Frank and Joe had lain in the cot for only a few minutes before falling asleep. Neither would have thought it possible, but they did manage slumber. They were, understandably, exhausted. They had not slept during the night, being a bit too busy trying to escape their captors.
When Greasy-Hair, came down he decided not to wake them just yet. When they were asleep, he didn't have to deal with them, and they were quiet. Still, the keen instincts that would one day make them among the best investigators in the country told the boys that they were not alone. Joe stirred first, opening his eyes and peering through the bars of the cell. His eyes widened a little bit, and he sat up. Frank was roused then, and he also sat, scowling at the man through the bars.
"About time you woke," said Greasy-Hair, reclining back in the metal folding chair.
"What do you care?" said Frank, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He wondered how long he and Joe had been asleep.
Greasy-Hair shrugged. "I don't. Keeps you shut up, at any rate."
Frank glared, but didn't say anything, only turned to his brother and asked him if he was all right.
"I-I guess so," said Joe. "I hurt, though."
"Yeah, I bet you're sore, huh?" Frank brushed his hair off his forehead, then stood up. "You want more water?"
"Yeah."
Frank obligingly filled the cup with water and gave it to Joe, then sat back down on the bed. "So are you just gonna sit there and watch us all the time?" he demanded of Greasy-Hair.
The man shrugged. "Probably. It's your fault, you know. The boss don't like that two little brats outsmarted his people." It was an insult, to be sure, but also a bit of a compliment to the boys' cleverness. This was deliberate, as he intended to try and find out just how much the kids knew.
Frank looked at him for a long moment, wondering whether he should feel flattered or aggravated. He decided that he felt smug, more than anything else. "I guess," he finally said. "We can't get out of the stupid ankle cuffs though, you know, and there's no windows in here."
"Yeah, well the boss isn't taking any chances." Greasy-Hair was quiet for a few moments, while Joe drank his water. "So, you figured it all out yet?"
Frank gave the man a suspicious look as he took the cup from Joe to get himself some water, also. "Figured all what out yet?"
"All of this, what's going on here. Don't tell me that two bright boys like yourselves haven't even figured out what it is your daddy's investigating."
"A murder, I thought," said Frank. A little mental alarm bell went off, and he wondered just why this guy was being so friendly all of a sudden. What did he want? Fenton always told his boys if someone's being friendly all of a sudden when they weren't before, they either want something or are trying to get away with something. Frank decided not to say much more about his father's case, or what he and Joe knew about it. That might not be wise.
Greasy-Hair chuckled. "A murder, right."
Frank shrugged. "That's all we know, he doesn't tell us anything about his cases until they're over. Sometimes not even then."
Greasy-Hair nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose. Guess you aren't as clever as the boss gives you credit for."
Nice, Frank thought. Now he knew for sure that they were being goaded. He glanced at Joe, who was looking indignant, and shook his head very slightly. Joe caught the gesture and said nothing, but he still didn't look entirely pleased with the jibe. Frank simply shrugged, and sat down. "Guess not," he finally said.
There was nothing for a few moments, before Frank looked his brother over. His face wasn't as swollen as before, but it still was somewhat puffy and sore. He turned back to their guard. "Hey. Couldn't we have some ice or something for my brother's face? Please?" He didn't really feel like being polite, but he figured being rude certainly wasn't going to get him what he wanted.
Greasy-Hair looked at him for a minute, and then shrugged. "Guess there's no harm in it, if it'll keep him from whining the whole time I'm here." He stood, oblivious to Joe's glare, and headed back into the little kitchen Frank had seen when they had been brought into the cell block. The boys heard a refrigerator door opening, heard the crinkle of a plastic bag, and the clacking of ice cubes. The fridge was closed, and a moment later, Greasy-Hair came back with a quart zipper-bag full of ice. "Here," he said, tossing it through the bars.
Frank shot out his hands to catch it, fumbling for a moment, but finally securing it in his grasp. "Thanks," he said grudgingly, going back to the lumpy cot. "Hey, why don't you lay back down for a bit, Joe, okay? You can put this on your face, 'specially your eye. It'll make it not hurt as much."
Normally Joe would have protested this, but today he didn't quite feel up to making a fuss. Besides, he did know that ice made injuries feel better. The boy lay down on the cot, and Frank looked at him a moment before pulling the blanket partially over Joe's face. The blanket was thin and worn, but it would serve as a bit of insulation between Joe's skin and the ice, so the bag wasn't directly on his face. Once the ice bag was settled, Frank smiled a bit. "Better?"
Joe nodded, then had to catch the bag before it fell. Frank sat on the cot, silent, staring at the floor, slumped back against the wall. He felt like he had screwed up, royally, this whole ordeal. If only they had not been found there at the beach! He supposed they followed the boys' footsteps. Frank thought that they would have been wiped out by the rain, but maybe enough remained to follow. He brooded about what they should have done differently, what he should not have done... The older Hardy boy managed to get himself into a bout of fairly severe self-criticism, and found himself feeling miserable.
Frank was pulled out of his unhappy reverie by his brother's voice. "I don't want this on anymore," he said, holding up the ice. "It made my face really cold."
"Okay," Frank said, taking it. He pulled the blanket down from Joe's face and was a little cheered to see the swelling had gone down considerably. He was just bruised. He looked at the ice for a moment, a bit at a loss as to what to do with it, then looked down and put the ice on his sprained wrist. Ice does feel better, he thought. And again, there was silence.
The day passed very slowly, as before, for the young captives. They had less room to move around in than the basement had afforded, and they could not even talk much about things such as escape, because they now had a twenty-four hour guard. That is really stupid, Frank thought. There's no way we can get out of here. He thought they were overreacting, big time, but he could not help but feel a bit flattered. When he mentioned it to Joe, he even smiled a little, and once Frank explained what the word "flattered" meant, Joe said he felt the same.
They were fed once, a ham sandwich each. It wasn't as much as they would have liked to eat, but it was better than nothing. They drank water from the sink, and eventually settled down to sleep, curling up together on the cot.
Early the next morning, Fenton Hardy woke from a much-needed sleep of nine hours or so. The previous evening, he had woken only long enough to eat supper and drink a cup of chamomile tea. Then he had crashed in bed and not stirred once the entire night.
After a rather urgent trip to the bathroom, he was more than ready to continue his investigations. Ezra and Laura were right, he thought to himself as he dressed quietly, not wanting to wake his wife. I was really out of it. It was amazing how much better a good night's sleep made one feel. Also got me a little more level-headed, he thought with a bit of amusement at his own expense. I came very close to blowing my top yesterday.
The first trip, after a quick breakfast, was to the police station. Collig had just gone on duty, and Fenton was told to go on back to his office. "You look a lot better, Hardy," said Collig.
"Thanks," Fenton said. "I feel one hundred percent better. And more than ready to investigate that other death."
Collig nodded. "Well, like I said, we've got the body in the morgue, and a bag with everything he had on him is in the evidence room. Come on, let's go take a look."
A few minutes later, Collig was unlocking a room in the back of the station that was filled with filing cabinets, airport locker-type compartments, and larger cupboards. He nodded to the officer on duty there, then turned to Fenton. "There wasn't much on him." He said. "And very little evidence on the scene itself. But...here's what we got." The chief opened one of the locker-style storage bins and drew out a gallon-sized plastic bag, tossing it on the table. "Go ahead," he said. "We lifted any fingerprints off of them long ago."
Fenton nodded, and opened the bag, carefully dumping what was there on the counter. There was not much. A cigarette lighter and a half-empty pack of Pall Malls, some rolling papers and a little tube that Fenton assumed was from the man's drug use. A key ring with one key on it ("That was for his mail box," said Collig. "Apartment.") There were some coins and a piece of paper with a phone number on it. Fenton looked at it, and turned to the chief.
At the detective's look of inquiry, Collig shook his head. "It's the number of a pawn shop, completely legit. We checked them out. He'd pawned a ring and a video game unit there not long ago and was asking of they were still there, as his ticket had long expired.
Fenton nodded, looking faintly disappointed, as he put the things away. "Well, nothing here that could possibly help," he said, frowning a bit. He handed the bag over to the chief, who put it back. "Clothing?"
He was only wearing a pair of underwear, actually," said Collig with a look of distaste on his face. "Which was nasty enough that it shouldn't be mentioned. But there was nothing on them. I can show them to you if you want."
"Uh, no, that's all right. The body?"
Collig nodded. "We'll take my car over there. Heck, maybe you'll catch something we didn't. truth to tell, I wasn't fantastically impressed with how the investigation had gone. And I'd swear you've got the eyes of a hawk, Fenton."
Fenton smiled a bit, and was grateful for the bit of humor. "Not quite," he said as the two men left the room. "Although that would be useful."
The morgue was a less than cheery place, and Fenton was uneasy there. Not that he had never been to morgues before, usually in the course of an investigation, but it never sat quite easy with him. He always thought that for the most part, the dead should remain undisturbed, out of respect if nothing else. Although in this case, Fenton couldn't decide just how much such respect this man deserved.
The caretaker, after viewing their identification, took them back to a spacious, chilly room with several dozen largish drawers, all up and down three of the walls. She went to the computer, looking up the number of the body they wanted to see, and then went to one of the drawers and unlocked it. She nodded politely, and retreated back to the computer to keep an eye.
The drawer was at floor level, and Fenton and Collig had to kneel to look at the cadaver that lay within. Fenton frowned, but that was the only expression of displeasure he showed as he peered in. At first, he simply looked it over without touching it, but saw nothing except the fatal wound. "One bullet in the head, just like my case."
Collig nodded. "Yeah. And little to no evidence. Same people, I'd bet my badge on it."
Fenton then looked a little more thoroughly, moving the arms and legs as much as he could, as the body was stiff from death and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he caught what looked to be a tattoo on the palm of the man's hand. Prying his fingers open slightly, Fenton looked closely, barely making out a word and a year: Concordia 2000.
"As far as we can figure," said Collig, "that tattoo's a college and a graduation year. He is the right age, and all his co-workers said he was a smart guy." He shrugged. "The thing is, we can find no trace of his name anywhere."
Fenton sighed, standing. "Nowhere?" he said, closing the drawer with a big of a bang.
"Well there's a few people around who have the same name, it's not rare or anything, but no record of this individual under that name. He had to have changed it sometime in the past, and not by legal channels, or we'd have found record of it."
Fenton Hardy was silent for a moment, before turning to the morgue attendant. "Thank you for your help," he said gratefully to her.
The woman smiled. "You're quite welcome. The best of luck to you, and you, Chief."
Collig nodded politely to her, and he and Fenton left. "I'm sorry," said Collig.
Fenton did not answer until they were back in the chief's car, and then he turned to him. "You know," he said. "There was something strange about that tattoo. It wasn't a professional one, that's for sure. It was that cheap blue ink, and almost seemed written -" Fenton cut himself off, his eyes widening a bit. "Hold on, Chief," he said, putting a hand on Collig's as he began to turn the ignition key.
Collig cocked his head, drawing his hand from the ignition.
"Chief, I don't think that was a tattoo, I think it was just ink."
"What, you're saying he wrote it on his hand?" Collig frowned. "I dunno, Hardy. Never knew anyone out of junior high that wrote stuff on his hand. Although it did seem a bit like ballpoint pen, now that I think of it." He turned to Fenton. "Detective Berkley was in charge of that case, if I remmeber right. I never got directly involved, and this was even the first time I'd seen the body." He stared at Fenton for a few moments as he said this, and his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "Let's head back to the station," he said slowly, starting the vehicle. "I have a few things I want to check up on, and you can seat yourself at my computer and see if you can't find another reference for 'Concordia' besides the college."
Fenton nodded; he could tell there was something up with the chief, but didn't pursue the matter. He knew that if it was something he needed to know, Collig would tell him. Instead, he spent the ride trying to think of what Concordia could mean.
Once back at the station, Collig disappeared into the building after unlocking his office for Fenton to use. Fenton looked at the computer for a moment, realizing that the operating system was a bit newer than he was used to, and spent a few moments familiarizing himself with the machine. And then he got to work.
Chief Collig was busy talking to officers in the station, officers that had worked with Detective Berkley before. And it was not until he began speaking to those that had been a part of the Hardy kids' kidnapping that he began to confirm his suspicions. None of them could tell him anything solid, but he did find out that for some reason, the detective was being very slow in his investigations. He never seemed to get any useful leads; his investigations never seemed to turn up anything they could use. "We've been wondering if he's not losing his touch, chief, quite frankly," one woman told him, shrugging. "Not that any of us is gonna say anything to him. He outranks nearly all of us."
The most useful bit of information came from the kid that had been helping with the investigation at the shore, and then at the house Frank and Joe had been held captive in. Chief Collig caught Con Riley as he and his partner were heading out for their shift. "Hold on a second, Riley," said the chief. "I got something I want to talk to you about."
"Y-yes, sir," said the kid, and Collig wondered if he were really that intimidating.
"Relax, Riley, I just have a few questions to ask about Detective Berkley." There was no mistaking it this time, the young officer's face paled considerably. For the moment, Collig pretended not to notice. "You worked on the investigation the other day concerning Fenton Hardy's sons, correct? With Berkley?" Riley nodded. "Well, I wanted to ask if you noticed anything strange about his investigation. I know you've not worked with him before and probably don't know him well, but you were there with him."
Riley bit his lip, then quickly released it, and it was obvious he was trying not to seem as nervous as he felt. "W-well, sir, not-not...not really, I mean, if you mean..." The rookie faltered under the chief's stern glare, and fell silent.
"Well?" Collig said in a quiet tone. This was a tone that no one liked much. Collig had a temper and got angry a lot, but when he just spoke quietly, didn't raise his voice, and held you pinned with that unwavering stare... Then people knew he was angry, and that was a bad time to cross him.
Riley looked like he could cry. "I-he-he made me promise..."
Collig narrowed his eyes, but then sighed, and the quiet-fury look faded from his eyes. He put a hand on the rookie's shoulder. "Riley, look at me," he said, his tone gentler than it had been. Riley did. "The lives of two children may be at stake here. If you know anything, you need to tell me."
Riley bit his lip again, and blew out a big breath. "O-okay...okay," he finally said.
Collig nodded. "We'll talk in my office, okay?" He looked to Riley's partner, an older man that had worked for several years in the department, and told him to go ahead and do his patrol alone for this. The officer agreed readily enough, after all, before he had a rookie to train, he had done his patrols alone. Once that was done, Collig led a miserable-looking Riley back to his office, where Fenton was just finishing his search.
"Any luck?" Collig asked.
If Fenton wondered why Con Riley was being led into the office, he didn't show it, he simply stood to give the chief back his chair. "Some, yeah, seems there's a lot of things that use the name Concordia. Found the college of course, actually several colleges; a lot of links for some kind of strange role-playing game, a publishing house, and a few Irish legends. But the most promising one is the name of a housing development/suburb sort of place about three hours' drive from here. And I had a thought. Perhaps that wasn't a year, but a time? Military time? I've had this idea in my head, now, that maybe this guy wasn't killed because of his carelessness in doing his drugs, but that for some reason or another, he was trying to seek out his suppliers? He could have found something out and just jotted it on his hand."
Collig looked evenly at Fenton for a few seconds, before nodding. "You know what, Hardy? My gut says that you just might be right."
"I want to head there as soon as possible, check things out," Fenton said.
"We'll discuss that in a moment. For now, young Riley here might know a thing or two that will clear up some mysteries." He sat in his chair, while Fenton moved to one of the chairs in front of the desk.
Riley, looking miserable, spoke up. "Okay...well, sir, it was in the house, the one that they'd had Mr. Hardy's kids in... It didn't really seem like a huge deal then, but the detective kinda got mad about it. I walked in when everyone else was outside, and saw he was wiping the phone down. It only occurred to me later that he would have wiped out any fingerprints that were on it."
Collig frowned. "Was this before or after the place was dusted?"
"Before."
"And what happened when you saw him?"
Riley took a big breath, then let it out. "Well, I asked him why he'd done that, I mean, I dunno. Maybe it's something that detectives do...I dunno why, but they do a lot of weird stuff that doesn't make sense to me. But Detective Berkley got really mad, got hold of my uniform collar and said that if I told anyone what I'd seen, he'd make sure I lost my job. And that after that, I'd better start watching my back. I mean, I guess I shoulda still told, but, I mean..." The youth trailed off again, intimidated by the look of anger on Collig's face. Fortunately for Riley, the anger was not aimed at him.
"I won't say it's all right, Riley," said the chief, after taking a moment to calm himself. "But everyone makes mistakes, and you won't be in any trouble for this."
A look of profound relief came over Riley's face at this.
"Okay, I will deal with this... Go on home for the day, Riley, your partner's already left. And I expect you back at work tomorrow, got that? And from now on if something like that happens, you go straight to your sergeant, or if you are uneasy with trusting him, then come to me. Is that understood?"
Riley actually smiled a little, ecstatic that he would not be getting in trouble over the incident. "Yes, sir," he said, and left in a hurry when dismissed.
Once Riley had left, Collig turned to Fenton, a grim look on his face. "Well," he said. "Now we know why there've been no breaks in this case. Or that murder we just looked at either, for that matter."
"That miserable coward," said Fenton quietly. Like Collig, he hated crooked cops, but the fact that this one had deliberately helped the people who had kidnapped, and hurt his sons! "Berkley," he said after a moment. "That was the one that helped install the tracer on my phone.
"I'll deal with it," said Collig. "I'll make sure he's of no further hindrance to this case. And in the meantime, you go ahead and check up on that Concordia lead, see what you can find."
Fenton took a big breath, and nodded. "All right, I'll have to go in some sort of disguise, I think. These people obviously know who I am. Once I find anything, I'll contact you."
"Good idea," said Collig. "I don't think that will be in our jurisdiction, but I should be able to get the cooperation of the local cops. If this is as big as I think it is, I'll see if we can't bring the SWAT team into it. This could be a big bust!"
Despite himself, Fenton smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me." The two men shook hands, then each departed to his task.