Killing Joe

Chapter 2

Sheriff Oakes led Frank into the small office and had him sit down next to an old wooden desk. Sitting down across from him, he pushed a phone towards the teen and then looked at him expectantly.

"What?" Frank demanded, "I can't dial like this!" His hands were still firmly cuffed behind him.

The sheriff shrugged. "Give me the number, I'll dial for you."

"You going to hold the receiver for me as well?" the teen snapped, irritated but the man just favored him with a smirk and pressed the HANDS FREE button.

"Hey, you aren't allowed to listen!" Frank protested.

"This is my town and my office. I'll do whatever the damn well I please," Oakes told him, "now you can either give me the number, or else I'll just call your daddy for you. Fenton Hardy isn't it?"

Frank paled, "You know him?"

"I know OF him," the sheriff made the distinction, "ex-cop. Fancy-pants detective now. Heard you and your brother were following in daddy's footsteps," he snorted, "guess that's changed now, hasn't it?"

The boy never answered him, just recited off a number and then waited while the man dialed it. They listened to the rings going through.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Fenton Hardy glanced down at the number on his cell phone. He didn't recognize it.

"Hardy," he answered.

(Mr. Hardy? Sheriff Tom Oakes here, from the Sheila Flats Sheriff's office. Sorry to have to make your acquaintance like this, but I have someone here that wants to talk to you. Frank—)

The sleuth wasn't surprised to hear he was on speaker phone.

"Frank?" he repeated.

(Uh, hi Dad) came a rather reticent response (I've run into a bit of trouble down here….)

"Frank, what's wrong?" Fenton demanded, his voice rising in concern, as he fired questions at his son. "Where's your brother and why are you calling from the sheriff's office?"

(Well actually Dad, Joe is kind of the reason why I'm calling) came another reluctant reply.

"Is he missing or something? What's going on, Frank?" the detective pressed.

(Well he is and he isn't…)

"He is and he isn't what?" Fenton pressed, his tone impatient and clipped. He heard a muttered 'for Pete's sake' and recognized it as the sheriff's voice.

(Mr. Hardy) Oakes cut in (Let me just make this short, since your son seems to want to drag this out until I'm old enough to retire. Frank is being held on a murder charge. I have a witness who saw him push your other son into the Sheila River.)

"WHAT?" the detective roared.

(As of right now, I do have a search party combing the river for Joseph, but I have to be honest with you. There is a savage undertow and the chances are slim that we'll find him.)

"Frank, is this true?" Fenton demanded.

(We had a fight, Dad) he heard his son admit (I just – I just lost it with him…you know how Joe gets! He never knows when enough is enough! And – and – well, yeah…I guess that's kinda true.)

The sleuth paused for a moment, exhaling loudly. "Okay, son. Okay. First things first, are you okay?"

(Yeah. My hand's a bit sore though…)

"Sheriff," Fenton addressed Oakes, "have you had his injuries taken care of?"

(Injuries?) the other man's tone was indignant.

"Yes, my son just said his hand was hurt. I'll expect you to have him taken care of. I'll be out there just as soon as I can," the sleuth promised.

(When can we expect you?) the sheriff asked.

"I'll have my pilot get the plane ready—" Fenton glanced down at his watch. "We should be there in less than six hours!"

(We'll see you then) Oakes promised.

"Oh, one thing, Sheriff," the detective caught him before the call was disconnected; "I am holding you personally responsible for my son's safety. I might have just lost my Joe, but I will NOT lose my Frank, do you understand?"

(Oh, I understand…very well, Mr. Hardy), came the response (I look forward to meeting you) And then the call was disconnected.

Fenton sat back in his chair and ran a hand across his face. 'Unbelievable,' he thought to himself, 'friggin' unbelievable'.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Tom Oakes clicked off the phone and smiled to himself. He loved dealing with people like Fenton Hardy. 'My Joe… my Frank,' he thought, 'oh yeah, that man is just concerned about one thing – his son' and that always made what Oakes was going to propose so enticing. 'Gotta love rich people with pride and spoiled babies,' he snorted silently as he grabbed Frank's arm, encouraging him to stand up.

'Daddy'll do anything to keep his precious son – the only one he has left now – out of jail.'

Leading Frank into the back room where the small cell was, Oakes opened the door and indicated for the teen to step inside and turn around before he removed the handcuffs.

As the teen rubbed his sore wrists and scowled at the sheriff, the man slammed the cell door shut and locked it. He then appraised the boy for a few long moments until Frank finally said, "What? Am I wearing something of yours?"

The sheriff chuckled. "Keep it up kid, 'cause handsome little boys like you get sucked up real nicely by the men in prison…lonely men with too much time on their hands and an itch they want you to scratch." He turned and started to walk away, but not before stopping and gazing at Frank intently. "Don't you feel any remorse for what you did? You killed your brother, son."

Frank stared the sheriff in the face. He snorted, "What do you know about remorse?"

Oakes cocked an eyebrow and shrugged before he left the cell and went back to his desk.

He shook his head as he sat back down and drained the last of his cold coffee. In six hours the great Fenton Hardy would be here.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Fenton Hardy lied when he said how long it would take him to get to the small midwestern town of Sheila Flats. He was only two hours away, staying in a neighboring town.

After hanging up with Frank and Sheriff Oakes, the detective checked out of the hotel, got into a rented four-wheel drive SUV and drove north. Ten minutes outside of Sheila Flats, he saw a small dirt road and turned onto it. The road was more a path than anything else, bumpy and overgrown; anything less than what he was driving would have never made it up here. The road ended at the river bank and Fenton had to get out and walk the rest of the way.

The sleuth frowned as he walked. Something wasn't right – where was the truck the boys had rented?

Picking up the pace, Fenton hurried up through the brush for another ten minutes before finally reaching a small rundown shack that crested the high ground.

"Joe!" he called out as he approached, "Son?" But there was no response. Throwing open the door, the detective stormed inside and then glanced around – nothing. The shack was empty.

With growing trepidation, he hurried back outside and stood, looking around. The sound of the Sheila River filled him with dread. Where was Joe?

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank sat on the small cot in the jail cell for a little while until – out of sheer boredom – he lay down. He glanced down at his watch to check the time, not really surprised that the sheriff had deviated from protocol and let him keep his personal effects. The teen didn't expect to be in here for very long, and neither did Oakes apparently.

Closing his eyes, he shivered as a fleeting image of the last few minutes he and Joe had spent on the bridge crossed his mind, and he absently rubbed his sore knuckles….His fist hitting Joe's jaw…shoving his brother against the railing… pushing him over…watching Joe fall into the murky water…fighting every instinct and impulse to reach out to catch him…and then – and then turning away.

The teen sat up, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that everything had gone according to plan, but still he worried.

What if they had been wrong about the plan?

What if they had made an error in judgment?

What if the Sheila River was more formidable than either boy had given her credit for?

What if—

Frank shook his head. All the what-ifs in the world did not change one thing, and he would not feel any better until his father got him out of here, and he could see for himself that his brother was indeed all right.

'This plan sounded so much better yesterday,' he mentally groused as he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. His father would be here soon.