Internal Affairs Agent Rathbone dashed out of Zippy's Burgers, alerted by the ominous sound of the explosion. He saw the squad car in flames, and his breath quickened, fearing that Collig might have been in it, but as he neared the inferno, he saw Ezra's unconscious form lying sprawled on the opposite side of the street. Traffic had come to a standstill, and a small crowd was beginning to gather around the prone figure of the police chief.
Rathbone made his way through the passers-by, and kneeling beside Ezra, checked his vitals. Heaving a sigh of relief, he activated his two-way radio, and called in for an ambulance and police assist. Ending his call, he looked up as a quavering male voice nearby attracted his attention.
An elderly man was hovering near Rathbone's shoulder, wringing his hand nervously. "Oh dear...oh dear, oh dear..." the man muttered, continuing the motions.
"Take it easy." Rathbone eased himself to his feet. "It'll be okay, Mr....Mr....?"
"Orwitz." the distraught man replied. "Sam Orwitz."
"Mr. Orwitz, can you tell me what happened here?" Rathbone inquired.
"I was sitting there." the old man said, pointing to the bench a few feet behind them with a shaky forefinger. "I was waiting for my bus. And I saw this man come along. He stopped by the police car, and pretended to tie his shoe, but he didn't really do that. I saw him slip something from under his jacket and hook it under the driver's door. Then he took something from his pocket, and did something with that and the car - and then he took off, as fast as he could! When I saw the officer come out of Zippy's and start to get in the car, I tried to get his attention." he continued. "He saw me, and started coming over, but he slammed the car door shut...and that happened!" he concluded, his worried hazel eyes traveling from Collig's blazing car to Rathbone's attentive face.
Sirens heralded the arrival of the fire department, closely followed by an ambulance and a police cruiser. The fire crew set to work spraying water on the burning car; the paramedics attended to Ezra Collig, and Agent Rathbone found himself on the receiving end of police questioning.
"Who are you?" demanded Officer Stanhope, a twenty-something man with dark, wavy hair, and brown eyes. He had spotted Rathbone questioning the elderly man, who seemed to be quite upset, and immediately challenged him. Officer Stanhope was anxious to move up the ladder at police headquarters, and was quick to seize an opportunity when it presented itself.
Rathbone identified himself, secretly amused at Stanhope's barely-concealed reaction of dismay at the information.
"What are you doing here?" Stanhope questioned, looking curiously at the IA agent.
"I was having dinner at Zippy's." Rathbone replied truthfully. "I heard an explosion, and came out to see what was going on. This gentleman-" indicating the elderly man, "-Mr. Orwitz, saw someone suspicious near Chief Collig's car. You'll probably want to get his statement." he added, tactfully retreating from Stanhope's vicinity.
Mr. Orwitz repeated what he had told Rathbone, to Officer Stanhope.
"Can you give me a description of the man?" Stanhope asked him, although without much optimism. People usually couldn't, he'd found. But Orwitz surprised him.
"He was wearing a dingy blue sweat jacket, and faded blue jeans." the old man reported. "He had on black shoes - sneakers, I think. I couldn't see his face real well, but he had curly brown hair, real tight curls, like his hair was very dry."
"Did you notice anything unusual about the way he walked? Did he get into a vehicle when he left?" Stanhope queried, jotting down notes in the little notebook he carried.
"Sir, Chief Collig's still unconscious." Fair-haired Officer Danwig broke in at that moment. "He's being taken to Bayport Memorial."
"Thanks, Ryan. Alert Sergeant Morrow, will you?" Stanhope requested. "Let him know about the Chief. He's the one who should tell Mrs. Collig."
About 40 minutes later, there was a knock on the Collig's front door. When Ginger opened it and saw Sergeant Morrow standing there, she came out on the front porch, not inviting him inside the house.
"Why hello, Sal - what are you doing here?" she asked.
"Ginger, honey, I've got some bad news-" Morrow began, and quickly continued speaking as Ginger gasped in shock and horrified anticipation. "-Ezra's alive, but he's been hurt. He's been taken to Bayport Memorial."
"What happened?" she demanded, gripping Morrow's arm tightly, her face going pale.
Before he could reply, a loud whoop resounded from the house. Morrow's eyes narrowed. "What was that?" he asked sharply.
"The...the television." Ginger lied, knowing full well it had been Frank. "Sal, tell me what happened to Ezra!" she repeated.
"Someone planted a bomb in his car." Sal told her. Ginger's breath became rapid with anxiety, and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, afraid she was going to hyperventilate. "I'll turn off your lights and the TV and drive you to the hospital." he said.
"No - no, I'd rather take my car." she said hastily. "But I'll call you - I'll let you know how he's doing after I see him." she promised. "Are you going back to the station?"
"Yes, ma'am." Sal answered. "I'm on duty till one."
"Thank you for coming to tell me, Sal." Ginger was retreating into the house as she spoke. She shut the front door, leaving the sergeant standing on the porch.
As he made his way off the porch, Morrow glanced through the front window, into the living room. He could see two small boys sitting on the sofa, apparently engrossed in a video game. He knew immediately who they were, and he also knew who would want this information.
He knew, too, that if he played his cards right, he wouldn't have to wait two years to get a couple of hundred thousand dollars from Jim Wood.
Fenton Hardy and his guest, Jonathan Drecker, were nearly in the dining room when a knock sounded on the front door.
Everyone knocks here, Fenton observed to himself. Maybe the doorbell is broken.... "It seems we have another guest." he said aloud, and excused himself to answer the door.
"Where's Billy?" demanded the man on the other side, when Fenton opened the door.
"Billy accompanied Mr. Wood on some business out of town." Fenton replied courteously. He had recognized the man at once - Albert Sweeney. He's early for a reason! raced through his mind. "And you are...?"
"I'm Al Sweeney." the man growled. "Wood's expecting me. And who are you?" he demanded in return.
"My name is Jeff King, and I'm Mr. Wood's new personal assistant." Fenton introduced himself. He looked at the other man, letting curiosity show on his face. "Mr. Sweeney, is it? Your letter said you weren't expected until later this week."
"Change of plans." Sweeney huffed irritably.
"As I said, Mr. Wood isn't at home, and isn't expected to return until tomorrow, but if you would care to have dinner, and perhaps spend the night, you could see him then." Fenton suggested.
"Sounds like a plan." Sweeney agreed at once, looking a bit more affable at the invitation.
"We were just on our way in to dinner." Fenton informed him then. "Perhaps you would like to wash up in the downstairs lavatory, and I'll show you to your room after dinner."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Sweeney assented ungraciously. "I know where the john is - I'll be in to dinner in a few minutes." He strode off down the hall.
"Pleasant sort, that." Drecker commented sarcastically, with a sniff.
Fenton declined to respond in kind, although he fully agreed. He went into the kitchen to inform the cook of the last-minute dinner guest. Harmon accepted the news without fuss, and it struck Fenton that this sort of thing was a commonplace occurrence in the Wood household.
By the time he returned to the dining room, Sweeney and Drecker had seated themselves, each taking a seat at one end of the table. Fenton took his place at one side, and the three sat in silence as Harmon entered the room and began serving. It was evident that Drecker and Sweeney were acquainted with each other, but apparently not the best of friends.
The men merely made small talk as the salad course was served and consumed, and Fenton was beginning to despair of learning anything useful from either Sweeney or Drecker. However, once the main course made its appearance, the two appeared to relax, and their conversation became more unguarded, discussing business matters of which Fenton knew nothing.
"Did you deliver the package?" Sweeney asked Drecker.
Drecker fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. "No," he mumbled, sniffing. "I lost it."
"You lost-" Sweeney broke off in mid-sentence, rage and disbelief mingling on his face.
Fenton eyed him, idly wondering what his blood pressure had risen to. "More likely, someone stole it." he commented sagely, inside wondering what in heaven's name they were talking about.
"Who?" Sweeney demanded, his angry gaze shifting to Fenton.
"Who knew he had it?" Fenton countered, raising his shoulders to indicate he had no idea.
"Me, Wood, Al, you, Roberts, and...Milhouse!" Drecker shouted the last name, jumping to his feet. "That dirty rat!"
"Milhouse?" Sweeney inquired. "Who is he?"
"Milhouse is Roberts' new partner." Drecker replied, still fuming. "I knew he was up to no good when I found him sniffing around Roberts' office!"
Fenton looked down at his plate to hide the amusement in his eyes. Drecker was a fine one to talk!
"Calm down." Sweeney ordered. "This Milhouse may have obtained the list of potential buyers, but he doesn't have the rock." he said smoothly. "We'll just have to find a market elsewhere for the thing."
"Where is the rock?" Drecker asked Sweeney. "You got it?"
Fenton noticed that Drecker had previously avoided looking into Sweeney's eyes when he addressed him; but now, when he mentioned 'the rock' - a diamond, perhaps? - even though his voice was casual and nonchalant, his posture was that of a lion preparing to pounce, and his eyes slid up to meet Sweeney's as he waited for the reply.
"Wood has it." Sweeney said. "Right?" he asked, looking at Fenton.
"I couldn't say." Fenton replied calmly, picking up a bite of chicken pie with his fork His manner left the men believing that he knew exactly where 'the rock' was, but that he wasn't going to tell them. They said no more about it, and devoted their attention to the excellent meal, to Fenton's relief. He had no notion where a diamond might be, in this house!
After dinner, Fenton and his two guests adjourned to the living room for drinks and conversation while the cook cleared the table and took care of the dishes. Sweeney settled himself in the large, burgundy leather recliner and put his feet up, but Drecker crossed to the far side of the room, where another bar was located. Fenton followed him, attempting to play host.
"Allow me." Drecker insisted, reaching for bottles with the ease of long practice. Fenton inclined his head politely, and stepped back, allowing Drecker to begin mixing martinis. Although he pretended to have his attention elsewhere, Fenton kept a wary eye on Drecker, and saw him surreptitiously drop something into two of the glasses.
When the little man brought the drinks over on a tray, he handed Fenton and Sweeney the two nearest the edge, and set his own on the coffee table, then seated himself.
Just as Drecker reached for his glass to take a sip, Fenton leaped to his feet. "What's that?" he cried, looking at the window.
"What? Where?" Sweeney and Drecker both jumped up and rushed to look out the window. While their backs were turned, Fenton hastily switched glasses with Drecker.
"I thought I saw someone outside." Fenton said, shaking his head. "I guess I was mistaken - the dogs are out, after all."
"Oh boy, are you!" Sweeney agreed, laughing at him. "Those dogs of Wood's are vicious. They don't even like him!"
The three men settled down and sipped their drinks, chatting genially once more. Sweeney, who drank faster than Drecker, conked out first, but Drecker was only a few moments behind.
Fenton checked to make sure both men were merely sleeping, then prepared to leave. He had to make a call. Considering how late it was, he was fairly certain that Wood and Billy would not return that night, and he assumed the drug Drecker used would keep them unconscious until the next morning.
He headed for the kitchen, now tidy and quiet. Harmon had finished the dishes, and was nowhere to be seen. Sighing with relief, Fenton stepped to the back door. He had parked as close to the door as he could, and left the car unlocked. He was sure he could outrun the dogs if they weren't too close to his exit.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the kitchen door and sprinted for the car as fast as he could go.
Fenton slammed the car door shut just as the first Doberman leaped up at his window with fangs bared. He had barely made it!
He started the motor and backed slowly out of the drive, careful not to hit either of the dogs. When he reached the gate, he used the device Wood had given him to open it automatically. He pulled onto the public road and closed the gate; the dogs, well trained, stayed within.
"Wood?" Sergeant Morrow's voice came over the wire. "Are you the one who got Collig out of the picture?"
"Why Sergeant Morrow, I'm surprised at you!" Wood's voice was smooth. "I would never harm a man in uniform." he continued, not admitting he had arranged for someone else to do the job.
"Exactly what are you looking for, in Bayport?" Morrow demanded. He knew Wood wanted Fenton Hardy, but his interest had been piqued by the small boy he had seen through the Collig's front window. The boy who resembled Jim Wood.
"My son has run away from home." Wood replied truthfully. "I am trying to find him."
"Does he look like you?" Morrow asked.
"He does," Wood answered, his eyes narrowing as he heard the cunning in Morrow's voice. "Have you seen him?"
"Meet me in the town park near the bridge in two hours." Morrow countered. "And bring two hundred thousand dollars. I'll get your son to you." he promised.
"I will get him." Wood said. "You just tell me where he is."
"Not until I get the money." Morrow refused.
"My, my, but you are a greedy individual, aren't you?" Wood observed, amusement in his voice. "How did you ever stay a police officer so long?"
"Look, do you want your son or not?" Morrow demanded. "If Hardy has him, you won't be getting him back, except through me."
"Very well." Wood acquiesced. "But this ends our association." he added.
"Agreed." Morrow replied before hanging up.
Two hours later, Morrow was waiting impatiently at the park for Wood to show up. When he finally did...."You got my money?" Morrow demanded gruffly.
Wood silently handed Morrow the briefcase he had carried onto the bridge. Morrow opened it, and his eyes gleamed at the sight of the contents. "Six years of pay in one night, and no taxes!" he gloated, closing the briefcase.
"Now, where is my son?" Wood asked.
"Sure you don't want me to get him for you?" Morrow offered. "You paid enough."
"Quite sure." Wood assured him. "Location, please?"
"Laura Hardy and her son are at Collig's house with your son. Collig's wife is at the hospital with the chief." Morrow informed him.
"Collig's still alive?" Wood snapped incredulously. "He was supposed to be killed!"
"What do you mean?" Morrow demanded, his gaze narrowing suspiciously at Wood. "You said you had nothing to do with it."
"Actually, I said I would never harm a man in uniform." Wood corrected him. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't hire someone else to do it."
"That's murder!" Morrow cried. "I had no idea you were going to go that far!"
"Now you know." Wood turned his back on the police officer just as Billy whipped a revolver from the holster concealed beneath his blazer. Morrow never had a chance to move, before bullets ripped through his body.
"Get his gun - and don't forget the briefcase." Wood ordered, without turning around. He walked toward the park's exit as Billy did as instructed.
Rathbone made his way through the passers-by, and kneeling beside Ezra, checked his vitals. Heaving a sigh of relief, he activated his two-way radio, and called in for an ambulance and police assist. Ending his call, he looked up as a quavering male voice nearby attracted his attention.
An elderly man was hovering near Rathbone's shoulder, wringing his hand nervously. "Oh dear...oh dear, oh dear..." the man muttered, continuing the motions.
"Take it easy." Rathbone eased himself to his feet. "It'll be okay, Mr....Mr....?"
"Orwitz." the distraught man replied. "Sam Orwitz."
"Mr. Orwitz, can you tell me what happened here?" Rathbone inquired.
"I was sitting there." the old man said, pointing to the bench a few feet behind them with a shaky forefinger. "I was waiting for my bus. And I saw this man come along. He stopped by the police car, and pretended to tie his shoe, but he didn't really do that. I saw him slip something from under his jacket and hook it under the driver's door. Then he took something from his pocket, and did something with that and the car - and then he took off, as fast as he could! When I saw the officer come out of Zippy's and start to get in the car, I tried to get his attention." he continued. "He saw me, and started coming over, but he slammed the car door shut...and that happened!" he concluded, his worried hazel eyes traveling from Collig's blazing car to Rathbone's attentive face.
Sirens heralded the arrival of the fire department, closely followed by an ambulance and a police cruiser. The fire crew set to work spraying water on the burning car; the paramedics attended to Ezra Collig, and Agent Rathbone found himself on the receiving end of police questioning.
"Who are you?" demanded Officer Stanhope, a twenty-something man with dark, wavy hair, and brown eyes. He had spotted Rathbone questioning the elderly man, who seemed to be quite upset, and immediately challenged him. Officer Stanhope was anxious to move up the ladder at police headquarters, and was quick to seize an opportunity when it presented itself.
Rathbone identified himself, secretly amused at Stanhope's barely-concealed reaction of dismay at the information.
"What are you doing here?" Stanhope questioned, looking curiously at the IA agent.
"I was having dinner at Zippy's." Rathbone replied truthfully. "I heard an explosion, and came out to see what was going on. This gentleman-" indicating the elderly man, "-Mr. Orwitz, saw someone suspicious near Chief Collig's car. You'll probably want to get his statement." he added, tactfully retreating from Stanhope's vicinity.
Mr. Orwitz repeated what he had told Rathbone, to Officer Stanhope.
"Can you give me a description of the man?" Stanhope asked him, although without much optimism. People usually couldn't, he'd found. But Orwitz surprised him.
"He was wearing a dingy blue sweat jacket, and faded blue jeans." the old man reported. "He had on black shoes - sneakers, I think. I couldn't see his face real well, but he had curly brown hair, real tight curls, like his hair was very dry."
"Did you notice anything unusual about the way he walked? Did he get into a vehicle when he left?" Stanhope queried, jotting down notes in the little notebook he carried.
"Sir, Chief Collig's still unconscious." Fair-haired Officer Danwig broke in at that moment. "He's being taken to Bayport Memorial."
"Thanks, Ryan. Alert Sergeant Morrow, will you?" Stanhope requested. "Let him know about the Chief. He's the one who should tell Mrs. Collig."
About 40 minutes later, there was a knock on the Collig's front door. When Ginger opened it and saw Sergeant Morrow standing there, she came out on the front porch, not inviting him inside the house.
"Why hello, Sal - what are you doing here?" she asked.
"Ginger, honey, I've got some bad news-" Morrow began, and quickly continued speaking as Ginger gasped in shock and horrified anticipation. "-Ezra's alive, but he's been hurt. He's been taken to Bayport Memorial."
"What happened?" she demanded, gripping Morrow's arm tightly, her face going pale.
Before he could reply, a loud whoop resounded from the house. Morrow's eyes narrowed. "What was that?" he asked sharply.
"The...the television." Ginger lied, knowing full well it had been Frank. "Sal, tell me what happened to Ezra!" she repeated.
"Someone planted a bomb in his car." Sal told her. Ginger's breath became rapid with anxiety, and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, afraid she was going to hyperventilate. "I'll turn off your lights and the TV and drive you to the hospital." he said.
"No - no, I'd rather take my car." she said hastily. "But I'll call you - I'll let you know how he's doing after I see him." she promised. "Are you going back to the station?"
"Yes, ma'am." Sal answered. "I'm on duty till one."
"Thank you for coming to tell me, Sal." Ginger was retreating into the house as she spoke. She shut the front door, leaving the sergeant standing on the porch.
As he made his way off the porch, Morrow glanced through the front window, into the living room. He could see two small boys sitting on the sofa, apparently engrossed in a video game. He knew immediately who they were, and he also knew who would want this information.
He knew, too, that if he played his cards right, he wouldn't have to wait two years to get a couple of hundred thousand dollars from Jim Wood.
Fenton Hardy and his guest, Jonathan Drecker, were nearly in the dining room when a knock sounded on the front door.
Everyone knocks here, Fenton observed to himself. Maybe the doorbell is broken.... "It seems we have another guest." he said aloud, and excused himself to answer the door.
"Where's Billy?" demanded the man on the other side, when Fenton opened the door.
"Billy accompanied Mr. Wood on some business out of town." Fenton replied courteously. He had recognized the man at once - Albert Sweeney. He's early for a reason! raced through his mind. "And you are...?"
"I'm Al Sweeney." the man growled. "Wood's expecting me. And who are you?" he demanded in return.
"My name is Jeff King, and I'm Mr. Wood's new personal assistant." Fenton introduced himself. He looked at the other man, letting curiosity show on his face. "Mr. Sweeney, is it? Your letter said you weren't expected until later this week."
"Change of plans." Sweeney huffed irritably.
"As I said, Mr. Wood isn't at home, and isn't expected to return until tomorrow, but if you would care to have dinner, and perhaps spend the night, you could see him then." Fenton suggested.
"Sounds like a plan." Sweeney agreed at once, looking a bit more affable at the invitation.
"We were just on our way in to dinner." Fenton informed him then. "Perhaps you would like to wash up in the downstairs lavatory, and I'll show you to your room after dinner."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Sweeney assented ungraciously. "I know where the john is - I'll be in to dinner in a few minutes." He strode off down the hall.
"Pleasant sort, that." Drecker commented sarcastically, with a sniff.
Fenton declined to respond in kind, although he fully agreed. He went into the kitchen to inform the cook of the last-minute dinner guest. Harmon accepted the news without fuss, and it struck Fenton that this sort of thing was a commonplace occurrence in the Wood household.
By the time he returned to the dining room, Sweeney and Drecker had seated themselves, each taking a seat at one end of the table. Fenton took his place at one side, and the three sat in silence as Harmon entered the room and began serving. It was evident that Drecker and Sweeney were acquainted with each other, but apparently not the best of friends.
The men merely made small talk as the salad course was served and consumed, and Fenton was beginning to despair of learning anything useful from either Sweeney or Drecker. However, once the main course made its appearance, the two appeared to relax, and their conversation became more unguarded, discussing business matters of which Fenton knew nothing.
"Did you deliver the package?" Sweeney asked Drecker.
Drecker fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. "No," he mumbled, sniffing. "I lost it."
"You lost-" Sweeney broke off in mid-sentence, rage and disbelief mingling on his face.
Fenton eyed him, idly wondering what his blood pressure had risen to. "More likely, someone stole it." he commented sagely, inside wondering what in heaven's name they were talking about.
"Who?" Sweeney demanded, his angry gaze shifting to Fenton.
"Who knew he had it?" Fenton countered, raising his shoulders to indicate he had no idea.
"Me, Wood, Al, you, Roberts, and...Milhouse!" Drecker shouted the last name, jumping to his feet. "That dirty rat!"
"Milhouse?" Sweeney inquired. "Who is he?"
"Milhouse is Roberts' new partner." Drecker replied, still fuming. "I knew he was up to no good when I found him sniffing around Roberts' office!"
Fenton looked down at his plate to hide the amusement in his eyes. Drecker was a fine one to talk!
"Calm down." Sweeney ordered. "This Milhouse may have obtained the list of potential buyers, but he doesn't have the rock." he said smoothly. "We'll just have to find a market elsewhere for the thing."
"Where is the rock?" Drecker asked Sweeney. "You got it?"
Fenton noticed that Drecker had previously avoided looking into Sweeney's eyes when he addressed him; but now, when he mentioned 'the rock' - a diamond, perhaps? - even though his voice was casual and nonchalant, his posture was that of a lion preparing to pounce, and his eyes slid up to meet Sweeney's as he waited for the reply.
"Wood has it." Sweeney said. "Right?" he asked, looking at Fenton.
"I couldn't say." Fenton replied calmly, picking up a bite of chicken pie with his fork His manner left the men believing that he knew exactly where 'the rock' was, but that he wasn't going to tell them. They said no more about it, and devoted their attention to the excellent meal, to Fenton's relief. He had no notion where a diamond might be, in this house!
After dinner, Fenton and his two guests adjourned to the living room for drinks and conversation while the cook cleared the table and took care of the dishes. Sweeney settled himself in the large, burgundy leather recliner and put his feet up, but Drecker crossed to the far side of the room, where another bar was located. Fenton followed him, attempting to play host.
"Allow me." Drecker insisted, reaching for bottles with the ease of long practice. Fenton inclined his head politely, and stepped back, allowing Drecker to begin mixing martinis. Although he pretended to have his attention elsewhere, Fenton kept a wary eye on Drecker, and saw him surreptitiously drop something into two of the glasses.
When the little man brought the drinks over on a tray, he handed Fenton and Sweeney the two nearest the edge, and set his own on the coffee table, then seated himself.
Just as Drecker reached for his glass to take a sip, Fenton leaped to his feet. "What's that?" he cried, looking at the window.
"What? Where?" Sweeney and Drecker both jumped up and rushed to look out the window. While their backs were turned, Fenton hastily switched glasses with Drecker.
"I thought I saw someone outside." Fenton said, shaking his head. "I guess I was mistaken - the dogs are out, after all."
"Oh boy, are you!" Sweeney agreed, laughing at him. "Those dogs of Wood's are vicious. They don't even like him!"
The three men settled down and sipped their drinks, chatting genially once more. Sweeney, who drank faster than Drecker, conked out first, but Drecker was only a few moments behind.
Fenton checked to make sure both men were merely sleeping, then prepared to leave. He had to make a call. Considering how late it was, he was fairly certain that Wood and Billy would not return that night, and he assumed the drug Drecker used would keep them unconscious until the next morning.
He headed for the kitchen, now tidy and quiet. Harmon had finished the dishes, and was nowhere to be seen. Sighing with relief, Fenton stepped to the back door. He had parked as close to the door as he could, and left the car unlocked. He was sure he could outrun the dogs if they weren't too close to his exit.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the kitchen door and sprinted for the car as fast as he could go.
Fenton slammed the car door shut just as the first Doberman leaped up at his window with fangs bared. He had barely made it!
He started the motor and backed slowly out of the drive, careful not to hit either of the dogs. When he reached the gate, he used the device Wood had given him to open it automatically. He pulled onto the public road and closed the gate; the dogs, well trained, stayed within.
"Wood?" Sergeant Morrow's voice came over the wire. "Are you the one who got Collig out of the picture?"
"Why Sergeant Morrow, I'm surprised at you!" Wood's voice was smooth. "I would never harm a man in uniform." he continued, not admitting he had arranged for someone else to do the job.
"Exactly what are you looking for, in Bayport?" Morrow demanded. He knew Wood wanted Fenton Hardy, but his interest had been piqued by the small boy he had seen through the Collig's front window. The boy who resembled Jim Wood.
"My son has run away from home." Wood replied truthfully. "I am trying to find him."
"Does he look like you?" Morrow asked.
"He does," Wood answered, his eyes narrowing as he heard the cunning in Morrow's voice. "Have you seen him?"
"Meet me in the town park near the bridge in two hours." Morrow countered. "And bring two hundred thousand dollars. I'll get your son to you." he promised.
"I will get him." Wood said. "You just tell me where he is."
"Not until I get the money." Morrow refused.
"My, my, but you are a greedy individual, aren't you?" Wood observed, amusement in his voice. "How did you ever stay a police officer so long?"
"Look, do you want your son or not?" Morrow demanded. "If Hardy has him, you won't be getting him back, except through me."
"Very well." Wood acquiesced. "But this ends our association." he added.
"Agreed." Morrow replied before hanging up.
Two hours later, Morrow was waiting impatiently at the park for Wood to show up. When he finally did...."You got my money?" Morrow demanded gruffly.
Wood silently handed Morrow the briefcase he had carried onto the bridge. Morrow opened it, and his eyes gleamed at the sight of the contents. "Six years of pay in one night, and no taxes!" he gloated, closing the briefcase.
"Now, where is my son?" Wood asked.
"Sure you don't want me to get him for you?" Morrow offered. "You paid enough."
"Quite sure." Wood assured him. "Location, please?"
"Laura Hardy and her son are at Collig's house with your son. Collig's wife is at the hospital with the chief." Morrow informed him.
"Collig's still alive?" Wood snapped incredulously. "He was supposed to be killed!"
"What do you mean?" Morrow demanded, his gaze narrowing suspiciously at Wood. "You said you had nothing to do with it."
"Actually, I said I would never harm a man in uniform." Wood corrected him. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't hire someone else to do it."
"That's murder!" Morrow cried. "I had no idea you were going to go that far!"
"Now you know." Wood turned his back on the police officer just as Billy whipped a revolver from the holster concealed beneath his blazer. Morrow never had a chance to move, before bullets ripped through his body.
"Get his gun - and don't forget the briefcase." Wood ordered, without turning around. He walked toward the park's exit as Billy did as instructed.
