008 Two Points to Murder (5 page)

Now
what was she going to do? she wondered. She couldn't give up the case, not after last night. But she couldn't stand what was happening to her and Ned, either!

Suddenly, a sharp sound spun her around. As she watched, a man burst from a side entrance to a nearby dorm. He ran to a black Camaro, hopped in, and gunned the engine.

The next second, the Camaro was heading for her at top speed!

Chapter Six

N
ANCY COULDN'T BELIEVE
it. He was going to run her down!

Reacting instinctively, she dove. It was just like diving into a pool, except that she rolled as she hit. Headlights swept the pavement. Tires swished past her head. The Camaro missed her by niches!

Furious, Nancy leapt to her feet. She wanted the Camaro's license number! But its rear tights were out, she noticed. As it fishtailed on an icy patch and turned the corner, all she could see was a menacing black wedge disappearing into the night. Then it was gone.

Nancy's breath came fast and hard. Her heart pounded. No way was she going to back off now! she resolved. Not after an attempt on her life! How long had the guy been waiting in the warmth of the dorm for her to appear? An hour? Two?

Off in the distance, a siren began to wail. As it came closer, she gradually realized what had actually happened. The Camaro hadn't been after her. Its driver had been making a getaway. And his first victim--or maybe a witness--must have telephoned the police.

Sure enough, a minute later a squad car pulled into the lot, its roof lights twirling. Two campus policemen jumped out and raced into the dorm--the same dorm from which she had seen the Camaro driver run.

Nancy followed. It didn't take long to find the trouble. In the stairwell lay a male student, about eighteen years old, she judged. He was still breathing, but not very well. He had been worked over by a pro.

More police arrived. As they did, she recalled the apparently random assaults that Coach Burnett had mentioned. This student was the latest victim--and she had seen the culprit!

The student stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he coughed up blood.

"Hang on, son. An ambulance is on the way," a policeman said.

"I'm okay," the boy gasped.

"No, you're not. You're hurt. Don't move . . . just tell us what happened. Can you identify your assailant?"

"I . . . no. I didn't see him," the boy said.

What! That was impossible, Nancy knew. The beating he had received must have lasted several minutes. How could he not have seen his attacker in that time?

"Are you sure?" the policeman asked. "Anything you can tell us will help."

"Sorry, I . . . I didn't see his face," the student insisted.

He was lying! But why?

Nancy stepped forward. "Excuse me. I saw the man. I was standing in the parking lot when he ran from the building. He nearly ran me down with his car."

Instantly she was surrounded by policemen. She gave her statement slowly and carefully. Her only regret was that she couldn't describe the man's face, only his approximate height and weight. That was all she had been able to see in the split second it had taken him to sprint from the dorm to his car.

When she was finished, the policemen turned to the student who had phoned them. He had heard the beating taking place and called from his room.

Nancy stayed until the ambulance arrived. As the student was wheeled away on a gurney, she heard him murmuring, "Please don't tell my parents! Please don't call them!"

There wasn't much hope of that, she knew. But why did he want his parents kept in the dark? Was he afraid they would be angry at him? Maybe he was just delirious. She didn't know.

"That was one crazy night you had!" George said the next morning.

Nancy pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate. "No kidding! Crazy and strange. I feel lucky to be here."

"Too bad that student wasn't as lucky as you." Bess shuddered. "Honestly, Nancy, I don't know how you could stand to look at him."

"I'm not sure, either."

That was the truth. At the time, the sight of his battered face hadn't bothered her. When she pictured it now, though, in the cold light of day, she felt sick.

"Well, at least it's over," George said, squeezing her hand.

"Not quite. This morning I remembered some details about the Camaro. It had smoked windows and custom hubcaps . . . you know, the ones that look like wire wheels? I should add that to my statement."

"What about the practical joker case?"

"I'll get back to it right after I visit the police station."

Outside, the air was warmer than it had been during the previous few days. The sun was bright. Nancy had to step around the puddles in the sidewalks as she strolled across the campus toward the police station.

As she walked, her thoughts returned to Ned and their argument the night before. She couldn't blame him for sticking by Mike, but she couldn't understand it, either. How could he ignore something as obvious as the evidence in Mike's room? To her, that was like ignoring a Detour sign on a highway. It was foolish and dangerous--and it didn't make sense!

Her thoughts vanished, though, as she drew near the administration building. A demonstration was going on outside it--Tom Stafford and his crew again! What were they protesting this time? she wondered. The budget for the P.E. department again?

No. This time the campaign was a lot more serious, she saw. Their signs read "End Illegal Payments to Emerson Athletes!" and "No More Bucks for Burnett's Bribes!"

As she walked up, Nancy heard a reporter from the school newspaper quizzing Tom. ". . . so can you prove these charges?"

The student council president avoided a direct answer. "We're forcing the issue into the open. Pat Burnett must come clean!"

"You
don't
have proof, then," the reporter said knowingly.

"Look, it's common knowledge that illegal salaries are paid to college athletes," Tom said. "If you want hard evidence, then . . . then talk to
her
!" He pointed a finger at Nancy.

"Me!"

"She knows all about the under-the-table payoffs to the basketball team!"

"Is that true?" the reporter asked, turning to her.

"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous," Nancy said indignantly.

"Well, what about your boyfriend and his pals? They live like kings! Where do you suppose they get the money?" Tom accused.

"What money? They don't seem rich to me."

"Oh, come on. Look at their parties . . . their cars . . . their clothes!"

Nancy folded her arms. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about."

"No? Then tell me this--how do you think a small school like Emerson manages to recruit top talent like Mike O'Shea? By magic?"

"I don't know about Mike, but I know that Ned Nickerson plays basketball here because he admires and respects his coach."

"Give me a break! Pat Burnett's good, but he's not the best."

"So what?"

"Nickerson could play anywhere he wants to! But he doesn't. He plays for Emerson . . . and that's because he's paid!"

"You're crazy!"

Nancy was furious. How dare he suggest something like that. It was outrageous! He obviously didn't know Ned Nickerson as well as he thought he did!

Or did he? Suddenly Nancy remembered the bracelet she was wearing. It was lovely . . . silver . . . and expensive. Not only that, it wasn't the sort of gift that Ned usually gave her. Where
had
he gotten the money for the bracelet?

Something else fell into place, too: the flashy way in which Mike, Andy, and Craig had dressed at the party. Nancy knew they couldn't afford the stuff they had worn--they were all scholarship students! She had checked!

She tried to keep her expression natural, but the reporter was eyeing her with interest. "You don't know anything about illegal payments, then?" she asked.

"I . . . uh . . ."

"Sure she does. She doesn't want to admit it, that's all."

"That's not true! Believe me, if I had evidence I'd give it to you. But I don't. Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do."

She sure did! As soon as she'd been to the police station, she'd find Ned right away! She had to ask him about Tom Stafford's accusation. Was it true?

And were illegal payments the reason he didn't want her to investigate Mike?

The sports complex was even larger inside than Nancy had thought. It would be hard to find Ned here, she knew, but she had no choice. He wasn't answering his phone, he wasn't at the library, and all his classes were in the afternoon. This was the only place left.

One by one, she checked the weight room, the pool, the squash courts. He wasn't in any of them. She checked the indoor track, but he wasn't there, either. Finally, she began to ask people if they had seen him. No one had.

She was ready to give up. There was one more possibility, though, she remembered--the complex's lowest level. She could try that.

Down the stairs she went to an empty white hallway. Machinery hummed behind several doors--the heating system, probably. There wasn't much chance that she would find him here, she realized. She turned . . .

. . . and stopped. Faintly she heard the
crack crack crack
of pistol shots. There was a rifle range nearby! Curious, she walked until she found its door. A small, square window was set into it, and she peered through.

Just then the door opened. A hand grabbed her by the arm, pulled her inside, and spun her around. Before she could scream, the warm barrel of a pistol was pressed against her neck!

Chapter Seven

"
S
NOOPING AGAIN,
N
ANCY?"

She knew that voice! Wrenching herself free, she whirled around in anger.

"Ray Ungar! Are you crazy? Don't you know that's dangerous?"

The former Wildcat looked hurt. "Hey, don't get steamed. I was only kidding. Anyway, the gun's not loaded . . . see?"

He held it out. The cartridge clip was missing, Nancy noticed. But that didn't make her feel better. Pistols were not weapons with which to joke around.

"I ought to report you to whoever's in charge of this range," she growled, straightening her shirt.

Ray's high, thin voice rose to a whine. "You won't rat on me, will you?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Ever since Burnett threw me off the basketball team, this is the only fun I have left."

"That doesn't give you the right to point your gun at another human being!"

"
Okay. Excuse me!
I won't do it again."

Nancy relaxed a little, but only a little. She wasn't comfortable around Ray. Who could be, when he acted so weird? In fact, if it weren't for Mike, she would gladly have put him at the top of her list of suspects!

Casually she glanced at the paper target on top of one of the firing stations. Its bullseye was shot out.

"That yours?" she asked.

"Yeah. Pretty good, huh? I've been shooting most of my life."

"Hmmm. . . . Listen, Ray, I'm looking for Ned. Have you seen him?"

Ray's face darkened. "Mr. Wonderful? No, I haven't seen him. Why don't you check the trophy case upstairs?"

"What! Why?"

" 'Cause Burnett's got him on such a pedestal, he probably forgot and stuck him in there with all the other stuff."

Nancy stared at him. Was that supposed to be funny? Whether it was or not, she was getting out of there. She had heard enough. With a mumbled "See you," she turned and walked out.

She never did find Ned. When she got back to the dorm room, however, Bess informed her that Coach Burnett had called.

"Guess what? Tonight's game against Haviland University is away, and the coach gave us permission to ride on the team bus! Isn't that fantastic?"

Tremendous, Nancy thought sarcastically. It was going to be a barrel of laughs. How could she enjoy the ride with Tom Stafford's accusation ringing in her ears? Was it true? She was going to have to confront Ned with it sometime--and that would hurt both of them.

"Fantastic," Nancy replied dully.

At 4:30 that afternoon, Nancy, Bess, and George walked to the sports complex's parking lot. Bess was bubbling with enthusiasm. She was wearing a snazzy shirtdress under her coat and had bought a ten-foot-long, purple-and-orange Emerson scarf just for the occasion.

Aside from her jacket, Nancy was wearing boots, jeans, and a black cashmere sweater. She wasn't feeling very festive.

Most of the players had already arrived. Ned was there, his gym bag at his feet. He nodded as Nancy walked up but said nothing until Howie Little joined them. "Hey, Socks," Ned said.

"Socks?" Nancy asked.

"They call me that on account of the lucky pair I wear during games."

Nancy recalled seeing Howie's oddly colored socks two nights before. She was surprised to learn that he was superstitious.

"Hey, I've got the highest scoring average in the division. The best foul-shot percentage, too," he explained. "I'd say I'm entitled to wear any kind of socks I want to!"

"I guess you are!" Nancy laughed.

A minute later, the team manager told everyone to get on the bus.

"Won't Coach Burnett be riding with us?" Nancy asked as she climbed aboard.

Ned shook his head. "He rides to games with the assistant coaches."

"What about Mike? I don't see him, either."

"He's driving to Haviland by himself," Ned said carefully. "He . . . he told me that he needs some time to think."

About what? Nancy wondered. His next practical joke? Where to spend his money?

She decided not to sit with Ned. The only topic she wanted to discuss was the illegal payments, but this wasn't the right time, she knew. Instead, she sat with George in the seat right behind the driver.

The door closed with a hiss, and a second later they were off. It was a two-hour drive to Haviland. Nancy wondered how she would stand it. Her doubts about Ned were making her so unhappy that she could hardly sit still.

Fortunately, George didn't notice her anguish. Her friend was excited about the upcoming game. She knew a lot about basketball and filled the time by explaining the game's fine points.