High Risk Page 3

  “In a manner of speaking,” Ned said. His voice was high and strained. “Foyle is dead.”

  “What?” Nancy nearly dropped the phone. “Ned, what’s going on?”

  “Foyle is dead,” Ned repeated, “and I’m at the Mapleton police station—under arrest. Nancy, they think I killed him!”

  Chapter

  Four

  FOR A SECOND Nancy couldn’t even breathe. Ned under arrest—for murder?

  “Did—did I hear you right?” she croaked at last. “They think you—”

  “Yes. I found the body and the weapon, and then the police found me.” Ned’s voice sounded weak and scared, and Nancy’s heart went out to him.

  “Oh, Ned. How horrible!”

  Ned gave a shaky laugh. “Tell me about it. Listen, I’m not allowed to talk long,” he hurried on. “I’ll explain it all when I see you. I need your help, Nan. And I need a lawyer.”

  “My father,” Nancy said, trying to pull her thoughts together. “I’ll get my father.”

  “Please—come as soon as you can.”

  There was a catch in Ned’s voice that made tears spring to Nancy’s eyes. “Hang on,” she said. “We’ll be there in no time. And don’t worry, Ned, we’ll get you out of this!”

  “Nancy, what’s the matter?” Hannah exclaimed as Nancy hung up the phone. “You’re trembling!”

  Nancy wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s crazy. Ned’s been arrested. The Mapleton police think he killed a man,” she explained hurriedly. “That’s all I know. Where’s Dad? Ned needs a lawyer, and Dad’s the best there is.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Hannah exclaimed. For a moment her normally cheerful face went slack with shock. Then all at once she collected herself. “Er—your father’s at his office. He went in to do some paperwork. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Nancy was already on her way out the door. “Call Dad and tell him I’ll pick him up in ten minutes. Thanks, Hannah.”

  Nancy made it to Carson Drew’s downtown office in nine minutes flat. She could see her father standing outside the building when she arrived. With his salt-and-pepper hair and tall, straight bearing, he looked very dignified, and very worried. He jumped into the car, and Nancy quickly pulled away from the curb.

  On the way to Mapleton, Nancy told her father what she knew about Toby Foyle and how determined Ned had been to prove that Foyle had committed insurance fraud. “Ned and Foyle had a fight Thursday night,” she concluded. “I know that’ll count against him when the police hear about it.” She threw an anxious glance at her father.

  Carson’s face was grim, but his voice was soothing. “Let’s not try to second-guess the investigation,” he advised, brushing back his silver-flecked hair. “First, let’s find out what the case against Ned is.”

  • • •

  Just before three o’clock, Nancy parked across the street from Mapleton Police Headquarters. Nancy jumped out of the car and raced up the steps of the modest brick building, her father at her side.

  Inside, Carson went straight to the desk sergeant. “I’m Ned Nickerson’s attorney,” he said crisply. He gestured at Nancy. “This is my, ah, assistant. May we see my client?”

  The sergeant eyed Carson Drew, then said, “The Nickerson case, eh? Bill, get Nickerson and then take these people to the interrogation room, will you?”

  A few minutes later they followed the uniformed officer named Bill down a dingy yellow corridor to a door with a reinforced-glass window set high into it. “He’s all yours,” the officer said to Nancy and Carson. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  Ned was sitting alone at a plain metal table, his head cradled in his arms. Nancy longed to rush forward and put her arms around him, but she knew it would look bad. After all, she was supposed to be a lawyer’s assistant, not the girlfriend of the accused!

  At the sound of the door closing, Ned raised his head and gave Nancy and her father a haggard smile. Nancy gasped quietly when she saw that his shirt was torn and his lower lip was swollen and crusted with dried blood.

  “What happened to your lip?” she asked.

  “I tripped and fell. Thanks for coming,” he said. “It’s nice to see some friendly faces.”

  Nancy and Carson sat down at the table, and Nancy leaned forward. “Ned, I already told my dad everything I know about you and Foyle. Now tell us what’s going on,” she urged.

  “It’s all so strange—it’s like a bad dream,” Ned said. He rubbed his hands wearily over his face, then looked at Nancy.

  “I decided to stake out Foyle’s house alone this morning,” he explained. “I didn’t want to drag you along, since you—well, since it wasn’t your case.”

  Nancy was embarrassed. “I would have come if you’d called,” she said. But she knew she had discouraged Ned and felt awful about it now.

  “I know you would have, but let’s just say I decided to go alone. I left about a quarter to nine, and this time it looked as if I’d hit the jackpot,” Ned said with a wry smile. “The minute I pulled up to the house, the door opened, and who should come out but the guy from Conchita’s.”

  “So Toby was T. N. Foyle,” Nancy said. “You were right about that.”

  Ned smiled slightly. “Yeah. The sun was in my eyes, though, so I couldn’t get a shot of him,” he went on. “I decided to follow him and see what he was up to. He got in his car and drove to the edge of town, to the old service road that runs parallel to the interstate. There are several warehouses out there, and he parked and went into one of them.”

  “Weird—what was he up to?” Nancy wondered.

  “That’s exactly what I asked myself,” said Ned. “I gave him five minutes, and then when he didn’t come out, I went in to look for him.

  “It was dark in there,” Ned continued. “No lights were on, and after being out in the bright sunlight I couldn’t see a thing. Anyway, I groped around in the dark for quite a while, trying to figure out what I’d say when I actually found the guy, and then all of a sudden I tripped over a box and fell flat on my face. That’s how I got this,” he added, fingering his split lip.

  “Go on,” Carson urged. “What happened next?”

  “Well, I sort of felt around on the floor as I was trying to get up,” Ned said. “My right hand closed on something metal. And then my other hand . . .” He trailed off, swallowing hard.

  “Tell us,” Nancy said gently.

  Ned took a deep breath, and a look of horror crossed his face. “My other hand touched a—a face,” he said slowly. “It was warm, but somehow I knew the person had to be dead.”

  Nancy shuddered. “How awful!” she whispered.

  “I couldn’t even yell, I was so shocked,” Ned rushed on. “I jumped up and got out of there as fast as I could. It took me a couple of minutes to find my way in the dark, and I tore my shirt on a nail. Just as I ran out, a patrol car that was driving by on the service road spotted me. I was holding a crowbar in my hand—I must have picked it up after I fell.”

  “Mmm,” Carson Drew said in a neutral voice. “I assume that was the metal object you found on the floor? And no doubt it turned out to be the murder weapon?”

  Ned nodded miserably, and Nancy cast an anguished look at her father. “That means Ned’s prints are all over the murder weapon!”

  “I wasn’t thinking about it at the time, but I guess I must have looked pretty guilty, with my torn clothes and bloody lip,” Ned said. “The police officers came over, and I told them about the body inside. All I could say was ‘It’s Foyle—he’s dead.’ ” Ned glanced down at his hands. “And then the officers brought me here, and a detective started asking me what I was doing at the warehouse, how I knew who the dead man was, and so on. It never occurred to me that they could seriously think I killed the guy—so I told them everything.”

  “You told them about the fight you and Foyle had the other night?” Nancy asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

  Ned nodded.

&
nbsp; Carson cleared his throat. “Did the police read you your rights and offer you legal counsel before they questioned you?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I turned it down,” Ned told him. “I honestly didn’t think I’d need a lawyer. It was stupid of me, I guess, but I just couldn’t believe anyone would think I could have killed a man.”

  At that moment the door to the interrogation room opened, and a thin, cold-eyed man in a gray suit walked in. “I’m Detective Ken Matsuo,” he announced. “Judge Birnbaum is in her chambers, so we can proceed with the arraignment, if you are ready,” he said. Then, to Nancy’s horror, he asked Ned to rise, and he cuffed his wrists behind him.

  “What’s happening?” Nancy asked her father in an undertone as they followed Ned and Matsuo down the hall.

  “Ned is going to be arraigned,” he told her. “That means the formal charges are going to be read before a judge. We’re in luck—Lenore Birnbaum is a fair and able judge, and she knows me. I may be able to get Ned out on bail.”

  In the waiting area of the police station Nancy spotted Mr. and Mrs. Nickerson. Ned’s father was a big, solidly handsome man. He stopped pacing when he saw Nancy and Carson, his brown eyes full of worry. Petite, sweet-faced Mrs. Nickerson sat huddled on a wooden bench, her hands clasped tightly together.

  “Stay here with the Nickersons,” Carson told Nancy. “I’ll handle the arraignment. We’ll come back here as soon as it’s over.” He strode out of the station.

  For the next hour Nancy sat with Ned’s parents and tried to assure them that everything would be all right. It was hard, though, to sound confident. Even though she knew Ned was innocent, the case against him looked so black!

  At four-thirty Carson walked into the police station again, accompanied by a scowling Matsuo and Ned. Nancy immediately noticed that Ned’s hands were no longer cuffed. Jumping up from the bench, she ran forward with a happy cry and threw her arms around him, forgetting that she was supposed to be a legal assistant. For a full minute he hugged her tight.

  “What happened?” she asked anxiously.

  “Ned, are you all right?” Mr. Nickerson chimed in, moving up behind Nancy with his wife.

  “I guess so.” Ned gave him a halfhearted smile and his mom a quick hug. “Mr. Drew persuaded the judge to let me out on bail.”

  “Ned has had an unblemished record,” Carson said. “And I was able to vouch for him. I let Judge Birnbaum know I believed in his innocence, and I think that swayed her.”

  “Dad, you’re the greatest!” Nancy cried.

  Matsuo broke in. “Hate to intrude,” he drawled sarcastically, “but I just want you to know, Nickerson, that I’ll be keeping an eye on you. If you try to leave town before the grand jury hearing on Thursday, I’ll haul you in so fast it’ll make your head spin. I don’t like this bail business on a murder case.”

  “No need to threaten, Detective,” Carson said. “My client isn’t going anywhere.” His voice was steady, but Nancy noticed that he was frowning again. As Ned and his parents hugged, Nancy pulled her father aside.

  “Dad, what’s the real scoop?” she asked in a low voice. “Can you win this case?”

  Carson Drew shook his head. “At this point, I’d say the odds aren’t good,” he said heavily. “If the case does go to trial, we could be in trouble. The evidence against Ned is very damaging. If the prosecutor is worth his salt, he’ll be able to convince the jury that Ned is guilty. No, Nan, I’m afraid I can’t pull this one off without you. You’re the detective.”

  “You mean—” Nancy couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.

  Carson put a hand on her shoulder. “Yes. We’ve got to find out who really killed Toby Foyle—and we’ve got to prove it. Otherwise, Ned could be facing life behind bars!”

  Chapter

  Five

  NANCY BIT her knuckle. She had wanted a new case, it was true, but not this one. The stakes were so high! What if I can’t solve it? she thought, suddenly terrified. What if I don’t find the real killer, and Ned has to go to jail?

  Carson Drew must have seen the tension on Nancy’s face, for he said gently, “Nancy, all we can do is try. And my money’s on you. So is Ned’s, for that matter. We talked it over on the way back here. If we work together, we can win this case.”

  Nancy breathed in deeply. “Thanks, Dad. Let’s hope you’re right. Now,” she went on, straightening up determinedly, “if I’m going to investigate, I’d better get cracking. I’ve got only five days before the grand jury.”

  “That’s my girl!” Carson said proudly.

  • • •

  Half an hour later Nancy was seated at the Nickersons’ dining room table with Ned, Bess, and George. After asking Ned’s permission, she had called her friends and filled them in. She knew she’d need help with the investigation, and as Carson had pointed out to Ned, it would be foolish for him to get involved. Detective Matsuo would clearly be happy for any excuse to put Ned behind bars. Besides, if Nancy ever needed her friends’ support, it was now.

  “All right, let’s go over the basics,” Nancy began briskly. “As I see it, there are a few ways we can attack this problem.”

  “Go, Nan!” Bess cheered.

  Nancy smiled and began to tick points off on her fingers. “First, we need to find out who had both motive and opportunity to kill Toby Foyle. That means we have to find out who his friends and associates were, what they thought of him, and where they were at the time of the murder.

  “Second, we need to figure out why Foyle went to the warehouse. And third, we have to determine how the killer escaped after committing the crime.”

  Ned suddenly sat up a little straighter. “You just jogged my memory,” he said. “When I was groping around in the dark, I heard a car starting up somewhere close outside. It didn’t register until now.”

  “Hey, we’re getting somewhere already,” Nancy said, pleased.

  “But how can we prove to the police that there was someone else there?” George asked.

  “We’ll go to the warehouse and look for physical evidence,” Nancy answered. “But that’ll have to wait. I’m sure the area will be swarming with police for the next twenty-four hours or so. So I think we should start by interviewing Foyle’s landlady. She may be able to tell us who the victim’s friends were.” She turned to her boyfriend. “Ned, did you get her name?”

  “Mrs. Godfrey, I think,” Ned replied after thinking for a moment.

  Nancy stood up. “Okay. George and Bess, why don’t you come with me to see Mrs. Godfrey.”

  “Sounds good,” George said.

  The girls left Ned at his house and piled into Nancy’s Mustang. When they reached 421 Beechwood Street in Mapleton, Nancy parked, and they all trooped up the concrete stoop. Nancy rang the doorbell.

  A minute later a gaunt-faced woman with steel gray hair done up in a tight bun opened the door. “I hope you’re not reporters,” she said in a disapproving voice. “I have nothing to say.”

  “Uh, no, we’re not reporters,” Nancy said, taken aback. “Actually, Mrs. Godfrey, we’re detectives. My name is Nancy Drew, and these are my associates, Bess Marvin and George Fayne.”

  “Hmmph. Look like a bunch of teenage girls to me,” the woman said, frowning. “What do you want?”

  “May we come in?” Nancy asked.

  Grudgingly, Mrs. Godfrey stood aside and let the girls in. They followed the landlady through the foyer and into a spotless living room with starched white curtains and carefully polished wooden furniture.

  “Mrs. Godfrey, we’re investigating the death of your tenant, Toby Foyle,” Nancy said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  The girls took seats on the sofa, and Mrs. Godfrey perched on a straight-backed chair facing them.

  The lines around Mrs. Godfrey’s mouth deepened. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” she said, “but I can’t say I was surprised to hear that that young man had come to a bad end. He was a sly one. But you’re wasting your time investigating. The po
lice told me they already caught the boy who did it—said it’s the same young man who came here last night looking for Mr. Foyle.” The landlady shook her head. “I never would have pegged him for a criminal.”

  “He isn’t one!” Bess burst out. “Ned didn’t do it!”

  Mrs. Godfrey gave the girls a questioning look. “So you know the boy?”

  “Yes, we do,” Nancy admitted. She hadn’t wanted to tell Mrs. Godfrey about her connection with Ned, but now that the story was out, she saw no point in denying it. “And we know Ned didn’t kill Toby. But we have to prove that to the police.”

  Suddenly Mrs. Godfrey’s face softened. “I liked the look of that boy when he came to the door last night. If I can help, I will.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Nancy cried.

  “What do you want to know?” asked Mrs. Godfrey.

  “First of all,” Nancy said, leaning forward, “tell us what you know about Toby Foyle. How long did he live here? Where did he work? What did you think of him?”

  “Who were his friends?” George put in.

  “Well—” Mrs. Godfrey pursed her lips. “Mr. Foyle moved in about six months ago. He rented the rooms on the top floor. That suite has no kitchen, but it does have a private bath, and he said that was all he needed. I’d let you see it, only the police were here this morning and sealed the whole floor off.”

  Nancy was disappointed. She had hoped she might be able to look around Foyle’s apartment for clues, but she couldn’t ask Mrs. Godfrey to break the police seal.

  “As for working,” Mrs. Godfrey was saying, “I don’t believe Mr. Foyle had a steady job—I didn’t ask, since I’m not one to pry—but he always paid the rent on time. He kept very odd hours, though, no routine. A couple of times when I cleaned his rooms—that was part of our agreement, that I would clean for him—I found racing forms.”

  “I suspect he didn’t make his money working as an accountant,” Nancy murmured.

  “He had to have lied about his job,” George said.