Flesh and Blood (3 page)

Joe was halfway down the hall when he heard Frank yell out. Without hesitating, he spun around and darted back toward the office, splashing pools of water against the walls, his flashlight a tiny beacon bobbing and skipping in front of him.

He tried to stop as he reached the door, but slid on the wet floor and had to grab the door frame to keep himself upright. Joe stared into the coal black room. Frank's light should have been on.

"Frank!" Joe yelled into the room.

Joe heard a scuffling sound of people struggling. Then there was a fleshly slap and finally a low, deep moan.

"Frank!"

Joe adjusted the lens on the small flashlight so that it made a larger circle. Then he stepped into the room.

The office was as littered as the storage room. Joe swept the circle of light from his left to his right, slowly moving the telltale beam across overturned desks, chairs, file cabinets, and piles of wet and crumpled files.

Another deep moan caused him to jump, and he flipped the beam to his far right.

Frank lay on the floor holding his left side, his face twisted in pain.

A pale and gaunt man stood over Frank, a broken section of a board gripped in his hands like a club. Several rusted and twisted nails poked out of the end of the board.

"Time to die," the man wheezed. He brought the board down in a deadly arc toward Frank's head.

Frank's eyes widened in horror as he watched the board with the nails arcing down toward him. At the last possible second he rolled to his right, pain shooting through his left side like tiny needles. The board slammed down inches from his chest, the nails sinking into the floor.

"Aaargh!" the man screamed as the broken board splintered in his hands.

Joe dropped his flashlight and lunged at the gaunt figure. The two hurtled backward and crashed on top of a desk. A sickening gasp erupted from the stranger, and Joe knew that the breath had been knocked out of him. The room was as silent then as it was dark.

"Joe? You okay?" Frank asked in a forced, strained whisper.

"Yes." Joe stood. "I dropped my flashlight."

"I've got mine." A light flickered on. Frank stood and trained the beam on his attacker.

The man groaned and threw his arms over his face as the beam hit his eyes.

Joe reached down and pulled the man to his feet. He was surprised at how light the man was.

"Let's get him outside," Frank said.

Joe gave the man a slight nudge forward.

"Easy," the man said with a groan.

Guided by the beam of Frank's flashlight, Joe forced the man ahead of him.

Outside, he spun the man around. "All right, mister. Why did you attack - " Joe's sentence ended in a gasp. The man's appearance startled him, and he took a step backward.

The man was as tall as Joe, but he was too thin for his height. Can't be more than one hundred thirty-five pounds, Joe thought.

What stunned Joe the most was the man's face. His skin was tight against his skull and cheekbones, and small red sores stood out in contrast to the sickly yellow-white of his skin. The man's light blue eyes, which seemed to be covered with a milky substance, stared out at Joe from deep, dark sockets.

Joe had seen the look before, but only on dead men.

The man sucked in a deep breath through yellow clenched teeth.

"Ssssooo, Hardyssss," the man hissed. Then he coughed, deep hacking explosions that reminded Joe of metal being twisted and torn.

"Who are you?" Frank asked. "Why did you attack us?"

The man smiled, his thin blue lips pulling across his face in triumph. He opened his mouth to speak but doubled over in another coughing spasm. This time he fell to his knees. Frank reached down to help the man.

"Get - away - from - me," the man forced out through dry coughs.

"He was probably just looking for someplace to stay. Maybe he doesn't have a home," Joe said. "I'll call an ambulance on the CB." Joe ran to the van.

Why would a homeless person be hanging around the rehab center? Frank asked himself. Better yet, how would some stranger know our last name?

The man's coughing increased, and he fell flat on the ground.

Frank knelt beside him. "How can I help you?" he pleaded. "Joe, hurry!"

The man must have some ID, Frank thought. He reached into the man's front shirt pocket, but his hand was instantly smacked away.

"You - want - to - help - me?" the man wheezed. '"Then - die, Frank Hardy!"

"What?" Frank wasn't sure he had heard the man correctly.

"An ambulance is on its way," Joe said, rejoining Frank. He stared down at the man. "How is he?"

"Delirious. I think he just told me to die."

"That'ssss - right." The man's coughing had stopped, and he was now breathing sporadically in screeching gasps.

Joe knelt on one knee. "Who are you?"

"Leonard Mock." The man swallowed hard.

"Mock?" Joe glanced at his brother and then back down at the pale figure of Leonard Mock. "What are you doing here? The police - "

"Came by the rehab center and went," Mock interrupted. "They couldn't find me, just like before."

"Before?" Frank was puzzled. "Before what?"

"Just like before. The first time. The first ti - " Again Mock succumbed to a fit of dry, hacking coughs.

"What are you doing here in Bayport?" Joe asked once Mock had stopped.

"Waiting for Fenton Hardy." Mock's hollow, dead eyes flicked from Frank to Joe. "But you two will do. You'll do just fine."

Frank knew they had very little time. Once the ambulance arrived, the police would take over and the Hardys would be forbidden to question Mock.

"You've come back to Bayport to kill Fenton Hardy," Frank stated.

The man attempted a laugh but only coughed. "No," he finally gasped.

"Then why?" Joe asked, anger replacing his impatience.

"I - came - to die," Mock announced.

"What?" Joe blasted back.

Mock swallowed and the grimace on his face and shudder of his body told Frank that the man's pain ran deep and hard.

"Cancer," Mock forced out.

"That's why they commuted your sentence," Frank said.

Mock turned to Frank and smiled. "You're the smart one, aren't you? The governor couldn't keep a dying man in prison. It's inhuman." Mock's head jerked back as he bellowed a laugh; the laugh was replaced by a deep, bone-jarring gasp that Frank thought would be the man's last breath.

"If you didn't plan on killing our father, why did you come back here? Why did you attack Frank?" Joe demanded.

"You startled me. I thought you were looters."

"How do you know who we are?" Joe continued.

"I know all about Fenton Hardy and his famous detective sons. Like father, like sons, huh?" Mock smacked his dry lips. "I subscribed to the local hometown paper. Couldn't miss an exciting issue."

"Do you know Martin Mangieri?" Frank asked.

"No." Mock's voice was suddenly weak and soft.

"He's a two-bit crook who says he's got street news that you plan to kill our father."

"Had planned," Mock replied, his eyes widening. Then more softly he repeated, "Had planned. Your old man sent me to prison for life. I wanted him dead. Then I got cancer."

Mock closed his eyes and swallowed. Again his body shook, and he clenched his teeth against the pain.

Thunder rumbled low and deep in the distance. The faint shrill of the ambulance's siren could be heard several blocks away.

Frank knew they had little time left. "You mean that you don't blame our father for cracking the case against you?"

"Want to hear a little joke?" Mock replied. "The closer you get to death, the more you think about life. Real funny, huh? Well, I've made peace with my hate and anger."

"Good," Joe said with a sigh. He suddenly felt sorry for the man. "Can we help you? Can we do anything for you?"

Mock let out a screeching laugh that stunned the Hardys.

"You fools," Mock groaned. "I've only said that I've made my peace with myself, not with your father. I may not kill him, but I still want him dead!"

Joe reached out to grab the man, but Frank knocked his younger brother's hand away.

"You want to hit me, don't you, Joe Hardy? You want to do something to hurt me. Now multiply that hatred by a lifetime sentence, and you'll have a little taste of the hatred that has eaten at me."

"Why?" Frank fired back. "Why do you want our father dead?" The ambulance was getting closer.

Mock's light blue eyes widened. "I rotted in that prison for years. Can you understand that? Fenton Hardy was free. Free to see his two sons grow up." Mock closed his eyes and swallowed. "To see his sons grow up. My son - my own son - "

Mock gasped and then choked, trying to suck in air.

The ambulance screamed to a stop. The thunder clapped closer and louder.

Mock inhaled. He opened his eyes and stared at the Hardys, a vision of death in his milky blue eyes. An evil smile spread across his yellow-white face.

"My own son," he began, softly, slowly, "will finish what his father could not. What goes around comes around."

The ambulance attendants jumped from the vehicle. Mock sank back. Frank was afraid the dying man had lost consciousness. He grabbed Mock by his shirt lapels and pulled him up.

"What about your son?" Frank asked desperately.

"Everything comes full circle. Fenton Hardy put me in prison. Killed me! Now my son will kill Fenton Hardy!"

"You two were supposed to stay off this case, remember?" an angry Con Riley was saying through clenched teeth as the ambulance pulled away.

"We just wanted to look around, see if we could find anything that could help the police." Frank was trying to be tactful.

"Sure," shot back a doubtful Officer Riley. "What did you expect to find?"

"We didn't expect to find Leonard Mock," Joe answered quickly as his eyes followed the ambulance up the street.

Mock had barely spoken about his son killing Fenton Hardy when he had collapsed. Frank and Joe had watched as paramedics put the dying man on a respirator and then loaded him into the ambulance. Frank had asked about Mock recovering.

The paramedic in the back of the ambulance shrugged.

"What will happen to Mock?" Joe asked.

"He'll be in intensive care at Bayport General Hospital."

"Under guard," Frank added.

Riley's eyes were bloodshot and were staring past the Hardys. The police veteran said in a tired voice, "Yeah."

"It's not Mock I'm worried about," Frank said. "It's his son."

"Why?" Riley asked.

Joe explained about Mock's son, shaking his head.

Frank's forehead wrinkled in thought. He studied the devastated rehab center. "Why did Mock come back to the rehab center?"

"What are you driving at, Frank?" Officer Riley asked.

"Mock came back to the rehab center for something," Frank announced.

"In his room!" Joe shouted.

The Hardys started for the front door of the building.

"Wait a minute!"

Frank and Joe stopped and turned to face a tired and angry Con Riley.

"You two have been told more than once to stay off this case," the police veteran said firmly.

"We're not going to stand around while someone goes after our father," Joe responded just as firmly. "You don't understand - "

"I understand perfectly!"

Frank was stunned by the force and anger in Officer Riley's voice. He had known the police veteran since childhood but had never seen Con Riley shake with anger.

"Remember, Joe," Frank began softly, "Mock killed Officer Riley's partner."

Joe's face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

Officer Riley shifted uncomfortably. "Forget it. The thing we've got to do is find out if Mock's son is in Bayport."

"Dad's old files might help," Frank suggested.

"That's a good place to start," Riley said. He headed for the building, stopped, and turned. "I understand why you two want to help. Chief Collig will probably have my badge for this, but if you promise to keep a low profile, I'll let you help."

Frank and Joe looked at each other, smiled, and followed Officer Riley into the building.

Mock's room was located in the one wing that had survived the tornado - even the roof was intact. Without electricity, they had to use flashlights, and the search was slow.

The sky rumbled, lightning flashed, and then a heavy rain fell.

Frank began searching in a chest of drawers. He didn't like the rain or the slow pace of the search. He became angry as each drawer revealed nothing.

Mock had returned for something, but what? Obviously, Mock had kept in touch with someone in Bayport, or else how would he have known Frank and Joe well enough to recognize them on sight?

"Frank, look at this."

In the dim light from his flashlight Frank watched as Joe stood just outside the small closet, unwrapping a paper bundle. Inside were newsclippings about the Hardys and some of their cases, faded newspaper photos, and several photographs.

"He wasn't kidding when he said he kept tabs on us," Joe said.

"Not only us," Frank added, 'but our friends as well." Frank flipped through the photos: Frank, Joe, and Callie at the beach; Chet and Joe playing football; Frank and Joe eating at Mr. Pizza; Frank and Callie coming out of a movie theater.

"Surveillance photos," Joe said without emotion.

"Looks that way," Con said. "Someone's been watching you and keeping Mock informed."

"Who?" Joe asked.

"Mock's son," Frank replied. "But he hasn't been watching us for long."

"How can you tell?" Officer Riley asked.

"Look at the picture with Callie and me coming out of the theater. See the title of the movie?"

Joe nodded.

"The Majestic was showing that about eight months ago," Frank said.

Officer Riley took the photos from Frank and glanced through them. A smaller photo fell to the floor.

"What's that?" Joe asked.

Riley picked up the photo, studied it for a moment, then answered, "Looks like a school photo." He turned it over and read, " 'Bobby - Kindergarten.' The date's smudged, though." He handed the photo to Frank. "Recognize the boy?"