Trial by Fire Read online

  “It worked!” Ned hugged Bess, then Nancy, before he bent to help Ann from the floor.

  “Ned,” the reporter said, “I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life. Nancy, you were terrific!”

  “If it hadn’t been for Bess,” Nancy said, “I’d probably still be standing there like an idiot.”

  Ned took her hand. “I’m so sorry about that stupid phone! Hannah drove all the way over to tell me where you’d be. I got here as soon as I could.”

  “You were just in time,” Nancy said, grabbing him in a bear hug. “And speaking of time, we’ve got to go!”

  They all looked at Jim, who had only moaned when Nancy’s whistle had sounded.

  “Maybe he should stay here with me. George’s car is right outside the entrance to Fleet’s,” Ned said. “You take it. I’ll put these two in that cage and call the police.”

  Ann, leaning weakly against a Cadillac, managed a smile. “I’ll stay, too. The way my legs are shaking, I’d just slow you down.”

  “Come on, let’s go,” Bess said, tugging the envelope from her blouse again.

  Nancy started toward the door. “By the way, Ned, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “What?”

  She turned and pointed. “There’s your car.”

  He looked at it and made a strangled sound. “It’s gold! Somebody’s painted my baby gold! Why?”

  “It’s a long story,” Ann said with a genuine smile. “Scram, Nancy. I’ll tell him.”

  Nancy threw him a kiss and grabbed Bess. “Let’s go.” They sprinted through the opening in the stack of boxes. “Might as well cut through Fleet’s,” Nancy said. “I’ve seen enough Gold Star cabs today.”

  They had just skirted the worktable when suddenly Nancy skidded to a stop and spun around.

  “What? What?” Bess said.

  “Something I just saw.” Backtracking, Nancy went to the file cabinet. On the floor beside it was a box labeled “Nature Under Glass. Fragile.” Sitting on top of it was a plastic bowl. Nancy picked it up and peered at its contents, her mouth falling open in astonishment.

  “Ladybugs!” Bess exclaimed.

  Nancy reached in and removed a few. “They aren’t real. See what’s in the box, will you?”

  While her friend pried open the flaps, Nancy examined the ladybugs more closely. They were tiny, soft-plastic replicas with hollow undersides.

  “There are paperweights in here,” Bess said. Nestled in the box in protective cushioning were heavy glass domes, each with a different kind of flower embedded in it.

  Nancy turned slowly and stared at the big drill on the worktable. “Drew, you are slipping,” she murmured. “Bess, can you carry a couple of the paperweights?”

  “Sure. Why? Nancy, it’s after two!”

  “I just found the bug I was looking for.” She slipped the ladybugs in her pocket and picked up the drill. “Let’s go.”

  “Well, since we’re grabbing stuff,” Bess said. She crossed behind the worktable and picked up the papers Brownley had dropped. “These must be valuable, or he wouldn’t have pulled them out of the file.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy agreed as they ran out. “The more proof we have, the better. It’s a cinch Reston and Brownley will deny everything.”

  “Oh! I started to tell you before.” Bess rooted in her pocket as they ran past startled couriers on the street level. “I don’t know if it worked, but I slipped one of their minirecorders in my pocket. They had a lot of them.”

  She pulled it out as Nancy unlocked George’s car. “It’s still running!” she whooped, climbing in. “I’ve got everything they said on tape!”

  “You’re kidding!” Nancy started the engine and tore away from the curb. “Everything?”

  “I was behind the boxes when they were talking about the judge,” Bess said, buckling her seat belt. “But these little things have good mikes in them.”

  “In other words, we bugged them!” Nancy said, taking a corner on two wheels. “Oh, Bess, you’re wonderful! Now if we can only get to court before Judge Leonard winds things—”

  “Leonard?” Bess twisted in her seat. “The judge for your father’s pretrial is Leonard?”

  “That’s right. Stanford Leonard, I think.”

  “Oh, no! Oh, Nancy! One of the cassettes was marked S. Leonard! The judge may be on Reston’s payroll!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  NANCY’S STOMACH DROPPED. “Reston said he had been grooming another judge to take my uncle’s place.”

  “Then Leonard must be the one,” Bess said.

  “But Judge Leonard is one of the finest men on the bench! My dad said he wouldn’t be surprised if Leonard ended up on the Supreme Court!”

  “If the wrong thing’s on that tape back there, he’ll wind up in jail.”

  Nancy ran a yellow light and sped toward Judiciary Square. “Well, if he’s in the enemy camp, there’s one more stop I’d better make.”

  “Where?”

  “My dad’s office.”

  Poor Ms. Hanson almost jumped out of her skin when Nancy burst through the door. She had an envelope of money in her hand, and the coins went flying.

  “Is it over?” the secretary cried. “Has Mr. Drew been bound over for trial?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said and dashed into her father’s office.

  The object of her detour sat on her father’s desk, twinkling in the sunlight. She picked it up to double check her theory. The ladybug was positioned directly under one of the tapered holes for pencils. It was the perfect place for a hidden mike. A bug in a bug!

  On her way out, her eyes raked the secretary’s desk. No paperweight.

  “Oh, are you taking that home?” Ms. Hanson asked bewilderedly. “That’s what I did with mine.”

  Quickly Nancy put a finger to her lips. She went back into her father’s office, turned on his radio, and placed the paperweight in front of the speaker.

  Ms. Hanson watched from the doorway, clearly confused. Nancy pulled her out and closed the door.

  “How did you and my dad get those paperweights?” she asked softly.

  “One of the messenger services passed them out when they first started business—a nice public-relations gesture. Mine had a pansy, my favorite, so I—”

  “Passed them out?” Nancy interrupted. “To whom?”

  “Everybody. They’re all over the building. All over the square, for that matter.”

  Nancy gasped. “The whole of Judiciary Square?”

  “Here and in the professional building—and that highrise full of attorneys a couple of blocks over. What’s the matter?”

  Nancy shook her head. “I don’t have time to explain. Thanks, Ms. Hanson.”

  Something glinted in the thick brown carpet. Nancy bent down, picked up a dime, and dropped it into the secretary’s hand as she started for her father’s office again.

  Suddenly she stopped short. Ms. Hanson was gathering the other change on her desk.

  “Is that money for buying coffee supplies?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes. Oh, will you do me a favor?” She opened the envelope and removed two twenty-dollar bills. “Keep that for your father. He put a fifty in because he didn’t have anything smaller. That’s his change.”

  Nancy felt as if the sun had just come out after a long, cold night. She checked the envelope. It was office stationery, with no writing on it. “How often does he contribute to the coffee fund?”

  “Oh, every couple of weeks.”

  “And he just puts it in an envelope and leaves it for you?”

  Ms. Hanson eyed her worriedly. “That’s right. Do you feel all right, Nancy?”

  Nancy leaned over and kissed her. “I feel fine, Ms. Hanson. For the first time in days, I feel terrific!”

  She ran back into her father’s office, grabbed the paperweight, and left.

  Nancy had picked up Bess, and the two girls pelted through the halls of the courthouse as if they were trying for gold medals. People t
urned and stared, and a security guard shouted, “Hey!” and began to run after them.

  “What took you so long?” Bess panted. “And what were you doing in that parking lot across the street from your dad’s office? I could see you from here.”

  “Later,” Nancy said as they burst through the doors of Courtroom C. Judge Leonard, stern and unsmiling, lifted his gavel and pounded on his desk. “Bailiff, remove these—”

  Carson had stood at the disruption, his face appearing ten years older than when Nancy had last seen him. One look at her—and the broad smile on her face—and the years began to drop away. He knew she had done it.

  “Stanford,” he said, then corrected himself. “Sorry. Your Honor, this is my daughter, Nancy. And her friend Bess Marvin.”

  “Oh. Very well. Take seats, young ladies. I regret that you’ve arrived at this particular point in the proceedings. I am ready to make a judgment.”

  “Your Honor, please,” Nancy said, moving down to the table at which her father and his associates sat. “I have a few items I’d like to offer into evidence, if that’s the way to say it.”

  Judge Leonard frowned. “This is highly irregular. Mr. Drew, was this your idea?”

  Nancy’s father stood up. “You may or may not know, Your Honor, that my daughter is a detective.”

  The judge’s brows flipped toward his hairline. “A detective?”

  “She’s been investigating the charges against me, and from the way she made her entrance, I assume she’s met with some measure of success.”

  “I have—” Nancy looked back at Bess. “We have, Your Honor.” Bess turned peach and grinned.

  “I agree that this is highly irregular,” Carson continued. “But if she’s given a chance to present her evidence, we may save all of us a great deal of time and trouble.”

  Nancy watched the judge closely. His reaction at that point would determine how she began—whether she should consider him one of the rat pack or one of its victims.

  “Very well,” he said. “Present your evidence.”

  Nancy removed the paperweight from her pocket and held it up. “Defense exhibit A. I just removed this from my father’s office. This is one of the foundations of the conspiracy against my father.”

  “A paperweight?” Judge Leonard said, with barely hidden impatience. “What bearing could it have? I have one like it. So has my secretary.”

  “Do they all have ladybugs on the flowers?”

  “Yes, I believe they do.”

  Nancy beckoned to Bess, who knew exactly what to do. She took out the paperweights she had removed from the box and put them on the table. Nancy scooped up the ladybugs and spread them out. “Defense exhibit B,” she said solemnly.

  Then she took the heavy drill and, raising it above her head, smashed her father’s paperweight.

  Carson Drew leaned over. “Nancy, what are you doing?”

  Without answering, Nancy brushed aside the chunks of glass and carefully removed the ladybug. Turning it over, she showed it to the judge.

  His eyes went round, his mouth opening in dawning horror. “Let me see that,” he said, and came down off the bench to stand beside her.

  “There are microphones in all of the ladybugs,” Nancy said. “Fleet’s Courier Service drilled holes for pencil points into the tops of the paperweights and maneuvered the ladybugs down through one of the holes. Then they gave them away to judges, lawyers—”

  “District attorneys,” the district attorney added tightly.

  “Across the street in the parking lot, you’ll find a white Fleet’s van with two fiat tires,” Nancy said. “I slashed them a few minutes ago. The van’s full of electronic listening equipment and recording devices, and it’s been picking up conversations all over Judiciary Square.”

  “Bailiff,” Judge Leonard snapped, “get some officers and locate that van immediately! Is there anyone in it, Ms. Drew?”

  “Yes, sir. After I punctured the tires, I jammed all the locks. He’s stuck, just waiting to be picked up.”

  The bailiff ran up the aisle and out the door.

  “They used the paperweight to tape my dad’s voice,” Nancy said, continuing.

  Bess, the ever-ready assistant, slid the tapes out of the envelope and said, “Defense exhibit C.” Then she darted back to her seat.

  “We found these in the basement of Fleet’s. You can see they’re clearly marked—one with my father’s name, one with Judge Jonathan Renk’s, and one with both. They’re building a library down there.”

  “And I imagine my name is on one of those volumes,” the judge said, his face red with anger. “Get somebody to send the police to this place,” he barked at the district attorney.

  “They’re probably already there, to pick up the men who’re behind this. The owners of the Gold Star Cab Company.”

  “What’s a cab company got to do with this?” the judge asked.

  “Uh, if you don’t mind, Your Honor, if I don’t get exhibit—what is it? D?—on the table at this point, I’ll lose my train of thought.”

  He smiled. “Then by all means go on.”

  Nancy handed her father the two twenty-dollar bills. “Ms. Hanson—that’s my father’s secretary—sent this. It’s your change from the coffee money envelope, Dad.”

  He took it. “This could have waited, honey.”

  “I don’t think so,” Nancy said, holding up the envelope. “I’m told you make your contribution every couple of weeks.”

  Carson Drew nodded. “That’s right. We all do. We—” He stopped, staring, then groaned. “The blank envelope. The coffee envelope. Is my face red!”

  “One of Fleet’s couriers simply removed a blank envelope from the stationery rack behind Ms. Hanson’s desk,” Nancy explained, “slipped the coffee money into it, and kept the one you’d handled.”

  “So simple. It was brilliant,” Carson exclaimed.

  “The couriers are in and out around the clock. I’m guessing one got into your office at night while the cleaning crew was there and typed Unc—I mean, Judge Renk’s name on it.”

  “And Fleet’s supplied the ten thousand dollars with which to implicate your father?” Judge Leonard said. “They could afford that?”

  Nancy grinned. “That and more. Judge Leonard, do I have a story for you!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “INCREDIBLE, ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE,” Carson Drew said.

  Everyone, Mr. Tyler and Jim Dayton included, was positioned in various stages of collapse in the Drew living room, stuffed to the gills. Hannah had fed them as if it were their last meal.

  “All this was to hide a stolen car operation?” Carson asked.

  “A million-dollar-a-year stolen car operation,” Nancy emphasized. “They’ve been setting it up for years, bribing anyone who could keep the cab company front going—hack inspectors, licensing officers, police department record clerks.”

  “Some city officials are going to be very embarrassed,” Ann said.

  “It was a smooth operation,” Ned said. “They’d bring in a stolen car and paint it gold.” He shuddered. “Then they’d slap a magnetic roof light on it, stencil Gold Star on its side, and leave it parked in the garage for a while.”

  “Then they’d take it through the car wash to get the water-based paint off and send it on its way—to a used-car lot.” Nancy smiled. “And Ann’s story threatened to expose it all.”

  “They needed an insurance company for Gold Star, so they set up the Mid-City cover,” Ann said. “The only businesses Mid-City covered—on paper, that is—was Gold Star, Fleet’s, and Freddie’s Used Cars.”

  “But how’d they pull in Jonathan?” Carson asked.

  Ned rolled over. He was lying on the floor. “Brownley told us after Nancy and Bess left. He and Reston met the judge at Pinebrook when they went to visit Mrs. Harvey. They had to stay on her good side.”

  “They saw how much he enjoyed playing cards and introduced him to some of their buddies,” Ann supplied. “They l
et him win at first, and that’s all it took. He began to lose. Soon he owed them a fortune.”

  “He tried the usual way out first,” Ned said. “He borrowed it from the bank to pay them. But he kept losing—and wound up owing the banks and them, too.”

  “They finally reeled him in by advancing him the money to pay off all the loans,” Nancy said sadly. “Then they let him work off the debt by passing along confidential information any time one of their people was about to get dropped on.”

  “Who thought up the paperweight bugs?” Mr. Tyler asked.

  “Reston,” Nancy answered. “Once they realized how valuable someone like the judge could be to the organization, they dreamed up the paperweights. Not only could they listen in and pick up information, they could use some things they heard for blackmail. Judge Leonard was on their list.”

  “For what?” Hannah asked.

  “He checked himself into a mental hospital a few years back,” Carson explained. “He’d just lost his wife and son in a car accident. He was suffering bouts of depression.”

  Ann sat up. “That was no secret! It’s even in our files at the Morning Record, but Brownley and Reston didn’t know it was common knowledge.”

  “They’d had such an easy time with Jonathan,” Carson said with a sigh, “that they figured anyone they leaned on would fall into line.”

  “And once they thought someone they were paying was endangering their stolen car business by talking to Ann,” Bess said, “they really put the pressure on—everyone.”

  “Only they didn’t bargain on this little lady.” Mr. Tyler patted Nancy’s arm.

  “And I thought I’d let you help me when I met you in the alley that night,” Jim put in. “Look who ended up helping whom. My head still hurts!”

  Ned put his arm around Nancy. “It doesn’t pay to underestimate Nancy Drew, private detective.”

  Nancy smiled, gazing from Ned to her father affectionately. She felt terrific. She had Ned at her side. She had two new friends—Ann and Jim—the gratitude of Jim’s grandfather, Mr. Tyler, and she had just helped put the murderer of an old friend behind bars.