J.M.J.

Author's note: Fanfiction has recently had a glitch which prevented new chapters of stories from showing up. It's been fixed since I posted the previous chapter, but just in case it's caused you to get behind, you'll want to go back and read chapter 17 onward before getting started on this one. Enjoy!

Chapter XX

Tuesday, May 11

Day Eleven

The last two days had been among the most grueling of Joe's life. He was fairly certain he hadn't heard a word any of his teachers had said, and that was only making him feel more than ever like he was wasting valuable time. It only made it worse that everyone was constantly asking him if there was any news on Iola and he was constantly having to tell them there wasn't.

Even Lisa Prito stopped him to ask if he knew anything new. That surprised him since Tony's younger sister had never been friends with Iola and she bore a particular grudge against the Hardys and their friends since they had exposed a group Lisa belonged to as being an off-shoot of Black Rose.

"No, nothing new," Joe told her and tried to brush past quickly.

Lisa, however, followed him a few steps. "I, uh, heard that there's a possibility that Black Rose is involved in all this. Is it true?"

"I don't know."

By this time, Biff, Chet, and Jerry had seen Lisa corner Joe and they had come over to help their friend out if need be.

Lisa ignored them and watched Joe's face. "I guess it really doesn't matter to me. I was just curious. There is something I thought you might want to know. It's about Sally Marsh."

"What about her?" Chet asked, causing Lisa to look at him for the first time.

"Well, she's been out on bail, which you already know, of course," Lisa said, "and overnight, she's pretty seen her status turn into complete social pariah. I might know a thing or two about that myself, but Sally's a different personality than me. I don't think she can hack it. At any rate, she came to me for some company. Can you believe it?"

"Is that all?" Joe asked. He didn't find the news exactly earthshaking, especially not enough to make up for having to talk to Lisa.

"No, but from what she said, I'm convinced she didn't have anything to do with Iola." Lisa rolled her eyes slightly. "I know you guys don't think I'm any kind of judge of human nature, but everything she said lined up."

"What exactly did she say?" Joe asked. "Your word—or anybody else's—doesn't mean a lot if you can't back it up."

"Well, for one thing, she said that she didn't have any way of knowing that Biff and Iola would follow her and Chet," Lisa said. "You guys hadn't told anybody about it, right?"

"Right," Biff admitted slowly. "But she could have guessed. It wouldn't be that hard, especially with what happened earlier that week with the principal's office and everything."

"Possibly, but Chet's car really did run out of gas, didn't it? How could have she planned that?" Lisa insisted.

"That's a good point," Chet conceded.

"Why did she take his car in the first place?" Jerry asked.

"Sally's impulsive," Lisa said. "She didn't expect that Chet would have figured it out that she was more interested in any information he could give her about the Hardys' case than she was in him, because she's also got an ego the size of Alaska. When she realized her plan was not only not going to work but that it had backfired epically, she panicked. See, the school paper has policies against getting stories the way she was trying to. She could have lost her position. So, she decided to make the whole situation about a million times and make a break for it. I'm not saying what she did was right, but I think she's already had a pretty stiff punishment. I don't think she should have to go to jail."

Biff folded his arms. "What's in this for you? It's not like you to stand up for someone else."

Lisa gave him a scornful look. "Well, maybe it's because I know a little bit how she feels. You know, how you guys and almost everyone else in this school think you're all the greatest thing since pepperoni pizza and how everyone who wrongs you is evil and should be punished, even if it ruins their whole life. Sally's no friend of mine, but you don't have to be friends with someone to feel an ounce of compassion toward them."

She turned on her heel and hurried away. The boys watched her for a few moments.

"Well. Guess she's not making any secret about how she feels about us," Biff commented.

"She's got a point, though," Chet commented musingly. "I've been thinking I'd drop the charges against Sally, anyway. I mean, she obviously wasn't trying to keep my car or anything."

"Yeah, but you don't need Lisa to tell you that," Biff countered.

"Oh, forget about her." Joe took his phone out of his pocket and checked it for texts, since it had been on silent during class. He took his own advice about forgetting about Lisa more literally than he had meant it when he saw that there was a text Iola's number. It read: Only 2 days left, Sir Galahad. November 30, 1998. He showed it to the others. "What do you make of that?"

"He seems really stuck on this whole Sir Galahad thing," Jerry commented. "He's brought it up several times. What do you think he's getting at?"

Joe tapped his foot a couple of times. "At first, I thought it wasn't really anything in particular, just this guy thinking he's funny or something. Maybe that is all the more there is to it. But maybe he is trying to get some message across. Most of the Knights of the Round Table went in search of the Holy Grail, but Sir Galahad is the only one who could find it. Maybe he's trying to say that Frank and I are the only ones who will be able to find Iola."

"Like, for a specific reason?" Biff asked.

Joe shrugged. "Or maybe it's because Sir Galahad was the most pure of heart of all the knights. Maybe he's trying to throw shade at Frank and me for being a couple of goody-two-shoes."

Biff scoffed. "He obviously doesn't know you too well. I could see Frank maybe, but you?"

Joe chuckled weakly. "I don't know about you, but if someone whose hobbies kidnapping and murdering people thinks I'm a goody-two-shoes in comparison, I can live with that."

HBHBHBHBHB

"A little communication would be nice," Durant seethed as he stalked back and forth in front of Chief Osmund's office. "If the chief has evidence that Mayor Hodgefield killed Tara Michaels, what possible reason would he have for keeping it to himself? Especially considering it's been over twenty-four hours."

Fenton was standing by with his arms folded over his chest. He, too, was wondering just what exactly Chief Osmund's plan was, but that hardly caused him to approve of Durant's tirade. "Maybe it has something to do with you saying everything you do know about the case out loud when you yourself told me that there's a leak between this police station and the local newspaper, which is probably under Hodgefield's influence."

Durant paused for a moment to consider that, but then he shook his head. "There's still no rhyme or reason for keeping me in the dark. There'd be fewer problems, in fact."

Fenton sighed. "I'm not going to get into the middle of this." He had a lot more that he was thinking, though. Durant, perhaps, had a point in that Osmund was far from blameless in this mess and that the obvious lack of communication between the officers had played a role in it. But Fenton could also see that Durant was sloppy and disliked others having authority over him. Maybe he could put clues together, but there was more to police work than that.

Fenton's musings were cut short by the sound of several people coming down the hall. One of them was Officer Ewing, who was obviously unhappy with the situation. That wasn't hard to see why. Of the three people with him, Fenton recognized one as Mayor Hodgefield himself, another as his personal assistant, and the third as Kelly Alston, the reporter.

"He's here to see the chief," Ewing told Durant, who was standing, slack-jawed, in front of the door to Osmund's office and looked two surprised to think to move on his own.

"About what?" Durant asked with an appalling lack of civility. Fenton wasn't sure what this was about, but he was getting the feeling that it wasn't going to end well.

"That is between me and Chief Osmund, lieutenant," Hodgefield replied. "Now, if you would kindly step aside."

Either Durant had been rendered immobile from shock or he had latched onto a desperate plan to block Hodgefield's plan by blocking the door. Whichever it was, he stood without showing any indication of moving.

Before things could get any worse, the door to the office opened and Osmund stepped out, brushing past Durant. "Good morning, Mayor Hodgefield," he greeted the official with a stiff nod, ignoring Kelly Alston as she snapped a picture of him. "What can I do for you?"

"I believe this would be better to discuss in your office and alone," Hodgefield said.

Osmund looked around at Fenton, Durant, and Ewing, and then back at Hodgefield. "Unless it is a sensitive police matter, I don't see why it can't be discussed in front of witnesses."

"Very well." Hodgefield held out his hand to his assistant without deigning to look her. She handed him a folder, which Hodgefield opened. "I'm afraid there have been numerous complaints about you from both city officials and private citizens. The city council and I held an emergency meeting last night to discuss the matter."

Osmund's eyes narrowed. Fenton also folded his arms, doubting such a meeting was legal. It certainly wasn't fair.

"What are these complaints?" Osmund asked, speaking evenly.

Hodgefield referred to the folder. "To begin with, a serial killer has been plaguing this town for five months and you have managed to come up with no leads. Whenever you have been questioned on this, you have replied that investigations take time and then tried to deflect the blame onto the city council, claiming that you haven't had the funding or manpower to resolve the issue, when in fact, it has been entirely due to negligence."

"Can you prove that?" Osmund returned.

"Yes, indeed. I have several sworn statements from witnesses saying that, for example, you have allocating your entire detective force to investigating a case of domestic violence involving Marshall Given, Allison Given, and Angelo Beretta, while in the meantime hiring two minors operating as unlicensed and untrained private detectives to investigate the serial killer, not only continuing to put the people of this city in danger, but also these two minors as well."

"I'd like to see those sworn statements and have my lawyer look at them as well," Osmund retorted.

"That won't be necessary," Hodgefield assured him. "The city council determined, against my advice, not to press criminal charges against you. However, it was unanimously decided that your employment with the city is to be terminated, effective immediately. You are to leave the premises at once."

"You'll still have to produce those sworn statements," Osmund said. "You'll need them for evidence when I file a lawsuit against the city."

The threat didn't seem to concern Hodgefield in the slightest.

Kelly Alston immediately jumped forward. "Do you deny or affirm these allegations, Mr. Osmund?"

"I will make no comment to the press. I'll just get my personal belongings from my office."

He turned to go back in his office, but Hodgefield's assistant stepped forward and blocked the way. Osmund turned a questioning eye on Hodgefield.

"When I said you are to leave the premises at once, I meant it," Hodgefield said. "Moreover, that office contains police records which you are not to have access to. My assistant and I will remove your personal belongings."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mayor," Fenton said.

Hodgefield turned on him for the first time. "Who are you? A lawyer?"

"No, I'm Fenton Hardy, a private detective and a retired lieutenant on the NYPD." Fenton took out his identification and showed it to Hodgefield. "Because that office contains both police records and personal belongings, entering it is going to be a tricky business legally. I would advise that you have one of these officers seal that door off and you yourself get a lawyer before you open it."

"I'm the mayor," Hodgefield insisted.

"That doesn't give you special privileges where the law is concerned," Fenton told him. "Get yourself a lawyer and then see about coming in this office. In the meantime, Lieutenant Durant will take full responsibility of keeping everyone out of that room. I will remain here with him at every moment. Any attempt to persuade him to open that door through threats or bribes will be recording for use as evidence in a criminal trial. Do you understand?"

Hodgefield's face was turning red. "You don't have any authority here, Hardy."

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that Lieutenant Durant, who as the highest-ranking officer present is by default acting chief of police, understands that the legal question concerning that office is now highly complicated and he is unwilling to allow anyone without the proper authority in there."

"That…That's right," Durant stammered, although he wasn't so sure he understood anything about this situation.

"I have the authority to fire him, too," Hodgefield said.

"Um, Mayor Hodgefield," Officer Ewing spoke up for the first time, "I think I can speak for every police officer on this force when I say that, if whatever's in that office is so important, you're going to have to fire every single one of us to get through that door."

Clearly, this wasn't going the way Hodgefield had envisioned. "All right then," he said finally, seeing that he was defeated for the moment. "I'll be back with a lawyer. But first I want to see a seal put on that door and if that seal is broken when I come back, there will be consequences. As for Durant and Ewing, there will be consequences for you both anyway."

A seal was placed on the door and finally Hodgefield left, along with his assistant and Kelly Alston, who undoubtedly had a juicier story than any she had published yet.

"All the evidence against him is in there," Osmund said, looking at the door. "If he gets in there, he'll destroy it all."

"He won't get in there," Fenton said. "The county seat is Gresham, isn't it? Durant, you need to contact the county magistrate there and get a court order to keep this door closed. Hodgefield's lawyers won't be able to do anything then. Next, you need to call in the FBI. There's more than enough evidence of political corruption for them to get involved. Even the Tara Michaels case falls within federal jurisdiction, considering it involves a missing person. While he is doing that, Ewing will need to continue to guard this door. We need another police officer immediately to come with me and cover and put a seal on the outside window. I'll witness it that the window was not opened. Then that officer will need to take up a guard on the window. And, finally, Osmund, since you now a private citizen, it is your duty to tell Durant whatever evidence you have or you will be liable to be charged with withholding evidence."

HBHBHBHBHB

The day had been far quieter for Frank, who had mainly been focusing on his studies. In the evening, Callie came to his apartment to study for their last finals, although they ended up doing more talking than studying. The mystery, of course, took precedence in their conversation. They both knew they were running out of time to solve it. At the same time, there were a lot of other things they wanted to talk about as well. It just didn't seem like the right time with the case hanging so heavily over their heads.

In the midst of their conversation, Frank's phone rang. He jumped and answered without taking time to look at the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Frank, this is Sam." Sam Radley's voice was low, as if he was trying to keep from being heard. "Where are you?"

"At my apartment. Why?"

"I need back-up right now. I'm at 534 Winston Avenue. I've got eyes on Beretta, but I think he suspects he's been followed. What's worse is he just…Hold on."

Whatever Frank was supposed to wait for, he never learned. It sounded like Sam dropped his and the call was cut off. Frank didn't waste any time. He was already on his feet before he had taken the phone from his ear.

"Callie, Sam's in trouble. I've got to go help him."

"I'll come, too." Callie grabbed her jacket which she had lain on the arm of the futon where she and Frank were sitting.

"It sounds like it could be dangerous," Frank warned.

"All the more reason why you need someone else along," Callie insisted. "At least, I can call for help if we need it."

Frank couldn't help but smile slightly. "Okay. Come on."

After nearly a year of college, Frank knew Gresham fairly well. However, he didn't know where Winston Avenue was, and so Callie had to look it up on her phone as they drove. Fortunately, it wasn't far, and they reached the address Sam had given in about twelve minutes.

It was dark by now and so they couldn't see much of what kind of neighborhood this was. There were no streetlights and they met no cars once they turned onto Winston, which told them that the area wasn't heavily populated. Frank was a bit concerned about locating Sam once they reached the place, but he didn't need to be. Once he and Callie reached the 500 block, their headlights showed three men in the middle of a fight. At least, a fight was probably how it had started. By now, two of the men had evidently overpowered the third, who was on the ground.

"Hey!" Frank shouted, leaping out of the car as soon as he had thrown it in park.

As soon as he saw Frank coming, one of the men turned and ran. That seemed to disconcert his companion, who hesitated long enough for Frank to throw him down in a tackle. They wrestled for a few seconds, but then Frank's opponent took out a knife and made a swipe at Frank's face. Fortunately, Frank was able to jump back in time, but that gave his opponent enough time to also take to his heels. Frank started to chase him, but a cry from Callie stopped him.

Callie had also gotten out of the car and rushed to check on the third man, who was none other than Sam Radley. He had several small cuts on his face and a larger one on the side of his head which was bleeding and he seemed to be only semi-conscious.

"Call an ambulance," Frank instructed Callie, assessing the situation in a moment. He started to take off after his opponent, whom he had recognized as Angelo, but then he stopped. He knew Angelo was armed, so even if he could catch up to him, he didn't have much chance of capturing him. Instead, he turned back to see what he could do for Sam.

It only took a minute or so for Sam to fully regain consciousness and insist on sitting up, despite Frank and Callie's protests that he shouldn't.

"I'm all right," he told them, though his voice was a bit weaker than usual. "I'm just going to have an awful headache and a lot of bruises, but occupational hazard. It could be a lot worse."

"Uh-huh," Frank replied. "We've got an ambulance on the way. I think you'd better let them take you to the hospital, just in case."

"There's no time for that." Sam suddenly brought his head up, obviously remembering something. "Wait! Where are those other guys? You didn't let them get away, did you, Frank?"

"I'm afraid so," Frank told him. "I know one was Angelo, but who was the other one?"

Sam sighed. "Rudger himself."

Frank groaned. "Oh, great."

"What happened, exactly?" Callie asked Sam.

"I was following Angelo, and he met Rudger here," Sam explained. "That's when I called Frank. I knew I couldn't follow both of them and I didn't want to lose either. I was in the middle of the conversation when they must have heard me. We actually talked for a few minutes. Rudger had a message for your dad, Frank." Sam wiped some blood from his lip with his finger. "I think the beating was to make sure I didn't forget to give it to him."

"What was it?" Frank asked.

"He said to tell Fenton that Black Rose was pulling out of Southport, but that he's made a town too hot for them for the last time. As incentive not to bother them again, he gave me something he said he wouldn't have any more use for, though Fenton might. It's over there on the ground."

He pointed and Frank went to pick up the object he was pointing at. It was a manila envelope with "For Fenton Hardy" written across the front. It was unsealed and so Frank used his flashlight to look at the contents. It was probably around fifteen sheets of paper total, along with several photographs. The papers had been typed on a typewriter.

"What is it?" Callie asked.

Frank whistled when he saw the heading of the first sheet of paper: Councilman Hodgefield's Deal with the Devil by Tara Michaels. "I think it's the story Tara Michaels wrote, along with the evidence she gathered."

Author's note: And so concludes the eleventh day. We're getting so close to the end! Unfortunately, I'm not going to have much time for writing the next three days, so the earliest I expect to have the next chapter out is Friday. That chapter will, as you probably expect, cover the last of the Tara Michaels/Mayor Hodgefield/Black Rose case, which will leave the final chapters free and clear to deal solely with the serial killer. Thank you so much for reading this far! Special thanks to everyone who has left reviews. It always means a lot to me to read them! God bless!