J.M.J.

Chapter XI

Sunday, May 2

Day Two

The sun had barely risen before there was a group of teenagers in the street where Sally Marsh lived. Biff and Chet were trying unsuccessfully to agree on where their cars had been parked two nights before, while the others scouted around for clues.

"There's no way Sally could have outrun us that far," Biff was saying. "The cars had to be closer than that."

"Huh-uh," Chet insisted. "I remember she stopped right under that street light."

"Guys," Frank cut in, "I know I told you that we needed to know exactly where the cars were parked, but if you don't remember exactly, we're close enough."

"Besides, we're probably not going to find anything that the police missed anyway," Jerry said.

Joe snorted in annoyance. "Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Jerry."

"What? I'm just stating the facts. I'll still help look. It's better than sitting around, doing nothing."

"Speaking of sitting around and doing nothing," Biff said. "Where are Tony and Phil? I figured they'd come running to help."

"They were about to," Frank replied. "I told them to stay in Southport for now. I have a feeling that, sooner or later, this guy's trail is going to lead us there. Besides that, after what happened yesterday, Allison doesn't want to be left alone at all and Belle and Mario can't be with her every second."

"Let's get searching," Jones urged the others. "It's not like we don't have enough people to make a decent search party."

"Right," Joe said. "I don't want to stand around all day."

The seven teens spread out, most of them looking intently at the ground. All the Hardys' friends had helped in at least a few investigations, and they had a fairly good idea of what to look for. They knew that the police had thoroughly combed the grounds the day before and the chances of them having missed something were small, but no one was infallible and they needed every lead they could get.

After a few minutes, Callie found herself close to Joe. She watched him for a little while, noticing that his search pattern was erratic instead of methodical, as if he was too distracted to really be searching efficiently.

"Are you okay, Joe?" she asked suddenly, speaking in a quiet voice so that everyone else wouldn't instantly be listening in.

"What?" Joe replied in some confusion. He obviously heard her right, though, because he quickly added, "Sure. Why wouldn't I be? Except for obvious reasons…" He winced. He didn't even like talking about feelings and emotions with his family, let alone with one of his chums. At any rate, not certain feelings, especially those about Iola. He cleared his throat. "Thanks for asking, Callie, but really I'm fine. Besides, this is probably rougher on Chet, anyway."

"In some ways, I guess," Callie conceded. "But it's still hard on you. I know people don't count high school romances as much, but just because you're young doesn't mean that you can't really care about someone."

Joe could feel his face growing warm and he longed to escape the conversation anyway he could. The only thing he could think of was to say, "Yeah, I guess you could imagine. For you, it would be just like if something happened to Frank."

"Yeah." Callie froze as soon as the word was out of her mouth. Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned an alarming shade of red. "I mean…No…What are talking about?"

"If you want to try to fool people, you guys might want to be more subtle about it," Joe told her, relieved to have put the conversation on a totally different track. "I was going to spring it on Frank to bug him, but who really cares about that anymore. So I figured, while we were on the topic of things we don't really want to talk about…"

"Okay, touché," Callie admitted. "I'll let it drop. Sorry. I guess I really need to learn to mind my own business about other people's affairs."

"Maybe. Anyway, we good? Let's get back to searching, shall we?"

However, again the search didn't last long before there was an interruption. Frank's phone started ringing, and when he looked at the screen, he saw that it was Iola's number.

"Hello?" he said as he answered it.

"Hello, Frank Hardy," the same digitally disguised voice that had greeted Joe the day before said. "This is not Iola, but you probably can guess who it is."

"Is Iola all right? I want to talk to her."

The others had heard Frank's words and figured out who must be calling. They all crowded around to listen.

"Oh, but I thought she was your brother's girlfriend. Why should you be so anxious to speak to her?"

"She's my friend. I need to know that she's all right."

"Ah, you Hardys really do fancy yourselves some kind of Sir Galahad. You can't possibly really care about her so much. So, no doubt, you won't be too disappointed when I tell you that speaking to her is impossible."

Frank felt every muscle in him tighten, and he was glad that the others couldn't hear what this person was saying, even though Joe was frantically signaling to Frank to put the call on speaker. "What do you mean?"

"She's not dead, if that's what you were thinking. She's simply not where I'm at right at the moment. Of course, if you want to disbelieve and give up on rescuing fair damsel in distress, you're welcome to. If not, I have another clue for you."

"Of course, I want to hear your clue," Frank said. He wasn't sure that he believed anything this maniac said, but all he could do right now was hope that he was telling the truth.

"December 12, 1993."

Frank shook his head slightly. "That's not a clue. That's a date."

"But what happened on that date? That is the question."

The line clicked as the person hung up. Frank pulled the phone away from his ear, but he didn't say anything right away.

"Well?" Joe asked impatiently. "What did he say? Is Iola all right? What's the clue?"

"He said Iola was all right," Frank replied, "but he wouldn't let me talk to her. He gave a couple more clues than he meant to, though. The clue he called for was simply a date, December 12, 1993. He wants us to find out what happened that day."

Biff scoffed. "That would only be a couple of million things."

"Maybe he means something historical," Jerry suggested. "Was there any big thing on the world scene that happened that day?"

Jones, who was something of a history nerd, shook her head. "I can't think of any."

"Neither can I," Callie added.

"Maybe it was something in your lives," Chet suggested. "This guy seems kind of obsessed with you."

"We weren't born yet, then," Joe pointed out.

"Oh, right." Chet's shoulders slumped slightly.

"What other clues did he give?" Joe asked.

"He called on Iola's phone again," Frank said. "The police thought that he had gotten rid of it since they weren't having any luck tracing it, but he might just be pulling the battery when he's not using it. The other possibility is that he has spoofing technology and can make caller ID show anything he wants."

"Okay." Joe nodded. "Any other clues?"

"Yeah, possibly. He was insistent that since Iola is your girlfriend and not mine, I can't really care about her. He said that you and I think of ourselves as Sir Galahads."

"That's interesting," Jones spoke up. "Maybe he has some issue with romantic relationships."

"It sounds to me like he has more of an issue with non-romantic relationships, if he doesn't think friendship is enough of a reason to want someone to be safe and well," Callie interjected.

"We already knew he had issues, so I don't see how this is going to help too much," Chet commented.

"You can never tell," Frank said. "Anyway, it's best to take note of any details you can in a case like this. They might not mean much on their own, but taken all together, they can be a huge help in identifying a suspect."

HBHBHBHBHB

"There were no disappearances in Southport yesterday, that have been reported," Lieutenant Durant told Fenton over the phone. He was careful to emphasize that last part. "As you know, of course, it can take days for disappearances to be reported sometimes. Of course, there was the foiled attack on Allison Given. That could have been him."

"He's never failed before," Fenton pointed out.

"And he's never taken anyone outside of Southport before," Durant reminded. "Either way, he's changed his MO and that's usually a fatal mistake for guys like this."

"Right. Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep us informed."

"Will do."

Fenton hung up the phone and met the expectant gazes of Sam Radley and Captain O'Rourke. The three men were the break room of Bayport police headquarters, taking a break from the mind-numbing task of running through files and data.

"Durant doesn't know anything. There haven't been any missing persons reports filed over there since yesterday, so that is making less likely this guy took anyone over there," Fenton reported.

O'Rourke set down his coffee cup. "Then that means the chances of Iola's kidnapper not being the serial killer practically don't exist."

Fenton nodded, and Sam commented, "I've thought so from the start. Though I will admit I was hoping that wouldn't be the case."

"Yeah." Fenton frowned. "After what Frank told us about his phone call, I'm afraid these 'clues' aren't going to be worth a lot. I mean, any number of things could have happened on that date. A world event, a sports game, a movie release, some personal event, anything."

"Maybe it's something from the Southport newspaper from that date," Sam suggested. "At any rate, it seems like a pretty good possibility to me and it wouldn't be too hard to get our hands on a copy of that paper."

"But if it's something that happened that day, it might not be in that date's newspaper," O'Rourke pointed out.

"It would probably appear in the paper within a week, at least," Sam insisted. "Worth a try, anyway."

"You can try," Fenton agreed. "It sounds like a wild goose chase to me. This 'clue' might not even mean anything. This guy could just want to sit back and watch the boys run around in circles."

"Could be," O'Rourke agreed. "On the other hand, wild goose chases have been known to pay off. I remember my dad telling me that when he was a Bayport officer, this big murder went down. A witness gave a partial description of the guy. My dad went around stopping everyone who fit the description, which was a few dozen people. In the end, he wound up turning the guy, though."
"Yeah, but that was the '60s or '70s," Fenton pointed out. "If a cop tried tactics like that today, he'd get in big trouble."

"True, but running down everything that happened on a particular date is a little less intrusive on people's privacy," O'Rourke reminded him. "Plus, it's the Internet age now. Getting information quickly is much easier than it used to be."

"I can't argue there," Fenton admitted.

HBHBHBHBHB

Iola blinked her eyes slowly. It felt like she had been half-asleep for a long time. After the guy had grabbed her, he had drugged. The effects were still wearing off, but this was the most alert Iola had been since then. She looked around her, taking in for the first time her surroundings. It looked like she was in a studio apartment or something. It was all austere walls. They had once been white, but they were yellowed now. The blinds were drawn on all the windows in the room.

Iola was lying on a bed. It had an old-fashioned metal frame. As she struggled to sit up, she saw that there was a shackle attached to the foot of it. It looked someone had planned on putting it on Iola's ankle, but they had realized there was no point in that. It wasn't like she could walk away, anyway.

She looked around her. The light was on, but from the general feel of things, she thought it was dark outside. Could it have really been only a few hours since she had been kidnapped? No, it had to have been longer. She could remember drifting in and out of consciousness and it being daylight. Or was that just the overhead light on? It was hard to say.

The only things Iola knew for sure were that she was awake now and she was alone and she had a choice. She could just lie here on this bed, waiting for her captor to return, or she could try to escape. She couldn't walk, but if she absolutely had to, she could drag herself.

For a few moments, she wrestled with the choice. Then she sighed and relaxed her shoulders as she let herself settle back into the thin mattress. She'd never make it far. What would be the point, anyway? She had been little more than a prisoner to her wheelchair before this. What was the difference now?

She felt a lump in her throat and tears begin to form in her eyes. She didn't try to stop them. Who was there to fool now?

She must have cried herself to sleep, because the next thing she knew, a cold hand was stroking her forehead and a voice that sent chills through her was saying, "There, there. I know no one ever really loved you until now. But soon you'll be at peace."

Author's note: Thank you once again for reading! Thanks especially for the reviews! MargaretA66: Yay, so do I! ;) Candylou: Interesting guess, but unfortunately I can neither confirm nor deny it on the grounds that it would be spoilers. I think this is a mystery that you'll be able to figure out if you want to. Max2013: That could be. Surely the attack on Allison has something to do with something at any rate. ErinJordan: Welcome aboard! I'm glad you're enjoying it!