Danger for Hire Read online

  “How did you first hear about the break-in at the CD Revolution warehouse?” Nancy asked.

  “An anonymous caller phoned the city desk and asked specifically for me,” Brenda said with a touch of pride.

  Nancy’s heart leaped. “And then you gave that caller your home number, in case he wanted to give you any more tips, right?”

  “How did you know that?” Brenda asked, surprised.

  “It doesn’t matter. Is that how you found out about the Jumping Jeans warehouse break-in the next day?”

  “Yes. Now, when are the police going to make the arrest?” Brenda demanded.

  “Soon,” Nancy said evasively. “Thanks, Brenda. Bye.”

  She hung up quickly and immediately dialed again.

  Chief McGinnis was against her plan. It was much too dangerous, he maintained.

  Patiently Nancy explained that while she now knew the identity of the gang’s mastermind, her evidence against him wouldn’t hold up in court. To be sure of convicting him they needed a confession. And their man would not confess to the police. He was far too cool for that.

  Their only hope, she argued, was to surprise a confession out of him. That meant that he had to be confronted by someone he didn’t fear—someone who would catch him off guard.

  By the time she finished, the chief had no choice but to agree.

  • • •

  Even though it was Sunday, the front doors of the Hayward Security building whooshed open to admit her. Nancy wasn’t surprised. She had known that they would be working.

  There was no receptionist, so she walked straight back to Neil Masterson’s office. Inside, the special ribbonless computer printer was busily clacking away. Tom Hayward was sliding a cardboard box under Neil’s desk.

  “One of the laptop computers?” Nancy asked.

  Tom straightened. Without pausing, he said, “Yes, it’s a laptop. A present. A bonus, you might say.”

  Smart. Very smart, she thought. “Too bad Neil won’t get to keep it,” she said. “The police will take it as evidence against you.”

  “Oh?” Tom arched an eyebrow quizzically. “Evidence of what?”

  So it was going to be like that. Nancy steeled herself. She had known that she would have to do this the hard way.

  “I first became suspicious of you that night in the scrap metal yard when you miraculously ‘saved’ my life,” she began.

  “Yes, that was a lucky coincidence,” Tom agreed.

  “I’m not a big believer in coincidence, though,” Nancy went on. “You knew exactly where to stand.”

  “Nancy, you seem to be accusing me of something here.” He raised his shoulders and turned up his palms.

  “You’re right. I should start from the beginning,” she said, trying to hide her nervousness. “It’s a simple story, but it took me a long time to piece it together.”

  The printer stopped clacking.

  “It begins with something my father said. About stocks,” Nancy explained. “He said that if the price goes down you only lose money if you sell. That got me thinking.”

  “About what?” Tom asked. He sat down in Neil’s desk chair.

  Nancy’s voice grew stronger. “About buying. It hit me that although selling means losing money, buying could mean earning money—lots of it—if the stock price went back up again. In fact, you could double, triple, or even quadruple your money.”

  “Naturally,” Tom said. “But what of it?”

  She had him now, she could tell. He was stringing her along to find out how much she knew. Her confidence surged.

  “You’ve been trying to buy out your main competitor, Loomis & Petersen, in order to get what you want.”

  “Which is?”

  Nancy looked straight into his eyes. “A monopoly. The security business all to yourself.”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed.

  “Now, Petersen was willing to sell out,” Nancy went on. “He’s old. Probably getting ready to retire. But Loomis wouldn’t sell. I found that out one day when I visited their offices.”

  Tom didn’t move, but his gaze was hostile now.

  “You needed money to buy Petersen’s controlling interest,” Nancy continued, “and you knew you could get it by buying Hayward stock low and selling it high. The only problem was how to push the price of the stock up and down.”

  A muscle in Tom’s jaw twitched.

  “That’s where the robberies came in,” Nancy explained. “They were bad publicity. Investors lost confidence. They sold. You bought, probably under another name. Once you had enough stock, your plan was to ‘solve’ the case, recover the stolen goods, and watch the stock price soar.”

  Finally Tom spoke. “You’re saying I committed the robberies?”

  “You and Adam Reeves,” Nancy said. “At first I couldn’t understand how a guy with a prison record could get hired at Hayward. Then I realized that you hired him yourself, before Neil Masterson started working here. He was willing to commit crimes for you when ordered,” Nancy said. “You robbed your own customers with his help. But you didn’t steal much. You didn’t have to. Just enough to commit the crime.”

  Tom probed deeper. “And where are the goods now?”

  “Probably stashed in another warehouse somewhere,” Nancy guessed, “waiting to be ‘discovered’ by you at the right moment. That explains why none of us has been able to trace them.”

  Tom leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. “Okay, let’s suppose your theory is correct. How did Adam and I arrange the break-ins? Adam only knew the code for the CD Revolution warehouse.”

  “Easy.” Nancy glanced at the printer. “You just printed new envelopes and the computer assigned new codes. After the break-ins, you ‘changed’ the codes again for security reasons. No one knew they had been changed twice.”

  Tom nodded. “Clever. Seems you’ve figured out a flaw in the system.”

  “Stanley Loomis helped me with it,” she admitted. “He told me that your system was as ‘secure as a bureau drawer,’ which anyone can open. I started from there.”

  “Go on.”

  Nancy took a deep breath. “There was only one more thing you needed—a fall guy. Someone to take the blame. You chose Neil. He has a motive. Plus he has the means. He could print new envelopes as easily as you. As for opportunity, he spends evenings with his family, but that’s okay. The ‘gang’ took care of the robberies, Neil only cooperated with them. Which is enough to send him to prison, and which is why you are planting that laptop computer under his desk.”

  “Criminals,” Tom said, “are so careless.”

  “Exactly. You even tried to point me at Neil, and for a while it worked. The evidence suggested he was guilty, but I couldn’t square that with what I knew of his character. He’s an honest man with a good reputation.”

  “But what about Stanley Loomis?” Tom said. “He has a sordid past.”

  “He reformed long ago,” Nancy said. “His only problem now is competition from you. He was working on it, too, planning new products and services.”

  Tom waved his hand as if to dismiss her entire story. “That’s all very interesting, Nancy, but you are forgetting one thing: I have alibis for the break-ins. So does Adam, for that matter. One time I was even with you!”

  Nancy smiled. “Oh, yes—Career Day. That’s where you got really clever. On Career Day you and Adam robbed the warehouse early in the morning. Then you tied Adam to the chair, where he stayed all day. You, meanwhile, established your alibi by speaking at the Career Fair with me and Chief McGinnis. Late in the afternoon, Adam tripped the emergency exit alarm and told his hair-raising story.”

  “But Adam had to phone in to our headquarters every hour. How did he do that?” Tom asked. His voice was rising in pitch.

  “He didn’t. A recording did. It’s easy to rig up. You use the same equipment that’s used to make junk phone calls. Every hour it dials the Hayward number, plays a brief recording, and hangs up. It was the same trick
you used the other night to make it seem like Adam was working when he was actually waiting for us. The equipment is probably at your house, right?”

  Tom’s jaw tightened. He was starting to sweat, Nancy saw with satisfaction. “Okay, Nancy, I’ll admit this all sounds plausible. But so what? Neil Masterson or Stanley Loomis could have masterminded the robberies, too. There’s as much evidence against either of them as there is against me.”

  “Not true,” Nancy said calmly.

  “What do you mean, it’s not true!” He was shouting now. “Look at their motives! Neil’s debts! Loomis’s hatred of me!”

  “Those are facts,” Nancy agreed, “but you see, I am positive you are guilty because I know something about Neil and Loomis that you don’t know. Neil is moonlighting for Loomis on the weekends. He’s helping Loomis plan his new systems and services. I took secret pictures of one of their meetings yesterday.”

  “No!”

  “It’s true. And Loomis sends Neil checks that are made to the exact amount of Neil’s hospital bills. I’ve seen them. All Neil and Loomis have to do to dismiss the case against them is tell the truth. By elimination, that will leave only one mastermind—you, Tom.”

  “No, no, no!” Tom pounded his fists on Neil’s desktop. His face was red. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you investigate.”

  He leaped up from his chair. Nancy was about to give a signal, when suddenly she was blinded by a bright light.

  From the doorway an electronic flash bleached the scene white for a millisecond. Spots danced in front of Nancy’s eyes.

  “Nice going, Nancy,” she heard Brenda say. “You got him cold. And I’ve got it all on tape! I was standing right outside. What a story this is going to make!”

  “Yeah, some story,” Tom said. As Nancy’s vision cleared, she saw that he was holding a gun. “Too bad you won’t ever get to write it, Brenda. Nancy, call off your backup!”

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  HOW DO YOU KNOW I have a backup?” Nancy asked nervously. Having a gun pointed at her was not her favorite experience.

  “Don’t treat me like an idiot,” Tom growled. “No way would you have pushed me so hard without a backup. Call ’em off!”

  Nancy was wearing a blazer. Flipping up its lapel, she spoke into the tiny wireless microphone that was pinned there. “Chief, he’s got a gun. We have to let him go.”

  “You mean, let us go,” Tom clarified. Leaping across the desk, he ran behind Brenda, threw his elbow around her neck, and pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple. “Lois Lane, here, is going with me.”

  Brenda gasped, her face white with fear.

  “Wait! Take me instead,” Nancy offered.

  “Oh, no! You’re too smart,” Tom said. “Brenda here was dumb enough to let me use her to spread bad publicity about my company, but I think she’s smart enough to help me get away without causing any trouble.”

  “Yes, that’s why you were so willing to talk to her at the Jumping Jeans warehouse,” Nancy said, stalling for time. “I thought that was foolish then, but—”

  “I’m no fool and neither are you,” Tom said. “Now, keep back!”

  He wrestled Brenda out of the office with his arm still around her throat and the gun still pressed to her temple. Nancy followed at a distance as he took Brenda outside to his BMW. He forced her in through the driver’s side. Then he climbed in and slammed the door.

  “So long, Nancy!” he called. The BMW roared to life.

  Nancy looked around desperately. Down the road in either direction—out of sight from inside the Hayward building but visible now—were a dozen vans full of cops. They were useless now. Tom had a hostage.

  He took off. Making a sudden decision, Nancy leaped into her Mustang and followed. She didn’t know where he was going, but no way was she going to let him kidnap Brenda.

  She caught up to him half a mile later. He was heading in the direction of the airport. In her rearview mirror Nancy saw the police vans pulling up behind her. Good. She needed backup for what she was about to do. They couldn’t let him get on an airplane with Brenda!

  Accelerating, she pulled up next to him and jerked her wheel sideways.

  Wham! Her car smacked into his.

  Wham! She hit him again, and this time kept swerving until he was forced first onto the shoulder and then off the road, where he skidded to a stop. Nancy stopped beside the car and leaped out, yelling at the top of her lungs. It was essential to distract Tom—to keep his mind off Brenda!

  It worked. Brenda leaped out of the passenger side and began to run. Tom snapped open his door and climbed out. He looked first at Brenda, then at Nancy, unable to decide whom to deal with first. It was enough time. The police vans roared up.

  In an instant several police officers were out and crouching in firing position. Tom dropped his automatic and raised his hands.

  Nancy gave a whoop of joy and ran after Brenda to make sure that she was all right.

  • • •

  Two days later Nancy sat in Chief McGinnis’s office with her father, Brenda, Brenda’s father, Bess, George, and Cindy Larson.

  “Morning, everyone,” the chief said, striding in. “I have some news. Tom Hayward will be arraigned before a grand jury later this very morning.”

  Everyone applauded.

  Carson spoke up. “I have some news, too. After Tom’s arraignment, Neil Masterson will become the acting head of Hayward Security. I’m assembling a pool of backers—Loomis & Petersen among them—who will pump fresh capital into the company to help it out of its tailspin.”

  “That’s great,” Nancy said. “It would be a shame if after all his trouble Neil had to lose his job, too.”

  Mr. Carlton spoke up again. “I’ve got some connections at the hospital, and they tell me that Neil’s little girl, Tasha, should be okay. Her last operation was a success, so she won’t need any more.”

  Nancy’s eyes moistened. That was the best news yet.

  “There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” George said after a moment. “Nancy, how were Tom and Adam able to know where you were every minute of your surveillance?”

  “They didn’t. Not every minute. But they planted a small transmitter on my car—the type that tells you if your target is getting closer or farther away—and that helped.”

  “What about when you were on foot?” George asked.

  “They tailed me a few times,” Nancy explained.

  “Adam’s testimony is going to be devastating to Tom’s defense,” Carson observed.

  The chief agreed. “Thank goodness he agreed to cooperate with us. That and the recorded confession we got from Nancy’s hidden microphone will make the DA’s job a lot easier.”

  “Nancy,” Cindy asked, “how did you know about the transmitter planted on your car?”

  “Come outside and I’ll show you.”

  The group went outdoors, where the temperature was surprisingly more like summer than autumn. Nancy’s car was in the parking lot. The dents that she had put in it ramming Tom’s car were gone. It also had a new coat of paint. Blue, as always.

  “Wow, that was fast!” Bess remarked.

  “You bet. From now on, this car is getting nothing but TLC,” Nancy promised.

  “Oh, right,” George drawled. “You’d better sell it to someone else.”

  “Anyway, about the transmitter,” Nancy said. “They found it while they were doing the bodywork yesterday.”

  A few minutes later the group broke up. Carson returned to his law office, Brenda and her father to their paper, and Bess and George took off for the tennis courts. Nancy was left alone with Cindy when Chief McGinnis went for coffee.

  “Can I give you a lift?” Nancy offered. “Where are you going?”

  “History class,” Cindy said. “It’s a school day. I have to go back.”

  “Too bad,” Nancy said sympathetically.

  “Oh, no. I’m looking forward to school. After this case, it seems like paradis
e. One more time, Nancy, I’m sorry I put us in danger,” she apologized. “And thanks.”

  “Forget it,” Nancy said warmly. “Maybe you’ll work with me again?”

  “I don’t know. I kind of doubt it,” Cindy said, climbing into the Mustang’s passenger seat. “It was interesting, but also—”

  “Scary? Boring? Both?” Nancy climbed in and twisted the key.

  “Both, and a lot more. What I mean, though, is that after this I think I’ll just read about your cases in the paper, if that’s okay. It was great to do it once, but I definitely think that detective work is for people who know what they’re doing and love doing it!”

  With a smile, Nancy released the brake and hit the gas. Her Mustang surged forward and blended into traffic.

  She couldn’t have agreed more.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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