Boosting - Chapter 18

Hannah was back, leaning over the fallen Hardy.

Fenton knew it was Hannah because she smelled good and was making tender crooning noises. An icepack was pushed against the back of his head where he'd been struck, and her other hand was massaging the nape of his neck. The pain started to recede along with the sickness. Being mothered and pecked over felt kinda nice; it had been a long time since he'd had that experience. "I guess you're never too old for your mom!"

Presently, he found he was able to sit up again, lean against the wall, and take in what was happening. Carson was absent this time, Hannah kneeling in front of him, donned in a nightdress and gown, keen eyes studying his face. Fenton took over the icepack and touched the injured area with his other hand, checking there was no blood involved.

Carson was back, presenting him with a glass of water, like he'd won a prize. "Feeling better?"

"Getting there," Fenton assured him with a smile. "I knew I should have turned that light on – must remember to tell Laura about the frying pan trick the next time she discovers a nefarious character in the house!" He took a guarded sip of the water.

Fenton eventually passed Hannah the half empty tumbler and with Carson's help, climbed to his feet. He felt a bit light-headed but not too bad. He certainly didn't feel like he was going to keel over again.

"Do you want me to run you to the ER?" Carson asked, escorting him into the living room and down on to the sofa.

"No, it's not that bad. You got a good aim though. Did you play baseball at school?"

Carson laughed loudly. "Me? Baseball? I didn't do any sports at school if I could help it. Do I look like I was jock material? Spent more time being shut in my locker than being on a baseball field. Nerd born and bred."

"You should've considered it." Fenton said with a watery grin.

Hannah sat down next to her guest, put her arm around his shoulders and addressed Carson. "I would have told you about Fenton, but I wasn't expecting you home for another couple of days."

"Yes, I'm sorry Hannah, I should have called to let you know. We finished our business sooner than expected. It was so late that I didn't want to disturb you and decided to come home." Carson addressed Fenton and started removing his tie. "Why are you here – not that it's not good to see you, it's been a long time, but we weren't expecting a visit, were we?" He undid his top button and scratched at his chin tiredly. "Nancy's okay, isn't she? It's not Frank again is it?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm on a case, and the trail led me here. I didn't intend on staying but Hannah railroaded me into it." He suddenly winced and tipped his head to one side. "Hannah, could I trouble you for some aspirin?"

She patted his thigh and arose to fetch them leaving the men alone.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a run to the ER so they can have a look at you?" Carson asked.

"No, I'll be okay once the painkillers set in."

While they were waiting for Hannah to return, Fenton explained to Carson about the case and Bobbie Shandley. Carson was as concerned for the family in Pennsylvania, his sympathy all the keener because of Nancy and how he would cope if she disappeared for any length of time. By the time Fenton had finished, Hannah was back and tipping tablets into Fenton's palm.

While Fenton was washing them down, Carson wandered into the dining room to take a peek at the maps for himself.

Fenton unsteadily followed to find Carson viewing them with a deep frown.

"No cars have been taken from here," he observed, pointing to a particular area of the River Heights map.

Shifting the icepack to another area of his head, Fenton went to stand at his shoulder. "Yes, I saw that too, but there are several areas where no cars have been taken. So I'm not sure whether that's of any significance, although it's the only thing that jumped out at me."

"It's the only expansive area in River Heights not to have had any cars stolen." Carson looked behind him at the documents lying on the table. He went across and picked one particular sheaf of papers up. "Is this the list of the missing cars?"

Fenton nodded, and then regretted it as even that slight movement rewarded him with a shooting pain and the sickness returning. He shifted the ice again and Hannah began clucking around him again, insisting he sit on a dining chair.

Carson was humming as he looked at the list and moved to the map again and started pointing at different dots in turn. "Interesting—"

"What is?"

"Well, a lot of the cars that were stolen at the beginning were from River Heights and the surrounding areas. Only later were they stolen from further afield – not that the thefts stopped in River Heights, they continued afterwards, but not as often.

"He's not Con, and he's not even a detective, but I guess Carson Drew the lawyer is good enough!" Fenton considered.

"Give me that list—" Fenton requested. Carson passed it across and he looked at the dates for himself thoughtfully, eventually dropping the icepack absently onto the table to be scooped up by Hannah before it marked the wood. He approached the maps and started looking from the list to them. "The cars started to be stolen from River Heights, but after the first six or so, they headed to the next state down, and the next state and so-on and so-forth. Once they were at the bottom, they began working their way back up again." He ran his fingers through his hair, forgetting how sore his head was and quickly lifting his hand clear when he hit the tender area.

"I wonder why they did that?" Carson said.

Fenton didn't answer. He had a theory, but it wasn't strong enough yet to warrant verbalising it. "What's in this area where no cars have been boosted?" He made a circle with his finger around the area, which was close to a large body of water.

Hannah spoke up. "It's an industrial area, isn't it, Carson?"

"Yes, that's right. So I'm actually not surprised there have been no cars taken. There wouldn't have been any to take. Maybe you're barking up the wrong tree, Fenton."

"Any haulage or export type businesses?" Fenton asked, looking sharply at him.

"Actually, there are quite a few haulage firms in that direction. It's pretty deserted around there. The only people who go there are the workers, and that's during the day, obviously."

Fenton smiled. "And what better place would there be to smuggle stolen cars in and out to other states or from other states – they could presumable even ship them across to Canada?"

Carson was seeing exactly the point Fenton was making. He tapped his finger hard against the River Heights map. "No one would notice someone moving cars, no one would think it odd, no one would bat an eyelid, maybe no one would even notice?" He swung back suddenly to Fenton his brows heavily puckered.

Fenton nodded excitedly, took a couple of skittered sideways steps and swiped for the back of one of the chairs but missed his aim. "And also that would account for how the cars could disappear supposedly off the face of the earth, never to reappear—" he pointed at Carson who was reaching out to him, "—But it wouldn't necessarily account for why I'm seeing your twin again. I'm afraid I think I'm about to—"

"Catch him, Carson!" Fenton heard Hannah shrilly shout.

"What do you think I'm trying to do, you silly woman?"

*****

Minutes later, Fenton was coming around, feeling foolish. He had a cold flannel on his forehead, his feet were elevated onto a chair, his hand was grasping tightly onto Hannah's two, and both she and Carson were staring worryingly down on him.

"I think I will take you for that visit to the hospital after all," Carson said and tapped his watch. "Five minutes – must be some sort of a record! How many points would I have got for that baseball hit?"

"Runs, not points," Fenton muttered. "Oh boy – does anyone know a good lawyer? I think I need to sue someone for possible loss of income and personal injury compensation!"

"You don't want to get involved with attorneys, Fenton, they're all a bunch of crooks."

****

Joe stayed propped up silently against Frank's nightstand for another few minutes before saying, "Frank? Hey…bro? Nancy's here, and she's naked!" and clicked his fingers next to his brother's ear. As a final test, he pressed a thumb firmly between Frank's eyes. Nothing, no reaction at all. So satisfied he really was in the land of nod, Joe left to fetch the discarded clothes and boots, laid them on the end of the bed, switched off the light and left.

Joe lingered in the seating area, not sure as to what to do next and glanced at his watch. It was late, but he wasn't tired, the burst of adrenalin having chased away any hope of relaxing for a while. He decided to go and finish off the mechanical job that his brother had been halfway to completing.

He headed for the front door and stepped out, only then seeing that there were two cars parked there, people in uniforms alighting – cops!

One drew forth his police issue gun and aimed it. Simultaneously, three other officers were running full pelt in Joe's direction and yelling instructions:

"Get down—"

"Hands over the back your head—"

"Get down on your knees—"

"Keep you hands in sight—"

"Down onto your front, arms out to the side—"

All shouting out at the same time, all voices rolling into one continuous and confusing cacophony of noise and disorder. Joe had no time to react other than to raise his hands and have a random, fleeting picture of his father cross his mind as he wondered if something had happened to him. Immediately, the cops were on him, seizing his arms firmly. His feet were kicked out from under and he was flung down onto the porch floor.

One wrist was seized and a cuff snapped on and his other hand was drawn down to join it. Other hands were patting him down and turning his pockets inside out. No one was being respectful or gentle with him. But more worryingly was that one of them was bawling Miranda Rights and he knew that if that was happening, this was serious – as if being hurled to the ground, shackled and forcibly searched wasn't grave enough.

"…Do you understand?" shouted a voice.

"Wha…What's goin' on?" Joe finally blurted out. "What'd I do?"

"…I said: do you understand your rights?"

"YEAH, yeah, I understand, but what's goin' on?"

"Get him up."

Joe was hauled back to his feet and taken inside the cabin, flanked by two officers.

"What's happening?" he asked again. This time to a stockily built, sandy haired officer who had been, presumably, the one who'd administered his Miranda Rights. He seemed to be the leader of the group as he was issuing the orders.

"Search the place, see if you can find a body or any evidence of foul play." He said to one of his colleagues who peeled away and went to Joe's room.

"Body?" Joe asked. "What are you talking about?"

But no one would communicate or even look at him. They weren't going to let him take any control. They were in charge of the situation – whatever that situation was!

Joe could see and hear his room being ransacked before there was a lull and the officer came out with a headshake and then went into the spare room.

One of the other officers was going through his jacket that was hanging on the back a dining chair, coming up with a wallet. He opened it and rifled though, eventually slipping Joe's driver's licence out and passing it to 'Sandy Hair'.

'Sandy Hair' turned to him. "Can you confirm that you're Mr Joseph Hardy?"

"Yeah, that's me. What's happening – why are you here?" Joe asked, trying to hide that he was getting riled, but then the officer came out of the spare room and moved to enter Frank's and his resolve snapped. "Don't go in there!" he shouted and made to move forward, but was stopped by the two men holding his arms.

'Sandy Hair' looked over his shoulder at the officer, who hesitated for a beat before opening the door and pushing it wide. The room was flooded with light as he flicked the switch.

"That's my brother in there, he's been out of it recently and he's resting. I don't want him disturbed!" Joe said, jerking against the men holding him.

The officer entered Frank's room, ignoring Joe's command and 'Sandy Hair' moved forward to look for himself. He was back seconds later, stomping up to Joe, his face grave. "That's a bit more than resting, Mr Hardy!" he exclaimed. He addressed the officer to the right of Joe. "Get an ambulance out here. Tell them we've got an unconscious man."

Joe could hear the cop in the room bawling at his brother, trying to rouse him.

"Hey – leave him alone!" Joe shouted towards Frank's room and turned back to 'Sandy Hair'. "He's not unconscious…at least not the way you think…he took a sedative and he's asleep – go into the first bedroom and you'll find a bottle of pills on the table." Joe heard the officer to his right starting to make a call into his two-way radio so he switched his attention to him next. "Buddy, there's no need, you're gonna look stupid if you get paramedics to come out here. Frank's not hurt, he's asleep!"

The policeman's attention flickered to 'Sandy Hair', but he motioned for him to continue so he stepped away and carried on talking into the walkie-talkie.

"This is nuts!" Joe exploded. "What do you think I've done to him?"

'Sandy Hair' grabbed him by the shirtfront and shoved him backwards so the back of his legs connected with the sofa and he automatically sat down.

"Don't move," he commanded and went into Joe's bedroom, coming out seconds later with the little bottle in his hand, reading the label. "So to verify, you're telling me that Frank took one of these pills?"

"No, two."

"So Frank took two of these pills?"

"Yeah."

"Frank did…?"

"Yes!"

'Sandy Hair' looked thoughtful. "You may wish to consider your next answer very carefully, Mr Hardy." He turned the bottle's label for Joe too look at. "This is your name on the bottle, not Frank's. Why would he be taking your prescription medication?"

Joe grimaced. He knew this was going to sound lame. "Uh. Actually, it was me that gave him the tablets."

"And he knew you were giving them to him?"

"Where are you goin' with this?"

"We're old fashioned in these parts. The tradition is that we ask the questions and you answer them. Did he know that he was being given these tablets?"

Joe sighed. "Whatever I say it's goin' to sound bad."

"Try me."

"No, he didn't, but I have a good reason as to why."

'Sandy Hair' made a rolling motion with is hand for Joe to continue.

"Okay. My brother hasn't been feeling well – I wasn't lying about that, he really hasn't – and he hasn't been sleeping either. Earlier on today he fell off his motorcycle and nearly got mowed down by a truck. So I slipped a couple of 'em into his drink to make sure he'd get a good night's rest."

"So there wasn't any strangling involved?"

Joe sat up straighter, his mouth dropping open. "What?" He leaned forward, not sure he'd heard right. "Did you just say…strangling?"

"Yes, strangling."

Joe burst into laughter. "Are you serious? Where did that come from?"

It was 'Sandy's' turn to sigh. "We received a 911 call from some hikers who witnessed you attacking a male. You were seen to chase down, overpower, beat and strangle him into unconsciousness. Then you started to strip him of his clothes—"

"—Only so I could put him in bed - Jeeze!" Joe's face went beet red. Despite efforts to the contrary, he could feel his annoyance boiling up and his sarcasm chip switch into hyper-drive. "What are you tryin' to say, Pal? That I was tryin' to get my own brother naked? He's a real hottie, I'll grant you that, but he's hardly my type. I don't like his choice in aftershave and I prefer blondes. And I didn't 'beat' him, I moved his hands away a couple of times to stop him from clocking me. And as for strangling him—." Joe took a calming deep breath. C'mon Joseph, cool down, you're not helping – be logical.

Shouting and getting hot, he knew, wasn't going to help. 'Sandy's' silence was telling; he'd been hoping that Joe would get more and more angry and say something he could hang himself with. It was an old trick, and one that Joe Hardy wasn't going to fall for.

So Joe shut his mouth, listened to his own internal command and instead looked at the area of the floor where he and Frank had been wrestling. He allowed his eyes to pan across to the open front door and off into the distance. He thought he saw a movement in the darkness. "Is there someone out there?"

"Yes, Mr Hardy."

"And they saw me and Frank, obviously."

'Sandy Hair' dropped his chin.

Joe closed his eyes, trying to push down the panic that was swelling in size as well as his hot anger and indignation. "Look…I know what it must have looked like from a distance, but I wasn't strangling my brother. I was stopping him from hurting himself while the sedative took effect. If anything, he was the aggressor. If you knew my brother, you'd know I couldn't possibly strangle him. He has a black belt in martial arts."

"You could easily have strangled him after slipping him a—" 'Sandy Hair' consulted the label again, "—muscle relaxant. And I've used these and they're powerful."

"Yeah, I know they are, that's why I used 'em. Go and have a look at Frank's neck, you won't find any evidence of strangulation, or bruising anywhere else…and check out the fact he's still in jeans and a t-shirt while you're at it. If I was gonna kill him, why would I put him to bed and make him comfortable first? I got no reason to strangle my own brother."