Killing Joe
Chapter 5
As Fenton drove into the small town of Shelia Flats his handsome face was set in a worried frown. He had scoured the area around the riverbank and the shack and had ascertained where someone – presumably Joe – had come out of the river and gone to the shack.
Joe had then obviously gone back down to the road where the truck was parked for some reason, and that is when things got worrisome. The internationally known investigator had found two more sets of tracks, indicating that Joe had met up with someone, and now neither him nor the truck were anywhere in sight.
Fenton did realize there could be a very good explanation for this, depending on what had actually happened this morning, but until he could talk to Frank, he wasn't about to dismiss anything. So instead he headed towards the town two hours ahead of schedule. With Joe possibly missing, the sleuth wasn't willing to wait it out.
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Sheriff Oakes heard a truck pull up outside his office and frowned when he saw a tall dark-haired man get out of the silver Lincoln Navigator. The man carried himself with a distinguished confidence and the lawman was positive that this was Fenton Hardy.
"Damn," he scowled, "He's early." As in the past, the sheriff was intending not to be at the office when the distraught father showed up, forcing him to wait until morning to see his son. He had found this made the parent much more amenable to his terms.
Mr. Hardy showing up early had tossed a kink in the plan. His deputy, Miles Parson, was still conducting the search for the teen's body and wasn't due to come back to the office for another hour, giving Oakes ample time to be unavailable.
Quickly amending his usual tactics, the sheriff grabbed his hat and went outside to meet the other man.
"Fenton Hardy I presume," he said in greeting, extending his hand and noting the strength of the returned hand shake. "I'm Sheriff Oakes, we spoke on the phone."
"Sheriff," Fenton greeted cordially and then cut right to the chase. "I'd like to see my son now, if that's possible."
Oakes ignored his request for a moment as he pulled out a cigar and lit it, making no move to go back inside. He inhaled and then let the smoke out slowly as he regarded the renowned investigator. The man looked to be about his age, but with dark hair and dark eyes. His clothes, though casual, spoke of quality and good taste as did the simple gold band on his wedding-ring finger and the unadorned gold watch on his wrist. Fenton exemplified the term 'ruggedly handsome,' and the sheriff wondered what his wife looked like. Probably beautiful and blond, he surmised, thinking of the younger boy. He had seen Joe in town with Frank yesterday and had not been oblivious to the appreciative glances the ladies had given the brothers.
"Frank takes after you," the lawman said casually, "I am assuming then, that your other son, Joseph, takes – took after your wife. So far we've had no luck in finding him." He saw the muscle in Fenton's jaw twitch as the man just nodded and spoke briefly:
"He did." Fenton held his gaze easily and Oakes fought to keep from looking away. It was if the man could look right into his soul…
"I would really like to see my son—" the investigator repeated, this time a hint of impatience clipped his tone, "now."
"Of course, of course," the sheriff placated and then sighed, "but I'm sorry, I can't let you do that right now."
"What are you talking about?" Irritation replaced the impatience as Fenton's gaze turned less friendly. "I've had my pilot press every ounce out of the engines to get here as quickly as I could – hell, he cut two hours off the flying time. And now you're telling me I can't see my son?"
Oakes held up his hands in a placating gesture, "Whoa, settle down." He sighed again, "Look, I appreciate where you are coming from. Honestly I do. If it was one of my kids, I'd feel the same way. However, as much as it pains me, I do have to respect the rights of the accused, and right now Frank is saying he doesn't want to see you. Now maybe—"
"Excuse me?" Fenton interrupted, incredulously, "Frank doesn't want to see me?"
"No, I'm sorry he doesn't," the sheriff put as much apologetic inflection in his tone as possible. "I'm not sure why, but he was pretty adamant about it. And as he isn't a minor, I do have to respect his wishes."
Fenton was stunned and outraged. 'You lying piece of crap,' he thought, struggling to keep from reaching out and throttling the lawman. Oakes was trying to keep him from seeing his son and his concern about something going wrong this morning grew.
"So why don't you go and get a room at the motel? Rest up and I'll work on him a bit. I'm sure he'll see you in the morning. I just think it's finally hitting him what he did, and he just doesn't want to face you yet. Killing your brother isn't something anyone can take lightly – even if they didn't get along," the sheriff was saying.
"That isn't acceptable to me," the detective said. If things were a bit different, he would play along with this charade but now he couldn't afford to wait. He had to find out from Frank if they had changed the plan.
When the sheriff looked at him in surprise, Fenton laid it out and hoped Oakes was truly as greedy as suspected, "Look I want to see my son and I want to see him now. And I'm willing to do anything—" he held the lawman's gaze and tilted his head to make sure there was no misunderstanding, "or pay anything to do so. This is my boy we're talking about. Even for just a few minutes, that's all I'm asking. A few minutes with Frank and then I'll disappear until morning."
Oakes sucked on his cigar, his blue eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Am I hearing you right, Hardy? Attempting to bribe a lawman is a serious thing…"
"And so is being my son's father," the Bayport detective responded, his own gaze somber and equally shrewd.
The sheriff rubbed at his chin and seemed to give what Fenton was saying some serious thought. He tore off the lighted end of the cigar, stubbed it out on the ground and then slowly nodded as he slipped what was left of it into his pocket, "What kind of money we talking about?"
"Five hundred," Fenton said easily, "For fifteen minutes." He took out his wallet and peeled off five from a sizeable stack. He took some satisfaction in the way Oakes' eyes seemed to light up at the sight of the cash.
Without saying anything, the sheriff took the offered bills, stuffed them into his wallet and then opened the office door. "Fifteen minutes and not one minute more," he said as he led he way inside.
"Thank you," Fenton said, not having to fake the gratitude in his voice. Finally – he might get some answers!
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Frank awoke with a start from a restless doze when he heard the door open again. Glancing up, he quickly sat up on the cot, relief flooding him when he saw his father come down the hall with the sheriff.
"I told him that you didn't want to see him," Oakes said; a warning look in the gaze he fixed Frank with. "But he can be a rather persuasive man. You have fifteen minutes."
"Thanks again," Fenton said to the lawman. Oakes grunted something in response and then left the holding area. The Hardys waited until he was on the other side of the door before saying anything. Conscious that the cell might be bugged, they restrained themselves from any outward show of affection, but one look at the concern and compassion in his father's eyes were all that Frank needed.
Fenton sat down on the cot next to him and glanced around. "Not bad," he said, "all things considered."
"Well, I'm alone," Frank agreed, "that's something, anyway." And then he asked the question that had been burning at him since the bridge: "How's everything at the shack?" They both knew he was asking how his brother was.
"Depends," Fenton said, his dark brown eyes conveying something else – a question, "Was there any change in the plans?"
Frank felt a tendril of fear knot his stomach. Something was wrong. "No," he said slowly, "no changes at all."
"Then—" Fenton said slowly, "we have a problem. Turns out no one showed up for snacks."
The teen paled, knowing exactly what his father was saying…Joe was missing!
'Oh God,' he thought, 'the river!'
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Sheriff Oakes sat down at his desk and smiled. Five hundred smackeroos! Not a bad haul…not a bad haul, indeed!
His smile broadened as he could easily imagine what the illustrious investigator would pay to make these charges go away, if he was willing to put out that kind of dough for fifteen minutes with his son. 'People like you make me sick', he thought, silently addressing Fenton. 'You think your money can buy anything.' And then he chuckled and added, 'of course in this case…you're right!'
Setting the time on his watch, he got up to put a fresh pot of coffee on, when the phone rang. Cursing under his breath, he went back to his desk and picked it up. "Sheila Flats Sheriff's Office…"
Listening tersely to the voice on the other end of the phone, the sheriff barked "I'll take care of it," and slammed the receiver down.
"Damnit," he muttered, "he couldn't have waited until tomorrow to be found, could he?" He toyed briefly with the idea of continuing the façade for Hardy until the morning when he could get his payoff, but then dismissed the idea right away.
If Fenton Hardy was anyone else he would, but he couldn't take the chance of the investigator turning the tables on him about this. So slightly un-aggrieved by the money in his wallet, Oakes went back to the jail cell. He had charges to drop.
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Fenton and Frank looked up when they saw the sheriff came back so soon.
"I had fifteen minutes," the investigator started to protest but the other man cut him off.
"Relax, don't get your knickers in a knot." He unlocked the jail cell door and swung it wide open. "You're free to go," he said to Frank.
"What?" the teen asked, confused. He looked at his father but Fenton just shrugged with no more clue about this than he had.
"All charges have been dropped," the sheriff explained and then shrugged, "It would seem that your brother survived our bad old river and took off to Sheila Falls, a town about an hour from here—"
Both Frank and Fenton exchanged relieved looks until the sheriff continued…
"—and ran into some trouble with the local boys there. He got a knife in the back for his trouble—"
Frank felt all the blood drain from his face….
"He might not have been dead before, son," the sheriff fixed Frank with an unreadable look, "but he is now."
