Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
***
To their surprise, Delaney himself answered the door at the Moran brownstone.
"Yeah?"
He obviously wasn't in a good mood. It didn't make his face, which Joe had remembered as rather homely, any more attractive. But Joe had forgotten the man was so big.
"This'll just take a second, sir," Joe said. He slid his foot inside the door so Delaney couldn't slam it on him.
"It'll take less than that, sonny," Delaney said. "You're Hardy's kid, ain't you? What're you doing, nosing around here?" He tried to shut the door and failed because Joe's foot was in the way.
"We just have a few questions - " Frank began, moving up next to Joe.
"Trouble, boss?" Another man came to the door behind Delaney. Joe recognized him as one of the mob who'd gathered around Delaney at the reading of the will.
The newcomer saw Joe, then Frank, and his eyes widened.
"It's the Hardy kids, boss," the man said. "Both of them."
"You two got a lot of nerve, showing your faces around here," Delaney continued.
Without warning, Delaney's arm shot out and grabbed Joe's coat collar. Delaney began dragging him forward, as easily as if he were a rag doll. The man was incredibly strong.
Joe realized suddenly that he might be in a lot of trouble.
"I guess we're going to have to teach you some manners, smart guy," Delaney said. By now, he had pulled Joe so close that their noses were almost touching.
"Yeah," the other man chimed in menacingly. His eyes never left Frank as he slowly moved in on him. "Starting now. Right now."
"Mr. Delaney, you don't need to do this, Frank began, sidestepping to throw his would-be assailant off balance. The man behind Delaney couldn't maneuver close enough to Frank to grab him now.
"I don't have to," Delaney growled. "But I want to." He drew his arm back as if he was going to swing at Joe.
"Let him go, Mr. Delaney," Ned said, moving into the space Frank had left.
Delaney snorted. "Who are you?"
"Ned Nolan - and I'm telling you - "
"Hugh Nolan's kid? That weasel?" Delaney barked out a laugh. "If you're anything like your old man, I could just-"
Things happened fast then. There was a flash of movement, and suddenly Delaney wasn't holding Joe anymore. He was holding his own hands and rubbing them.
"Watch what you do to my friends," Ned said. "And especially watch what you say about my father."
"Oh," Delaney said, looking up. "So you want to play rough." He stepped forward, and swung at Ned. Frank could feel the air move with the force of his blow, which was surprisingly fast for a man of his size. Ned ducked it easily and threw a punch of his own. The big man staggered on his feet, gasping for breath.
"That's it, pal." Delaney's hood moved forward with a drawn gun. "Beat it."
Frank held both his hands up and stepped in front of Ned again. "All right, things got a little out of hand, but - "
"I said beat it!" Delaney's hood slammed the door in his face, leaving the three of them standing on the stoop.
"That settles that," Frank said.
"Wow," Joe said, staring at Ned. "What did you do to Delaney?"
"Taught him some manners, I expect," Ned said, smiling. He laid an arm on Joe's shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Joe said. He paused a moment. "You didn't have to do that, Ned."
"It was my pleasure."
"No, Ned," Frank said quietly. "Joe means you shouldn't have done that."
Ned turned to face him, a surprised look on his face.
"You cost us a chance to talk to Delaney," Frank said.
"What should I have done, Frank? Let him strangle your brother?"
Joe shook his head. "He wouldn't have strangled me."
"Really? We're talking about the man who probably killed Daniel Carew - and tried to kill Chief Peterson," Ned said coldly. "Need I point out that your father - or mine - could be next?"
"We don't know that Delaney killed anyone," Frank said. "Ned, you can't let your emotions run away with you if - "
"If I'm going to be a detective, is that it?"
The two of them stood silently staring at each other.
"Yes," Frank said finally.
"Well, then maybe I shouldn't be a detective," Ned said angrily. "I'll leave the field to you two."
"Ned, wait." Joe grabbed his arm. "You don't have to - "
Ned threw Joe's grip off and stalked off without looking back.
"Let him go," Frank told his brother. "He just needs to cool off."
They stood on the bottom step of Delaney's brownstone, staring after him.
"Hey!"
Frank turned. The voice belonged to Delaney's friend, the man who'd pulled the gun on them. He was leaning out the front door of the townhouse, glaring down at them.
"Didn't I tell you guys to beat it?"
Joe turned toward him angrily, but Frank laid a hand on his shoulder before he could speak.
"We're on our way," he said, pulling Joe away. "We're not going to get anything accomplished here, that's for sure," he muttered under his breath.
"So what's next?"
Frank looked at his watch. It was almost one o'clock. "Well - there is one thing we do have to do this afternoon."
"What's that?"
"Our research at the library."
Joe groaned.
***
Joe actually did have a very productive afternoon at the library.
He finished his work early and decided to look into the incident that seemed to be at the heart of the case. He watched microfilms of newspaper articles from twenty years ago, when the Jefferson Heights townhouses had been built - when that terrible fire, which killed twelve people, had taken place.
It was all there, just as his father had told them. And the more Joe read, the more suspicious that fire looked. He dug back farther, searching for more information on the deal that had been struck to tear down and "renovate" the Jefferson Heights area.
The earliest mention he found came complete with pictures of Josh Moran himself. One showed Moran at city hall, during discussions regarding the Jefferson Heights project. The photographer had caught Moran in midsentence, making a point. He was probably in his early forties then - a handsome man, with jet black hair and precise, angular features, which his daughter Emily had clearly inherited.
Joe recognized few other people in the picture, identified as city officials, including the then-mayor of New York, a few police officers -
His heart stopped.
He moved the viewer in closer, enlarging the photographed image.
There, directly behind Moran, his face partially obscured by that man's arm, was Hugh Nolan. His presence there was proof of nothing, of course, but Nolan was smiling in the picture, and Joe got the sense that he and Moran were connected in some way.
Suddenly he wasn't sure Ned's father had gotten a raw deal after all. He and Moran clearly knew each other.
He looked through a few more articles on the project but found nothing else of interest. After returning the microfilms, he found Frank and sat down to tell him about his afternoon's work.
"So Hugh Nolan may be a suspect, too," Frank said thoughtfully. "Which leaves us with the question of how this all fits together. It's got to relate back to what happened twenty years ago."
"It seems pretty obvious to me," Joe said. "Moran took the fall for Carew, so he was mad at him. He was mad at Dad and Chief Peterson for putting him away, and he came up with a very creative way of getting back at all of them."
"But what about Tommy and Hugh?" Frank asked. "And who's doing the killings now - and why?"
Joe shrugged. "That I can't help you with."
"But that's what we've got to figure out," Frank said. "And we've got to find someplace else to do our figuring, I guess. We're probably not going to be too welcome at the Nolans' anymore."
But when they returned to the Nolans' apartment to return the keys Hugh had given them, they found a note waiting for them.
Frank and Joe,
Sorry I got so angry with you earlier. Please feel free to stay and use the apartment.
I may be out late tonight, but I'll catch up with you tomorrow.
Ned
"Well," Joe said, slumping down on the couch. "That's good. At least we have a base of operations. So, what do we do tonight?"
"Well ... " Frank sat down next to him. "We can't go back and see Delaney - "
"Or Emily, since she lives in the same place." Joe thought a moment. "Maybe we should try Johnny Carew."
Frank shook his head. "How about we talk to a friendly face this time?"
"Whom did you have in mind?"
"Tommy Poletti."
Joe nodded. "That's a good idea. But how are we going to find him? I don't expect a former Heisman trophy winner has a listed address."
"I know where he lives," Frank said. "I caught a glimpse of the police file on him when we went to see Chief Peterson that first time."
"He's got a record?" Joe asked, clearly upset. "Why? What for?"
"I couldn't see that part of the file," Frank said.
Joe shook his head. "I don't believe it."
"You can ask him about it when we get there, then," Frank said, grabbing his coat. "Come on."
"Where're we going? Where does he live?"
"Where everybody connected with this case seems to live," Frank replied. "Brooklyn."
After grabbing a bite to eat, the brothers took the subway back to Brooklyn. They got off at the first stop, and from there it was just a five-minute walk to Poletti's apartment.
Tommy lived right next to the Brooklyn Bridge, in a beautiful neighborhood of brownstones. As they turned onto his block, a figure emerged from one of the brownstones ahead of them and walked out onto the street. A tall, dark man who looked in both directions before heading directly toward them.
It was Tommy Poletti. Frank pretended not to notice him.
"Wait," Joe said. "That's him. Let's catch up and - "
"No," Frank said, grabbing hold of his brother's arm and dragging him across the street. "He obviously doesn't want to be followed."
"So?" Joe asked.
"So let's see where he's going before we announce ourselves."
"All right," Joe said reluctantly. "We'll tail him for a while."
Frank studied his brother closely. Was Joe letting his admiration for Poletti cloud his judgment? He hoped not.
Frank began tailing Poletti, keeping on the opposite side of the street and half a block behind the man. Joe fell back a half block behind his brother. As Frank walked, he pulled a wool ski cap out of his pocket and put it on. Whenever he and Joe did a two-man tail, they used the hat, or something like it, as a signal. If Frank felt the quarry was getting suspicious of him, he'd take off the cap and fall back, letting Joe pick up the man's trail. His brother would then follow the same procedure.
But in this case, all their precautions turned out to be unnecessary. For Poletti walked straight across the Brooklyn Bridge at such a brisk pace that Frank had trouble keeping up with him. Poletti was clearly on some kind of schedule - he kept checking his watch - and didn't even look back once. Halfway across the bridge, Joe caught up with Frank.
"He's sure in a hurry," Joe said, breathing heavily.
"To go where?"
"Maybe this is how he keeps in shape," Joe suggested with a grin. "This feels like a waste of time to me, Frank."
Frank shook his head. "Let's just see how it develops before we do anything."
Joe nodded resignedly and fell back behind Frank again.
Poletti continued his rapid pace as he left the bridge and crossed into Manhattan. He strode by City Hall and continued north, past all the government buildings. Just before Chinatown, Poletti took a left and headed west, toward the Hudson River. Within a few minutes Frank was trailing the man through a maze of four-and five-story commercial buildings in an old manufacturing district.
Then Poletti stopped. In the middle of the block ahead of him a long line of limousines was parked, and a crowd of people were gathered at the entrance to a building.
Frank crossed to the other side of the street and continued walking, past Poletti and directly toward the crowd. As he passed them, he heard an insistent, thudding beat coming from inside the door. And a small sign above the door, white letters on a black background, read simply Cosmos.
Suddenly he felt very foolish. The place was a nightclub. Joe had been right after all. Poletti was simply going out, probably meeting someone here.
Another limousine pulled up in front of the club, and an older man emerged from the driver's seat. He walked around the car, opened the rear passenger door - and Billy Delaney stepped out.
The two doormen immediately parted the crowd to let Delaney's men and Delaney pass through the entrance to the club.
Was this what Poletti had been waiting for? As soon as Delaney entered the club, Tommy started walking again - this time past the entrance, toward the end of the block.
Frank shook his head. Why, if Poletti had come here to meet Delaney, wasn't he going inside?
Frank could think of only one reason.
Poletti hadn't come here to meet the man. He'd come here to kill him.
Frank had to make a quick decision - should he follow Poletti, or see what Delaney was up to inside the club?
As he thought about it, he decided he didn't have much choice. Poletti may have been preoccupied, but Frank had walked directly past him. He must have been seen - and it would look too suspicious if Poletti saw him again.
Frank took off his ski cap and joined the crowd waiting to get into Cosmos. As he pushed toward the front of the mob, he saw Joe race down the corner after Poletti.
"Cover charge is twenty dollars tonight, kid." Frank looked up to find one of the doormen, a large black man with a shaved head, studying him from behind the roped-off entrance to the club. "And I'm going to need some ID - with a picture."
Frank groaned. ID - he'd forgotten all about it. In New York, you had to be twenty-one to get into the clubs. Now what was he going to do?