Douglas was removed for questioning a little later and while he was gone, all occupants of the cell were moved to different cells so Frank's departure would go unnoticed. Frank returned to the lab where all evidence of his visit was erased except for the dye on his skin, which would have to wear off.

While he was removing his disguise, Chief Collig entered the lab and told him of the phone call Mrs. Hardy had received. "What's the address?" Frank demanded, his eyes set and his muscles tense.

"Relax," Chief Collig told him. "Your dad is out front. Sheriff Dixon is going to meet you two at the apartment in an hour."

Frank nodded, pulled on his shirt and bade the chief goodbye as he ran for the door. He jumped into his dad's waiting car less than two minutes later and the two were off.

They arrived at the address Vanessa had given Mr. Hardy forty minutes later. Sheriff Dixon had entered the premises and looked for its occupants but finding no one there, had exited the apartment and gone outside to wait for Mr. Hardy and his son.

The three men went into the apartment. A small town, Southport had no special Forensics team as had the bustling seaside town of Bayport, nor had it as many men on the force. The entire Southport police department consisted of Sheriff Dixon and five deputies. The sheriff had been delighted to have the help of an ex-policeman who knew how to search the scene of a crime without destroying evidence.

Entering the apartment, the Hardy's were unsurprised to find the phone on the floor and the receiver lying by the set. There was dried blood on the floor but not enough to overly concerned about. They searched the living room and found nothing useful. The tables were bare except for a lamp and the television remote. No papers of any kind could be seen. A search of the kitchen yielded several bottles of wine and a bunch of grapes. An empty sack from a local fast food joint was in the trash along with a half-eaten hamburger and an empty fry bag.

It was obvious to the Hardys that the meal had been Avery's and the wine and grapes were for Joe. Entering the bedroom, Mr. Hardy stopped and sucked in his breath. "Stay there," he ordered Frank, taking another step into the room.

Sure there was something his father didn't want him to see, Frank ignored the command and entered the room anyway. He saw the handcuffs still attached to the rail of the headboard with dried blood on them. He took in the hospital gown lying in the floor across the room and winced as he thought about what Avery had been doing to Joe. Then he noticed his father trying to hide something from his view.

Frank walked over to his dad and placed his hands firmly on his father's shoulders. He pushed him aside so he could see what his dad hadn't wanted him to see.

Lying on a buffet cart was a bottle of ink, a stencil of a pentagram and a mechanism Frank recognised as being a tattoo gun. "He gave him a tattoo?" he asked, not expecting an answer and receiving none.

Frank turned and headed out of the bedroom. This had to be part of the desecration Douglas had mentioned, Frank thought. Permanently damaging Joe's skin with the mark of their sect. He kicked the sofa in anger. The sofa scooted back and a roll of film came into view.

Frank bent down to retrieve it. "Dad!" he shouted, standing up with the undeveloped roll of film in his hand. Mr. Hardy and the sheriff came hurrying back into the living room.

"Is there somewhere we can get this developed at once?" Mr. Hardy asked the sheriff, looking at the film.

"John Meyer," Dixon answered at once. "I'll run it over to him now and have it back here in no time," he offered, holding out his hand for the roll. Frank gave it to him and the man departed at once.

"What do we do while we wait?" Frank asked, not wanting to stay in the apartment any longer than necessary. He could just imagine the silent pleas of his brother as he was being tattooed by Avery. And every scream he imagined ripped through Frank's mind with such clarity he almost covered his ears to stop the anguished cries.

"Let's question some of the occupants of the other apartments," Mr. Hardy suggested. "Maybe someone saw something."

There were five more apartments in the building but only three appeared to have any occupants. Mr. Hardy took the first occupied apartment to the right of Avery's and knocked on the door while Frank took the one to the left.

Frank knocked on the door and heard a distinctive tap tap followed by an occassional shuffle as a shoe scrapped across a wooden floor with a cane. He stepped back from the door a bit so the occupant could see him clearly through the spy hole. A minute later, the door opened a crack and Frank could see the saftey chain still latched as the nose and an eye peered out at him.

"What do you want?" demanded the gruff voice of an old lady.

"I was wondering if you could tell me something about the tennant in Apartment Three," Frank said.

"I mind my own business," the woman snapped. "And so should you."

"It is my business," Frank replied. "He kidnapped my brother."

The door closed and seconds later, reopened entirely. "Come in," invited the lady. Frank entered the apartment. She pushed the door behind her but before it could close, Mr. Hardy appeared and pushed it back open. The woman looked frightened until she got a look at his face.

"This is my father," Frank quickly made the introduction.

"You two look alike," she commented.

"Fenton Hardy," Mr. Hardy said, holding out his hand. The woman put her hand in his and he grasped it briefly before releasing it.

"And your name?" she asked, turning to look at Frank.

"Frank Hardy, ma'am," he answered. "My brother's name is Joe."

"A sickly boy with blond hair?" she inquired.

Mr. Hardy winced at her choice of words. "Yes," he rasped. It was hard to accept that Joe was indeed only a shadow of his former self.

"My name is Martha Myer," she introduced herself. "What did you want to know?"

"Can you tell us anything about the man who took my son?" Mr. Hardy entreated.

"Come, sit down," she said, closing the door and slowly making her way to the sofa. Once seated, Martha looked at the two men with compassion. "They left about an hour ago, maybe a little more," she began. "He was carrying the boy. The boy, Joe, had on a pair of boxer shorts but nothing else. He looked very sick. What's wrong with him?"

"Do you know what kind of car he was driving?" Frank asked, not wanting to go into the heinous details of Joe's ordeal.

"A black Chevette."

Avery pulled the Chevette off the road and stopped behind a thicket of bushes. Dusk had descended on the trip back to Bayport and his destination, in a small township just on the other side of Bayport, was almost guaranteed to be deserted once darkness arrived.

He got out of the little black car, thinking he would ditch it after he left here. He opened the back and latched onto a pair of feet and pulled. He picked up the unconscious youth and carried him into the graveyard.