Chapter 13.

Uncertainty spread across the Hardy's faces.

"We're not going anywhere," Joe shouted back. Sergeant MacMillan was halfway out of his car, looking imploringly at them.

"Why were you following us?" Frank demanded, though feeling slightly foolish carrying on a conversation at the side of the road.

"Just get in and I'll explain all I can! But you have to come now! The people responsible for messing with your car will probably be moving in soon to make sure their 'handiwork' was a success."

Frank and Joe didn't know what to think now, and exchanged bewildered looks.

"We're not going anywhere with you! We don't trust you!" Frank shouted. "You'll answer us here and now! Who tried to kill us? Who wants Nancy Drew dead?"

Sergeant MacMillan froze in place. "What do you mean, who 'wants' Nancy Drew dead?"

Frank stopped short and sucked in a breath. He realised his gaffe: he'd used the present tense.

"So you do know Detective Drew is alive!" MacMillan exclaimed. "Look: I know you said you don't trust me. But we've been at cross-purposes here for too long-"

"The only thing we know for sure is that there's been a major cover-up regarding the details of what happened the night she disappeared," Frank said.

"Look here, son," MacMillan said sternly, "if you know where Nancy Drew is, my recommendation is you forget about it right now. Forget you saw her. Forget you know her. She doesn't exist anymore, and it needs to stay that way."

Frank and Joe stared at him, dumbfounded. He was admitting he knew Nancy was alive, too!

"Are you two hearing me? You utter one word about that young woman and you might very well be signing her death certificate, and yours in the process. Look what nearly happened tonight! Now please get in! I can keep you safe for at least another few hours."

"Keep us safe? What do you mean?" Joe asked.

"Are you going to stand there all night asking questions, or are you going to come with me? The sooner we get away from here, the better!"

Deciding that they had no other choice but to trust the man, the Hardys, not without reservations, finally climbed into the backseat of the car, and MacMillan drove off quickly.

"Okay, we're in the car," Frank said indignantly, "you owe us some answers, and we want them now! Why were you following us?"

"When you two first showed up, we didn't know what to think," MacMillan said as he navigated the streets. "I was tailing you tonight because I wanted to know exactly what it is you're up to."

"I'm not sure I understand," Frank said.

"I had to know what you were up to," MacMillan said. "I had to know if you were for us or against us. Tonight, when I saw you speeding up, I thought perhaps you'd spotted me and were trying to get away. Then I saw the haphazard way you were driving, I knew you were in trouble. I tried to keep up, but lost you when you made that exit. When I finally got back on track, I thought the worst had happened when I saw the wreck."

"Okay," Frank said, digesting this piece of information. "but that still doesn't explain why you all weren't straight with us when we first arrived."

"When you came here asking about Detective Drew, we didn't know whether to believe your intentions were…on the level. We had to be careful what we told you. You said you were friends of Detective Drew's, but friends can be bought off. Everyone has a price."

The brothers mulled these words carefully, trying to understand what MacMillan could mean by them.

"What do you mean, 'bought off'?" Joe asked.

"Wait a minute…" Frank spoke up, shushing Joe, "you actually thought we came to Chicago because we were hired to track Nancy down for the very people who want her dead?"

"Like I said, we didn't know what to think," MacMillan responded, "if you were really such good friends, it came as a surprise to us that you didn't know she was 'dead'."

"But it's true; we really didn't hear about the drive-by or the 'drowning'," Joe replied.

"I know that now," MacMillan said. "but in the beginning, we were being cautious. Your presence here was unexpected. And asking questions about a case that was officially closed a year ago raised some flags. We didn't want to risk revealing information about Detective Drew that would put her life in jeopardy. For all we knew, you might have been working for the wrong people."

"How could you even think such a thing?" Joe asked, outraged that such a notion could have entered the minds of Nancy's superior officers.

MacMillan sighed. "Everybody has a price. Everybody can be bought. You'd be surprised how easily, too."

"There is corruption in the department, isn't there?" Frank asked quietly.

"Yes," the older man answered solemnly. "and we have our suspects. The FBI has been poking around too, but we've been unable to get anything solid. Only gut feelings and circumstantial evidence. Nothing that could ever stand up in court."

"Sergeant," Joe asked, "what is the deal with Gus Marouelli? Was that all a smokescreen, too?"

"Gus Marouelli," MacMillan said with disdain, "has been the bane of our existence for a very long time. And no, he's not a smokescreen. He is very much a part of the picture when it comes to corruption in the CPD. We know there are moles even in our district, but finding them has been a real challenge."

"Sarge, we know that Marouelli has his hand in a lot of things in Chicago. These cops that are allegedly on his payroll…what do they do for him? Why does he need them?" Frank asked.

"Well, let's see…In a lot of cases, these corrupt cops will look the other way in areas of heavy drug activity," MacMillan replied.

"Sounds like a Vice problem," Frank said.

"To a degree," MacMillan assented. "But that's just the tip of the iceberg. If it was only letting a few petty dealers go without an arrest that was our problem, we'd be doing fine. No, there have been things going on in this town that are a lot worse than that…"

"And they are..?" Frank prodded.

"One of the main reasons we have not been able to convict Marouelli is that those who are lined up to testify against him never live long enough to make it to the witness stand. Some have come close – career criminals who have cut deals with the District Attorney; reduced sentences in exchange for testimony against Marouelli. Some of these snitches simply disappear. Others have died as the result of 'accidents', and some have even died while in police custody."

"Sounds like you have a very serious problem," Frank mused, not at all downplaying the seriousness of what Mac was saying.

"Of course, the deaths that happen in police custody are thoroughly investigated," MacMillan continued, "and they're usually determined to be suicides or drug overdoses; beatings at the hands of other prisoners. Other prisoners don't like informers, see. But we can never prove that a cop was responsible. Only it's just much too coincidental that all the people who are set to testify against Gus Marouelli die before they can."

"You believe Nancy stumbled onto something she wasn't supposed to, don't you?" Joe asked.

"That," MacMillan answered, "is the real reason Nancy had to go into hiding. She knows something she shouldn't. I wasn't privy to that information, so I can't tell you exactly what it is she knows that's so dangerous. My own 'investigation' ended when we whitewashed the whole incident with Nancy's supposed 'drowning'. The ball is in the Feds' court now."

There was a quiet in the car as MacMillan continued to drive towards a destination that was unknown to the Hardys.

It occurred just then to Frank that the man they were supposed to be meeting with, Detective Tom Morrison, had fingered this same man who was driving them as one of those corrupt cops…Why would he do that? Was Tom trying to deflect suspicion from himself, or was he simply repeating rumours that were always flying around the CPD?

Either way, Frank dearly hoped Tom was wrong about Sergeants MacMillan and Mahoney.

"It has to be something that happened the week of the drive-by shooting, or around that time," Frank reasoned. "Something Nancy heard or witnessed. Whoever is behind this couldn't risk having her walking around with whatever knowledge it is she has for too long. It would have been too risky for them."

"Exactly," Joe said. "but we've already determined that Nancy was working exclusively on the serial murders."

"Fellas, I'm going to beg you one more time to drop this," MacMillan interrupted. "Let the Bureau handle it. Having you running interference is only going to make things worse. You're already on the bad guys' radar. You could have died tonight. You're lucky I was there when I was."

Frank rebutted. "It was already personal when it was just Nancy. Now after that car accident, it's really personal."

"Yeah," Joe added, "this has gone on long enough."

Sergeant MacMillan simply shook his head. "Is there nothing I can say that will dissuade you guys from pursuing this?"

"No way," Frank said. "We're not naïve, Sergeant. We know what's at stake here, and believe me, we've had our lives threatened before."

"Hmm…" Mac mumbled. "are you sure you know what's a stake? You think you can dash in here in the middle of an ongoing investigation that already involves the Feds, just because a good friend is involved and your lives have been threatened?"

Feeling his temper rising, Frank held his tongue for a moment before responding.

"Anyway, it's not even up to me. As private citizens, you guys can investigate your heads off," MacMillan said.

"Um, Sarge," Joe said, "I don't mean to be rude, but where exactly are you taking us?"

"Oh, sorry. Guess I should have told you that. My son has an apartment he uses on holidays and long weekends – he's away at university. It's not much of a place, but it's safe."

"Uh, thanks," Joe said.

"It's painfully obvious you're being watched. It probably isn't safe to go back to your motel."

"Right," Joe agreed.

"Sergeant, is there anything you can tell us about the events of that week?" Frank asked, still not willing to let things drop. "Did anything unusual happen?"

"No, nothing unusual. Not unless you count the untimely deaths of two of our pathologists in the same week. Dr. Grey's murder was definitely an unusual and unwelcome event." MacMillan shook his head sorrowfully. "I wish to God we'd nail that S.O.B…Tom needs the closure."

Frank decided not to mention the meeting with Tom in Greektown that they were obviously not going to make.

"I know that you aren't Nancy's direct superior, but can you get us access to Nancy's case files leading up to the night of the drive-by?" Frank asked. "There's got to be something there; something that will break this case open."

MacMillan breathed out loudly, then turned his head to look intently at them. He turned his attention back to the road, and was silent for a long time.

"I think I can get Sergeant Mahoney to give us a hand with this. I can ask him if he's willing to get the files. Let me just tell you this clandestine operation is entirely against department regulations. If the Commander, or God forbid, the Chief finds out, it's my ass on the line. But I know Mahoney really wants to get his best detective back. He just might agree to something as crazy as this."

Frank felt a rush of gratitude. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said simply. "You can't know how much we appreciate this gesture."

Early the next morning, they were sitting in the small living room of the apartment belonging to Sergeant MacMillan's son, Barry. They had spent a fitful night trying to sleep, and this morning their bodies were sore and aching, no doubt the result of the car accident the evening before. After a breakfast of coffee and rolls MacMillan had bought from a nearby bakery, the Hardys had one single purpose: to go through everything Nancy had done that would possibly make her a target.

Sergeant Matt Mahoney had rushed over with the pertinent files, and the four men were now going over them with a fine-toothed comb.

Pages and pages of arrest reports, suspect and witness interviews filled the thick files, among other things.

"These are the last few reports Detectives Drew and Morrison filled out the week of the drive-by," Mahoney said. "As we all know very well, there is no obvious connection between the serial case and Gus Marouelli."

"This report here," Joe said, pulling the papers closer to him, "the last arrest they made before the drive-by…two days before it looks…a 'Yuri' something-or-other…they picked him up for possession."

"I remember that guy," Mahoney said. "Small-time cretin. He was found dead in his holding cell."

Frank looked up suddenly. "He was what?"

"Let me see that report," Mahoney said. Joe slid it to him. "Yeah, here's the autopsy report. Cause of death was a drug overdose."

"Drug overdose?" Frank questioned. "I thought they thoroughly search all prisoners."

"Oh sure," Mahoney scoffed. "these guys hide their stashes in the most creative places. This guy could have swallowed something earlier. Could have ruptured in his stomach. You know how it is."

"What are you thinking?" MacMillan asked Frank, noticing the young man was deep in thought.

"Just about what you told us earlier, Sergeant," Frank answered, "how a lot of criminals about to testify against Marouelli end up dead – some even in police custody…Who performed the autopsy on this guy?"

"Hmm," Mahoney flipped to the pathologist's report. "Looks like this one…was actually started by – would you look at that! Dr. Stanley Vasek."

"Hey, isn't he the one that had a heart attack the week of the drive-by?" Joe asked.

Mahoney nodded. "Yep. Right in the middle of…an autopsy report…you know, it just might have been this very one."

"And Dr. Vasek determined that the cause of death was a drug overdose, right?" Frank asked.

"That's right," Mahoney acknowledged.

"Who completed the report on Dr. Vasek's behalf?" Frank began to feel his heart beating faster. This had to be it. The devil is always in the details!

"The new guy they brought in to, uh, replace Dr. Vasek and Dr. Debbie Gray. A Dr. Shawn Redding. It looks like his signature there," Mahoney said.

Frank took the report from Sergeant Mahoney. He and Joe looked it over carefully.

"What are you thinking?" Mahoney asked them. "What makes you think this is so important?"

"Well," Frank said, "how long does it take for a toxicology screen to come through?"

'Joan' awoke the next morning, with the memories of her odd dream still lingering. It had further fragmented during the night, and various details had since been lost. She did, however, remember that it was Frank Hardy, and not Ned Nickerson who had appeared in her dream.

Her head felt heavy, and her eyes sore. It was 9:30 a.m., and she realised she felt hungry. After going through the normal morning ritual of face-washing and teeth-brushing, 'Joan' made her way to the kitchen to prepare a quick breakfast.

Agent Phillips had picked up a carton of eggs, milk, some bread and a small quantity of assorted fruits and vegetables.

She had just decided on having scrambled eggs when the secure line rang.

"Hello, Agent," she spoke, knowing it could only be her watchdog.

"'Joan', I'm on my way over right now," Agent Phillips informed her curtly.

"Why?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I've been in touch with my contact with the Bureau in Chicago. I've just learned that the Hardys were in a car accident last night."

'Joan' felt as if her stomach dropped to her feet.

"How bad?" she whispered.

"The car was totalled. It collided with a truck. When emergency crews arrived, there was no one in the car. The driver claims they took off on foot."

"They've been investigating me, haven't they?"

"Yes. And it looks like the bad guys are wise to the fact, too," Phillips replied.

I knew this is what would happen, 'Joan' thought miserably. But the fact that the driver of the truck indicated that her friends had evidently escaped serious harm cheered her somewhat. Taking off on foot, though…that meant they were literally on the run, too. Where were they? She prayed they were safe.

"There's more Joan," Phillips said. His voice indicated what was coming next would not be pleasant.

"What is it?"

"Late last night…there was a gas leak at Greta's restaurant. The whole place went up."

A/N: Oh, there's lots more to come after this, dear readers. Hold on to your seats! This ride is not going to slow down.