Chapter 1
"... and thanks for joining us tonight, stay with us on Radio Maximum!" a cheerful voice of a DJ and the rustle of the tires on the road were the only sounds that kept a driver awake. "Coming next...."
The driver inhaled the strong smoke one last time and threw the finished cigarette out of the window. The night – or early morning to some – was chilly; raindrops were stinging the man's face as the damp air was blowing through the open window. Unpleasant as it was, he had no intention of closing the window. He had to stay up and alert.
He inhaled deeply; the fresh air re-awakened him and cleared his head a little, however minutes later the feeling was gone again and he was slipping back into a drowsy state. He had had a difficult day – first escaping without being caught, then stealing the car, then restlessly driving for over six hours. Soon, he told himself when he felt like stopping and taking a nap, soon you'll get there and sleep.
The dark road ahead was empty. As the man thought why, he loathed the world again. While most people were peacefully sleeping in their beds in this early hour, he had to keep himself awake. But then a bad smile crept over his face – the following night some people wouldn't be sleeping. And they'd never sleep peacefully again.
Leaning back in his seat, he sped the car down when the light of the headlights lit the shiny layer ahead. It was late October, the night temperatures were low and the roads were covering with thin ice. Days later, when his plan would be successfully carried out, he would allow himself to become careless and drive as fast as he wished on whatever surface. But right now he had to make it to the place of his destination without any accidents.
He mustered the last strengths that were left in his tired body. Bayport was getting near.
***
Fenton Hardy's eyebrows rose as he continued to watch a man on the screen who was thrashing his hands in all directions and at the same time avoid hitting any of the barely dressed girls that danced around him. The lyrics and the video seemed too revealing to Fenton's taste, but if anyone liked it... Well, his parents found the music he liked 20 years ago rather outspoken, too, but now his children called it "outmoded". What do they understand in good music?
He sipped his coffee and glanced at the watch which read almost seven thirty, soon Frank would be downstairs to keep him company. As if on request, he heard soft footsteps down the stairs and moments later the dark- haired teen entered the kitchen.
"Hi, Dad," he smiled. "You're up early."
"Morning, Frank," the father smiled back and took another sip from his cup. "You know I rise with the lark. There's work to do."
"I thought so. Anything interesting going in the world?" Frank asked. The renowned private investigator, Fenton Hardy, hardly ever had days-off with new cases landing on his desk as if from cornucopia.
"Not really, once in a lifetime it's only paperwork," Fenton replied, watching his son scrutinize the contents of the fridge. "A few days of peace at home. Finally," he added, his voice trailing off. His youthful ambition for traveling and adventures fulfilled to the utmost extent, he enjoyed every minute he spent at home with his family and cursed the moment when a phone call from a client called him away. Years ago he thought he had reached the compromise between being a detective and a father and a husband, but now that he looked back he wished he'd spend more time at home. Home. How can some people underestimate the meaning of it?...
"Hello? Earth to Dad?" Frank's voice snapped him off his thoughts. "Sorry, Frank, I was just thinking. What were you saying?"
"Have you heard from Mom?" Frank asked. Four days ago Laura Hardy and Fenton's sister Gertrude went to Oklahoma to visit some friends of theirs.
"Yeah, she called yesterday when you and Joe were already in bed," Fenton replied. "They're fine. Said they loved you and Joe."
Just as Frank opened his mouth to reply the phone in the living room began to ring.
"Eat your breakfast," Fenton rose from his seat, "I'll get it."
Frank took the remote control and switched the channel to sports. He ate in solitude for a few minutes until he heard the shuffling steps down the corridor. Frank knew that could only be his brother who was like a grizzly in the morning. In the true sense of the word – just as clumsy and uptight. Wordlessly, Joe shuffled to the fridge.
"Good morning to you, too," Frank said good-naturedly, knowing his brother's usual morning state.
"Mhmmhm...." Came the reply as Joe placed his cup of coffee and a sandwich on the table.
"Ready for your economics?" Frank asked.
"Don't remind me!" Joe said, rubbing his eyes. He had spent the previous evening revising for his economics test and now he understood no difference between 'income' and 'disposable income'. Who cared anyway? "Can you believe it? Economics reaches steady equilibrium if aggregate demand equals volume of output on condition that planned investment equals savings!" he raped out the studied words and shook his head. "Do they really have to stuff our programme with rubbish like that?"
"It's not rubbish," Frank remarked. "it's based on the model of Keynes' cross!"
"Somebody, get this know-all away from me," Joe rolled his eyes, "Shall we change the subject?"
Just then Fenton Hardy returned to the kitchen, his face serious. Professionally serious, Frank noted, something was up.
"Oh, hi, Joe," Fenton gave his younger son a smile. "Ready for your test?"
"Do you want me to tell you about inventory unplanned?" Joe offered.
"Um, no, thanks, it's enough I know there is such a thing," Fenton replied with a smile, sitting down on a chair. Then his smile vanished. "Boys, there's someone I need to warn you about."
"Let me guess," Frank said. "That someone is an escaped convict you put in prison years ago, but now he's out and seeking revenge."
"This is becoming too habitual, isn't it?" Fenton smiled ruefully.
"It is," Frank had to agree. "But don't worry, we're not becoming less careful about it."
"I hope so," Fenton sighed.
Both his sons were becoming good detectives for their young age, having solved several mysteries on their own and proving to be able to take care of themselves in hazardous situations. They were good and it made their father proud of their success. But good sleuths as they were, they were still Fenton's children and he was relieved that so far they were lucky to avoid any really perilous situations. Yet, it probably was only a matter of time when they would run out of their luck – and every time Fenton was informed of an escaped convict he warned Frank and Joe to be extra careful.
"So, who is he?" Joe asked, watching his father with interest.
"Well, to make a long story short. Yesterday Kevin Newman, thirty seven, escaped from prison in Maine where he served his sentence for torturing to death seven people. He was seen heading south and I'm afraid I know just where exactly he was heading," he said grimly. "Here is a photo of him," he handed them a printed photograph and went on, "He 'worked' in the eastern states, chose his victims at random, slowly and painfully tormented them to death and then let the police know where to find the body."
Joe scrutinized the face on the photo and his eyebrows rose in surprise. The pair of smart eyes, hidden behind glasses, looked at him from the intelligent face, the man's lips were curved into a nice smile, there wasn't s single feature that could pose him as a torturer. "You're sure he's not some law-abiding scientist?" he asked, raising his eyes at his father.
"Absolutely, Joe," Fenton replied seriously. "Looks can be deceiving and you know that. He's not just a torturer, I'd rather call him a human butcher. Trust me, you don't want to see what he did to those seven people."
"And what did he do, by the way?" Frank asked.
"He quartered his victims, starting with fingers and toes and going up to wrists and ankles, then elbows and knees and.... You got the idea. People died either from pain or loss of blood," Fenton said gravely, watching the shocked expressions on the two faces.
"That's sick," Joe commented, a bad tremble going down his body at the imaginary picture of a quartered person... Now he felt sick himself.
"That is. Boys.... I don't want to lose either of you to him, I still want to see my great-grandchildren. If you see him anywhere, call the police or me straight away, but don't go after him, okay? He won't have mercy on anyone."
"We'll be very careful, Dad," Frank promised for both of them and looked at his brother. "You're glued to me now!" he said in his 'big brother' stern tone.
"Thank heavens!! I'll go get some extra glue so you won't happen to unstick from me on my economics!" Joe beamed.
Frank laughed and shook his head, "Dad, why couldn't you and Mom get me a kitty instead of a brother?"
Fenton laughed, too. "I don't have a pet, I have a younger brother," he mimicked Frank's voice when the boy was 4 years old. He gave that kind of reply in kindergarten when asked if he had any pets at home, causing a burst of light-hearted laughter from other parents.
Even Joe laughed at the memory, "Nasty people," he said with a grin.
"Come on, pet, we're going to be late," Frank said, looking at his watch.
"Dad, why is Frank always offending me?" Joe made a grimace, standing up.
"Brotherly love, Joe," his father assured him, smiling. "Now, off you go. Be careful. And good luck with your test, Joe."
"Thanks. Bye, Dad," Joe waved his hand, leaving the kitchen. "Speaking of my test, Frank, have I told you about multiplier yet?"
Fenton smiled to himself. Twenty years ago he could think family and work were equally important. Now he knew he was a fool thinking that – his family came first to him. No end of the most knotty case could gladden him as much as hearing his children laugh; no firm handshake of a grateful client could be compared to the simple touch of the hand of his wife; no luxurious room in the most fashionable hotel could be as comfortable as his home.
He rose from his seat, looked down at the dining table and all the romance evaporated, "Could have cleaned after yourselves!"
***
Frank pulled the van into the parking lot of Bayport High ten minutes later. Holding their backpacks over their heads, the brothers hurried to the building under the pouring rain. "Who'd have thought it I'd be running to school one day," Joe muttered inside, shaking the drops of water off his sweater.
They still had a few minutes before the bell, so they gathered their friends to warn them about Newman – just in case. They had printed three more photos of him and handed them to group.
"Thanks for warning," Biff glanced down at the face on the photo. "Wow, we looks like Mr. Cawthorne!" he exclaimed, referring to their geography teacher.
Frank chuckled. "There's no proof he's in Bayport...." He said, becoming serious again.
"He is! I saw him upstairs!" Biff interrupted, causing another burst of laughter; but seeing Frank's face, waved his hand, "go on, Frank. And sorry, I know it's serious."
"He is insane!" Tony commented when Frank briefly told them about the man's doings. "I hope he's caught before he gets to Bayport."
"If you see him anywhere, call the police," Joe said. "Or Dad. I guess he's already working on this, so soon Bayport will become a quiet and peaceful town again."
"Quiet and peaceful Bayport? With the Hardys living here?" Chet grinned. "Who are you kidding? I think it's become the world's center of criminality!"
Frank laughed with the others. "Be watchful," he said.
The bell rang and they deserted to their classes.
"... and thanks for joining us tonight, stay with us on Radio Maximum!" a cheerful voice of a DJ and the rustle of the tires on the road were the only sounds that kept a driver awake. "Coming next...."
The driver inhaled the strong smoke one last time and threw the finished cigarette out of the window. The night – or early morning to some – was chilly; raindrops were stinging the man's face as the damp air was blowing through the open window. Unpleasant as it was, he had no intention of closing the window. He had to stay up and alert.
He inhaled deeply; the fresh air re-awakened him and cleared his head a little, however minutes later the feeling was gone again and he was slipping back into a drowsy state. He had had a difficult day – first escaping without being caught, then stealing the car, then restlessly driving for over six hours. Soon, he told himself when he felt like stopping and taking a nap, soon you'll get there and sleep.
The dark road ahead was empty. As the man thought why, he loathed the world again. While most people were peacefully sleeping in their beds in this early hour, he had to keep himself awake. But then a bad smile crept over his face – the following night some people wouldn't be sleeping. And they'd never sleep peacefully again.
Leaning back in his seat, he sped the car down when the light of the headlights lit the shiny layer ahead. It was late October, the night temperatures were low and the roads were covering with thin ice. Days later, when his plan would be successfully carried out, he would allow himself to become careless and drive as fast as he wished on whatever surface. But right now he had to make it to the place of his destination without any accidents.
He mustered the last strengths that were left in his tired body. Bayport was getting near.
***
Fenton Hardy's eyebrows rose as he continued to watch a man on the screen who was thrashing his hands in all directions and at the same time avoid hitting any of the barely dressed girls that danced around him. The lyrics and the video seemed too revealing to Fenton's taste, but if anyone liked it... Well, his parents found the music he liked 20 years ago rather outspoken, too, but now his children called it "outmoded". What do they understand in good music?
He sipped his coffee and glanced at the watch which read almost seven thirty, soon Frank would be downstairs to keep him company. As if on request, he heard soft footsteps down the stairs and moments later the dark- haired teen entered the kitchen.
"Hi, Dad," he smiled. "You're up early."
"Morning, Frank," the father smiled back and took another sip from his cup. "You know I rise with the lark. There's work to do."
"I thought so. Anything interesting going in the world?" Frank asked. The renowned private investigator, Fenton Hardy, hardly ever had days-off with new cases landing on his desk as if from cornucopia.
"Not really, once in a lifetime it's only paperwork," Fenton replied, watching his son scrutinize the contents of the fridge. "A few days of peace at home. Finally," he added, his voice trailing off. His youthful ambition for traveling and adventures fulfilled to the utmost extent, he enjoyed every minute he spent at home with his family and cursed the moment when a phone call from a client called him away. Years ago he thought he had reached the compromise between being a detective and a father and a husband, but now that he looked back he wished he'd spend more time at home. Home. How can some people underestimate the meaning of it?...
"Hello? Earth to Dad?" Frank's voice snapped him off his thoughts. "Sorry, Frank, I was just thinking. What were you saying?"
"Have you heard from Mom?" Frank asked. Four days ago Laura Hardy and Fenton's sister Gertrude went to Oklahoma to visit some friends of theirs.
"Yeah, she called yesterday when you and Joe were already in bed," Fenton replied. "They're fine. Said they loved you and Joe."
Just as Frank opened his mouth to reply the phone in the living room began to ring.
"Eat your breakfast," Fenton rose from his seat, "I'll get it."
Frank took the remote control and switched the channel to sports. He ate in solitude for a few minutes until he heard the shuffling steps down the corridor. Frank knew that could only be his brother who was like a grizzly in the morning. In the true sense of the word – just as clumsy and uptight. Wordlessly, Joe shuffled to the fridge.
"Good morning to you, too," Frank said good-naturedly, knowing his brother's usual morning state.
"Mhmmhm...." Came the reply as Joe placed his cup of coffee and a sandwich on the table.
"Ready for your economics?" Frank asked.
"Don't remind me!" Joe said, rubbing his eyes. He had spent the previous evening revising for his economics test and now he understood no difference between 'income' and 'disposable income'. Who cared anyway? "Can you believe it? Economics reaches steady equilibrium if aggregate demand equals volume of output on condition that planned investment equals savings!" he raped out the studied words and shook his head. "Do they really have to stuff our programme with rubbish like that?"
"It's not rubbish," Frank remarked. "it's based on the model of Keynes' cross!"
"Somebody, get this know-all away from me," Joe rolled his eyes, "Shall we change the subject?"
Just then Fenton Hardy returned to the kitchen, his face serious. Professionally serious, Frank noted, something was up.
"Oh, hi, Joe," Fenton gave his younger son a smile. "Ready for your test?"
"Do you want me to tell you about inventory unplanned?" Joe offered.
"Um, no, thanks, it's enough I know there is such a thing," Fenton replied with a smile, sitting down on a chair. Then his smile vanished. "Boys, there's someone I need to warn you about."
"Let me guess," Frank said. "That someone is an escaped convict you put in prison years ago, but now he's out and seeking revenge."
"This is becoming too habitual, isn't it?" Fenton smiled ruefully.
"It is," Frank had to agree. "But don't worry, we're not becoming less careful about it."
"I hope so," Fenton sighed.
Both his sons were becoming good detectives for their young age, having solved several mysteries on their own and proving to be able to take care of themselves in hazardous situations. They were good and it made their father proud of their success. But good sleuths as they were, they were still Fenton's children and he was relieved that so far they were lucky to avoid any really perilous situations. Yet, it probably was only a matter of time when they would run out of their luck – and every time Fenton was informed of an escaped convict he warned Frank and Joe to be extra careful.
"So, who is he?" Joe asked, watching his father with interest.
"Well, to make a long story short. Yesterday Kevin Newman, thirty seven, escaped from prison in Maine where he served his sentence for torturing to death seven people. He was seen heading south and I'm afraid I know just where exactly he was heading," he said grimly. "Here is a photo of him," he handed them a printed photograph and went on, "He 'worked' in the eastern states, chose his victims at random, slowly and painfully tormented them to death and then let the police know where to find the body."
Joe scrutinized the face on the photo and his eyebrows rose in surprise. The pair of smart eyes, hidden behind glasses, looked at him from the intelligent face, the man's lips were curved into a nice smile, there wasn't s single feature that could pose him as a torturer. "You're sure he's not some law-abiding scientist?" he asked, raising his eyes at his father.
"Absolutely, Joe," Fenton replied seriously. "Looks can be deceiving and you know that. He's not just a torturer, I'd rather call him a human butcher. Trust me, you don't want to see what he did to those seven people."
"And what did he do, by the way?" Frank asked.
"He quartered his victims, starting with fingers and toes and going up to wrists and ankles, then elbows and knees and.... You got the idea. People died either from pain or loss of blood," Fenton said gravely, watching the shocked expressions on the two faces.
"That's sick," Joe commented, a bad tremble going down his body at the imaginary picture of a quartered person... Now he felt sick himself.
"That is. Boys.... I don't want to lose either of you to him, I still want to see my great-grandchildren. If you see him anywhere, call the police or me straight away, but don't go after him, okay? He won't have mercy on anyone."
"We'll be very careful, Dad," Frank promised for both of them and looked at his brother. "You're glued to me now!" he said in his 'big brother' stern tone.
"Thank heavens!! I'll go get some extra glue so you won't happen to unstick from me on my economics!" Joe beamed.
Frank laughed and shook his head, "Dad, why couldn't you and Mom get me a kitty instead of a brother?"
Fenton laughed, too. "I don't have a pet, I have a younger brother," he mimicked Frank's voice when the boy was 4 years old. He gave that kind of reply in kindergarten when asked if he had any pets at home, causing a burst of light-hearted laughter from other parents.
Even Joe laughed at the memory, "Nasty people," he said with a grin.
"Come on, pet, we're going to be late," Frank said, looking at his watch.
"Dad, why is Frank always offending me?" Joe made a grimace, standing up.
"Brotherly love, Joe," his father assured him, smiling. "Now, off you go. Be careful. And good luck with your test, Joe."
"Thanks. Bye, Dad," Joe waved his hand, leaving the kitchen. "Speaking of my test, Frank, have I told you about multiplier yet?"
Fenton smiled to himself. Twenty years ago he could think family and work were equally important. Now he knew he was a fool thinking that – his family came first to him. No end of the most knotty case could gladden him as much as hearing his children laugh; no firm handshake of a grateful client could be compared to the simple touch of the hand of his wife; no luxurious room in the most fashionable hotel could be as comfortable as his home.
He rose from his seat, looked down at the dining table and all the romance evaporated, "Could have cleaned after yourselves!"
***
Frank pulled the van into the parking lot of Bayport High ten minutes later. Holding their backpacks over their heads, the brothers hurried to the building under the pouring rain. "Who'd have thought it I'd be running to school one day," Joe muttered inside, shaking the drops of water off his sweater.
They still had a few minutes before the bell, so they gathered their friends to warn them about Newman – just in case. They had printed three more photos of him and handed them to group.
"Thanks for warning," Biff glanced down at the face on the photo. "Wow, we looks like Mr. Cawthorne!" he exclaimed, referring to their geography teacher.
Frank chuckled. "There's no proof he's in Bayport...." He said, becoming serious again.
"He is! I saw him upstairs!" Biff interrupted, causing another burst of laughter; but seeing Frank's face, waved his hand, "go on, Frank. And sorry, I know it's serious."
"He is insane!" Tony commented when Frank briefly told them about the man's doings. "I hope he's caught before he gets to Bayport."
"If you see him anywhere, call the police," Joe said. "Or Dad. I guess he's already working on this, so soon Bayport will become a quiet and peaceful town again."
"Quiet and peaceful Bayport? With the Hardys living here?" Chet grinned. "Who are you kidding? I think it's become the world's center of criminality!"
Frank laughed with the others. "Be watchful," he said.
The bell rang and they deserted to their classes.