The Prime-Time Crime Page 3

  “Hey!” Steve shouted as he let go of the jacket. He tried to struggle out of Frank’s grip, but succeeded only in tumbling both of them to the floor.

  “What?” Debbie said in astonishment as Joe shot forward, grabbed her squarely around the waist, and pushed her sideways into a painted wooden flat just as the camera crashed to the floor. The flat they collided with fell to the ground at almost the same instant, with Joe and Debbie on top of it.

  “What are you doing?” Debbie shouted. “You let go of me. You won’t get your hands on my evidence that easily.” She clutched the jacket tightly.

  “I was trying to help you,” Joe muttered.

  “Go easy on my brother,” Frank said, as he got to his feet. “He just saved your life.”

  “What are you talking—” Debbie stopped in midsentence as she noticed the smashed remains of the camera lying on the floor. “Oh, no! Where did that come from?”

  “From up there,” Frank said, pointing to the ceiling. “If Joe and I hadn’t gotten you two out of the way in a hurry, you’d have the world’s worst headaches right about now.”

  Steve rose unsteadily to his feet. “You mean that thing almost fell on us?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Joe said as he extracted himself and Debbie from the battered flat. “And I’m not convinced it was an accident.”

  Debbie’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that somebody tried to kill us?” she asked in disbelief.

  “This must be a really valuable piece of evidence,” Steve said, grabbing the jacket from Debbie, who had relaxed her grip on it. “Somebody’s willing to kill us for it. Boy, am I glad I found it.”

  “Give that back to me,” Debbie demanded. “I found that piece of evidence.”

  Frank grabbed the jacket away from Steve. “This case will get solved a lot faster if we share the evidence. For all we know, Clarence Kellerman’s life may be at stake. It’s irresponsible to risk his life just for the sake of proving which of us is the better detective.”

  Steve looked sheepish. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Debbie started to reply angrily, then thought better of it. “I guess that makes sense. Okay, we’ll share the evidence.”

  “Good,” Frank said. “Now what is this thing, anyway?”

  “It’s a man’s jacket,” Steve said.

  “I can see that,” Frank said. “But why is it evidence?”

  “I found it next to the set of ‘The Four O’Clock Scholar,’ ” Debbie said.

  “I found it,” Steve interrupted.

  “No squabbling, remember?” Frank said, holding up his hand in warning.

  “We both found it,” Debbie said reluctantly. “And we think it must have been left here by Clarence Kellerman.”

  “Why do you think that?” Joe asked.

  “Because,” Steve said hesitantly, “it’s a man’s jacket and, well, Clarence is a man.”

  “What a clever connection,” Joe said. “I never would have thought of it.”

  Marcy rushed into the studio. “I heard a crash,” she said, then stopped when she saw the smashed camera. “What happened here?”

  Frank explained, then asked the producer about the jacket.

  “That jacket belongs to Matt Freeman,” Marcy told them. “He always keeps a spare in the studio in case something happens to the one he’s wearing. He has a habit of spilling coffee on his jacket.”

  Frank looked at the wrinkled, dust-stained jacket. “I’m afraid he’ll have to get this one dry-cleaned. Actually, he’s lucky he doesn’t have to buy a new one,” he added with a glance at Steve and Debbie.

  Marcy took the jacket from Frank. “I want to apologize for what happened with that camera,” she said. “I don’t know what could have gone wrong. The camera crews are usually careful to make sure that everything is secure and in place.”

  “Maybe Joe’s right,” Frank said, looking at his brother. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident.”

  Debbie looked stunned. “That means somebody really might have been trying to kill us.”

  “It’s possible,” Frank said. “Whoever’s responsible for Clarence’s disappearance may be a desperate person. I hope this makes you think twice about playing detective.”

  “Are you implying that I might give up?” Debbie asked.

  “Look,” Joe said. “This isn’t a detective novel. Things could get really dangerous from here on out. Kidnapping is serious business.”

  “Well, I still plan to solve this case,” Debbie said firmly. “If Clarence Kellerman’s life is in danger, then he needs my help more than ever.”

  “Is that my jacket?” said a man’s voice from the doorway. “It looks like somebody tried to iron it with their feet.”

  The Hardys turned to see Matt Freeman step into the studio.

  “Oh, hello, Matt,” Marcy said. “Sorry about the jacket. We had a little, ah, accident.”

  “So I see,” Matt said, looking at the smashed pieces of the fallen camera as he took the jacket from Marcy. “What happened there? Looks pretty nasty. Was my jacket underneath that when it fell?”

  “Not exactly,” Marcy said, looking eager to change the subject. “You remember the Hardys, don’t you, Matt?”

  “Of course,” he said, stepping forward with a smile and offering his hand for Frank and Joe to shake. “You did a great job on the show this afternoon, Frank.”

  “Thanks, Matt,” Frank said. “You haven’t heard anything from Clarence since then, have you?”

  “Not yet,” Matt said, “but he’ll turn up. He’s just grandstanding again. Clarence likes pulling silly publicity stunts.”

  “Come on, Matt,” Marcy said. “You don’t think Clarence would vanish like this just to get attention, do you?”

  “Why not?” Matt said with a shrug. “Remember that time he pretended to break his leg when he fell off the edge of the set, then took the cast off in the middle of the show a week later and danced around the studio? We got angry phone calls all day from people who had sent sympathy cards thinking he was really hurt.”

  “That’s not the same thing,” Marcy insisted.

  “Maybe not,” Matt said, “but I bet Clarence turns up safe and sound during Tuesday night’s show. He’ll probably pop out from backstage and announce, ‘Your old buddy Clarence is back!’ ”

  “If he does,” Marcy said, “Ted Whalen’ll fire him so fast his head will spin.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought,” Matt said, a gleam in his eye.

  “You sound like you’d be happy if Clarence got fired,” Frank said.

  “Not me. I love the guy,” Matt replied. Frank could tell that Matt was being sarcastic. “And I certainly wouldn’t want anything to happen to the host of Bayport’s longest-running TV show,” Matt went on. “Why, he’s an institution in this town.”

  “That’s right,” Marcy said.

  “Listen, you guys,” Matt said, “I’ve got to get moving. Got a hot date at the dry cleaner’s to get my jacket pressed.”

  “Sorry about the damage to your suit, Mr. Freeman,” Debbie said.

  “No problem,” Matt said. “I get a special discount at the cleaner’s. They’re great at taking out coffee stains, and I doubt that this will give them much trouble.”

  “I’m leaving, too,” Steve said, after Freeman had left. “Got to find more clues to Clarence’s whereabouts.”

  “You don’t think Matt Freeman’s right about Clarence pulling a publicity stunt?” Debbie asked, following Steve to the door.

  “I don’t know.” Steve shrugged. “Even if he is, there’s still a mystery to solve, right? If I can find Clarence before he pops out from behind the curtain Tuesday night, it still proves what a great detective I am.”

  “True. But that’s not going to happen. I’ll be the one to find him first,” Debbie said as the door shut behind her.

  Frank and Joe stared after them in exasperation.

  “Where’d you find that pair?” Marcy asked with a frown.


  “They found us,” Frank said. “Now we can’t get rid of them.”

  “Weren’t you going to introduce us to the new station manager?” Joe reminded Marcy.

  “Oh, right,” Marcy said. “Come on. His office is upstairs.”

  Marcy led the Hardys out of the studio and up a flight of stairs to a luxurious suite of offices on the second floor. Frank looked around at the expensively framed paintings that hung on the wall, and the thick pile carpeting that lined the hallway.

  “Somebody’s been redecorating,” he commented to Marcy. “These offices didn’t look this nice the last time Joe and I were here.”

  “Mediagenic’s pumping a lot of money into the station,” Marcy explained. “They have big plans. They want to turn it into a showcase.”

  When they arrived at Ted Whalen’s office, the door was open. Whalen held up a finger to tell Marcy he’d be with her in a moment.

  Frank was impressed with the size of the office. It was at least fifty feet deep and just as wide, with sleek, ultra-modern furniture set on a lush blue carpet. On one wall were ten television monitors, simultaneously showing an array of network and cable programs. Whalen sat behind a large desk, leaning back in a leather chair as he chatted on the telephone. He was a blond, slender young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. He was wearing an expensive-looking tailored suit.

  “Busy guy,” Frank whispered. “Must be talking with a producer or something.”

  “Probably talking with an accountant,” Marcy whispered back. “Ted cares a lot more about how much money the programs make than about what actually goes into them.”

  After a few minutes Whalen hung up the phone and turned to his guests. “Good to see you, Marcy,” he said in a clipped tone, without smiling. “What brings you up here at five-thirty? Working late, I see. I admire that.”

  “Thanks, Ted,” Marcy said. “I just wanted to introduce you to Frank and Joe Hardy. They’re young detectives who’ve helped out here at the station before. I’ve asked them to assist us in finding Clarence Kellerman.”

  “Oh, yes, Kellerman,” Whalen said, without changing expression. “Terrible thing. I heard about the note you found. Pity if something happens to one of our best talent properties.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” Marcy said. “I’d heard a rumor that you were thinking of canceling Clarence’s show.”

  “It’s under consideration,” Whalen said, nodding. “Clarence is popular, but the audience on ‘Scholar’ is a bit old for my taste. I’ve found that it’s mostly the parents of students who watch the show, not the students themselves. I’m sure we can find a role for Clarence, though. Perhaps he could host a music video show. There’s a nationally syndicated news magazine show we’d like to put in the ‘Scholar’ slot. Less production expense, more profit.”

  “I watch ‘Scholar’ every week,” Frank said. “So do all my friends.”

  “Then you hang out with an unusual crowd,” Whalen said coldly. He pointed to a thick stack of folders on his desk. “I have reports here from the best research firms in the country telling me who watches what, and ‘Scholar’ just isn’t cutting it with the youth market.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened to Clarence, Mr. Whalen?” Joe asked.

  “Not a one,” Whalen said. “But I trust the police to do a thorough job in finding out. And I don’t think”—he leaned forward and looked meaningfully at Frank and Joe—“that we need any extra help in the matter. So I don’t want to see you boys around the station anymore. Is that clear? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make some calls concerning the series we’ve been running on organized crime in the Bayport area. A couple of the sponsors want to pull out, and I’ve got to convince them that there will be big bucks in it if they stay with us.” He picked up the phone, dialed a number, and turned around in his chair so that its tall leather back faced the Hardys.

  “Come on,” Marcy said, leading the Hardys out of the office.

  “Nice guy,” Joe commented, once they were in the hall.

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “Think we should stay on the case?” he asked Marcy. “Whalen doesn’t seem to want us around.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” Marcy said, leading the Hardys down the flight of stairs. “Just report to me in the morning and tell me what you’ve found. Ted doesn’t pay much attention to what actually goes on around the station. He’ll never notice you’re here. And if he does, I’ll tell him you’re going to do some spots on our ‘Crimestoppers’ show.” The producer looked at her watch. “Now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you on your own,” she said. “I’ve got some work I need to finish before I can go home.”

  “Thanks, Marcy,” Frank said. “We’ll stop by your office in the morning.”

  “Well, what now?” Joe asked when Marcy had gone. “Should we start opening up closets looking for Clarence?”

  “I’ve got a feeling the closets have already been checked,” Frank said. “I’ve been thinking about that camera that almost fell on Steve and Debbie earlier.”

  “I still don’t think it fell by accident,” Joe said.

  “I know you don’t,” Frank said. “But if someone arranged for it to fall off the end of the boom, where was that person?”

  “If I remember correctly,” Joe said, “there’s a whole network of catwalks under the ceiling of Studio A. Maybe somebody was up there when Steve and Debbie were squabbling over Matt’s jacket—”

  “-—and they decided it was a perfect opportunity to get rid of some nosy kids,” Frank finished. “So they removed a few screws from the camera and—boom!”

  “So why don’t we check out the catwalks?”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” Frank said, bounding up the stairs.

  Back on the second floor, they headed in the opposite direction from Ted Whalen’s office. When they came to the end of the hall, Frank pulled open the door marked Studio A Catwalks and looked inside.

  There was a metal platform just beyond the door, bordered by a guardrail. A maze of narrow platforms extended out into the open space just below the ceiling and back into the shadows to the left.

  Frank and Joe stepped quietly onto the platform. They could see Studio A below them to the right. The lights were on in the studio, but it was empty.

  “Just like I remember it,” Frank whispered, as they started down one of the catwalks.

  Frank and Joe walked slowly, looking for signs of someone else having been there recently.

  “Here,” Joe said suddenly, pointing downward. “Footprints in the dust. They look fresh, too.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean they were left by whoever dropped that camera,” Frank pointed out.

  “Let’s see where they go,” Joe suggested.

  The trail of footprints led along the catwalk and around the corner to a second catwalk that ran directly above the studio. Halfway across, the footprints veered suddenly to one side of the catwalk. Joe gripped the railing and looked down. Bending over, he could see that directly below the catwalk was the top of a tall crane—the type TV crews called a boom-—from which a camera had been suspended.

  “This is the only boom up here,” Joe reported. “So it has to be the one the camera was attached to. Whoever caused the camera to fall was standing right here.”

  “If only we could find somebody whose shoes fit those prints—”

  Frank was cut off in midsentence by the sound of rushing footsteps from the far end of the catwalk.

  A shadowy figure wearing a stocking over his face rushed toward Joe. The man lunged at Joe, pushed him over the railing, and then raced off. Joe gasped and tumbled over—falling headfirst toward the studio floor thirty feet below!

  5 Home-Shopping Extravaganza

  * * *

  Joe grabbed desperately at the railing. He barely caught it in time to stop himself from hurtling into space.

  Frank leaned over the guardrail and grasped Joe’s wrist tightly. “I’ve got you! Let me pull y
ou up.

  “Don’t get me,” Joe said, hanging by one arm. “Get the guy who pushed me. He’s getting away.”

  “No,” Frank said. “You can’t hang on that long. Pull yourself over the railing.”

  With Frank’s help, Joe clambered over the rail and onto the catwalk. The Hardys looked for the attacker, but there was no sign of him. They hurried back into the hallway but found nobody there.

  “I can’t believe we let him get away,” Joe said in a disgusted tone.

  “Well, we’re on to something, anyway,” Frank said. “Whoever pushed you over that railing must be the same guy who unscrewed the camera.”

  “And ten-to-one it’s the same person who nabbed Clarence,” Joe added.

  “If only we’d gotten a better look at him,” Frank said with a sigh.

  “Let’s go back down to the studio,” Joe suggested. “I think we’ve had enough fun up here for now.”

  Marcy Simons was in Studio A when the Hardys returned to the first floor. They quickly filled her in on what had happened.

  “You’ve done all you can for now,” she said. “The guards will make sure that Clarence isn’t removed from the building without being seen—assuming that he’s in here someplace, that is. Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep and come back here in the morning?”

  “Fine with us,” Joe said. “But I can’t help thinking that Clarence is hidden around here waiting for someone to find him.”

  Frank nodded in agreement. “I hate to think we’re letting him down.”

  “I know what you mean,” Marcy said. “I’d really feel awful if something happened to him.”

  “But you’re right, Marcy. It probably is time for us to go,” Frank said.

  The Hardys said good night to Marcy and headed out of the building to the parking lot.

  As Joe drove their modified police van, Frank stared out the passenger window into the darkness. “So what do you think?” he said, turning to his brother. “Why would somebody want Clarence Kellerman out of the way?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe replied. “But I get the impression that some of the people at the station don’t like him.”