But what caught Nancy’s attention was the other man in the picture. An American in Green Beret fatigues whom Louie had his arm around. The American was young, rugged, his face partially blurred but still recognizable. In fact, Nancy would have known him anywhere.
It was Matt Layton!
Suddenly everything was coming together. Matt Layton—a Vietnam veteran whose specialty had been undercover operations. A man who was resourceful, efficient, and remorseless—a bit of a fanatic, by all accounts. And a politician, too—one whose record was absolutely impeccable.
Or was it?
What if there had been something in Matt Layton’s past—something that happened during the war in Vietnam—something that Louie knew about and was going to sell to Beverly Bishop?
Nancy remembered all the clues that pointed to Marilyn Kilpatrick. Of course! Wasn’t she Matt Layton’s most serious political rival? The person he hoped to replace as U.S. senator? The woman who represented everything he hated?
Matt had to be the one who’d killed Beverly Bishop. There was no other explanation. Nancy’s suspicions had been correct, and now she had the tape to prove Matt Layton wasn’t the hero he claimed to be.
Nancy hurriedly stuffed the tape and the photo into her already full purse. She had everything she needed now—except a way out. Nancy sat down on the windowsill. The door was useless, and stepping out onto the fire escape would surely be fatal. Other windows? That would mean a four-story drop. Nancy didn’t think she could survive that.
Maybe I ought to take my chances out there, she thought, reconsidering the fire escape. When the fire fighters get here, Layton’s thugs won’t be able to shoot me without getting caught.
Just then, as if to prod her into action, one wall burst into bright orange flames, licking up to the ceiling. Now there was almost no oxygen left in the room. Nancy swung one leg through the window and out onto the fire escape.
Ping! A bullet whizzed past her leg and ricocheted off the window frame. Nancy pulled her leg back inside the room, hoping to hide from the next one. Unless someone showed up soon to rescue her, she was going to die!
She glanced around the room for a phone. Hadn’t anyone called the fire department yet? Her gaze landed on a stack of camouflage gear, piled up against what appeared to be an unused fireplace. Taking one last gulp of fresh air at the window, Nancy ran over to the fireplace and tossed the gear out of the way. She poked her head in and looked up. She could hardly believe it—a patch of blue sky!
The chimney hole was quite narrow, and Nancy knew there was a good chance she’d never make it, that she’d be stuck inside and suffocate from the smoke of the fire. But a shred of hope was better than none. Slinging the strap of her bag around her neck to free her arms, she began shinnying up the hole, coughing the whole way, and praying she wouldn’t pass out before she made it to the top.
Inch by painful inch, she scratched and clawed her way up the gritty black hole that was her only chance. Below her, she could see the red reflection of the fire as it consumed the room with a great roar.
At last she managed to reach up and grab the top of the chimney. With every ounce of strength left in her, she heaved hard, pulling herself up and over onto the flat roof of the building.
Just as she made it up over the top, her purse caught on the edge and turned over. The big heavy envelope with Beverly’s three chapters in it slipped out, and before Nancy could grab it, it plunged back down the chimney and into the flames!
Oh no! Nancy peered back down the hole she’d just emerged from. There, at the bottom, were the sizzling, untold secrets of Della Hawks, Jillian Riley, and Marilyn Kilpatrick.
Just for a moment, Nancy considered going back down for them, but there was no way she could do it. By the time she got there, the chapters would be destroyed—and so would she. As she watched, the envelope turned brown, then black along the edges, and finally burst into flames.
Nancy drew back and wiped her eyes. She had to blink several times to get the ashes out, and she took a huge, deep breath of air. It smelled like smoke, but it was breathable.
Nancy checked her purse. The tape and the photo were still there, thank goodness. As evidence, it probably wouldn’t be enough to convict Matt Layton, but it was certainly a good start. And now, because of a crazy quirk of fate, Marilyn’s secret was safe forever, and so was Teresa Montenegro!
Nancy wasn’t out of the woods yet, not by any means. The roof around her was beginning to buckle as she stood there. In just a few seconds, it would collapse, sending her plummeting back down into the raging inferno.
Nancy ran over to the side of the roof farthest from the street and looked carefully over the edge.
There was a crowd in the narrow alley below, and the fire fighters were trying in vain to get through with their trucks.
Nancy looked across to the neighboring roof. It was a good six feet away. To get there, she’d have to climb up on the roof wall and take a standing broad jump across six feet of nothingness!
There was no choice. She had to try. Steeling herself, Nancy scrambled up onto the barrier wall, keeping her weight centered low. She bent her knees and stuck her arms out behind her, ready to jump. Letting out a yell, she leapt into the air, keeping her eyes focused on the ledge in front of her.
Every muscle in her stretched forward, and she grabbed for a handhold.
There! Her hands had found a grip at the top of the opposite wall. Her nails dug frantically at the slate shingles, and her legs pumped away at the bricks. She’d made it—she’d managed to grasp the edge of the other roof! But her body was dangling dangerously beneath her, trying to pull her four stories down.
“Look! Up there!” someone below shouted, and the crowd turned its attention to her. Nancy was hanging on by her fingertips, and as the horrified crowd watched, she began to slip inch by inch.
Nancy looked down at the alley beneath her and gasped.
She was going to fall!
Chapter
Fifteen
NANCY STRUGGLED WITH all her might to hold on. Her ring and little fingers slipped, so she was holding on with just three fingers of each hand. They were shaking from the stress, and her middle fingers felt as if they were about to break in half.
A series of images started racing through her mind. She saw her father grieving when he heard the news of his daughter’s demise. She saw Ned’s face in her mind. And Bess and George—would she ever get the chance to tell all of them how much she loved them? What if the last thing she saw was the dirty red brick building she was clinging hopelessly to?
No! She refused to allow that to happen. With a grunt, she clawed at the wall, hoping against hope that somehow this wouldn’t be the end.
That was when her toe found an outcropping, a tiny ledge only about three inches wide. Nancy guessed it was the stone lintel that ran across the top of the fourth-floor window. It didn’t matter much what it was—it was a toehold. It would stop her fall.
She rested some of her weight on the narrow stone ledge for a moment or two while she got a more secure grip with her hands.
Breathing hard, Nancy flexed her knees slightly and took a little jump upward—about a foot’s worth. Just enough to grab the inside of the retaining wall with her hands and hoist herself up—and over!
There! thought Nancy, listening to the crowd cheer. If the gunman hadn’t shot her yet, he obviously wasn’t going to—not with so many people around. Still, better not to take any risks with her precious evidence.
Looking around on the roof for a place to hide it, she found a pile of rubble up against one side of the water tank, the residue of a job some sloppy workmen had left unfinished. Taking her bag off her shoulder, she buried it in the pile, then covered it with debris. No one would think to look for anything under there. Her treasure would be safe until Captain Flynn could uncover it.
Now Nancy had to get down to the street and away from the thugs. Most important, she had to get home and tell the senator, Teresa, D
an—and the police!—who had really killed Beverly Bishop.
Nancy hurried over to the door to the stairs, but it was locked from the inside. Quickly she ran back to her bag, dug out her lock-picking kit, and took care of the problem in short order. She felt as though she had escaped this mess safely.
She was down the stairs and on the street in no time, shifting her gaze in all directions as she melted into the crowd on the street. Somewhere nearby lurked a couple of thugs who would just love to follow her back to the senator’s home. They had killed Louie, and now they were after her. Well, she was not about to oblige them!
Every bone in her body ached, and as Nancy moved through the crowd, trying to look unobtrusive, she felt about a hundred years old. In the past twenty minutes, she’d used muscles she hadn’t even known she had.
As far as was possible, Nancy kept close to knots of people, figuring that she would be a less tempting target. In this fashion, she made her way little by little down the block, toward the far corner. Around it lay safety, success—and, she hoped, no surprises.
She was about twenty yards from the corner when she ran out of people to hide behind. She lingered for a moment, undecided. Should she make a run for it or just continue to stroll until she was out of sight? If they’d already spotted her, it probably wouldn’t make any difference which she did. They’d find her and catch her, no matter what. She didn’t have the strength to outrun them, not anymore.
Nancy kept walking slowly, as if she were out for an afternoon stroll.
“Hey! That’s her!” came a shout from behind her.
Nancy broke into a brisk run, moving as fast as she could with her aching muscles. Maybe she should have stayed in the crowd, but it was too late for that now.
Ping! A bullet ricocheted off the corner of the building as Nancy ducked around it and out of sight. No sound of gunfire, just a ping. The gunmen were using silencers, Nancy realized. They must have attached them to their weapons when the crowd gathered!
Nancy ran out into the street when a stream of traffic went by and tried to hail a cab, but none stopped. She ducked back into her hiding place. She was going to have to make it all the way back to Marilyn’s on foot, lost and aching as she was, and with at least two goons on her tail.
Nancy felt as if she’d already spent every last ounce of energy. She’d barely slept in almost thirty-six hours, she’d been shot at, nearly burned to death, forced up a chimney and out onto a roof, and now she was being chased through the streets of Washington!
Nancy ducked under an overhang and searched the skyline for familiar landmarks. Off in the distance she could see the dome of the Capitol, and she knew where Marilyn lived in relation to that. If she could just make it to one of the big avenues, she’d be able to figure it out from there. Nancy prided herself on her excellent sense of direction—every great detective needed one.
She stepped out of the doorway and started running again at top speed. She knew she could find her way back to Memorial Boulevard. The question was, could she make it there alive?
• • •
“Marilyn?”
Nancy’s hoarse voice echoed in the silent apartment. “Marilyn, are you here? Teresa?” Nancy flicked on the light, and looked around. The apartment had been straightened up, but there was no sign of Marilyn or Teresa. “Marilyn?” she called again.
“Nobody here but us congressional staffers,” came a voice from behind her. With a gasp of terror, Nancy turned around and stared into the smiling face of Dan Prosky.
“Dan!” she cried out, her hand on her chest. “You scared me half to death!”
“Sorry about that.” He smiled as he munched on a doughnut. “Boy, you look terrible.”
“You didn’t look so hot yourself the last time I saw you. Where’s Marilyn? I’ve got to talk to her.” Nancy sank onto the sofa in the living room, exhausted.
“She’s at the police station.”
“Oh no! Is she under arrest?”
“No, not yet. Captain Flynn said they just wanted to ask her a few questions.”
“Where’s Teresa?” Nancy wanted to know.
“She went along for moral support. To tell you the truth, she’s probably a lot safer at the station house than she would be anywhere else.”
“But, Dan, everything’s all right now!” Nancy said excitedly. “Beverly’s manuscript—it got destroyed, burned to a crisp!”
Dan looked at her blankly for a moment. He sat down in the club chair next to the TV. “Nancy, I was a cop for five years, you know. You could be in big trouble if you—”
“No, Dan, it was an accident. I was on my way to the station to turn those chapters over to the police. Listen, it’s a long story. Right now, I have to take care of something even more important—Beverly Bishop’s murderer. I know who it is, Dan!”
“You’re kidding! You sure are a fast worker.” Dan shook his head admiringly. “Who is it?”
“You’re not going to believe this when I tell you. It’s Matt Layton.”
Dan just sat there for a moment, blinking his eyes. “I’m not sure I heard you right. Did you say Matt Layton, as in Congressman Matt Layton?”
“Mm-hm,” replied Nancy. “He killed Beverly Bishop, and either he or one of his thugs killed a guy named Louie down in Little Saigon. They tried to kill me, too.”
“I don’t get it,” said Dan, shaking his head. “The guy’s a bona fide war hero. He got the Congressional Medal of Honor.”
“That’s just it, Dan. If there was something buried way back in Layton’s past, and Beverly Bishop somehow found out about it—then nobody has more to lose than the guy who’s got it all,” she pointed out.
“I guess so,” Dan agreed, scratching his head in disbelief. “But, Nancy—Matt Layton?”
“He’s Marilyn’s worst political enemy, right?” Nancy reminded him. “And whoever killed Beverly tried very hard to make it look as if Marilyn did it!”
“You’re right,” Dan said. “Do you have proof of any of this?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve got proof of motive for both murders. In any case, I’ve got enough to expose Matt Layton for whatever else he is—I haven’t heard the tape Louie gave me yet, but if his information was good enough for Beverly Bishop, it’ll be good enough for the rest of the Washington press corps.”
“Meaning, if you can’t nail him for murder, you’ll settle for exposing him?”
Nancy shrugged wearily. “If I have to.”
“So tell me,” said Dan, crossing his legs, “where’s this proof of yours?”
“In a safe hiding place,” said Nancy, “waiting for the police. You know, maybe we should go down to the station and tell Captain Flynn and Marilyn what’s going on.”
“Okay,” Dan said, standing up. “But do you want to shower that soot off first?”
“No. I’ll have plenty of time to look good after the murderer is caught. Right now we’ve got to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone else.”
“Like you?” Dan asked as they walked to the front door.
“Exactly!” answered Nancy.
Dan reached in front of Nancy and opened the door for her. But someone was standing on the doorstep, his finger poised to ring the bell.
It was Matt Layton.
And he was pointing a revolver right in their faces.
Chapter
Sixteen
NANCY DREW, ISN’T it?”
Nancy stared back into Matt Layton’s steel blue eyes, her heart practically in her throat. She didn’t say a word.
“I’m so sorry it’s come to this,” he continued. “Really I am. Let’s go inside,” he said, stepping through the door and carefully closing it behind him. They walked into the living room with Layton holding a gun to Nancy’s back.
“Please—sit down, both of you,” he commanded. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
With a questioning look at Dan, Nancy sat down on the sofa. Dan started for a chair on the opposite side of the room, but Layton s
topped him. “Huh-uh,” he said, waving his gun as a warning. “Next to your detective friend, Mr. Prosky. That’s right.” He smiled at Nancy as Dan took his place next to her on the couch.
She had to admit Layton was handsome and charismatic, and he held up well under pressure. There he stood, acting as if the three of them were at a social function! The man was cool, with nerves of steel, no doubt about it. Just the kind of man you’d want to have on your side in a war.
But this was a kind of war, after all, thought Nancy—and Matt Layton was on the other side.
“My, my,” said Layton, coming a little closer and looking Nancy over carefully. “You and Ms. Montenegro really do resemble each other. How unusual, for two such illustrious and unrelated people! Truly remarkable.”
The initial shock of the congressman’s arrival had worn off now, and Nancy began to search the room with her eyes, looking for a way out of this mess—any way at all.
“Of course you know,” Layton began, “that I can’t afford to let you live, either one of you. Nothing personal, although I must say you’ve made my life pretty miserable lately, Ms. Drew. How you managed to get out of Louie’s apartment alive, I’ll never know. I’m sure it’s a long story, and I haven’t got all that much time.”
“Since we’re going to die anyway,” Nancy interrupted, “can’t you at least tell us what it was Beverly had on you?”
Layton considered for a moment, regarding his revolver carefully before replying. “I suppose I could. Since it won’t be in Beverly’s book after all, and since you’ll be history in a few minutes, I guess it won’t hurt to tell you.”
Putting one foot up on the arm of Marilyn’s sofa and leaning toward Nancy, he said, “You see, Ms. Drew, Louie and I were buddies back in ‘Nam, round about nineteen sixty-seven, ‘sixty-eight. We were in the Green Berets together, and we did a few interesting jobs for the CIA—undercover operations here and there, counterterrorist strikes, that sort of thing. You get very close to your buddies doing that kind of work, and Louie and I, and three or four other guys—well, we did a lot of good work for the country.
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