly. "Johns sold me some stuff from his collection, but it was all perfectly legit. What he did on his own after he sold me the art is none of my concern. I'm just an honest businessman."
"Maybe not so honest," Frank put in. "If Johns ever tries to get the insurance money for phony work, then you're an accessory to insurance fraud."
Rockwitz's mouth fell open. He started sweating heavily, clearly rattled.
"Just tell the truth, Morrie," Joe prodded. "If you know anything about Johns, it could help us solve his kidnapping."
Rockwitz sat down abruptly as if he'd been deflated. "Okay," he said softly. "What do you want to know?"
"First things first," Joe told him. "What's the story with the burned artwork?"
"All that stuff was fake!"
"How do you know?" Frank asked.
"It had to be! I bought Johns's whole collection," Rockwitz told them.
Frank and Joe exchanged glances.
"When?" Joe asked.
"He started selling it off four or five years ago. He sold more of it every year until about two weeks ago, when he sold me the last big batch of it. I paid him a lot of money for it, but Johns acted like the money almost didn't matter. He was acting weird that day, distracted."
"Did you know the fakes were going to be burned?" Frank asked.
"No!" Rockwitz replied indignantly. "I'm just an art dealer, not a crook! I didn't even know there were any fakes until I arrived at the convention. I was pretty steamed when I saw the display, but Barry was kidnapped before I could talk to him about it. And after - well, I didn't want to end up in the same boat he's in, so I kept my mouth shut."
It seemed to Frank that Rockwitz was telling the truth, although he couldn't be sure until he'd asked Sergeant Hanlon to have his lab check the charred cover to determine its age. Frank rubbed his chin as he and Joe and Tom walked away from Rockwitz.
"What is it?" Joe asked. "Did you figure something out?"
"Not yet," Frank replied.
Noticing that Tom was hanging on their every word, Joe said, "Tom, could you find Chet? Tell him we'll meet him at the hotel later."
"Okay," Tom said, and a second later he disappeared into the crowd.
"Good," Frank said. "We need to go over what we already know."
Joe ran a hand through his sandy blond hair and blew out a long breath. "Whew! Where do we start?"
Frank pulled out his notebook and ran a finger down a page of notes. "Okay. One. We know that Johns, Parente, and Kaner have all been kidnapped by unknown persons disguised as Terrific Comics supervillains. Two. We know Harry Saul hates Johns, maybe enough to kidnap him, and that he probably wrote Johns a threatening letter."
"Besides which he was seen near Kaner's house and Parente's hotel at the times of their kidnappings," Joe added.
"Three. We also know that Johns secretly sold his art collection to Rockwitz before it got burned, and that means there could be some kind of scam to get Johns's insurance money," Frank said. "Maybe it's the insurance money that the kidnappers are after." Frank scanned his list again. "Four. The kidnappers' deadline runs out at midnight tomorrow. That doesn't leave us much time."
"Let's go to Zenith Publishing now and find that letter Strong mentioned," Joe suggested. "If the letter is there, we might be able to pin the kidnappings on Saul and save Johns before the deadline runs out."
Frank stowed away his notebook. "Let's go."
***
The midtown San Diego area where Zenith Publishing was located wasn't far from the convention center. Since it was late, it was totally deserted. Frank checked out the area carefully as he drove up to the rear of the building. If there was trouble, they would be on their own. "I want to park this thing somewhere inconspicuous," he told Joe.
"Okay. I'll open the Zenith offices." Joe got out of the car. "Meet you inside."
Frank parked behind a Dumpster, then slipped inside the building, locking the door behind him.
He tried to call an elevator to the ground floor, then realized the elevators must be turned off for the weekend. Spotting an exit sign glowing in the corner, he headed for it. Swiftly but quietly, he went up the stairwell, pausing at every landing to listen for any noise.
The building seemed totally silent. Joe must already be upstairs, Frank decided. Letting out a long breath, he flexed away some of the tension that had built up in his back muscles and continued up the stairs.
Suddenly the stairwell shook violently, throwing Frank against the wall. A huge explosion rocked the floor just above him.
Chapter 9
Frank felt his legs buckle under him, and he hit the stairs hard. The explosion left a ringing in his ears, but he stood up and knew he wasn't hurt. As Frank shook his head to clear the ringing, he realized ... Joe!
***
The blast had knocked Joe to the floor of the Zenith reception area. Though slightly stunned, Joe knew to roll under the receptionist's desk and wait till the explosion died away.
When everything was still, he crawled out from under the desk to see what kind of damage the explosion had caused. There was shattered glass everywhere, and at the opposite end of the floor an office was on fire. Long tongues of flame shot through the shattered doorway. It was probably Johns's office, Joe figured, but there was no way he was going to take the time to make sure. The Zenith bullpen, with its rows of desks and drafting tables, wasn't burning yet, but it would be soon. It was a good place, Joe decided, to get out of quickly.
Joe picked his way carefully over the broken glass, stepping around the overturned chairs and other debris that littered the reception area. He blew out a sigh of relief when he made it into the darkened hall. As he walked toward the stairwell at the other end of the hall he could see in the dimness that the explosion had blown out one wall of the office, completely blocking the stairwell from below with a heap of brick and chunks of plaster. Smoke was billowing into the hall from the hole in the office. Somewhere on the floor, Joe heard a fire alarm screech on.
"Joe! Joe! Are you okay?" The frantic shout came up through the piles of rubble, and Joe had to strain to hear Frank. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted back, "I'm okay, Frank! Not a scratch!"
"Can you get down?" Frank called.
"Not here! The explosion knocked out the stairs below me!"
There was a tense moment of silence; then Frank called up, "Take the stairs to the roof! I'll take the fire escape and meet you there!"
Joe scanned the stairs leading up, then answered, "All right. The stairs going up look good! See you in a few minutes!"
Once on the roof, Joe took a deep breath to clear his lungs of smoke. Then he looked around the roof until he spotted the fire-escape ladder on the opposite side of the roof. He walked toward it, but paused halfway there when he heard something behind him.
Before he could turn around, Joe felt a sudden stinging sensation around his ankles and his feet were pulled out from under him. He fell hard, and the wind was forced from his lungs in a single breath.
Joe immediately rolled over onto his back to see who his attacker was. In the darkness it was hard to make out details, but Joe did recognize the insect helmet and shiny black costume banded with body armor - Whip Scorpion!
He saw that Whip Scorpion held a long bullwhip in his right hand, and that the end of the whip was wrapped around Joe's ankles. Kicking free, Joe rolled behind an air-conditioning duct.
Crack! The whip struck only a few inches from Joe's head. As he dodged reflexively to the left, Joe's hand passed over a length of rusty pipe and he grabbed it, grateful for the weapon.
Whip Scorpion snapped the whip at Joe's head again, but Joe blocked the blow with his piece of pipe. He tried to pull the whip away, but it flicked all round him too fast.
Joe was sweating in the cool night air as the Scorpion's whip drove him toward the edge of the building. Where was Frank? he wondered. The whip cracked again and Joe dodged, taking a step backward, closer to the edge.
Joe saw Whip Scorpion draw back his arm for another strike. He tensed, ready to dodge or parry it, but the crook had frozen in place, his arm locked in position over his head.
Joe looked past Whip Scorpion and saw Frank with one hand tightly gripping the tip of the bull whip. Whip Scorpion tried to yank the whip from Frank's grasp, but Frank jerked back on it, throwing Whip Scorpion off-balance.
Knowing he'd never get a better opportunity, Joe lunged at the crook with his pipe and struck a glancing blow on the side of the insectlike helmet, causing Whip Scorpion to stagger backward.
Frank yanked on the whip again, but to Joe's surprise, Whip Scorpion easily jerked it from his grasp, then turned two backflips and landed lightly on his feet in front of Frank.
Before Frank had a chance to react, Whip Scorpion landed a right cross to his jaw that sent him reeling. Then Whip Scorpion scuttled down the fire-escape ladder.
Joe threw down his pipe and charged after Whip Scorpion. He descended the ladder two steps at a time, determined not to let the crook escape. Joe saw Whip Scorpion stop on the landing below him and pull something shiny from his belt.
"Duck!" Joe heard Frank call from above.
Joe ducked, and narrowly missed being hit by a five-pointed ninja star, which clanged off a fire-escape rung.
Just then, a nondescript white sedan appeared at the entrance to the alley and screeched to a halt near the bottom of the fire escape. Joe saw Whip Scorpion start at the sight of the car, but he didn't slow down, even when a huge, dark figure popped out of the driver's side of the car and brandished something in the air.
"Police! Hold it!" the man shouted.
Whip Scorpion ignored the command and vaulted down to the bottom landing, nimbly catching himself at the last instant. He hung there for a second, then somersaulted into a pile of cardboard boxes behind the Dumpster.
The dark figure fired a warning shot in the air as Whip Scorpion sprinted toward the end of the alley.
Joe watched from the fire escape as a silver van roared up to the mouth of the alley. Dreadnought's angular helmet was clearly framed by the open driver's window. A split second later the door on the side of the van slid open, and Whip Scorpion dived in. The Hardys heard the van's powerful engine rev, then the tires screech as it raced off.
In the next instant the dark figure spotted Frank and Joe on the fire escape. He swiveled and pointed his revolver at the boys, standing in a marksman's crouch.
"Freeze or I'll blow you away!"
Chapter 10
Frank and Joe raised their hands.
"Don't shoot," Frank called out. "We're unarmed."
"Come down where I can see for myself," the dark gunman commanded in a strangely familiar voice. "And keep your hands where I can see them."
"Play it cool, Joe. This guy seems edgy," Frank said in a low voice as he caught up with Joe. Frank and Joe reached the bottom of the fire escape and dropped lightly to the ground. The gunman stepped out of the shadows. It was Sergeant Hanlon.
"What are you two doing here?" Hanlon demanded angrily, lowering his gun.
There was an awkward silence, which was filled by the loud whine of an approaching siren.
"Well, speak up," Hanlon told them.
Joe broke the silence. "We were checking out a lead in the Johns case, Sergeant. Dewey Strong gave us his keys to the Zenith offices so we could see a threatening letter Johns got a few days ago."
"And I suppose you don't know anything about the bomb your buddy set off," Hanlon said sarcastically.
"Our buddy!" Frank said incredulously. "Detective, we were chasing that guy!"
Hanlon gestured for them to come forward. "Yeah. Sure. Tell me about it at the station house."
***
"I've already told you, Sergeant. We went to Zenith to look at a letter Johns got from Harry Saul," Frank said, feeling his exasperation growing. They had already been in the station over an hour, but Hanlon was still giving them a hard time. They'd told him what Strong had said about the letter from Saul, and had filled him in on all they knew about Johns, Kaner, and Parente.
"Look," Frank said, trying hard to keep a lid on his temper. "We're trying to cooperate. What else do you want to know?"
"Anything you guys have learned about Johns that might have a bearing on this case," Hanlon responded.
"Did you know Saul was in the vicinity of the Kaner kidnapping?" Joe asked suddenly.
"Or that he was also nearby when Parente got kidnapped from the hotel?" Frank added, remembering that he'd seen Saul in the crowd after his leap into the pool.
"Here's another angle you may want to look into," Frank told Hanlon. "Where's my bag? There's a piece of evidence that I want to give you."
Hanlon got up and left the room, returning a moment later with Frank's bag. Frank opened it and pulled out the scorched page fragment Tom had given him.
"Okay, I'll bite. What is it?" Hanlon asked.
"It's a piece of art from Johns's collection that got burned during his kidnapping," Frank replied. "We think that piece of artwork you're holding is a forgery.
"Can you have it sent to the police labs to test the age of the paper?" Frank asked. "If it's less than fifty years old, it's a forgery."
"Forgery?" Hanlon shook his head quizzically. "Wait a minute, I thought we were dealing with kidnapping here."
"It's more complicated than that, Sergeant. Johns has been selling off his art collection to one art dealer," Frank explained. "We think it's possible that Johns replaced the art with forgeries so it would look like he still owned them."
Hanlon made several notes, then looked up at the Hardys with a flinty expression. "Maybe I was a little hasty calling you boys amateurs. You've turned up some real interesting information. But smart or not, you're still civilians, and if you stick your noses into police business, I'll arrest you for obstructing justice. Got me?"
"We understand, Sergeant. We'll stay out of your way," Frank said, hoping that Hanlon would believe him.
To Frank's relief, Hanlon sat back in his chair and dismissed them with a wave. "Okay, then get out of here. I don't want to see you guys around this case again. I mean it!"
***
"Hey, guys, are you okay?" Chet asked.
The Hardys had found him browsing the convention art show, on the floor above the dealers' room. Frank was surprised the exhibits were still open, but then remembered what Chet had said about the weird hours of comic-book cons.
The Last Laugh Page 6
