Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
"If I could have your attention, ladies and gentlemen." A tall thin man, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a bow tie, stood behind a large, antique mahogany desk at the far end of the room.
"My name is Vance Johnson, and I was Mr. Moran's lawyer. I'm here in that capacity to execute his estate - beginning with the reading of the will. If you will all take seats - "
Tommy Poletti crossed the room to sit with Emily Moran. Johnny and Daniel Carew took seats next to each other. Frank and Joe remained standing with their father and Chief Peterson. Across the room, Hugh Nolan also stood.
"Thank you for coming today." Johnson picked up a stack of papers from the desk and began reading.
" 'I, Joshua Sean Moran, being of sound mind and sound body, do hereby bequeath the entire body of my estate, its assets and capital, to my only daughter, Emily - '"
"No surprises there," Daniel Carew interjected. Tommy Poletti shot him a dirty look.
" 'With this exception. I have set aside in a safe-deposit box ten million dollars in cash. This money is to be divided equally among the following individuals: Hugh Nolan, Johnny Carew, Daniel Carew, Samuel Peterson, Fenton Hardy, Thomas Poletti, and William Delaney.' "
There was a moment of stunned silence. Frank and his father exchanged a puzzled glance. Johnson continued reading.
" 'These shares will be payable three months from the date of the reading of this will. They may not be transferred or assigned, nor may they be renounced, except in the single following instance.' "
Johnson looked up over his glasses. " 'The only way one of the named beneficiaries shall not receive his due share of this money is if he meets his demise before the aforementioned date. In that event, the shares of the remaining beneficiaries will increase proportionately.' "
Fenton Hardy didn't look pleased - nor did any of the other people named as beneficiaries.
"Say it again - in English, Van," Daniel Carew said.
"It's simple enough," Tommy Poletti interjected. "Everyone whose name was called is due a share of ten million dollars - if he can stay alive for the next three months."
"This is why Moran wanted you all here," Frank said, his eyes wide. "Revenge."
Fenton Hardy nodded grimly. "He's made it open season on every one of us."
Joe studied the collection of gangsters assembled in the room. It wasn't hard to figure what the next three months would be like.
With ten million dollars at stake, murder would be in the air.
Chief Peterson rose, his face twisted in anger. "I don't know about anyone else, but I don't want any part of this will - or that ten million dollars."
"I don't intend to become involved either," Fenton Hardy said.
"We should all refuse to take part in Moran's sick little exercise," the chief added.
At that precise moment, Joe turned and saw Hugh Nolan's face. Clearly, he wanted his slice of Moran's fortune.
"If you're so uncomfortable with your share, you could give it to me, Chief," Daniel Carew offered. "In three months, of course."
"I'd rather burn it," Peterson said.
"That's against the law," Daniel said, smiling wickedly. "I'd have to report you. Besides - if some screwball wants to leave me a share of ten million dollars, who am I to argue?" He smiled at Emily. "No offense."
"Watch your language, Carew," Poletti said. "How about a little respect for the dead?"
"You're a fine one to talk about respect for the dead," Carew replied. His eyes went to Emily. "Why don't you give the lady a decent amount of time to mourn her father before you marry her - "
"You need to learn some manners, pal," Poletti said, springing to his feet.
"From you?" Carew asked. "Don't make me laugh."
Emily put a hand on Poletti's arm. He shrugged it off, and stood waiting, his eyes blazing.
Joe wondered if the former Heisman winner knew how dangerous it was for him to be threatening the son of one of organized crime's biggest kingpins.
"Tommy, Mr. Carew, please - " Johnson began.
"Daniel!" Johnny Carew, who had remained virtually silent during the reading of the will and the exchanges that followed, now spoke up for the first time. "Apologize to Mr. Poletti - and to Miss Moran."
The elder Carew's voice was clipped and couldn't hide the fact that Carew was furious with his son. Daniel mumbled a reluctant apology, first to Poletti, who accepted reluctantly, and then Emily.
The two men sat down again.
"I, for one, intend to honor Joshua's wishes regarding the disposition of his estate," Johnny Carew continued. "If he wanted all of us," - he raised a hand and held it out palm up - "to share equally in his wealth, that is how we will share it."
"You can't be serious," Peterson said. "You know Moran wants us to kill each other for that money - "
"I am perfectly willing to accept my share of Josh's estate," Carew continued, ignoring the chief. "I hope everyone else here will do the same."
"None of us wants any trouble, Chief," Delaney added. "But I'm not giving up my share, either."
Peterson shook his head in disgust.
"I'm afraid the whole question is beside the point. It's quite impossible for any of you to renounce your shares." Johnson placed the papers he'd been reading from into a manila folder on the desk. "Mr. Moran has written his will so that it will be impossible for any of you to step aside as a beneficiary. The shares of the other beneficiaries only increase if - "
"If we die," Daniel Carew said.
"Yes, that's essentially correct." Johnson cleared his throat. "If there are no other questions . . ."
Joe shook his head. Why had Moran made Poletti a target? For that matter, why was Delaney, Moran's right-hand man, a beneficiary as well? He doubted that Johnson had the answers to those questions.
The lawyer cleared his throat again and looked around the room. "I thank you all for coming. We'll meet back here in three months - at which time we'll discuss the formal distribution of Mr. Moran's estate."
The gathering broke up quickly after that. The Hardys, after seeing Chief Peterson off, found themselves outside on the street just as Hugh Nolan emerged from the brownstone.
"Don't say it, Fenton," Nolan said as he reached the bottom of the steps. His limp was much more pronounced now, and he was clearly straining with each step.
"You know I've got to, Hugh," Fenton Hardy said. He stepped forward to give Nolan a hand, but the older man waved him off. "Sam did everything he legally could to see that you got your money. He got outvoted - "
"I don't want to hear it!" Nolan snarled. He bit his lip then and was silent a moment. When he spoke again, he was much calmer. "Sorry, Fenton. I shouldn't have snapped at you - or thrown the drink at Sam. Just lost my temper again." He checked his watch. "Anyway, I've got to go."
"It was good to see you, Hugh." Fenton took Nolan's hand and shook it vigorously.
"And you, too, Fenton. But I'm afraid I've made a bad impression on your sons," he said, turning to Frank and Joe. "Maybe I can make it up to you next time by telling you some stories of when your father was a rookie cop."
"Next time?" Joe asked.
"Why - three months from now."
And with that, Nolan turned and walked off down the street.
"Looks like he's anxious to get his share of Moran's cash, Dad," Joe said as they climbed into the backseat of their gray four-door sedan.
"I'm afraid things haven't gone well for Hugh for the past twenty years since he was charged with taking bribes," Fenton replied. "His wife left him, there were problems over his pension, and he had to retire early without getting it."
"So I gathered," Frank said. "And he blames Chief Peterson for those problems."
"That's right." His father checked the rear-view mirror and pulled out into traffic. "I wouldn't doubt Hugh Nolan could put his share of that money to good use."
"Who couldn't?" Joe asked. "Seven people, ten million dollars, that's - "
"Almost a million and a half each," Frank said.
"I for one don't intend to share in any of that money," Fenton Hardy said firmly. "As soon as we get home, I'm going to put in a call to my lawyer and see what we can do."
"Johnson said you couldn't change the terms," Frank pointed out.
"Then I'll give the money to charity," Fenton Hardy said. "And that will be the end of it."
Joe, in the backseat, watched out the rear window as the skyline of Manhattan disappeared. He thought about the group of people they'd seen that day and the amount of money at stake.
Somehow, he knew his father was wrong. That wouldn't be an end to it.
***
A month and a half passed.
It was a blustery morning, two days into winter break, and Frank and Joe had come to New York City to do some research at the public library. They were browsing through a subway newsstand, waiting for a subway train: Frank bought a computer magazine; Joe, one of the New York City papers. They had just sat down in the subway when Joe tossed the paper he was reading onto Frank's lap, right on top of his magazine.
"Take a look at this," Joe said.
"Crime Kingpin Murdered," the headline screamed. Beneath it, in bold print, the article continued.
Daniel Carew, reputed heir to the crime family run by his father, Johnny Carew, was gunned down late yesterday evening in front of his Brooklyn home.
Frank looked up.
"Read on," his brother said. "There's a lot more."
Frank picked up the paper.
The police discovered Carew's body on the stoop of his Brooklyn brownstone. He had been shot once in the chest. The police are holding Tommy Poletti, former Heisman trophy winner, who, according to police reports, had argued violently with Daniel Carew earlier that day.
Frank shook his head. "Tommy Poletti - a killer?"
"I don't believe it either," Joe said.
Frank continued reading and learned that the police had found no gun. However, Carew's own revolver, which "he always carried with him," according to sources, was missing.
The paper suggested that the shooting might be the start of a gang war over Joshua Moran's territory, now that he was dead.
But Frank knew there was another, better motive for Carew's murder.
It seemed that the game of killer-take-all that his father had predicted was beginning.
"I bet Chief Peterson has involved himself in this case," Frank said.
"And I bet you're right." Joe nodded. "Which makes me think we ought to take a little detour."
Frank nodded. "They're holding Poletti at the eighty-fourth precinct house in Brooklyn," he said. "And I bet that's where we find Peterson."
They got off at the next stop to change trains and an hour later were standing in front of the precinct house on Gold Street.
"This is the place," Joe said. "Now, how do we get in to see Chief Peterson?"
"I'll think of something," Frank said, just as a limousine was pulling up next to them. Emily Moran emerged.
"Miss Moran," Frank called out.
She turned and stared at Frank and Joe, a puzzled expression on her face.
"I'm Frank Hardy, and this is my brother Joe - we were at the reading of your father's will. . . ."
"Of course," Emily said distractedly. She looked exhausted: dark circles formed half-moons below her eyes, and her skin was sallow, as if she hadn't slept all night. "You'll have to forgive me - This whole business with Tommy - that the police think he's involved in murder ..." She shook her head.
Frank smiled understandingly. "It seems a little unlikely to us, as well."
Someone cleared his throat behind the threesome. "And who are the two of you?"
A thin man with a close-cropped black beard, who must have just emerged from the precinct house, was standing on the steps, eyeing the Hardys suspiciously.
Frank approached him, leaving Emily standing next to the car with Joe.
"I'm Frank Hardy," he said, extending his hand.
"Detective Mike Lewis," the man said, shaking Frank's hand firmly. He looked at Frank closely, then snapped his fingers. "You're Fenton Hardy's kid, aren't you?"
Frank nodded, somewhat surprised. "How did you - "
"You look just like him," Lewis said. The detective nodded in Emily Moran's direction and lowered his voice. "I can guess what brings you here."
"You'd probably guess right," Frank said. "We want to know if this shooting ties in to Josh Moran's will."
Lewis hesitated. "You know, I really can't talk about the case with you ... " His voice trailed off.
"I understand," Frank said. "But if Chief Peterson okays it?"
Lewis smiled. "Anything's okay then. He's just inside. If he doesn't have a problem talking about the case with you there, then I - "
"Good," Frank said. "Lead the way."
The four of them entered the precinct house together.
"First I've got to pick up Poletti," Lewis said. He pointed to his right. "The holding cells are this way. Miss Moran?" She nodded that she wanted to accompany the detective.
"Actually, I'd like to talk to the chief first," Frank said. He wanted to find out just how strong the case was against Tommy Poletti - information he didn't think he'd get with both Poletti and Emily Moran present. Joe indicated he'd go with Lewis and Emily.
"The chief's in the office at the top of the stairs - follow this corridor - you can't miss it."
To Joe, the precinct house looked like his high school. The cinder-block halls were painted the same dull beige and decorated (more accurately, not decorated) in the same dull style.
Off to the right was a sign that said Holding Cells, with an arrow pointing down the stairs. Lewis, who had obviously been to the station many times before, led them down a flight of stairs and then into a long, narrow basement corridor. They were about halfway down it when Joe stopped short.
"Did you hear something?" he asked.
Lewis and Emily Moran looked at each other and shook their heads. "I didn't," Lewis said.
"Wait." Joe held up his hand. "There it is again." He listened closely for a second, then turned back the way they'd come and stopped in front of a door marked Utility Closet.
Faint thumping noises could be heard coming from inside.
Joe tried the knob. It wouldn't budge.
"Hey!" He banged loudly on the door, then threw his weight against it.
In response, there came a renewed series of thumps, louder and more insistent than before.
"In here!" Joe said excitedly. "There's somebody trapped inside!"