Danger for Hire Page 3

  “Nancy, it’s Tom. Can you meet me? Another warehouse has been robbed!”

  Chapter

  Five

  LEAVING BESS AND GEORGE with a hasty apology, Nancy raced to her car. The sky was twilight pink as she parked at the location Tom had given her. The warehouse in question was larger than the one that had been robbed the previous day. A sign over the loading bay door announced that it belonged to Jumping Jeans, a clothing chain.

  Tom was inside with Chief McGinnis. “What happened?” Nancy asked, rushing to the inner office.

  “Exactly the same thing that happened yesterday,” Tom reported grimly. “The thieves got inside by disarming the alarm. It’s the same gang, no question.”

  “Chief?” Nancy asked.

  “Looks likely. Their method of operation is nearly identical. What surprises me is that they struck again so soon after their last job.”

  It was a bold strike, Nancy had to agree. They hadn’t even waited for the “heat” to die down from the previous day.

  “Where’s the guard?” Nancy asked. “Did he see anything?”

  Tom rubbed his temples. “Unfortunately, this warehouse isn’t guarded on Sundays. The client felt that our alarm system would be enough.”

  “Tell me—how much did they take?” Nancy asked.

  “That’s the funny part,” the chief said. “The warehouse manager has checked the inventory. They took only enough jeans to fill up about a quarter of your average truck.”

  “That’s odd. They had all the time in the world,” Nancy mused.

  “Maybe, maybe not. They were operating in broad daylight,” Tom observed.

  “True, but on Sunday this area has got to be deserted,” Nancy reasoned. “If there was no guard around, who called in the complaint?”

  “The robbers left the loading bay door slightly ajar when they took off. A patrol car eventually noticed and checked it out,” the chief said.

  “You had a car patrolling the area?” Nancy asked, surprised. If that was true, then the robbers’ crime had been doubly brazen.

  “Yes, and I wish I had assigned more than one,” the chief said ruefully. “Unfortunately, like Tom, I didn’t expect that they’d strike again so soon.”

  “Who did?” Nancy said sympathetically. “It looks like they’ll consider making a hit anytime the area is fairly empty.”

  “Thank goodness it will be busy again tomorrow morning,” Tom said. “I feel awful about this. And to think that I spent the day trying to relax! I was sailing on the river with some friends. I should have been at work instead.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Nancy advised him. “By the way, Tom, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Do you remember I told you that I was going to do some surveillance last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you happen to mention my plan to anyone else?” she asked casually.

  Tom frowned. “No, I don’t think that I—wait a minute. I believe I mentioned it to my VP in charge of operations, Neil Masterson.”

  Nancy’s eyebrows rose. “No one else?”

  “No. Neil was the only person I talked to. How’d it go last night, anyway?” Tom asked.

  “I ran into one of the gang.”

  “What?” the chief and Tom cried in unison.

  “Where?” Tom went on.

  The chief demanded, “When? And what did he look like?”

  “He was tall, trim, and in excellent shape,” Nancy told them. “He outran me by a mile. Other than that, I can’t tell you much. He was dressed in black and had a rubber mask over his head.”

  “Nancy, maybe you’d better forget about doing any more surveillance,” the chief said.

  “But if there’s a company insider involved, then he or she will keep the gang one step ahead of us all the time. My best chance of getting a line on the gang is to catch them in the act.”

  “I don’t know, Nancy. It sounds risky,” Tom said.

  “Sure, but without risk there’s no reward,” Nancy countered.

  The chief puffed out his cheeks and expelled a long breath. “Nancy, I think Tom is right. This gang seems to be fearless. From now on I want you to let me know every time you patrol the area. I’ll make sure there’s a cruiser around.”

  “Okay.” Nancy nodded. She’d be glad to know that the police were standing by. She added, “With a little luck we’ll put a stop to these robberies soon.”

  “How soon?” asked a girl’s voice behind them.

  Nancy turned in surprise to see Brenda furiously jotting something down on her pad. She was wearing designer jeans and an expensive brown leather jacket.

  How much had Brenda heard of their conversation? Nancy wondered.

  “The RHPD is continuing its investigation,” the chief stated blandly. “Other than that, I have no comment.”

  “Mr. Hayward? Two of your customers have been robbed in one weekend. How can your other customers be certain that they won’t be robbed, too?”

  “Because Hayward systems are the best, that’s why,” Tom said, losing some of his composure. “It’s the people who rely on the other security services in town who should be concerned.”

  Brenda zeroed in. “Are you telling me that it’s just coincidence that both robberies happened to clients of Hayward Security?”

  Tom went on to defend his record. Nancy thought he was foolish to let himself be baited by Brenda. Her only interest was in getting a good story. If necessary she would twist his remarks to make him say anything she wanted.

  Leaving them, Nancy privately told the chief of her destination and headed off to search the alley where she had been attacked the night before.

  • • •

  At nine the next morning, Nancy swung her Mustang into an empty parking space at Hayward Security Systems. Her examination of the alley the night before had revealed nothing, and she was now determined to try a fresh angle. The company’s headquarters were in a low steel and tinted glass building in an office park on the outskirts of River Heights. She locked her car and walked to the front doors, which whooshed open automatically.

  Inside, she was escorted to the office of Neil Masterson. He was in his early thirties, tall and dark haired. He seemed remarkably relaxed, given what had happened over the weekend. His handshake was firm and friendly.

  Before Nancy took a seat opposite his desk, she noticed a framed photo on his desk.

  “That’s my wife and daughter,” Neil said proudly, turning the photo so Nancy could see the pretty woman and laughing baby girl. “Tasha—that’s my daughter—is eighteen months old.”

  “She’s cute.”

  “Smart, too. Do I sound biased?” he asked with a grin.

  “No, of course not.” Nancy smiled, too, in spite of herself.

  Leaning back in his desk chair, Neil got down to business. “Tom said that you’re doing an independent investigation. That’s great. An outside opinion is definitely called for under the circumstances. How can I help?”

  “I need some information about the alarm system at the two warehouses. For instance, who makes up the access codes?”

  “It’s not ‘who’ but ‘what,’ ” Neil answered. Swiveling, he patted the computer that occupied one corner of his desk. “This is programmed with a random code generator. Once a month it changes the access codes for each of our customers’ alarm systems by telephone.”

  “Then how do the guards and the warehouse managers find out the code?” Nancy inquired.

  “Do you see that printer over there?”

  Nancy spotted a computer printer to her left. A string of envelopes was rolled into it. The envelopes were the type with carbon paper lining and tissue-thin sheets of paper sealed inside, so that a message could be printed without having to open the envelope.

  “When the computer assigns a new code,” Neil continued, “it prints a sealed copy. Once a month the guards and the warehouse manager report to this office in person, and I hand them the envelope. They memorize the code. Then I
run the envelope through our shredder.”

  “I see,” Nancy said. “What happens if a guard calls in sick? Or the warehouse gets a new manager? Do you print out extra copies of the code for their replacements?”

  “Well—no. I have to print a new envelope, of course, but when I do, the computer generates a new code.”

  Nancy nodded. “Clever. Whoever designed this system seems to have thought of everything. It sounds amazingly secure.”

  “We thought so, too—until this weekend.”

  Nancy frowned. “So if only authorized users have access to the codes, then only an insider could be behind these thefts,” she said after a moment.

  “Unfortunately, that’s the only possible explanation,” Neil confirmed.

  “Well, the next step, I guess, is to see if there is anyone who worked at both warehouses,” Nancy said.

  Neil tapped a yellow legal pad on his desk. “I started working on that angle this morning,” he said.

  “And?”

  “Well,” Neil said, “there’s only one name that crops up at both locations. It’s one of our guards, I’m afraid.”

  “Adam Reeves, right?” Nancy guessed excitedly.

  “Yes.”

  She grinned. “Then he’s our man!”

  “Not necessarily,” Neil said cautiously. “You see, he was assigned to the Jumping Jeans warehouse for only one month. The alarm code has changed several times since then.”

  “But perhaps he or another member of the gang bribed someone to leak it. What’s your opinion of Adam Reeves?”

  Neil shrugged. “We screen our employees very carefully. Other than that, I really can’t say. I hardly know the guy. I assume he’s okay, though. He’s been working here longer than I have.”

  “I see,” she said thoughtfully.

  After chatting for a few more minutes, Nancy thanked him and left. To get to the bottom of this, she realized, she would have to dig much deeper.

  • • •

  Nancy’s home was in one of the nicest neighborhoods in River Heights. It was an area of broad streets lined with graceful trees, sweeping lawns, and large houses.

  As Nancy pulled into her driveway, she saw that her father’s car was parked there. What was he doing at home on a Monday? she wondered. After shutting off the engine, she leaped out of her car and walked around the house to the kitchen door.

  Hannah was in the kitchen. “Your father’s working in his study,” she reported. “Some corporate work, I gather.”

  “Poor Dad,” Nancy said sympathetically.

  Nancy’s father was a well-known lawyer whose first love was criminal cases. Still, he did some corporate work, as the hefty fees paid by his corporate clients were hard to turn down. He did take the work, but grumbled whenever he did.

  Nancy tapped on the door of his study and went in. Her father was talking on the phone. He waved her into one of the leather chairs opposite his desk.

  “Incredible,” he was saying into the phone. “Down two points in one hour? That’ll mean some problems for—”

  The person at the other end of the line began to speak. Carson nodded, then frowned, then shook his head sadly.

  “Well, keep me posted,” he said finally. “Goodbye.”

  “What’s going on?” Nancy asked as her father hung up.

  “That was my stockbroker in Chicago,” he said. “He called with some information I requested, but then we began to chat. He told me that Brenda Carlton’s latest article about Tom Hayward has been picked up by a wire service, and it ran in this morning’s Chicago papers.”

  Carson went on. “The article makes it sound like Tom’s company is in bad trouble. Investors are dumping their shares in Hayward Security right and left.”

  “Bad news, huh?” Nancy asked, concerned.

  Carson nodded. “You bet. The price of a share has dropped almost twenty-five percent this morning alone. Since Tom is the majority shareholder, that means he has lost a small fortune.”

  Nancy gulped. “How much?”

  “I’d say”—Carson took a breath—“a quarter of a million dollars at least!”

  Chapter

  Six

  YOU’RE KIDDING!” Nancy exclaimed. “He lost a quarter of a million dollars in a few hours?”

  “Yes.”

  Nancy was incredulous. “Dad, how can that be? Tom’s company isn’t losing money—not yet, anyway. And it didn’t shrink in size overnight, either.”

  Her father nodded. “True, but that company is owned by its shareholders. Those shareholders value their stock only as long as Tom’s company is able to show a profit.”

  “So what you’re saying is that when the outlook for future profits goes down, the stock loses its value.”

  “Right. And because Tom’s fortune is tied up in his own stock, he’s losing like crazy.”

  Nancy whistled. “Boy, that means in another day or two Tom could be broke!”

  • • •

  After lunch Nancy started to dig. Her first calls were to the two warehouse managers. Both gave her descriptions and lot numbers of the goods that had been stolen. Stolen merchandise was usually sold, and that meant that it could be traced. It was a starting point, anyway.

  Next, she rechecked the backgrounds of the guards currently assigned to the warehouses in question. She already knew about Adam Reeves, but he was only one of three guards regularly assigned to the CD Revolution warehouse. Jumping Jeans also had three regular guards. Except for the six months “missing” out of Adam’s life, they each had spotless records and excellent references.

  She was copying names and numbers from the phone book when Cindy Larson arrived after school.

  “This is your room?” Cindy asked as Hannah showed her in. “Gosh, it’s so—”

  “Ordinary?” Nancy supplied.

  “Yeah. I sort of expected—I don’t know, a crime lab or something.”

  “I’d love to have one, but then where would I keep my stereo?” Nancy joked.

  “Okay, how do I start?” Cindy asked.

  “First, we’ll try to find the stolen goods and trace them backward,” Nancy said.

  “You mean we’re going shopping?” Cindy asked in amazement. “All right! And you said that detective work was dull.”

  Nancy grinned. “Don’t get out your wallet yet. We’ll be doing our ‘shopping’ by phone. I’ve made a list of local odd-lot retailers,” Nancy said. “That means they carry merchandise that didn’t sell at full-price stores. A few of them may also sell ‘hot’ goods. You’re going to call them up looking for specific jeans and CDs.”

  “So if they’ve got what I’m looking for, we go check to see if the stuff came from the stolen lots, right?” Cindy concluded.

  “You got it.” Nancy was pleased.

  Cindy smiled. “You mentioned two things. What’s the other one?”

  “We’re going to research and write a profile of Adam Reeves,” Nancy announced.

  “Uh-oh,” Cindy said. “This sounds like homework.”

  Nancy smiled and opened a drawer to pull out a sheet of stationery for a business called Highway Auto Supply. It had no address.

  Cindy’s eyes went wide. “What are we going to do with that?”

  “Get Adam’s credit history,” Nancy explained. “Find out about his debts, credit cards, bank accounts—stuff like that. We want to know how much money he spends and where he spends it.”

  “Nancy, that’s so personal! Who’s going to tell us all that?” Cindy wondered.

  Nancy leaned back in her chair. She was proud of this idea. “A credit bureau. We claim that Adam wants to open a charge account at our ‘store,’ and we want to know if he is a good credit risk. The bureau will tell us—in great detail—for a fee.”

  “Wow, I had no idea.”

  Nancy’s tone grew determined. “Cindy, that’s just the beginning. By the time we’re done, we’ll know things about Adam that he’s forgotten.”

  • • •

  Th
ey worked until dinnertime and then Cindy left.

  Nancy drove back to the warehouse district because that was where she would have the best chance of getting a lead on the gang.

  Before going she informed the chief, as she had promised. Two cruisers would be in the area all night.

  Nancy had a large-scale map of the area from the city assessor’s office with her. It showed each building, and Nancy had used a green marker to highlight those that were guarded by Hayward Security Systems. About a third of the buildings on the map were highlighted.

  A light drizzle was falling when Nancy turned into the warehouse district. She flicked on her wipers and slowly drove through the streets. Within ten minutes she passed both patrol cars. As she did she turned her headlights off and on to identify herself.

  The patrol cars answered with their lights. She felt good knowing that help was near.

  Two hours later she decided she’d see more on foot. She parked near a cluster of fifty-gallon oil drums. Pulling up the collar of her leather jacket, she set out. Her sneakers squished on the wet pavement.

  Finally, around 1:30 A.M., Nancy gave up and walked back to her car.

  Slipping her key into the door, she unlocked it and climbed in. Her neck felt stiff. She rolled her head to stretch the muscles.

  Nancy started the engine and snapped on the headlights. Something was different.

  She tensed.

  What was it?

  A box was strapped to the fifty-gallon drum directly in front of her. Taped to the box with thick silver duct tape were two cylinders made of waxy red paper. Plastic wires looped from the cylinders to the box.

  A bomb! Without a moment’s thought Nancy slammed her car into reverse and jammed the accelerator pedal to the floor. Someone wanted her off this case in a major way!

  Her tires shrieked. The Mustang fishtailed backward. Before she had gone ten feet, however, the world in front of her windshield erupted into a sea of white-hot flame.

  Chapter

  Seven

  FOR A FEW BLINDING SECONDS the air outside the car boiled like the surface of the sun. Nancy felt her heart hammering in her chest. She was terrified.