Road to Heaven
Chapter Thirteen
Fenton and Frank arrived home shortly after daybreak. Fenton reached for the knob at the kitchen door and frowned when it opened. He pulled out his gun and, motioning Frank to keep a look-out, entered. He could see two bottles of water on the kitchen counter and a flashlight lying on the floor. A few feet away were scattered the remains of another. He headed toward the living room quietly but his foot came into contact with a battery and it went skidding across the floor, banging into the leg of the kitchen table.
Almost immediately, a pounding could be heard from behind the basement door. Frank came inside as he saw his father replace his gun and go over to the basement door. Pulling the door open, Fenton staggered back a step as his wife fell into his arms.
"Where have you been?" she screamed at him, her bloodshot eyes filled with fear. "They're going to kill Joe!"
"What?" Frank demanded, his face having gone ghostly white.
"Sit down," Fenton said, leading her over to a chair. She sat down as Frank got her a glass of water. "Slowly," Fenton ordered. "Tell us what happened."
Laura told them about the three men who broke into the house and how they had burned Joe's arm and locked her in the basement. "Where is their money?" she demanded. "They said you have to have the briefcase of money here by noon or they'll kill him," she ended, fresh tears starting to fall as the memory of Joe's scream returned.
"We don't know," Frank informed her dully. He looked up at his father. Neither of them had gotten any sleep and they were both wearing damp clothes. "I'm going over to Kenny's," Frank told his father. "The money has to be there somewhere."
Fenton nodded. "Let's change," he said, regretting taking Joe off the case. "We'll both go and and hunt for it," he added, thinking Joe would be safe if he had let him go with them last night. He helped Laura to her feet. "Take a nap," he ordered her. "We'll be back with the money before noon," he promised.
Thirty minutes later, Frank was standing on the top floor of Kenny's house. His father was searching the ground floor and they would both tackle the basement and garage if they hadn't found anything.
He began by tearing the covers off of the bed and looking between the mattress and springs. Then he checked to see if there could be a way to insert something into the mattress or springs. No luck. He pulled all the drawers from the bureau and poured the contents on the bare bed springs. Then he looked behind the bureau and under the bed, checking the floor for loose boards as he went. Next, he opened the closet and threw all the clothes onto the floor. He pulled the two boxes from the top of the closet and emptied them. Nothing. He went into the second and last bedroom upstairs and repeated the procedure. Lastly, he checked the upstairs bathroom, delving through the items beneath the sink.
Leaving the mess he had made, he ran back downstairs. "Nothing," Frank told his father in disgust as he reached the living room.
Fenton stood up from where he had been cutting the lining beneath the sofa. "There's nothing here either," he said. "And we're running out of time."
They went to the basement and made a quick but thorough search. "Only one place left to look," Frank said as they walked back up the basement stairs.
In the garage they first searched the car, then the shelves and other boxes stored there. "Blast it!" Frank shouted in frustration, kicking an empty bucket and watching it roll down the drive toward the trash.
"Might as well make this thorough," Frank said, walking toward the trash. He grabbed a bag and pulled it open. The stench of rotting bannana peels assaulted his nose but he reached inside and started feeling around. Not expecting to find anything, his eyes widened in shocked disbelief and he let out an excited yell that brought his father running just in time to see Frank pull a dirty briefcase from the bag. Setting it down on the ground, Frank opened it up. It was filled with money. "We found it!" Frank shouted gratefully, looking up into his father's eyes.
"Let's get home," Fenton said, looking at his watch. "It's almost noon." He knew there would be plenty of time to return and clean up the mess he and Frank had made later.
Laura met them at the door when they arrived. She had been unable to rest, worrying about Joe. "You found it!" she exclaimed in relief when she spotted the briefcase in Frank's hand.
Less than ten minutes later, the phone rang. "Hello," Fenton answered, snatching up the receiver before it had finished it's first ring.
"Do you have the briefcase?" asked a voice from the other end.
"I do," Fenton acknowledged. "Let me speak to Joe."
"When I get my money back, you'll see your son," Benton told him.
"You're not getting the money until I know my son's still alive," Fenton insisted stubbornly.
"A fair request," Benton admitted.
Seconds later the receiver was placed next to Joe's face. "Say hello to Daddy," Benton ordered him.
"Hi Dad," Joe responded thickly.
"Son, are you okay?" Fenton demanded, heavy lines of worry clouding his face as he heard his son speak.
"Not really," Joe replied, closing his eyes. He was having a hard time staying focused.
Benton took the phone away and spoke to Fenton. "See, he's still alive."
"What did you give him?" Fenton demanded harshly.
"Something to make him more manageable," came the reply followed by a small laugh. "Even wounded, he's a handful. Don't worry, Hardy," Benton continued. "He's only had two injections. Besides, most people enjoy a little Heaven."
Fenton gripped the receiver tightly. His knuckles as white as freshly fallen snow. "Leave the briefcase in the front seat of your sons' van. Unlocked, of course," he added. "Leave the van parked outside of Baines' Mini-Mart at midnight tonight. Use the parking space fartherest from the building. If you, the police, or anyone else is around, you can keep the money to pay for the funeral expenses." With these words, the line went dead.
"Dad?" Frank asked as his father hung up the phone, his lips tight, his eyes sad.
"They're giving him heroin," Fenton said, his voice a whisper.
"When do we get him back?" Laura asked, placing a hand on her husband's arm.
"I don't know," he said. He told them about the instructions. "He never said where he would leave Joe."
"Because they're going to kill him," Frank said, voicing the fear they all shared. "Do you think they would have him at Crawford Lane?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.
"No," Fenton answered, shaking his head. "When I turned in the gun you had, I tagged along while the place was raided. They had already cleared out."
"I'm afraid they have the next move," Fenton said. "Let's get a few hours rest and then prepare for tonight," he suggested.
The fact that he hadn't had any sleep the previous night didn't help Frank. He lay on his bed replaying everything that had happened in his head. "Baker's Street," he said softly to himself, sitting up. He thought about waking his dad but decided if he found nothing then his father would need his rest to handle the drop tonight.
Frank quickly dressed and headed downstairs. He was just on his way out when the phone rang. He grabbed the receiver after the first ring.
"Hey," said a familiar voice.
"Chet?" Frank asked in surprise. "Where are you?"
"At home," he replied. "A twister touched down last night at camp. Messed the place up pretty bad but no one got hurt," he explained.
"We got one last night too," Frank replied, a thoughtful look coming over his face. "Is Biff back too?" he asked.
"Yeah," Chet said. "He's here. We were wondering if you and Joe wanted to hit the beach? The hurricane changed course last night and it's gorgeous out! There should still be some great waves for surfing though."
"Joe's been kidnaped," Frank told Chet.
"What? When? By who? Can we help?" Chet asked in rapid succession, not giving Frank time to answer.
"And how!" Frank exclaimed. "I'm on my way out now. Stay put and I'll fill you guys in when I get there."
It didn't take Frank long to arrive at the Morton farm on the out-skirts of town. He was met by blond-headed, green-eyed, seventeen year old Chet Morton as he got out of the car. Frank grinned at his stout friend and the two made their way to the porch where eighteen year old, blond, beefy, Biff Hooper stood waiting anxiously.
"So what gives?" Biff demanded, his blue eyes alight with curiosity. "How did Joe get kidnaped? Do you have any leads? Have you heard from the kidnapers?" he pelted Frank with questions as Chet had on the phone.
As the three sat down on the porch steps, Frank began telling his friends about the case starting with the murder in the alley. "So you see," he ended, "this case keeps going back to Baker's Street."
"And you want to set yourself up as a target by hanging out there and asking questions?" Biff guessed shrewdly. Frank nodded. "And when you get kidnaped, we follow," Biff added.
"Right," Frank agreed. He looked at the sour expressions on his friends' faces. "Look, I know it's a lousy idea, but it's the only way we're going to be able to find Joe."
"All right," Chet said, standing up. ""Let's get started."
It was decided Chet would position himself at the bus stop and Biff, after parking his van and walking around the block would follow Frank in from the alley.
Frank exited the alley and walked slowly west on Baker's Street. He entered the first store he came to, which was a delicatessen. He described, Benton, Andrews, Matthews, and Smyte, and inquired if they had been seen. Then he inquired about the tenants in the apartments above the shop. Learning nothing, Frank left and entered the next building, a jewelry shop.
"Good afternoon," Frank was greeted by the gray-haired owner, Mervin Davenport. "How may I be of service today?"
Frank again described the the men and asked if they had been seen.
"Yesterday morning," Davenport replied. "The short, heavy set one came striding in front of my window with a blond boy," he told Frank. "I don't know where they were going though," he continued. "I was busy with a customer at the time."
"Well, thank you for your help," Frank told the man with a smile that never reached his eyes. Frank left the building and looked over at Chet. Chet, knowing something must be up, gave Frank a brief nod and paid close attention to the jewelry shop. Before Frank had advanced ten feet, a man came out of the jewelry shop and began following Frank. As the man got closer to Frank, Chet got off the bench and walked up the street on the opposite side of Frank. Biff followed behind Frank and his shadow.
The long-haired man caught up to Frank and stuck a revolver into Frank's side as he captured his arm. "Just keep walking and you might live long enough to see your brother," he was warned. Frank swallowed the triumphant cheer which threatened to erupt. The plan had worked.
Frank was forced into the back seat of a Subaru. Before he could look to see if Biff and Chet had noticed what kind of car it was, he felt something hard come crashing down onto the back of his head. He slumped forward, unconscious.
Chapter Thirteen
Fenton and Frank arrived home shortly after daybreak. Fenton reached for the knob at the kitchen door and frowned when it opened. He pulled out his gun and, motioning Frank to keep a look-out, entered. He could see two bottles of water on the kitchen counter and a flashlight lying on the floor. A few feet away were scattered the remains of another. He headed toward the living room quietly but his foot came into contact with a battery and it went skidding across the floor, banging into the leg of the kitchen table.
Almost immediately, a pounding could be heard from behind the basement door. Frank came inside as he saw his father replace his gun and go over to the basement door. Pulling the door open, Fenton staggered back a step as his wife fell into his arms.
"Where have you been?" she screamed at him, her bloodshot eyes filled with fear. "They're going to kill Joe!"
"What?" Frank demanded, his face having gone ghostly white.
"Sit down," Fenton said, leading her over to a chair. She sat down as Frank got her a glass of water. "Slowly," Fenton ordered. "Tell us what happened."
Laura told them about the three men who broke into the house and how they had burned Joe's arm and locked her in the basement. "Where is their money?" she demanded. "They said you have to have the briefcase of money here by noon or they'll kill him," she ended, fresh tears starting to fall as the memory of Joe's scream returned.
"We don't know," Frank informed her dully. He looked up at his father. Neither of them had gotten any sleep and they were both wearing damp clothes. "I'm going over to Kenny's," Frank told his father. "The money has to be there somewhere."
Fenton nodded. "Let's change," he said, regretting taking Joe off the case. "We'll both go and and hunt for it," he added, thinking Joe would be safe if he had let him go with them last night. He helped Laura to her feet. "Take a nap," he ordered her. "We'll be back with the money before noon," he promised.
Thirty minutes later, Frank was standing on the top floor of Kenny's house. His father was searching the ground floor and they would both tackle the basement and garage if they hadn't found anything.
He began by tearing the covers off of the bed and looking between the mattress and springs. Then he checked to see if there could be a way to insert something into the mattress or springs. No luck. He pulled all the drawers from the bureau and poured the contents on the bare bed springs. Then he looked behind the bureau and under the bed, checking the floor for loose boards as he went. Next, he opened the closet and threw all the clothes onto the floor. He pulled the two boxes from the top of the closet and emptied them. Nothing. He went into the second and last bedroom upstairs and repeated the procedure. Lastly, he checked the upstairs bathroom, delving through the items beneath the sink.
Leaving the mess he had made, he ran back downstairs. "Nothing," Frank told his father in disgust as he reached the living room.
Fenton stood up from where he had been cutting the lining beneath the sofa. "There's nothing here either," he said. "And we're running out of time."
They went to the basement and made a quick but thorough search. "Only one place left to look," Frank said as they walked back up the basement stairs.
In the garage they first searched the car, then the shelves and other boxes stored there. "Blast it!" Frank shouted in frustration, kicking an empty bucket and watching it roll down the drive toward the trash.
"Might as well make this thorough," Frank said, walking toward the trash. He grabbed a bag and pulled it open. The stench of rotting bannana peels assaulted his nose but he reached inside and started feeling around. Not expecting to find anything, his eyes widened in shocked disbelief and he let out an excited yell that brought his father running just in time to see Frank pull a dirty briefcase from the bag. Setting it down on the ground, Frank opened it up. It was filled with money. "We found it!" Frank shouted gratefully, looking up into his father's eyes.
"Let's get home," Fenton said, looking at his watch. "It's almost noon." He knew there would be plenty of time to return and clean up the mess he and Frank had made later.
Laura met them at the door when they arrived. She had been unable to rest, worrying about Joe. "You found it!" she exclaimed in relief when she spotted the briefcase in Frank's hand.
Less than ten minutes later, the phone rang. "Hello," Fenton answered, snatching up the receiver before it had finished it's first ring.
"Do you have the briefcase?" asked a voice from the other end.
"I do," Fenton acknowledged. "Let me speak to Joe."
"When I get my money back, you'll see your son," Benton told him.
"You're not getting the money until I know my son's still alive," Fenton insisted stubbornly.
"A fair request," Benton admitted.
Seconds later the receiver was placed next to Joe's face. "Say hello to Daddy," Benton ordered him.
"Hi Dad," Joe responded thickly.
"Son, are you okay?" Fenton demanded, heavy lines of worry clouding his face as he heard his son speak.
"Not really," Joe replied, closing his eyes. He was having a hard time staying focused.
Benton took the phone away and spoke to Fenton. "See, he's still alive."
"What did you give him?" Fenton demanded harshly.
"Something to make him more manageable," came the reply followed by a small laugh. "Even wounded, he's a handful. Don't worry, Hardy," Benton continued. "He's only had two injections. Besides, most people enjoy a little Heaven."
Fenton gripped the receiver tightly. His knuckles as white as freshly fallen snow. "Leave the briefcase in the front seat of your sons' van. Unlocked, of course," he added. "Leave the van parked outside of Baines' Mini-Mart at midnight tonight. Use the parking space fartherest from the building. If you, the police, or anyone else is around, you can keep the money to pay for the funeral expenses." With these words, the line went dead.
"Dad?" Frank asked as his father hung up the phone, his lips tight, his eyes sad.
"They're giving him heroin," Fenton said, his voice a whisper.
"When do we get him back?" Laura asked, placing a hand on her husband's arm.
"I don't know," he said. He told them about the instructions. "He never said where he would leave Joe."
"Because they're going to kill him," Frank said, voicing the fear they all shared. "Do you think they would have him at Crawford Lane?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.
"No," Fenton answered, shaking his head. "When I turned in the gun you had, I tagged along while the place was raided. They had already cleared out."
"I'm afraid they have the next move," Fenton said. "Let's get a few hours rest and then prepare for tonight," he suggested.
The fact that he hadn't had any sleep the previous night didn't help Frank. He lay on his bed replaying everything that had happened in his head. "Baker's Street," he said softly to himself, sitting up. He thought about waking his dad but decided if he found nothing then his father would need his rest to handle the drop tonight.
Frank quickly dressed and headed downstairs. He was just on his way out when the phone rang. He grabbed the receiver after the first ring.
"Hey," said a familiar voice.
"Chet?" Frank asked in surprise. "Where are you?"
"At home," he replied. "A twister touched down last night at camp. Messed the place up pretty bad but no one got hurt," he explained.
"We got one last night too," Frank replied, a thoughtful look coming over his face. "Is Biff back too?" he asked.
"Yeah," Chet said. "He's here. We were wondering if you and Joe wanted to hit the beach? The hurricane changed course last night and it's gorgeous out! There should still be some great waves for surfing though."
"Joe's been kidnaped," Frank told Chet.
"What? When? By who? Can we help?" Chet asked in rapid succession, not giving Frank time to answer.
"And how!" Frank exclaimed. "I'm on my way out now. Stay put and I'll fill you guys in when I get there."
It didn't take Frank long to arrive at the Morton farm on the out-skirts of town. He was met by blond-headed, green-eyed, seventeen year old Chet Morton as he got out of the car. Frank grinned at his stout friend and the two made their way to the porch where eighteen year old, blond, beefy, Biff Hooper stood waiting anxiously.
"So what gives?" Biff demanded, his blue eyes alight with curiosity. "How did Joe get kidnaped? Do you have any leads? Have you heard from the kidnapers?" he pelted Frank with questions as Chet had on the phone.
As the three sat down on the porch steps, Frank began telling his friends about the case starting with the murder in the alley. "So you see," he ended, "this case keeps going back to Baker's Street."
"And you want to set yourself up as a target by hanging out there and asking questions?" Biff guessed shrewdly. Frank nodded. "And when you get kidnaped, we follow," Biff added.
"Right," Frank agreed. He looked at the sour expressions on his friends' faces. "Look, I know it's a lousy idea, but it's the only way we're going to be able to find Joe."
"All right," Chet said, standing up. ""Let's get started."
It was decided Chet would position himself at the bus stop and Biff, after parking his van and walking around the block would follow Frank in from the alley.
Frank exited the alley and walked slowly west on Baker's Street. He entered the first store he came to, which was a delicatessen. He described, Benton, Andrews, Matthews, and Smyte, and inquired if they had been seen. Then he inquired about the tenants in the apartments above the shop. Learning nothing, Frank left and entered the next building, a jewelry shop.
"Good afternoon," Frank was greeted by the gray-haired owner, Mervin Davenport. "How may I be of service today?"
Frank again described the the men and asked if they had been seen.
"Yesterday morning," Davenport replied. "The short, heavy set one came striding in front of my window with a blond boy," he told Frank. "I don't know where they were going though," he continued. "I was busy with a customer at the time."
"Well, thank you for your help," Frank told the man with a smile that never reached his eyes. Frank left the building and looked over at Chet. Chet, knowing something must be up, gave Frank a brief nod and paid close attention to the jewelry shop. Before Frank had advanced ten feet, a man came out of the jewelry shop and began following Frank. As the man got closer to Frank, Chet got off the bench and walked up the street on the opposite side of Frank. Biff followed behind Frank and his shadow.
The long-haired man caught up to Frank and stuck a revolver into Frank's side as he captured his arm. "Just keep walking and you might live long enough to see your brother," he was warned. Frank swallowed the triumphant cheer which threatened to erupt. The plan had worked.
Frank was forced into the back seat of a Subaru. Before he could look to see if Biff and Chet had noticed what kind of car it was, he felt something hard come crashing down onto the back of his head. He slumped forward, unconscious.