CHAPTER 10
Joe Hardy glanced into the review mirror for the umpteenth time. He could have sworn he saw a black sedan was tailing him. He was on his way to Riverside, driving along the main road that led to the town. He started noticing the car as soon as he left the house. He had tried a few tricks to see if the car really was tailing him – after a few minutes moving around the town of Bayport, the car still stuck close behind him.
"And he really makes a big show out of it, too," Joe muttered under his breath. He tried to look at the driver's face, but the windshield was tinted dark. If he couldn't get a look at the face, then he would concentrate on the car. It was a late model Ford, but the license plate was caked with mud.
"How convenient," he added sarcastically, referring to the plate.
Joe suddenly pulled the van to a stop by the side road that was lined with trees. Instead of stopping behind the van, the black car ran past the van. Joe immediately gunned the engine. The road forked into two ahead, and the black car took the right one – the road that led to the center of Riverside.
Joe moved the van in a safe distance behind the black car. Whoever the driver was, he or she knew Riverside well. The car took every turn and corner with an expert ease – hoping to shake Joe from its tail. He lost the car when a big blue eighteen-wheeler suddenly pulled out of a warehouse, reversing toward the road, and blocking Joe's path completely.
"Rats!" Joe smacked the steering wheel in frustration. It felt like forever when the truck finally moved along the road. By this time, the black car was already long gone. But Joe kept searching for it, looking at every small paths, and dead ends. Nothing. After a few minutes he gave up, and drove to the Riverside Post Office.
He parked the car across from the redbrick building. Putting on his cap, Joe glanced around casually, trying to spot if anyone was following him before he jogged toward the building.
After asking directions to the location of the PO Boxes, he didn't waste his time reaching there. He located the number of the box easily among the rows of other mailboxes. It was just the opposite of an emergency door.
He walked over to the waiting area across the hall from the mailboxes. He found an empty bench, pulled out a copy of a newspaper from his jacket and pretended to read it while he waited.
***
Meanwhile, Frank was already at the police station. He was sitting at Con's desk, and telling the policeman about the CD and his theory on McGuire's murder.
"So, you're saying this program is a pirated software?" Con asked, studying the CD thoughtfully.
"It has to be," Frank said. "Or else why would someone went the trouble to ransack our rooms? Or why McGuire secretly sent this to Duncan?" he pointed out.
"Hmm, I'm going to give this to our computer expert to analyze this CD," Con told him. "And what about Wirth? Do you know anything about him? I might try checking on him in our database." He went to his terminal and began the search on the name. After a few minutes, it came up with nothing.
"Tough luck, there," Frank said, frowning. "I'll bet Duncan knows something about this program, too. He might even know who Wirth is."
"The only way to do is to find him first," Con said, "He's still under arrest, unless he turns himself in and tell us all about this."
"I wonder how Joe's doing right now," Frank said quietly. "I hope he has better luck than I do."
The sudden shrill of the phone almost startled them from their thoughts. Con picked up the receiver.
"Bayport PD, Officer Riley here."
He waited for a few seconds as he listened to what the other caller was saying. He suddenly looked surprise and then concern before he spoke up.
"We'll be right there, Mrs. Streetman. Don't touch anything," he said before he hung up the phone.
Frank's ears pricked up when he heard the name. "What's happened?" he asked anxiously.
"That was Mrs. Streetman. Someone's ransacked Blackwell's room!"
***
Joe thought his back was going stiff after sitting on the bench for an hour. Someone's bound to get suspicious if I stay here longer, he thought grumpily. He stood up and stretched. He was about to sit down when he caught sight of a movement near the particular mailbox. What luck! I hope this person is the owner of the mailbox, or else I'm going to grab a large pizza with cheese, pepperoni, and mushroom on it, he thought as he patted his grumbling stomach. The thought about food made his mouth water.
The person in a hooded baggy gray sweatshirt and jeans was definitely walking toward the mailbox that Joe was watching. Finally, a break! He thought in relief. He couldn't make out if the person was a man or a woman. The head was covered with the hood. The newcomer looked around cautiously before opening the mailbox. He pulled out a couple of letters from the box and stuffed them into the pocket of the sweatshirt. When it was done, the person turned around. Joe could see the person was wearing a cap underneath the hood. The cap was pulled low to cover the face.
Suddenly, the person looked up, and seemed to be staring straight at Joe. Both of them froze as they stared at one another. Without warning, the person whirled around and bolted through the emergency door.