Chapter 5
The marina where Joe lived was out towards the edge of Bayport as opposed to the busy central location of Frank's apartment. Fenton floored the accelerator, topping the speed limit the entire way. By the time he and Con could see the small parking lot in the distance 15 minutes had passed since they'd received the telephone call from Officer Bach.
They had agreed not to pull directly into the lot itself, and to instead cover the remaining distance on foot. They eventually approached under their own steam via the adjoining fishing tackle business and over the connecting fence.
"I'm getting too old for this kind of exertion," muttered Fenton, boosting himself over the fence and then helping his bigger-set friend over. "This is one of the reasons why I employed Frank and Joe, so they could do the donkey work."
"You can say that again," agreed Con. "Time would have been when I'd have vaulted over in a single bound. Now I'm heaving myself up and perform a controlled tumble down the other side. It's not dignified!"
It was a small parking area, with spaces for approximately 25 cars. Frank's red convertible was parked in the shadow of the neighbouring property's walled-in garden, occupying Joe's car's usual spot.
Blending in with the gloom, they silently approached the vehicle. Although Fenton knew in his mind that his son would not be sitting in it, his suspicion was only confirmed when they reached it.
"We're going to have to break in," remarked Con, trying the doors.
"No we won't," said Fenton, "I've got a spare key. But I think we should first go and have a look in Joe's houseboat. If I disengage the alarm, it'll make a beeping noise and the indicators will flash and that'll alert Frank."
"Good point. We don't have to scale any more fences, do we?"
With an amused shake of his head, Fenton said, "there's an entrance that leads directly onto the wharf. Even if Frank spots us, he won't be able to get past."
"All dependant on him being on the boat in the first place, of course."
Passing through the entranceway, it was impossible for them to not be observed from every craft that was tied to the marina. There were six lamps each side, which were throwing every ounce of their light down onto the boardwalk. So they didn't bother to try and conceal their approach this time. Joe's 40-foot houseboat Iola's Memory was moored fifth along on the left, bobbing up and down gently on an otherwise flat, calm water.
"The lights are on inside." Con observed.
Fenton regarded his friend sideways. "The last time you said that, someone took a pot-shot at us. Are you trying to tempt fate?"
"Not purposefully."
"You know, I really appreciate you helping me out with this Con," said Fenton.
Con shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "No problem. Quite enjoying myself actually, given the circumstances. I don't get to do much legwork now that I've made Lieutenant."
"Well, if you'd been pounding the streets regularly and chasing criminals as you used to, you might not have had so much trouble getting over that fence. Do you regret turning me down on that partnership now?"
Con narrowed his eyes warningly at his friend. "After that comment, I really should say that I had a lucky escape and tip you into the sea. I might not be as fit as you, but I'm still ten times the stronger, little man! But yes, sometimes I suppose I do wonder what-would-have-been. But, you have to take the rough with the smooth; and being made Lieutenant, well…" he raised his hands.
"The offer's still open, if you ever change you mind."
"I know it is."
Con walked down the length of Iola's Memory without actually boarding her and looked in at all the windows. "All the blinds are drawn," he reported.
Reaching the bow, Fenton held onto the grab rail and deftly pulled himself up onto the deck. Joe's patio set was neatly stacked with the chairs upturned on top of the table, exactly how he would normally have left it and unmolested. This was a good sign as far as Fenton was concerned.
Con joined him, making the houseboat rock even more. "This thing moves some," he complained. "I'm not that heavy, surely?" He reached around Fenton and tried the door. "Locked," he reported.
"No matter, I have a spare key," said Fenton, starting to pat down his pockets. "Sometimes Joe asks me or Laura to come by and feed Rufus if he's not going to be home.
"Rufus?"
"His cat. Well, not his cat exactly, they just occupy the same space. Rufus came with the boat."
"I thought Joe was allergic to cats," Con said, expressing surprise.
"No, that was Frank, but he grew out of it mostly. He can sit with Rufus for a good couple of hours now before his eyes start itching, and then a good sneeze and eye-drops usually takes care of the problem."
Fenton finally found a bunch of keys in his inner jacket pocket and slotted one into the lock. It took a bit of fiddling about to get the key to turn, but eventually the door swung inwards and they were able to step down into the small, neat living area and the kitchenette. There really wasn't anywhere for someone to hide.
Although the lights were on within the vessel, no one was in the immediate seating area. Fenton went straight through to the bedroom, stepping over a large ginger tomcat that was resting back on its haunches. "Hi Rufus," he muttered. Rufus stoically ignored him.
Fenton found that some of Joe's belongings from his storage area were out on the bed, but there was an order to the way they were laid out that was very unlike the mess that was left at Frank's apartment. He stepped back to look at Con, shaking his head. "Not here, or at least, not here any more." He was unable to disguise the disappointment in his voice and face.
Con wasn't taking any notice of what his friend was saying to him. He was staring at Rufus, who in turn was staring up intently at the bathroom door. "What's he looking at?" he asked.
Fenton took two strides to get to the door and pull it open, just giving Con enough time to scoop Rufus up so he wouldn't get trampled or get his paws caught under the door. The tiny window above the pan was slid open and a foot was just disappearing out onto the roof. Fenton made a lunge for it, but whomever the foot belong to was too quick.
Con dropped the cat unceremoniously onto one of the La-Z-Boy chairs and ducked out through the front doorway again, closely followed by Fenton who was muttering angrily to himself.
Con and Fenton quickly stepped across onto the causeway and looked up to see Frank couched on the roof, a rucksack on his back. The boat had taken to rolling furiously with the jostling of all three men jumping about on her. Fenton assumed that it was this rocking motion that had prevented his son from making a swift exit.
Fenton slowly extended his hand. "Come on, son," he said gently, "we need to talk."
Frank glanced down at his father's proffered hand, his expression pokerfaced and impassive – whatever was going through his mind, he was offering nothing.
Con made his way to the stern of the houseboat in order to cut off any and all points of escape. Frank watched him moving and raised his chin defiantly.
Fenton allowed the tension and silence to build for a while before following up with: "Whatever it is that you and Joe are involved in, we can sort it out."
Frank finally gave something away with an unconscious flinch at the mention of his brother. "Who said Joe's involved in anything? Obviously not him." His voice momentarily broke, the words almost sticking in his throat. His eyes shifted from his father, to Con, and back again. "Tell me how he is?" he asked, fluctuating his body weight into a half stand and moving a little away from Con.
"Come and find out for yourself. Come down and we'll go and see him and have a chat about things. Maybe we can find out exactly what Joe does know about it."
"He doesn't know anything." Frank snapped and then blinked and quieted down. "It can't be discussed, and you can't help."
"Why not?"
"Just…can't. I'll be putting you all in greater danger and I won't do that." His head snapped back to Con who was quietly making his way towards mounting the rear of the boat. "Please Con, don't do that, I would hate for you to force me into the water, it looks cold down there." He stood erect and turned his body towards the open frigid sea.
"Con, step back." Fenton ordered, waving him away. "Don't be a fool Son, it's cold enough to freeze a brass monkey, you wouldn't last five minutes."
"Move aside then and let me go." Frank begged, his dark eyes imploring and desperate.
Fenton recognised it was fear his son was masking, fear and something else that he couldn't identify.
"Please Dad," Frank whispered.
Drawn deeper into his elder son's eyes, he was finally able to acknowledge what the other hidden monsters were – they were self-blame and self-guilt. He answered with a regretful shake of the head, "I can't son, it just wouldn't be right."
Frank turned back towards the still waters, "I'm going over then," he said and began to topple forwards, overboard.
"NO!" Con shouted, groping for the grab handle and leaping out onto the stern, at the same time as Fenton repeated the exercise at the bow.
Frank immediately changed tack – instead of continuing his fall, he pivoted on his heels and ran full pelt across the roof. He leaped off the side and down onto the walkway – so quickly that neither Con nor his father had any chance of catching hold of him. He landed heavily and stumbled.
Both Fenton and Con were jumping back onto the walkway themselves when Frank was off and running, but because Con was to the rear of the boat, he was able to stretch out and hook the top of the elder Hardy brother's arm, wrenching him back. Frank allowed his body to naturally turn and used the momentum to bat Con's arm clear. And then it was Con, with his heavier weight that was off balance. For a split second Frank and Con's eyes met and then they were no longer connected as Con was shoved brusquely into Fenton's path. They tripped over each other and went down in a jumbled pile. "I'm really sorry, Dad," Frank said, and was away.
"He outsmarted us…the kid outsmarted and outmanoeuvred us old pros!!" Con exclaimed, proud and amazed.
"Frank, son – WAIT, FRANK, WAIT!" Fenton shouted, desperately extracting himself out from under his friend. "We gotta stop him, Con!" But it was far and away too late. His boy had already passed through the marina's entranceway and was out of sight.
Fenton fell back and pounded the ground in frustration, howling his disappointment to the winds.