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Frank was frustrated as the pile of discarded books beside him grew.
It was the middle of the night. Laura kept glancing toward him and Frank could tell she was wondering if there was any point telling him that they should head back to the hotel and get some rest.
Frank knew that they would be visiting Marsden the next day, hearing what he could tell them about the man who had taken Joe. But Frank didn't want to rest his brother's safety in the hands of a man who had abused and mistreated him for years. Nor did he think he would be able to sleep a wink knowing that Joe was in serious trouble, that he could be being hurt while Frank lay in a comfortable bed, safe in a hotel room.
"Do any of these look like the right guy?" Laura asked, turning a book toward Frank.
She presented him with a large, double page spread. It was a photograph of a variety of people, arranged in a large crowd in some grand hall. All of them were older men in smartly dressed suits, the caption declaring them to be the members of the Guild of Art Gallery Owners.
Frank's stomach dropped as his eyes locked onto one, familiar face.
"That's him," he gasped.
He snatched the book from his mother, so focused on the man. A searing hatred flooded Frank as he took in the man's smug face, knowing that he was the man keeping his brother from him. He scanned down the page, looking for a list of names of those featured. His anger only intensified when he couldn't find one, turning the page hurriedly.
On the next page, he found what he was looking for: a long list of names, ordered by where each person appeared in the photograph. He scanned down to where Regebogen had been standing.
Percy Whitmore.
It was such a normal name, so unremarkable. It almost didn't feel right to Frank that someone with such a normal name could have caused such trouble and pain. He looked to his mother, letting the triumph shine through his eyes.
"Percy Whitmore," he said.
Laura rushed to her feet, racing to one of the library computers. Within seconds she was trawling through newspaper articles about the man. Frank hurried to his mother's side.
"He certainly seems to be the one," Laura said. "But he's so rich. He owns dozens of properties and not just in New York. He has a private island, holiday homes across the world. Joe could be anywhere."
"Give me a second," Frank told her.
He pulled out his phone, showing his mother a post from just a few minutes beforehand. It showed Percy Whitmore in an office, the view out of the window being of the New York sky line.
"He's still in New York," Frank said, skimming through the caption about some piece of art work Frank didn't recognise the name off.
"Let's call your father."
Fenton couldn't help but feel a chill of panic when he saw his wife was calling him. He glanced around, ducking into a dark alleyway to offer him some protection. He remained in the seedier parts of New York, trying to find people he might be able to convince to talk to him about Mauve and he didn't want any of Mauve's people to spot him and recognise him while he was taking the call.
"Everything okay? Is Frank alright?" Fenton rushed.
"Frank's fine. We're both fine," Laura assured him. "And we have a name?"
Fenton choked on his next breath. They had a name? They had an actual name for the man who had Joe? He rushed to ask what it was.
Percy Whitmore was not a name Fenton recognised but he didn't care. It was a start and he had found kidnapped young people with far less to go on. He took a steadying breath, telling himself that it would be okay.
"But he's rich, Fenton. Ridiculously rich," Laura said. "We know he's been in New York but there could be hundreds of places he could be keeping Joe. And I can't imagine he's going to tell us where to find him if we ask."
Fenton was forced to agree. A man like Mauve would sooner watch Joe die than have to concede even the slightest victory to them.
"But we have a name. And Joe's smart, he'll be doing all he can to stay out of trouble," Fenton told her. "We have time. Let's head back to the hotel, regroup."
His parents had told him to get some sleep. Frank was not at all happy about the idea. He lay in his bed, listening to the hushed voices of his parents as they tried to work out how to narrow down all the properties Whitmore had, workout where Joe might be. It had become pretty obvious that the normal rules didn't apply. They couldn't discount areas where there would be a lot of people because it wasn't like Joe would do be physically restrained. He was being held by threats, forced to comply or else his family would suffer. For all they knew, Whitmore could have introduced Joe to the world as his nephew, taken him out to a dozen or so parties knowing that Joe wouldn't try to run or cause a scene because it would be them who paid.
And it wasn't like anyone was going to report a sighting of Joe either. Not even the police knew he was missing.
"Can't we just confront him?" Laura said. "We know who he is. We could blackmail him into giving Joe back to us, say we'll keep his secret in return for him leaving us alone."
"No," Fenton replied grimly. "He knows us. He knows we'll never be complicit in all of this, that the moment we got Joe back we'd go to the police anyway. And he could simply demand we stay quiet or else he harms Joe."
Laura was forced to concede. She shifted and Frank felt sure her eyes had flicked onto him. He tried to stay as still as possible, wanting his parents to believe he had fallen asleep the moment his head had hit the pillow.
"Do you think… Do you think Joe's okay? I just… I… He's fourteen, Fenton. He doesn't deserve any of this. He doesn't…"
"I know," Fenton said softly. "And we are going to get him back. I'm not going to rest until both our boys are safe, I promise."
Joe lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't want to be the sort of person who gave in. He had always believed himself to be scrapy and determined, to be the sort of person who always tried every possible escape. He knew he could probably break out of his penthouse prison if he wanted to. He knew he could probably disappear into New York and find someone he could trust to help him escape Regenbogen.
But he knew he wouldn't do it. Because all that would happen would be that the auction would feature Fenton Hardy's eldest son rather than his youngest. Joe couldn't do that to Frank. It was his mess to face. He was the one who had brought these particular criminals to his family's door.
All he wished for was that Regenbogen hadn't handcuffed him. He wanted to pull out the jacket from the mattress, put it on. It had matched with Frank, made him feel like they were part of a set. He wanted to be able to feel like that one more time but he knew if he put it on without permission he would risk incurring the man's wrath. Even if he didn't go after Joe's family and friends with the plan of killing them, he could still make them suffer.
Fresh tears welled up into his eyes. He was scared, terrified even. He didn't want to die. He wanted to be at home with people who loved him, living the life he had dared to believe he might be able to possess.
Screwing up his eyes, he imagined he was. He imagined a long day on the beach, his parents chatting on a picnic mat while he and Frank and his friends raced about in the surf. It was close enough to a dream that Joe was able to fall asleep.
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