After calling Ezra Collig and asking him to take Laura and the boys somewhere safe, Fenton Hardy entered the supermarket and purchased a six-pack of Busch. He returned to the Wood estate and went into the house through the kitchen entrance, depositing all but one bottle of beer in the refrigerator.
Giving the cook a curt nod, Fenton left the kitchen carrying his beer, and made his way into Wood's office. Sitting down at the mahogany desk, he pulled the stack of letters towards him. He realized he would have to deal with each letter he opened before proceeding to the next, so he organized the mail into four separate piles.
He designated one stack as 'junk mail;' advertisements and offers for credit cards were put there. A second set consisted of correspondence with company letterheads. A third stack contained actual letters, possibly from friends, but more likely from acquaintances who were interested in some aspect of Wood's business empire. Wood was, after all, a very wealthy man.
The fourth and last set was the one which provoked Fenton's interest the most. These included envelopes which were hand-addressed to Jim Wood, but which did not include return addresses. Intrigued, Fenton began his task with these.
The first letter he opened was from a man named Nick Andopolis. From what Fenton could gather, Andopolis ran a Greek restaurant in New York called Mr. Gyro. In the letter was a list of items which were needed to expand the establishment, within a budget agreed to at a previous time. A website and a list of passwords were included. Fenton logged onto the Internet and tried the URL. A password was required to enter the site, and Fenton typed in the first of the passwords Nick had sent.
Two minutes later he was gazing at the financial records of Mr. Gyro. Fenton did a printout to offer Wood, then read through the profits and expenditures. He studied the budget, and decided that nothing appeared to be useful, at least not so far as his current case was concerned. He logged out, and typed up a reply to Nick approving the expansion plans; printed the letter and saved a copy in the computer for future reference, then clipped the printed document to the financial statement, for Wood's signature.
The next two letters were much the same: routine business correspondence. The fourth, however, caused the investigator's eyes to sparkle with interest. The author of the letter was a man named Albert Sweeney. Fenton had recently read a police profile on this man. He had been arrested on suspicion of homicide, illegal weapons trade, and distribution of controlled substances, including but not limited to, heroin and cocaine. No charges had ever stuck, because either the witnesses changed their minds about testifying, or they disappeared. The two times solid evidence had been gathered, it had mysteriously disappeared, or had been tampered with after it had been sealed and placed in the evidence room, making it null and void. Because of this, Sweeney was assumed to be an upper-level peon in organized criminal activity.
If I could nail this guy, my career as a private investigator would be set! Fenton thought. That thought was immediately followed by a guilty one: This is for Joe! he berated himself. Not me! But still, getting Sweeney would be icing on the cake! the thought persisted.
Fenton read the letter. Apparently, Sweeney and Wood were good friends. Sweeney mentioned coming for a visit about the middle of the week. There was nothing incriminating nor useful in the letter, aside from the mention of the forthcoming visit, so Fenton laid the document aside for Wood's perusal, sure that he would wish to handle this one personally.
He checked his watch; it was nearly time for Wood's visitor to arrive. He turned the monitor off, and stood up. Taking a last, sweeping look around the office, he exited, flipping the light off behind him.
"Looks like it's about done." Ginger said, tossing a strand of spaghetti at the wall and watching it cling there.
"I'll call - oh, no!" Laura said, stopping in mid-sentence.
"What's wrong?" Ginger demanded, removing the pan of boiling spaghetti from the stove.
"I forgot Joe's crutches." Laura answered, frowning.
"We've got an old pair around here somewhere." Ginger told her, with a relieved grin.
"But Joe has to have short crutches," Laura reminded her with a teasing smile. "I don't think Ezra's old ones will do."
"I'll call Ezra and have him swing by the hospital and pick up another pair." Ginger reassured her. "But for right now, run get the boys."
Laura left the kitchen and went down the hall to where the boys were. She slowed her pace as she heard Frank reading aloud. Pausing in the doorway, she smiled as she beheld Frank sitting beside Joe, a book open between them. Joe was looking at the pictures as Frank read the story.
She cleared her throat. "I hate to interrupt, but dinner's ready."
"Oh boy!" Frank shouted, closing the book without marking his place, and jumping up. "I'm starving!"
"Run on in and help Ginger set the table," Laura told Frank. "Wash your hands first. I'll bring Joe."
Frank raced to the bathroom, ran water over his hands, then took off for the kitchen, slinging his wet hands against his shirt to dry them as he went.
Laura carried Joe into the bathroom, and waited while he washed his hands, handing him a towel to dry them with, before lugging him into the kitchen, where Frank was busy laying forks beside each plate.
"Are you going to carry him everywhere?" Frank asked, as Laura settled Joe into a chair, pulling another close so he could prop his leg up.
"I'm going to take care of that right now." Ginger answered for Laura. "Laura, if you'll take up the garlic bread and put the salad on the table, I'll give Ezra a call right now."
Ginger picked up the wall phone by the door, and dialed the police department. "Hi, Sal." she said, when Sergeant Sal Morrow answered the phone in his usual gruff voice. "I need to speak to Ezra."
Ginger told her husband about the crutches, and he promised to pick up a pair before he came home.
"Got to go, babe." he said into the phone. "I love you." he added tenderly, before hanging up.
Ezra had seen two men get off the elevator and enter the outer sanctum, through his open door. He replaced the receiver, and walked through the doorway of his office. "May I help you, gentlemen?" he asked, taking in the classy clothes the men were wearing.
"Yes," said the man with the blond hair and blue eyes. "My name is Jim Wood, and this is my...friend..." Wood hesitated slightly before settling on the word 'friend.' "...William Catherson."
Ezra froze as the introduction was made, but forced himself to relax. He knew Wood was coming to Bayport, but he hadn't expected the man to show up at the precinct!
"I was wondering if I might have a few words with you." Wood continued. "Privately." he added, seeing the curiosity in the group of men present.
Ezra turned sideways and ushered the men into his office. "Pay attention," he hissed at Sal Morrow, passing by the sergeant's desk. Sal flipped on his intercom, but turned the volume down so that only he could hear what transpired behind the chief's closed door.
"Now, what can I do for you?" Ezra asked, taking a seat behind his desk and looking at the men who occupied the two chairs in front of him."
"I own Wood Enterprises." Wood began. "I have need of a private investigator, and an acquaintance mentioned the name of a Fenton Hardy who resides here in Bayport. I was hoping you could tell me something about the man." Wood ended, leaning back and slowly letting his fingers meet, before raising his forefingers to his lips, while he surveyed Ezra thoughtfully.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much." Ezra replied. "He's been a private investigator here for almost two years now," he said. "Prior to that, he served on the New York City Police force."
"What kind of a man is he?" Wood inquired.
Want to know if he can be bought, hmm? Fat chance! But Ezra's expresssion did not betray his thoughts. "I don't know him all that well," he lied. "but he seems honest enough." he added, with a slight inflection on the words, to give the impression that he, himself, might not be.
Wood's eyes narrowed at this comment. "I see," he said coolly. "How long have you been on the force?" he inquired, giving Ezra a thin smile.
"Ten years next month." Ezra answered, truthfully.
"Ah, you must have a nice home, nice car, the works, by now." Wood commented.
Ezra gave a short laugh. "On a policeman's salary?" he said, laughing again.
"Then why do you stay on the force?" Billy Catherson asked.
"It's what I'm trained for." Ezra prevaricated. The truth was, he couldn't stand to see scum get away with hurting innocent people.
"How would you like to work for me?" Wood asked.
"Doing what?" Ezra demanded, his eyes narrowing at the man. "I already admitted I'm not qualified for any other job."
"Nothing much." Wood replied. "Find out about Fenton Hardy for me. Is he currently involved in a case? Would he be willing to work for me? That kind of thing."
Ezra couldn't help it, he shot Wood a poisonous glare, but the man appeared not to notice.
"In return, I'll put you on my payroll...say, a thousand dollars a week?" Wood continued smoothly.
Ezra remained noncommittal, acting as if he might be interested in the offer, but not making any promises. But inside, his thoughts were whirling. A thousand a week? That's a mighty tempting offer for someone on a policeman's salary, all right. Lots of guys would jump at the chance!
"Think it over," Wood instructed, standing up, as did Catherson. "You can call me at my hotel, tonight or tomorrow," he added, picking up a pen and writing a number on the back of one of Ezra's business cards. "After tomorrow, however, the offer will be revoked."
The two men left the chief's office, nodded to Sgt. Morrow as they walked past, and exited via the elevator.
Sal stood up and entered Ezra's office. "Wow!" he said, seeing Ezra sitting behind his desk, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome features. "What are you going to do about him?"
"I'm working on it," Ezra said, standing up. He handed the card with the phone number on it to the sergeant. "Arrange for a warrant for a tap." he ordered. "I've got something to do; I'll be back later." he added, grabbing his cap from the rack near the door as he left.
Sal resentfully watched Ezra leave. He had been on the force for nearly 40 years, and now he found himself doing errands for the new chief - a man who had only been around for ten years. He sullenly went about his business, but after a half hour or so had passed, he picked up the phone, and dialed the number the Chief had handed him.
"Hello?" Wood answered.
"This is Sergeant Sal Morrow," Sal said, watching the door as he talked, to be sure he wouldn't be overheard. "You can't buy the chief. He's an honest man."
"And why are you telling me this?" Wood asked, in a bored voice.
"I've given my life to this job, and gotten nothing for it." Morrow admitted. "I'll be your inside man, but I want twice what you offered Collig."
"And how do you know I offered him anything?" Wood countered.
"The chief had me listen in on your meeting." Sal informed him. "Here's a freebie," he continued, hooking Wood. "Collig and Fenton Hardy have been best buds since Hardy moved to Bayport two years ago."
Giving the cook a curt nod, Fenton left the kitchen carrying his beer, and made his way into Wood's office. Sitting down at the mahogany desk, he pulled the stack of letters towards him. He realized he would have to deal with each letter he opened before proceeding to the next, so he organized the mail into four separate piles.
He designated one stack as 'junk mail;' advertisements and offers for credit cards were put there. A second set consisted of correspondence with company letterheads. A third stack contained actual letters, possibly from friends, but more likely from acquaintances who were interested in some aspect of Wood's business empire. Wood was, after all, a very wealthy man.
The fourth and last set was the one which provoked Fenton's interest the most. These included envelopes which were hand-addressed to Jim Wood, but which did not include return addresses. Intrigued, Fenton began his task with these.
The first letter he opened was from a man named Nick Andopolis. From what Fenton could gather, Andopolis ran a Greek restaurant in New York called Mr. Gyro. In the letter was a list of items which were needed to expand the establishment, within a budget agreed to at a previous time. A website and a list of passwords were included. Fenton logged onto the Internet and tried the URL. A password was required to enter the site, and Fenton typed in the first of the passwords Nick had sent.
Two minutes later he was gazing at the financial records of Mr. Gyro. Fenton did a printout to offer Wood, then read through the profits and expenditures. He studied the budget, and decided that nothing appeared to be useful, at least not so far as his current case was concerned. He logged out, and typed up a reply to Nick approving the expansion plans; printed the letter and saved a copy in the computer for future reference, then clipped the printed document to the financial statement, for Wood's signature.
The next two letters were much the same: routine business correspondence. The fourth, however, caused the investigator's eyes to sparkle with interest. The author of the letter was a man named Albert Sweeney. Fenton had recently read a police profile on this man. He had been arrested on suspicion of homicide, illegal weapons trade, and distribution of controlled substances, including but not limited to, heroin and cocaine. No charges had ever stuck, because either the witnesses changed their minds about testifying, or they disappeared. The two times solid evidence had been gathered, it had mysteriously disappeared, or had been tampered with after it had been sealed and placed in the evidence room, making it null and void. Because of this, Sweeney was assumed to be an upper-level peon in organized criminal activity.
If I could nail this guy, my career as a private investigator would be set! Fenton thought. That thought was immediately followed by a guilty one: This is for Joe! he berated himself. Not me! But still, getting Sweeney would be icing on the cake! the thought persisted.
Fenton read the letter. Apparently, Sweeney and Wood were good friends. Sweeney mentioned coming for a visit about the middle of the week. There was nothing incriminating nor useful in the letter, aside from the mention of the forthcoming visit, so Fenton laid the document aside for Wood's perusal, sure that he would wish to handle this one personally.
He checked his watch; it was nearly time for Wood's visitor to arrive. He turned the monitor off, and stood up. Taking a last, sweeping look around the office, he exited, flipping the light off behind him.
"Looks like it's about done." Ginger said, tossing a strand of spaghetti at the wall and watching it cling there.
"I'll call - oh, no!" Laura said, stopping in mid-sentence.
"What's wrong?" Ginger demanded, removing the pan of boiling spaghetti from the stove.
"I forgot Joe's crutches." Laura answered, frowning.
"We've got an old pair around here somewhere." Ginger told her, with a relieved grin.
"But Joe has to have short crutches," Laura reminded her with a teasing smile. "I don't think Ezra's old ones will do."
"I'll call Ezra and have him swing by the hospital and pick up another pair." Ginger reassured her. "But for right now, run get the boys."
Laura left the kitchen and went down the hall to where the boys were. She slowed her pace as she heard Frank reading aloud. Pausing in the doorway, she smiled as she beheld Frank sitting beside Joe, a book open between them. Joe was looking at the pictures as Frank read the story.
She cleared her throat. "I hate to interrupt, but dinner's ready."
"Oh boy!" Frank shouted, closing the book without marking his place, and jumping up. "I'm starving!"
"Run on in and help Ginger set the table," Laura told Frank. "Wash your hands first. I'll bring Joe."
Frank raced to the bathroom, ran water over his hands, then took off for the kitchen, slinging his wet hands against his shirt to dry them as he went.
Laura carried Joe into the bathroom, and waited while he washed his hands, handing him a towel to dry them with, before lugging him into the kitchen, where Frank was busy laying forks beside each plate.
"Are you going to carry him everywhere?" Frank asked, as Laura settled Joe into a chair, pulling another close so he could prop his leg up.
"I'm going to take care of that right now." Ginger answered for Laura. "Laura, if you'll take up the garlic bread and put the salad on the table, I'll give Ezra a call right now."
Ginger picked up the wall phone by the door, and dialed the police department. "Hi, Sal." she said, when Sergeant Sal Morrow answered the phone in his usual gruff voice. "I need to speak to Ezra."
Ginger told her husband about the crutches, and he promised to pick up a pair before he came home.
"Got to go, babe." he said into the phone. "I love you." he added tenderly, before hanging up.
Ezra had seen two men get off the elevator and enter the outer sanctum, through his open door. He replaced the receiver, and walked through the doorway of his office. "May I help you, gentlemen?" he asked, taking in the classy clothes the men were wearing.
"Yes," said the man with the blond hair and blue eyes. "My name is Jim Wood, and this is my...friend..." Wood hesitated slightly before settling on the word 'friend.' "...William Catherson."
Ezra froze as the introduction was made, but forced himself to relax. He knew Wood was coming to Bayport, but he hadn't expected the man to show up at the precinct!
"I was wondering if I might have a few words with you." Wood continued. "Privately." he added, seeing the curiosity in the group of men present.
Ezra turned sideways and ushered the men into his office. "Pay attention," he hissed at Sal Morrow, passing by the sergeant's desk. Sal flipped on his intercom, but turned the volume down so that only he could hear what transpired behind the chief's closed door.
"Now, what can I do for you?" Ezra asked, taking a seat behind his desk and looking at the men who occupied the two chairs in front of him."
"I own Wood Enterprises." Wood began. "I have need of a private investigator, and an acquaintance mentioned the name of a Fenton Hardy who resides here in Bayport. I was hoping you could tell me something about the man." Wood ended, leaning back and slowly letting his fingers meet, before raising his forefingers to his lips, while he surveyed Ezra thoughtfully.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much." Ezra replied. "He's been a private investigator here for almost two years now," he said. "Prior to that, he served on the New York City Police force."
"What kind of a man is he?" Wood inquired.
Want to know if he can be bought, hmm? Fat chance! But Ezra's expresssion did not betray his thoughts. "I don't know him all that well," he lied. "but he seems honest enough." he added, with a slight inflection on the words, to give the impression that he, himself, might not be.
Wood's eyes narrowed at this comment. "I see," he said coolly. "How long have you been on the force?" he inquired, giving Ezra a thin smile.
"Ten years next month." Ezra answered, truthfully.
"Ah, you must have a nice home, nice car, the works, by now." Wood commented.
Ezra gave a short laugh. "On a policeman's salary?" he said, laughing again.
"Then why do you stay on the force?" Billy Catherson asked.
"It's what I'm trained for." Ezra prevaricated. The truth was, he couldn't stand to see scum get away with hurting innocent people.
"How would you like to work for me?" Wood asked.
"Doing what?" Ezra demanded, his eyes narrowing at the man. "I already admitted I'm not qualified for any other job."
"Nothing much." Wood replied. "Find out about Fenton Hardy for me. Is he currently involved in a case? Would he be willing to work for me? That kind of thing."
Ezra couldn't help it, he shot Wood a poisonous glare, but the man appeared not to notice.
"In return, I'll put you on my payroll...say, a thousand dollars a week?" Wood continued smoothly.
Ezra remained noncommittal, acting as if he might be interested in the offer, but not making any promises. But inside, his thoughts were whirling. A thousand a week? That's a mighty tempting offer for someone on a policeman's salary, all right. Lots of guys would jump at the chance!
"Think it over," Wood instructed, standing up, as did Catherson. "You can call me at my hotel, tonight or tomorrow," he added, picking up a pen and writing a number on the back of one of Ezra's business cards. "After tomorrow, however, the offer will be revoked."
The two men left the chief's office, nodded to Sgt. Morrow as they walked past, and exited via the elevator.
Sal stood up and entered Ezra's office. "Wow!" he said, seeing Ezra sitting behind his desk, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome features. "What are you going to do about him?"
"I'm working on it," Ezra said, standing up. He handed the card with the phone number on it to the sergeant. "Arrange for a warrant for a tap." he ordered. "I've got something to do; I'll be back later." he added, grabbing his cap from the rack near the door as he left.
Sal resentfully watched Ezra leave. He had been on the force for nearly 40 years, and now he found himself doing errands for the new chief - a man who had only been around for ten years. He sullenly went about his business, but after a half hour or so had passed, he picked up the phone, and dialed the number the Chief had handed him.
"Hello?" Wood answered.
"This is Sergeant Sal Morrow," Sal said, watching the door as he talked, to be sure he wouldn't be overheard. "You can't buy the chief. He's an honest man."
"And why are you telling me this?" Wood asked, in a bored voice.
"I've given my life to this job, and gotten nothing for it." Morrow admitted. "I'll be your inside man, but I want twice what you offered Collig."
"And how do you know I offered him anything?" Wood countered.
"The chief had me listen in on your meeting." Sal informed him. "Here's a freebie," he continued, hooking Wood. "Collig and Fenton Hardy have been best buds since Hardy moved to Bayport two years ago."
