Killing Joe

Chapter 6

Neither Hardy said anything as they drove in silence towards Sheila Falls. Frank noticed his father was heavier footed than usual, but never commented as he felt the same urgency and disbelief pressing down on him – Joe was dead?

There were too many questions that neither had an answer for. The foremost being: what had happened? Joe was supposed to wait at the shack for his father. What went wrong? And did the other footprints Fenton saw on the road have anything to do with it?

Frank glanced down at his bandaged knuckles and then out the window as a wave of pain crashed through his soul.

As if knowing exactly what his son was feeling, Fenton said softly, "We don't know it's true yet Frank. It might not be Joe."

"I know," the teen admitted, still staring out at the blurring scenery, "but still—" he glanced across at his father briefly, "something did happen. We both know that. Why else would Joe not be there?" Sighing, he plucked at the bandage. "I just wish we knew what that was – where he is…"

"So do I, son," Fenton said, "so do I."

After what seemed like an eternity, Fenton pulled the SUV up in front of a small, white clapboard hospital. Turning the vehicle off, he undid his seatbelt and hurried towards the building; Frank fell in step beside him.

Fenton's heart was pounding as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, hoping that there had been some sort of mistake; not even wanting to remotely consider that it might be true. Right now he needed to keep it together for both himself and Frank, having picked up on his son's turbulent emotions. Frank wouldn't believe that Joe was dead until he saw it for himself; however, that would not stop the boy from tormenting himself with the very possibility.

An older woman in a white uniform sat behind an old desk, and she looked up and smiled at the Hardys as they crossed the floor towards her. The hospital wasn't very big or busy and Frank and Fenton were the only other ones there, besides her, at the moment.

"Good afternoon," the detective greeted with a tight smile, "My name is Fenton Hardy and—"

"Oh dear, yes, I've been expecting you." The woman's wrinkled face softened with compassion as she recognized the name as the one belonging to the young man lying so still in the basement morgue. "I'll let the caretaker know you're here." She lifted the phone, pressed a button and then spoke softly into the receiver. After a moment she hung up and then motioned towards the row of hard plastic chairs behind them. "If you'd please take a seat, Mr. Montrose will be right with you."

Reluctantly they did as they were bid. They sat and waited. Not very patiently, though.

Finally, a tall thin man with a receding hairline and hawk-nose came into the waiting room. He glanced around, saw Fenton and Frank, and hurried towards them, his hand extended in greeting.

"Good afternoon, I'm Peter Montrose, the hospital administrator."

"Fenton Hardy," the sleuth introduced himself and then Frank, "and this is my older son, Frank."

"Frank. Fenton," the man acknowledged with a ghost of a smile, "if you're ready I'll take you to the morgue now so you can make a positive ID on the body." As they started down the hall, the man continued, "My staff did the best they could for your son but his injuries were beyond our capabilities and he bled out before we could transport him to a larger facility."

Neither Hardy made any comment though they both paled at the man's bluntness.

A middle-aged man with a kind-looking face, dressed in a dark brown uniform, met them outside the morgue and introduced himself as Deputy Blake Hilroy. His face was solemn as he pushed open the door and then held it for the other three men.

Wordlessly, Mr. Montrose led them to a small table on which a covered body lay. He stood by the head of the white sheet and looked at Fenton and Frank as the detective placed an arm around his son's shoulders. "Are you ready?"

Two nods later, he quickly pulled the sheet back and waited.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Cletus and Norton had not been too happy when they realized Joe only had $200.00 in his savings account.

"What the hell?" Cletus had yelled, backhanding Joe and knocking him against the side the truck. Around them the small town street was deserted, taking away any hope the Bayport teen had of someone helping him.

"Two hundred lousy dollars!" He grabbed Joe and pulled him towards the back of the truck. Joe struggled but the sound of a hammer being cocked stilled his protests as Norton held the shotgun on him.

"That's it!" the incensed kidnapper snarled, "kiss breathing good-bye, because the next bridge we come across, you're going over!" And then before Joe could brace himself, Cletus snatched the gun from Norton and clubbed him across the back of the head again. He lost consciousness as he was being dumped unceremoniously in the back.

Cletus was furious as he snatched up a thin piece of rope; he quickly bound the boy's hands behind his back, shoved an old rag in his mouth, and then slammed the trunk closed. When he turned around, Norton was squirming back and forth next to him.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded heatedly.

"I gotta pee!"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" Cletus growled, "Fine. Get back in the truck; we'll stop at a gas station on our way out of town. You can 'pee' there, you girl."

"What are you calling me a girl for?" Norton demanded, letting Cletus drive this time, as he hopped into the front passenger seat.

"Cause only girls pee you wuss…men piss!" Slamming the truck into gear, Cletus pulled away from the gas station.

Ten minutes later, they stopped to fill up the truck and let Norton go to the bathroom. Cletus kept a constant watch, alert to trouble or the police…and a few minutes later, he saw trouble in the form of a blond-haired punk who went into the bathroom after Norton.

As Cletus paid for the gas, he saw the punk come back out but there was no sign of Norton. Frowning, the kidnapper scowled as he watched the guy walk away. 'What the hell is he doing with Norton's clothes?'

Rolling his eyes at having to go and rescue his 'partner' yet again, Cletus stalked into the bathroom and saw a red-faced Norton standing in his underwear.

"What happened this time?" he asked, giving his jacket to his shivering friend to wear.

"That guy just robbed me! And took my clothes!" Norton cried out indignantly. He pointed to the discarded outfit on the floor, "And I am NOT wearing that!"

"Why'd he take your clothes?" Cletus asked, shaking his head at the bizarre theft.

"'Cause they were nicer than his stuff, duh."

'Of course…that made sense to Norton', Cletus mused, 'since he'd done pretty much the exact same thing to their 'excess baggage'!' Well…except they hadn't taken the clothes right off Joe's body. He eyed his semi-nude friend and amended, 'yet.'

"Um…Cletus," Norton said tentatively as he slid into the front seat of the truck, hissing when the leather seat covers stuck against his bare legs, "Two things…"

"What?" his friend asked, starting up the truck and pulling away from the pump.

"Well, first I need some clothes and second, that guy took our new bank card…"

Cletus would have killed Norton right on the spot if he wasn't family – his mom's cousin's wife's second son by her third marriage, to be exact. But you can't kill family….No matter how stupid or annoying they were. So he took a deep breath, counted to ten, never asked Norton why he had taken the bank card with him in the first place, and went on the hunt. He had a punk to find.

Finding the punk turned out to be pretty simple but deciding what to do with him had not been. Cletus restrained himself from shooting the kid – knowing the sound would attract unwanted attention.

So instead, he waited until the clerk – in the small mini-mart the punk was in – went into the backroom for something; pulled out the large hunting knife that dangled from his belt, walked up behind the thief and stabbed him in the back, twisting the blade for good and lethal measure.

Turning around he walked out, got in the truck and never said a word to Norton about it. And he never bothered to retrieve the bank card either – the account was empty…its usefulness fulfilled.

"Clothes?" Norton asked as they drove past a small thrift store.

"I got it figured out," Cletus assured him, feeling much calmer now. Killing someone always had had a soothing affect on him. And he did have it figured out.

It was easy enough. Norton would just have to be happy with a damp shirt and pants because Joe Hardy wasn't going to have much more use for his….

Humming to himself, Cletus drove back towards Sheila Bridge.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank felt his heart lurch into his throat and thought he was going to be sick as the first thing he noticed was the clothes. He recognized Joe's sweater and dark brown cords. Beside him, he heard his father gasp and reluctantly forced his gaze to the face – and then he felt a surge of relief and sagged against the older man! It was NOT Joe!

"Oh thank God," he heard Fenton mutter as his dad gave his shoulders a tight squeeze before letting go and turning towards the officer.

"This is not my son," the detective said. "This is not Joe Hardy."

Mr. Montrose kept the sheet down as he walked over to a small cubicle and pulled out a small baggie. Inside was a bank card. He looked at the deputy who nodded and then passed the baggie to Fenton. "This was the only ID found on him so we assumed it was your son. I'm very sorry about all this."

"I'm not," the detective said as he eyed the card with the familiar signature on the back. He now had proof that Joe was in some sort of trouble, most likely having been grabbed after he got out of the river. But before he could say anything, Deputy Hilroy cleared his throat.

"So what we got," Hilroy started as he took the card from Fenton, "is a John Doe that somehow got his hands on your boy's wallet." He looked at the administrator. "If you can excuse us for a few minutes Peter, I need to talk to Mr. Hardy and his son….Official business."

The other man nodded curtly, and left.

The deputy ran a hand through his hair and continued, "From what I've heard, Frank here—" he glanced at the teen, "pushed his brother over the Sheila Bridge and was arrested by Tom Oakes for murder…a bit of a stretch…manslaughter, reasonably. Now, best I can say is that this here boy – though I don't recognize him as being local – found your son's body and took the wallet off him—" Frank just felt sick as the lawman continued talking, "—meaning that your older boy, here, is still accountable on Oakes' charges. However—" Hilroy fixed Fenton with a keen look, "I don't for one moment think he killed or even tried to kill his brother….I suspect that there is something more going on – something that involves you needing to get one of your boys in Oakes' jail…and I am very curious as to what that might be."

When Fenton looked about to protest, Deputy Hilroy shook his head as he chuckled, "Mr. Hardy, I am not exactly a local yokel. I've been following your career since you were a Detective Lieutenant in New York City. You might say I'm quite a fan—" his face broke in a grin as the sleuth blushed slightly, "and I've heard of your sons – chips off the old block, is what they say – so I can't, for even a second, believe one would outrightly do anything as malicious as what Sheriff Oakes has proposed. Now…while I do know Tom and his family personally, I also know that he is one lawman who shames the privilege of his office, and if you are working in any way to expose that, then I would like to help if at all possible." He paused and then shrugged, "But it is really up to you."

Frank wished he could read minds at that exact moment, as he glanced at his father's face, unable to figure out what Fenton was thinking. It was much easier with Joe for some reason. He could usually tell exactly what his brother was thinking, sometimes… unfortunately.

Finally Fenton gave a slow nod. He looked at Frank. "We need some help on this…for Joe's sake." Exhaling loudly, he indicated the body on the table. "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Deputy Hilroy nodded. "I'll have Peter take care of this kid. Come on, you guys look like you could use a cup of coffee."

"Make it to go," Fenton commented grimly, following Frank and the deputy out of the morgue, "I have a son to find."