The Prime-Time Crime (8 page)

“We'll face down guns if there's a reason to,” Joe snapped. “But we have no real reason to suspect Whalen.”

Frank revved up the van and started driving away from Whalen's mansion. “Where's your evidence that proves Whalen had something to do with Clarence's disappearance?” he asked.

“Whalen's conceited and I don't like him,” said Steve. “Isn't that enough?”

“No,” Joe said. “If being conceited were a crime, then the jails would have been full a long time ago.”

“Okay, everybody,” Frank said. “Let's call a truce. At least until we get back to the TV station.”

The foursome remained quiet during the drive back to WBPT. Frank swung into the lot and parked the van in a distant corner, where he hoped that Ted Whalen wouldn't notice it. As soon as they were out of the van, Debbie and Steve headed toward the building.

“You two stay out of trouble,” Frank warned. “We don't want to have to bail you out again if Ted Whalen goes after you.”

Back inside the WBPT building, the Hardys found Marcy Simons pacing angrily around her office, muttering something about Matt Freeman.

“More problems?” Joe asked. “I hope Matt Freeman hasn't disappeared, too.”

“No,” Marcy said, settling down behind her desk. “Just business problems this time. Mart's asking for double his normal salary to do both ‘Faces and Places' and ‘The Four O'Clock Scholar.' I suppose he deserves it; doing two shows is a lot of work. But I hate the idea of bringing it up to Ted Whalen.”

“I gather Ted likes making money a lot more than passing it out,” Frank said.

“You bet,” Marcy replied. “Ted sees Clarence's disappearance as an ideal opportunity to cut costs. By having Matt do both jobs, Ted gets two hosts for the price of one.”

“Except Matt doesn't see it that way,” Joe said.

“Right,” Marcy said.

“Do you think he'll get the raise?” Frank asked.

“Probably,” Marcy replied, “but there'll be a lot of flak. Good talent is hard to find, and it would cost us a bundle just to locate a replacement for Clarence. So even at twice the salary, Matt's still a bargain. Don't tell him I said that, though.”

“We won't,” Joe assured her.

“Worst of all, the end result of all of this will probably be that Ted will cancel ‘The Four O'Clock Scholar.' Anyway, that's really not your problem,” Marcy said. “How's the search for Clarence coming along?”

“Not too well,” Frank said. “We've got some questions for you, though. Are those big guys that Whalen keeps around him really bodyguards?”

Marcy laughed. “They do look frightening, don't they? Yes, Ted hired them a few weeks ago. There've been lots of nasty phone calls since we started airing that series on organized crime, and Ted got nervous. I don't think anything's going to come of it, though. Neither do the police. Anyway, the series is ending next week.”

“Speaking of the police,” Joe said, “how are they doing in the search for Clarence?”

“Not too well,” Marcy said with a sigh. “They've questioned all of Clarence's neighbors as well as everyone at the station, but no leads so far.”

Frank nodded. “We've been coming up empty, too.”

“Do you want us to stay on the case?” Joe asked.

“Of course,” Marcy said. “The police seem to be losing interest already. Apparently they've had other missing person cases like this and most of the investigations end up going nowhere, or the people return on their own. I told the police Clarence wasn't the type of person to walk out on his job and his coworkers like that,” Marcy added. “He may have a strange sense of humor, but he also has a real sense of responsibility.”

“That's not what Matt Freeman said yesterday,” Frank said.

“Matt has his own reasons for not liking Clarence,” Marcy said. “The two never got along very well, and Matt never made any secret of the fact that he'd like to have Clarence's job. Now he's got it.”

Just then, the phone rang. The brothers turned to leave.

“Thanks, guys,” Marcy said as she picked up the receiver. “Keep me posted on how things are going.”

“We will,” Frank promised. After the brothers left Marcy's office, they walked down the hallway. As they passed the engineering room next to Studio A, they spotted Matt Freeman having a conversation with two of the engineers.

“There's Matt,” Frank said. “Why don't we talk to him now?”

“Good idea,” Joe said. “He's the only person we
know so far with a clear-cut motive for getting rid of Clarence.”

“Right,” Frank said. “With Clarence out of the way, Matt stands to turn a pretty nice profit, from what Marcy tells us. Let's ask him a few questions.”

The engineering room was lined with television monitors and banks of electronic equipment. A young engineer with curly brown hair sat before a console filled with dials and switches. As Frank watched, she pushed buttons and threw switches in response to commands that she was apparently receiving over a pair of headphones. Matt Freeman, who was talking to a second engineer, turned and smiled at the Hardys as they walked into the room.

“How are you doing, guys?” Freeman asked. “I hear you're looking for Clarence. Any luck?”

“Not much, Matt,” Joe said. “I don't suppose you've heard anything about him yourself?”

“Not a thing,” Freeman responded. “Like I said, maybe he'll come jumping out from behind the curtain Tuesday night and announce that all's well. If he does, I'm going to pop him one in the nose.”

“Why?” Frank asked curiously.

“Why?” Freeman echoed. “Because it's a pretty stupid publicity stunt for him to pull, that's why.”

“And because he'll probably want his job back?” Joe suggested.

Freeman's expression changed. “Very funny. You're not thinking that I might be glad that Clarence has disappeared, are you? And I hope
you're not suggesting that I might have had something to do with his disappearance.”

Frank flashed Joe a disapproving look. “We're not suggesting anything, Mr. Freeman.”

“Good,” Freeman said, turning back to the engineer. “Now go play detective someplace else. I'm busy right now.”

“We were just on our way out,” Frank said, tugging his brother's arm. “Come on, Joe.”

Out in the hallway, Frank turned to Joe and said, “That was a dumb question. You really didn't expect him to answer it, did you?”

“Sorry,” Joe said. “It just slipped out. Maybe I've been hanging around Steve and Debbie too long.”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “That pair is starting to take the edge off my detective technique, too.”

Joe glanced at his watch. “Maybe we should call it a day and go home to get some dinner. I'm convinced we'll be back to our normal sharp-witted selves in the morning.”

“I hate to quit at all,” Frank said. “Clarence is still out there someplace, depending on somebody to find him. And it looks like we're the ones who will have to do it, not the police.”

“Well, he'll probably still be there tomorrow,” Joe said. “Let's go.”

Frank and Joe walked back into the parking lot and climbed into the van. Joe decided to take the driver's seat this time. Frank unlocked the passenger side and climbed into the seat.

Joe frowned as he pulled open the door. “Didn't you lock the driver's side of the van when we got out earlier?” he asked.

“I'm almost positive I did,” Frank said. “Why? Was it unlocked?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “But maybe you forgot to lock it when you got out, after all the confusion.”

“Could be,” Frank said. “Don't worry about it.”

“Maybe we'd better have a talk with Steve and Debbie tomorrow,” Joe said, as he drove down Bayport's main street. “If we let them run freely around the TV station looking for clues, they may cause more problems than they solve.”

“You're right,” Frank said, leaning back and stretching his legs. “They're smart enough to be on the quiz show, but sometimes they do some dumb things. Maybe we should try to call them tonight. What do you think?”

Frank turned and looked out the window of the van. He was beginning to relax a little now that they were away from the station. He hoped their investigation would go better after a night's sleep.

It was several seconds before he noticed that Joe hadn't answered his last question.

He turned to see his brother, perched at the wheel of the van, staring glassy-eyed out the front window. Then he noticed an acrid smell in the air, like ammonia or rubbing alcohol.

“Joe?” Frank asked. “Are you okay?”

Suddenly Joe slumped forward onto the steering
wheel. Like a heavy stone, his foot plunged down on the accelerator, and the van shot forward. Then it swerved to the right.

Frank looked through the windshield and realized that they were heading straight toward the front window of a store.

Frank shoved his unconscious brother aside, grabbed the steering wheel, and desperately turned it to the left. The van skidded back onto the road. Frank heaved a sigh of relief.

But they weren't out of danger yet. As it veered away from the sidewalk, the van swung in front of a delivery truck that was barreling down the road. Frank grabbed the wheel and turned it just in time to avoid the truck. He swung back onto the road—right into the path of a car that was pulling out of a parking space. With another quick turn of the wheel, he avoided the car, too.

Other drivers had begun to honk loudly as the van zigzagged back and forth down the street.
Frank jostled his brother urgently, trying to bring him back to consciousness.

“Joe!” Frank shouted loudly. “What's the matter with you?”

His brother didn't respond. Instead, he slumped down into the seat. As he did, his foot slipped off the accelerator. Frank pushed him against the door of the van, then he squeezed halfway into the driver's seat, and stomped on the brake with his foot.

The van screeched to a halt in the center of the road. Trembling, Frank put the van into park, turned on the flashers, and then fell back into his seat. Suddenly he realized that his head was spinning—and not just from the effort of trying to control the van. He felt as though he had inhaled some kind of poison gas.

Frank leaped out of the passenger door and gulped down breaths of fresh air. Then he ran around the van and yanked open his brother's door. The younger Hardy tumbled out of the van into his arms.

“Hey, are you kids out of your minds?” a man shouted angrily.

Frank turned to see a nearby driver jump out of his car and run toward the Hardys. He was about to yell something else when he saw Joe slumped unconscious in Frank's arms.

“Something's wrong with my brother,” Frank explained. “He collapsed while he was driving.”

Frank dragged Joe's limp form to the curb in front of the van, out of the way of traffic. After a few seconds, Joe began to stir groggily.

“Want me to call an ambulance?” the driver asked. “Sorry I yelled at you. I thought you were one of those reckless drivers.”

“Not usually,” Frank said. “I think my brother's starting to wake up. Thanks for the offer, though.”

After the man had left, Frank leaned into the cab of the van and looked around the driver's seat. He smelled the same acrid odor he had smelled earlier. He looked under the seat and saw the corner of a metal canister.

Frank reached under the seat and pulled out the canister. Holding it at arm's length, he placed it on the pavement some distance from where Joe was lying. The canister was open, and there was a foul-smelling liquid inside. The label on the outside of the canister was covered with chemical names that Frank didn't recognize.

He remembered how Joe had noticed earlier that the door of the van was unlocked. Someone must have jimmied the lock and placed the canister under the seat.

“W-What happened?” Joe asked groggily, pulling himself up on one elbow.

“You got a noseful of whatever's in that jar,” Frank said, pointing at the canister. “I've got a feeling it's not something that human beings are supposed to breathe.”

“Why am I lying on the side of the road?” Joe asked, looking around.

“Gravity, mostly,” Frank said. “You passed out while you were driving.”

Joe's eyes opened wide. “Passed out? While I was driving? I could have been killed!”

“I think that was the idea,” Frank said quietly.

“How did it happen?” Joe asked as he slowly got to his feet. “Where did that jar come from?”

“I'm not sure,” Frank answered. “But I think we'll be asking a few people back at WBPT about that tomorrow morning. Right now, we need to air out the van.”

The Hardys pushed the van to the side of the road and opened all the doors. Frank found a plastic bag in the back of the van and fastened it around the mouth of the canister with a rubber band to keep the gas from escaping again. Then he and his brother headed straight for home.

• • •

The next morning, Frank and Joe entered the WBPT studios by the back door and walked down the hall to Marcy Simons's office.

“Do you know what this is?” Frank asked Marcy, placing the canister on her desk.

Marcy recoiled at the sight of the canister. “Get that stuff away from me!” she exclaimed. “That's poisonous. Breathe too much of it and you'll be out like a light.”

“We know,” Joe said. “We found out the hard way.”

“The engineers use that stuff for really tough electronic cleaning jobs,” Marcy said, “but only under carefully controlled conditions. They keep it under lock and key in a storage room. Where'd you get hold of it?”

“Somebody stuck it under the driver's seat in our van,” Frank said, “knowing that one of us would breathe the stuff. Joe was the lucky one who got to try it out—and almost got both of us killed when he passed out at the wheel.”