A New Suspect?

Frank had half a second to dodge the length of heavy wood sweeping down at him. It just wasn’t enough time to get completely out of the way. The club smashed onto his flashlight, tearing it from his hand.

The Hardys’ only source of light fell to the floor, rolling away.

Frank hopped back, the fingers on his right hand numb from the shock of impact. Metal banged against his shoulders, telling him he’d backed up against the wall where the circuit breaker box hung. There was nowhere else to go. His attacker was barely a silhouette in the dark ness. Frank raised his arms, but that would be no protection against another swing.

Then Joe’s shadow came hurtling into the fight. “Frank! Duck!” Joe’s voice rang out. The mystery attacker reeled as Joe rammed into him. The club came down to crash against the metal box, but Frank had ducked under it.

He leaped up, grabbing the length of wood before the guy could swing again. But the attacker would not let go of his weapon.

They lurched around the room, Joe wrapped around the man’s middle, Frank wrestling for the club. Then Joe stumbled on the flashlight.

All three of them went over, crashing to the floor. The good news was that the attacker lost his wooden weapon. The bad news was that Joe’s grip on the guy was also shaken.

The mystery man wriggled loose like an eel, then took off through the room. Joe was already dashing after him.

Frank scrambled and got the flashlight. “I want just one good look at this guy,” he muttered.

The chase had moved into the larger room. The banging and crashing sounded as though Joe and the assailant were tripping over every box in the place.

Frank lunged into the room, aiming his flashlight. The beam caught Joe’s shoulder, the other man’s foot...

But when Frank aimed for the guy’s face, all he lit was the large plastic garbage bag the man was hefting. The bag burst, and the air filled with scraps of paper. Frank barely got a glimpse—a yellow gleam. Then the guy disappeared in the blizzard of paper.

“Come on!” Frank yelled. The Hardys stormed up the stairs, reached the passageway—and were nearly blinded as a pair of heavy-duty police flash lights were shone in their faces.

“All right, you two, hold it!” one officer yelled. Frank’s dazzled eyes could see that the man in blue had his hand on his gun butt. “What were you doing down there?”

“We were chasing the guy who trashed the circuit breaker downstairs,” replied a furious Joe. “Did you get him?”

“We just got here from the gymnasium,” the other officer said.

Frank glanced down the passageway. “Then he must have ducked into the locker room.”

Even from that distance, they could hear the slam of the side door.

The police officers lowered their flashlights. “You say this person smashed the circuit breaker? Can you give us a description?”

Frank suddenly realized the man was staring intensely at him. And now that Frank could see more than a uniform behind a blazing light, he knew why. This was the officer who had searched their van and found the phony ATM cards. “Hello again, Officer.” Frank sighed. “Maybe we should go and have a chat with the chief.” Back home, as Frank and Joe were finishing a late supper with Aunt Gertrude, they heard their fa there’s car in the driveway. Minutes later Fenton joined them at the dinner table.

Gertrude passed Fenton a plate, but he shook his head. “I had dinner with Chief Collig,” he explained. “He gave me quite an earful about the power outage at the gymnasium.”

“An ‘outage’ makes it sound like the electric company’s equipment failed,” Joe complained. “Some nut pulled the master switch in the circuit breaker, cut the lights, then bashed everything up so it couldn’t be fixed.”

“Sabotage again,” Fenton said. He looked thoughtful for a long moment.

Frank nodded. “The worst yet. People in the bleachers got hurt in the first panicky rush. And nobody knew how long it would take to get the lights back on.”

Joe explained that Frank had sunk the ball just as the lights went out, but that no one actually saw it happen.

“Well, then, I have a later news bulletin,” Fenton said. “The circuit breaker will be repaired over night. There will be school tomorrow.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “That ought to make a lot of kids happy.”

“And the school and athletic association officials have met,” Fenton went on. “There’s to be a replay of the entire game tomorrow night.”

“So we still have a chance,” Frank said with a sigh of relief.

“My heart’s too weak to take too many more of these close games,” Aunt Gertrude protested, her eyes twinkling.

“This has been about the craziest basketball season I’ve ever had,” Frank admitted.

“Not to mention the other sports we took part in today,” Joe added. “Baseball, with that guy trying to use your head for batting practice.”

“I’d say football, from the way you tackled him,” Frank said with a grin.

“I was going to suggest wrestling,” Joe kidded back.. “If we keep this up, we’ll be ready for the pentathlon.”

Frank’s smile faded. “When you come down to it, what we were really playing was tag. Too bad we didn’t get a look at who was playing ‘It.” He looked over at Joe. “You were right on top of the guy. Didn’t you notice anything that stands out in your memory?”

With a shrug, Joe offered, “He smelled pretty bad.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “You could probably say that about half the guys in school.”

Thinking a bit more seriously, Joe said, “He had a beeper on his belt. I noticed it when I had my

arms wrapped around his waist. But a lot of guys in school would have them, too.”

Frank barely heard the rest of what his brother was saying. Joe’s first words had sparked a memory—a memory of someone who normally wouldn’t have a beeper.

“Mr. Hooley,” Frank blurted out. “What?” Joe echoed in disbelief. “Who?” Fenton and Aunt Gertrude both asked.

“Mr. Hooley is the janitor at our school,” Joe explained.

Frank picked up the conversation. “He also has a beeper on his belt. I heard it go off once. At the time, I thought it was sort of funny—you know, the high-tech custodian. Now, though..

“Ah, come on,” Joe protested. “This is Mr. Hooley we’re talking about. The guy who pushes a mop around.”

“The guy who has to be somewhere before night fall, remember? Who refused a lift to get there?” Frank turned to Fenton. “I think he’s staying in one of those halfway houses that let prisoners out to work during the day.”

Fenton’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe I could check that out,” he said. “Do you have a first name for this Hooley?”

Frank shrugged helplessly. “Mister.”

“You’re hanging this guy just because he wears a beeper!” Joe complained.

“What about this last bit of sabotage?” Frank asked. “Whoever wrecked that electrical panel must have had knowledge of the setup under the gym.”

“We found that panel,” Joe countered. “And we’d never been down there before in our lives.”

“The rat poison that knocked Buff out of the game!” Frank said triumphantly. “That had to come from somewhere. I bet you’d find some in those shelves of supplies in that Janitor Central place.” Joe didn’t have a quick answer to that.

“And remember that box you knocked over?” Frank went on. “It was brand-new and said Acme Work Boots.”

“Objection,” Joe stated, seeing where Frank was going. “I’ve seen Mr. H.’s boots—they’re all stained and crummy-looking.”

“Sure, the tops would look that way after he slopped disinfectant all over them with his mop,” Frank said. “But I want a look at the bottoms of those boots—the soles, the treads. Maybe we could match them to some footprints we’ve seen.”

“You’ve suggested some things about means and opportunity,” Fenton spoke up. “But what about motive? Why would this janitor try to ruin your team’s chances for the championship?”

“I heard our principal threatening to fire him.” Joe started out almost reluctantly, but his voice picked up speed. “Maybe Hooley’s mad at Mr.Chambers—and Bayport High in general. He wants to get back by making us lose.”

“And don’t forget the new scoreboard,” Frank said. “He might want to prevent us from getting that.” “Right,” Joe agreed. “That, too.” “But there’s one thing that doesn’t fit,” Frank said. “Those fake ATM cards that turned up in our van.” “He might have read about the arrests and con nected your names and mine,” Fenton suggested. “And if he’s a crook, maybe he could get his hands on phony cards,” Joe said. “It could still be an attempt at sabotage. He probably hoped that the police would keep us at the station overnight after they found the planted cards. Then we’d be too tired to play in the game.”

“You’ve got a circumstantial case,” Fenton said. “The janitor apparently has motive, opportunity, and means. Now all you need is solid proof.”

“We may have a witness,” Frank said excitedly. “Todd Coates phoned in the 911 report when I was attacked. He was near our van when those ATM cards showed up.”

“But he ran away as though he was afraid of us,” Joe said. “And he did it again at the rec center.”

“But was he afraid of us,” Frank speculated, “or of whoever he saw, such as Hooley? Maybe we need somebody else to reach out to Todd—someone he’d listen to” “Phil Cohen,” Joe said promptly. “My thought exactly.” Frank rose from his seat, then stopped. “Sorry. Aunt Gertrude, you made a great meal. But could you excuse us?” “Go on,” his aunt said with a smile. “I know how you boys get with your mysteries.” Frank went to the kitchen and made a brief phone call.

“Phil’s not at his house—he’s at the rec center,” Frank announced when he returned. “Feel like taking a ride, Joe?” “Do I?” Joe fairly exploded from his seat. “Meanwhile, I’ll talk to some connections on the force and see what I can find out about Mr. Hooley,” Fenton offered. Frank had to fight himself to keep the van from screeching to the rec center at top speed. When they arrived, they found Phil at his improvised computer workshop.

“I think we’ve got this honey up and running,” Phil said. He beamed down at a battered computer case with wires leading to other boxes. It looked like something from a high-tech junk shop. But Phil smiled at it with the kind of look guys usually reserved for their baby brothers or sisters. “We’ve got the big hard drive that Todd Coates gave us, and also a fax modem that he dug up,” Phil explained. “So now, we can talk over the phones to other computers.”

“Actually, Todd’s the reason we came to see you,” Frank said. He ran through their suspicions about Mr. Hooley, and the fact that Todd may have seen the janitor doing something he shouldn’t have. Phil’s eyes were wide by the time Frank finished. “Well, sure, I’ll be glad to help you out. We were going to test the modem by trying to get online with Todd at his uncle’s office.” “Wait a second,” Frank said. “We’ve got a modem at home. I bet that’s how my dad is checking out Mr. Hooley. Could we call him first and see if he got anything?”

“Sure,” Phil said, his fingers dancing over a dingy computer keyboard. “Is there a special phone number?”

Frank gave the number, and after a moment, Phil announced, “We’re connected. Your dad is on the other side.”

Leaning over the keyboard, Frank typed: “Dad, it’s Frank. Anything yet on Mr. H.?”

Seconds later, the reply came. “Interesting re cord,” Fenton typed. “Especially his associates. Sending file.”

The screen blinked, then an image appeared. It was a police record, topped with a mug shot of a slightly younger-looking Mr. Hooley.

“That’s our guy, all right,” Joe said.

Frank was already studying the arrest record. “They got him for bank fraud,” he said. His eyes went down to the section marked Known Associates. Three names seemed to leap out at him:

Nicholas Vetch. Henry Desmond. Cletus Skratos. “Vetch, Desmond, Skratos,” Frank read aloud. “Why do they sound familiar?” Joe did a double take as he stared at the screen. “Frank!” he said. “Don’t you remember Dad’s story about the arrests they made? Those are the guys who got picked up for the ATM scam!”

Frank’s jaw sagged. “So Hooley is connected somehow with Dad’s case? I don’t believe this!” He turned to Phil. “Can you save this to a file?” Their friend began hitting keys, but the screen flickered again, this time going blank. “We crashed!” Phil said in annoyance. “I’m afraid Todd left too many files on the hard drive. I really should have erased them.” Phil called up the directory of the disk. Rows of file names appeared on the screen. But before Phil could type the command to delete them, Frank’s hand landed on his wrist. “Can you get into these files?” Frank demanded. “Well, yeah,” Phil said. “There’s a program on the disk—”

Frank was already tapping a finger on the screen, pointing to a file that said Byzantin. A couple of keystrokes later, and the screen filled with figures. “Joe! Look at this!” Frank cried.

Joe stared with a puzzled frown over Phil’s shoulder. “Looks like a bunch of financial records to me.” “But look at the name of the company,” Frank said, tapping the screen. “The file name jogged my memory.” “Byzantine Importers! That’s the phony company Dad said was a cover for the ATM scam.” Frank nodded. “Looks as if we have two connections with Dad’s case. These are all Todd’s files.” Joe looked at his brother in disbelief. “You mean.. . Todd Coates is the criminal mastermind Dad’s trying to put away?”