Trial and Terror (6 page)

“Well, he's as charming as a shark,” Joe said when the Hardys were back in the elevator.

“There's no question he's ruthless,” Frank said. “But we still don't have any evidence . . . ” His voice trailed off.

“What are you thinking?” Joe said.

“Remember how cold Karen Lee's building was?” Frank said. “Alex told us the temperature gauge was broken, but maybe Garfein instructed Alex to turn the heat off. Because he wants to freeze the older people out.”

“Older people don't do well in the cold,” Joe said. “A winter without heat could make at least some of them decide to move to a warmer building—or even a warmer climate.”

“If we can prove the heat is turned off in that building,” Frank said, “that would show how desperate Garfein is to get the tenants out—enough to use illegal tactics.”

“That would be a real link,” Joe said as the elevator opened at the lobby. “Evidence lending support to our theory that Garfein may have tried to do harm to Karen Lee. I agree with you that a big businessman like that would have hired someone for the job rather than do it himself.”

Back in the wintry air, the brothers walked along Thirty-fourth Street. “Maybe Alex was the person Garfein hired,” Frank said. “If Alex
would be willing to shut down the heat, maybe he would also be willing to kill Karen Lee. For a nice sum of money, of course. Which might be real attractive to a writer who has never been published.”

“Except Alex doesn't seem to have much money now,” Joe said, stopping on the sidewalk as the light turned red. “He's still the super.”

“Maybe he didn't get paid because he bungled the attack,” Frank suggested.

“I don't know,” Joe said as the light changed to green. “In spite of his gory book titles, Alex doesn't seem like a killer to me.”

“Neither does Nick Rodriguez,” Frank said as they began to cross the street, “and you think he might be one.”

“Good point,” Joe said. “One thing I—”

“Look out!” Frank cried, grabbing Joe by the arm. A taxi was roaring full speed through a red light—straight for the Hardys.

Frank jerked Joe out of the way, almost throwing him onto the sidewalk.

There was a screech of brakes and then a loud crunch of metal as the taxi hit the fender of another taxi making a turn. Both drivers stormed out of their cars and began to scream at each other in different languages. Immediately people gathered around to watch the shouting match, and a cop hurried over to break it up.

“There're a lot of dangerous things about this city,” Joe commented as the Hardys gingerly crossed the street. “But you know, I think the taxi drivers might be the scariest.”

The Hardys returned to the subway station, eager to catch a train back downtown so they could check in at the trial. Waiting on the
crowded platform, Joe glanced down the tunnel. In the distance he could see repairmen working on the tracks, each one wearing a bright orange vest.

Soon a train came and rushed the Hardys downtown, where they emerged a few blocks from the courthouse. They walked along a street where some construction workers were busy tearing up the pavement to the earsplitting tune of a jackhammer.

“Hey, let me stop in here a second,” Frank said, heading for the door of a small jewelry shop.

“Can I ask a stupid question?” Joe said, following Frank inside. “We've got two days left to solve this case. What are we doing here?”

A saleswoman stood behind a glass counter that displayed articles of gold and silver, some glittering with precious gems. Frank looked at a display area on top of the counter where the jewelry seemed more fun than expensive. “Callie is leaving town tomorrow to spend Christmas with her grandmother,” Frank told Joe as he picked up a ring. “And I haven't gotten her a present yet.”

“Say no more,” Joe said. “If you mess up with a girlfriend's present, it's not a pretty sight.”

Frank held one ring with a decorative flower and another with a decorative butterfly, both made from brightly painted enamel. “Those
rings are very popular,” the saleswoman told Frank. “Either one would be an excellent choice.”

“Joe, what do you think?” Frank said, studying the two rings. “The flower or the butterfly?”

“I think the flower is better,” Joe said, impatiently tapping his fingers on the counter.

“Uh . . . let's see,” Frank said to the saleswoman. “I believe I'll take the butterfly.”

“So much for my advice,” Joe muttered.

“I'm sure the young woman will be very pleased,” the saleswoman assured Frank with a courteous smile.

It was ten-thirty when the Hardys arrived at the criminal court building. The trial was taking a mid-morning break, and some of the spectators were stretching their legs in the gloomy corridor outside the courtroom. The Hardys caught Bernie Myers on his way back from the rest room and quickly explained what they had learned about Fred Garfein.

“Great, stay with it,” Myers said, pulling some official papers from his rumpled suit. “And listen, I filed a motion this morning and got permission for you to view the physical evidence from the crime scene. Daggett put up a little fight, but the judge sided with me. Here, take these forms with you.”

“Did you begin your defense?” Frank asked as he took the papers.

“I sure did,” Myers said. “I'm starting with
character witnesses. People who can tell the jury what a decent and reliable person Nick is. I put Nick's parents on the stand this morning, and right after the break I'm putting Nellie on. The truth is, I expect her to be my best witness.”

Suddenly the blond prosecutor, Patricia Daggett, was standing beside Myers, perfectly dressed and groomed again. Her high heels made her nearly as tall as Frank. “So these are your teenage PIs,” Daggett said, her voice tinted with scorn.

“Yes, they are,” Myers said proudly.

“Well, if they don't stop hounding Karen Lee,” Daggett said, pointing a finger at Myers, “they may soon be keeping Nick Rodriguez company in jail.”

Joe scowled at Daggett, but Frank was pleased to see the fashionable prosecutor was wearing a ring similar to the one he had just bought for Callie. Except, he noticed, Daggett had the flower instead of the butterfly. My taste must be okay, Frank thought.

“I'll have you know,” Myers said, placing a hand on Joe's shoulder, “these teenagers are doing a terrific job. For example, they discovered that Karen Lee kept a set of keys to Nick Rodriguez's apartment, which disappeared right around the time of the crime. And that you knew about this yet failed to include it in your report to me.”

“What's your point?” Daggett said.

“Some judges might consider that withholding evidence,” Myers said. “A crime for which you could possibly be put in jail yourself.”

“Bernie, I'll ignore that remark,” Daggett said with a vicious smile. “I'll assume you're just in a bad mood because your case isn't going so well.”

“What exactly does ‘withholding evidence' mean?” Joe asked as Daggett stalked away.

“If the prosecution learns something important about a case,” Myers explained, “the law says they have to share that information with the defense, no matter which side the information helps. And I've heard that Daggett has broken this law before.”

Joe nodded, then moved toward the courtroom. Frank watched Daggett insert coins into a pay phone down the corridor. “How did she know we were the PIs working for you?” Frank asked Myers.

“When I filed the motion for you to look at the evidence,” Myers said, “I had to explain who you were. You know, that you were teenagers and all that. Based on this, I guess she recognized you and also figured out you were the ones who spoke to Lee yesterday. That's one of the reasons Daggett is so good. She makes it her business to know absolutely everything that concerns her job.”

“And I suppose she really wants to win this
case because Karen Lee worked in the prosecutor's office for a short while,” Frank remarked.

“No, Pat Daggett always wants to win,” Myers said, scoffing. “You see, all the prosecutors are classified as assistant district attorneys. And they have to answer to the head district attorney, which is one of the most powerful positions in the city. Well, when the current district attorney retires, Daggett hopes to be in line for the job.”

“So ambition, not justice, is what makes her want to win so badly,” Frank said, understanding.

“Exactly,” Myers said, adjusting his tie. “I'd better get back in there now. I'll see you around later, or give me a call at my office tonight.”

“Good luck,” Frank called as Myers entered the courtroom.

As Myers walked away, Joe returned. “I was looking for that Velloni woman, but I didn't see her,” Joe told Frank. “I think some of those guys over there are also reporters, though. Maybe they can give us some information on her.”

Nearby, a half dozen men were clustered together in conversation. After a moment of eavesdropping, the Hardys learned they were all members of the press.

Leaning against the wall, not talking to the others, was the clean-cut young man Joe had seen the day before across the street from Karen Lee's
apartment building. Because he looked nicer than the other reporters, Joe approached him first. “Do you by any chance know Lisa Velloni?” Joe asked.

The young man shook his head, then looked down.

“He seems awfully shy for a journalist,” Joe said, returning to Frank.

“Excuse us,” Frank said, approaching the other men. “Do any of you know Lisa Velloni?”

Chuckles came from the group, making it clear these men found Velloni an object of fun. A short man with a toothpick dangling from his lips spoke first. “Oh, sure, we all know Lunatic Lisa. Why?”

“Just looking for a little information on her,” Frank said as if he were a fellow reporter.

A man with a long ponytail spoke next. “Most of us work for various tabloids, but Velloni's on her own. A freelancer. She just gets a story and then tries to sell it to whoever will buy.”

A man who hadn't shaven in several days added, “No one wants to hire her on a regular basis. Even the tabloid publishers think she's too bananas.”

Again, the men all chuckled.

“Until recently she had only done real smalltime stuff,” the short reporter informed the Hardys. “You know, tidbits about minor TV stars and people with strange pets. Things like that.”

“What happened recently?” Joe asked.

“When Karen Lee first landed her role on
Days of Destiny,”
the man with the ponytail explained, “Velloni did a story on her. A ‘struggling actress gets her first big break in television' type of thing. Then when this attempted murder story broke, Velloni got exclusive rights to Lee because they were already acquainted.”

“So now she's the only one who gets interviews with Lee,” the short one said. “Which means she's getting paid some decent money for her stories.”

“More than any of us,” another man muttered.

“And she's even been approached about doing a book on Karen Lee,” another man grumbled.

“Which could make her some really good dough,” another man said bitterly.

“Does Lisa Velloni ever do anything illegal to get her stories?” Joe asked. The question was immediately followed by a round of snickering.

“What's so funny?” Frank asked.

“Lisa will do anything to get a story,” the unshaven man said. “And I mean
anything.”

“There's a rumor she once sent a bunch of threatening letters to a famous actor,” the short one said, gesturing with his toothpick. “Under a fake name, of course. It was a stunt, you see, just so she could have an intriguing story to report. No one knows if it's true or not, but I'm—”

Before he could finish, a pair of hands shot out, and the short reporter went flying backward into the wall. As others stepped back in surprise, Joe whipped around to see Lisa Velloni glaring at the short man as if she planned to kill him.

“What's the big idea, Lisa?” the short man shouted. “Shoving me against the wall like that!”

“You were telling lies about me!” Velloni shouted back. “I've told you a hundred times, short boy, I never sent those letters!”

Like the day before, Velloni was wearing a turtleneck sweater and a leather miniskirt. Her eyes were on fire, and she was now moving toward the short reporter with her fist ready to deliver a good punch in the face.

“Hey, hey, hey, take it easy,” Frank said, pulling Velloni back by the shoulders.

“Let them slug it out,” the unshaven man said. “We can all place bets.” The other press members clapped and laughed uproariously.

“Listen, you creeps,” Velloni said as Frank held on to her. “I'm a respectable reporter. More respectable than any of you. Though that certainly isn't saying very much!”

“What about the time you jumped in front of a police car and then made them take you along for a high-speed chase?” one of the men called out.

“You guys are just jealous because I got exclusive rights to Karen Lee,” Velloni said. “You think journalism is a man's job and women are only qualified for the powder puff stories. And you boys just hate when a woman gets the better of you!”

“Ooh, Lisa, we get so scared when you talk that way,” one of the men said.

“You guys have been making fun of me for years,” Velloni said, shaking her fist in the air, “but not anymore. Just you wait.”

Before things could go any farther, a bailiff announced the trial was about to resume, and the reporters all scurried like mice back to the courtroom.

“Miss Velloni,” Frank said as he released her, “could we talk to you a second?”