Eye on Crime Read online

  7 The Blind Eye

  * * *

  At the sound of the alarm, Joe immediately spun around to face the door. He glimpsed Frank out of the corner of his eye, but his vision was partially obscured by the half dozen or so patrons who were frantically heading for the exit. The first person to reach the exit slammed against the door with little result.

  An auto-locking mechanism, Joe thought.

  The alarm kept up its incessant wailing, so Joe knew the only way to communicate with his brother was to make his way over to him. He began to push past a couple of shoppers, when he saw that Frank was moving toward the door. Joe followed his brother’s gaze and realized what he was looking at so intensely.

  “Gun!” Joe cried as instinct took over in both of the Hardys. They had spotted a well-dressed man who stood just to the left of the front door as he reached into his sports coat and drew out a silver handgun. Before the man could take aim at any target, both Frank and Joe were flying toward him.

  Frank crouched low as he approached the man. At that same moment Joe, who was coming from the man’s blind side, leaped forward through the air. Both brothers crashed into the man at the same instant, Frank wrapping his arm around the man’s legs while Joe struck against his midsection. The man fell backward, landing in a heap with Frank and Joe entwined around him.

  “The gun!” Frank yelled, and Joe heard him; the alarm had finally stopped ringing.

  Joe reached up and pinned the man’s arm to the ground. The guy was strong, but Joe had the advantage of surprise and leverage. The gun stayed in the man’s hand, but he was unable to raise his arm to aim a shot.

  “Get off me, you goofs!” The man flailed his legs, but Frank held them fast.

  “Drop the gun!” Joe demanded.

  “Oh, my!” screeched a voice from the middle of the store. “Do get off him!”

  Neither Frank nor Joe loosened their grip. The three continued to struggle on the floor.

  “I’m security!” the man with the gun shouted.

  “Yeah, right,” Frank said. “We’ll just let the police sort this out.”

  Joe felt a hand on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he could see the salesman who had questioned him just before the alarm had sounded.

  “He really is store security,” the salesman said.

  Frank and Joe looked at each other for a second. Then they loosened their grip. They cautiously got up off the man.

  “Uh, sorry,” Frank said, extending his hand. The man hesitated. Then he lifted the gun and pointed it at the brothers.

  “Whoa,” Joe exhaled. “We’re the good guys.”

  “We thought you were robbing the store,” Frank said.

  “Robbing the store?” The salesman guffawed. “Mr. Friedman is here to provide security.”

  Joe looked at the salesman. It was then that he noticed that there was a name tag pinned to his jacket: Jack Jones—Manager.

  Mr. Friedman lowered the gun. He reached into the pocket of his now very wrinkled sports coat.

  “Here,” he said gruffly. He handed a laminated ID badge to Frank. On it was his picture along with a company logo.

  “Eye Spy Security?” Frank read. He handed back the badge.

  “Yeah,” Mr. Friedman replied, getting to his feet. “We provide the security system here.”

  “Which seems to be back in working order,” Mr. Jones said.

  “Why did the alarm sound?” Friedman asked. “Did someone smash a case?”

  “Nah,” came a voice from the back of the room. “Wiring overheated,” said a man in dark coveralls. The logo on his work clothes identified him as part of Eye Spy Security, too. “When it sparked, I dropped my drill, and it smashed through one of the cases I was wiring in back, setting off the screamer. I need some new pieces from the truck.”

  The workman walked toward the front of the store. He keyed a code into the keypad on the wall next to the entrance. There was a click, and he pushed open the door.

  “Uh,” said a middle-aged woman raising her hand, “can we leave now?”

  “Are all cases still closed and locked?” Mr. Friedman asked the store manager. Mr. Jones gave a questioning look toward the three other workers in the store. They all nodded.

  “Sure, you can go.”

  Every patron of the Jewelry Exchange immediately exited the shop. In less than one minute the only people left in the store were Frank and Joe, Mr. Friedman, and the store staff.

  “Great,” Frank said quietly to Joe. “We netted zero information.”

  Joe looked at the front door. “We’re not through here yet.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “I’m going to smooth-talk the manager to see what I can find out.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Help this guy with all those boxes.” Joe pointed through the front door as he backed away from his brother. Outside the door, the installation man from Eye Spy Security struggled to enter the store without dropping any of the several boxes he was carrying.

  “Here,” Frank said as he pulled open the door, “let me get that for you.”

  “Thanks, buddy.” The man balanced a large box against his shoulder.

  “Let me take the smaller boxes,” Frank said as he took a few of the parcels from the man. Before the man could object or accept, Frank was already heading toward the backroom.

  “I’ll put these back here,” he said.

  “Thanks,” the Eye Spy man replied as he followed Frank.

  When Frank entered the backroom, he spotted a desk with a computer on it, a filing cabinet, and several chairs. Off to his left was another door.

  “Just through there,” said the workman with a flick of his head.

  “No problem,” Frank said. He headed through the interior door, which led him to another room, much larger than the office. In it was a long table against the side wall. On the table were a few open boxes, a worn-out toolbox, and some stray wires. Next to the table was a ladder. Frank put the boxes on the table. As he passed the ladder, he looked up at the ceiling. A few panels were pushed open, revealing wires and electrical sockets.

  The workman put the large box on the table and climbed the ladder.

  “So,” Frank started, “a lot of excitement for one day—uh, what did you say your name was?”

  “Bill,” the worker replied as he stuck his head through an open ceiling panel.

  “I’m Frank. So, it must be a pretty sophisticated security system here, Bill.”

  “Hand me that flathead screwdriver?” Without removing his head from the hole, Bill reached down toward Frank. “The one we’re installing now is a top-notch system all right. The store should have gone with it in the first place.”

  “Who provided the first system?” Frank handed Bill the screwdriver.

  “We did,” Bill replied, indicating Eye Spy Security. “But to cut costs, the store went with an older model. Sure, it had cameras, alarms, and sensors—the whole nine yards. But the electronics weren’t the greatest. That’s why the cameras malfunctioned the other night.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, all but one of them. The one that caught those two kids robbing the place.”

  “How did they even get in here?”

  Bill ducked his head out and handed Frank the screwdriver.

  “Some number two blue cable.”

  “They used what?” Frank asked. “What’s number two blue cable?”

  “I need some,” Bill said, pointing his finger. “It’s in that box over there.”

  Frank turned to the table and retrieved the wire the workman had asked for.

  “Anyway,” Bill continued once his head was back up in the ceiling, “from the way most of these wires were cooked, I figure they must have sent a huge electrical pulse through the whole system.”

  “How’d two kids figure out how to do that?”

  “Who knows? These days, they probably found the instructions posted somewhere on the Internet. Anyway, they were s
o confident of their handiwork with the security system they didn’t even wear masks when they pulled the heist.”

  Bill made a grunting sound. “There,” he said as he descended the ladder. “Ready for the new cameras. Hey, thanks for the hand, Frank,” Bill said, patting Frank on the shoulder.

  Frank went back into the store and found Joe.

  “Learn anything?” Frank asked as they went out to the van.

  “Bits and pieces. Eye Spy Security agreed to replace the security system for free. If the jewels aren’t recovered, insurance will cover the cost.”

  “So we could be looking at some sort of insurance scam,” Frank said. “Maybe the robbery was a cover. Steal the jewels, sell them elsewhere, and claim the insurance money.”

  Joe started up the van. “But how does that involve Rojas and Wingfoot?”

  “The store’s owner could have brought them in as fall guys. Promise them some fast, easy cash, have them rob the place, and then double-cross them so they take the rap for it.”

  “Guess that points us to our next stop,” Joe said. “Let’s chat with the suspects. Shoreham started baseball practice today, so Rojas and Wingfoot should be at the school.”

  While they drove to Shoreham High School, Frank filled in his brother on what he had learned at the store. Joe was intrigued by Bill’s comment about the thieves not wearing any masks.

  “From the few times we played against Rojas and Wingfoot, I’d definitely take them as the confident type. But to have the know-how to short out an alarm system? That takes some advanced skill. And then to make a bonehead move like not wearing a disguise? Well, I never did mistake them for geniuses. But if they thought they were pulling a foolproof job, for instance, if they were told that the security system and cameras would be turned off, then they wouldn’t have needed masks. Add it up and it gives some weight to the insurance scam plus frame-up theory.”

  “It sure does. Or they’re just bad criminals. Can’t always cover all the bases,” Frank said. “Speaking of bases, it looks like the baseball team is still on the field.” Frank pointed to the diamond as the van approached Shoreham High School.

  “I wonder why they started practice a week before the other schools,” Joe observed.

  “They have a state championship to defend.” Frank drove the van into the school’s parking lot. Very few cars were there at this time of day, so Frank pulled into a spot close to the gym. From this vantage point, although they couldn’t see the baseball diamond, they would be sure to see Rojas and Wingfoot leave the locker room after practice.

  “Do you think we’ll get anything out of them?” Frank asked.

  “Why wait?” Joe replied. He got out of the van.

  “Where are you going?” Frank followed his brother.

  “To snoop. Maybe our two electronics wizards—the ones not savvy enough to wear masks to a robbery—have something hidden in their lockers.”

  Frank smiled as he followed his brother into the gym. A few people were playing basketball on the center court, a few others were in the weight room, and still others were just milling about. Nobody paid much attention to the Hardys.

  Joe walked through the doors of the locker room, his brother following closely. Joe quickly scanned the locker room. There didn’t appear to be anybody in there, and the showers were also silent.

  “Check the nameplates,” he whispered to Frank. “You take the back rows,”

  The two split up, Joe quickly walking down the first row of lockers while Frank sprinted to the back of the room.

  After just two minutes of fruitless reading, Joe heard a whistle. He looked down the line of lockers. Frank was a few rows away, giving the thumbs-up sign. Joe quickly joined his brother.

  “Rojas and Wingfoot,” Frank said as he pointed at two lockers, “side by side.”

  “That makes it easy. Good thing they’re best friends.”

  Frank reached into his pants pocket. He took out a long, thin metal pin with a hook at one end, along with a second, thicker rod.

  “Good thing they don’t use combination locks,” Frank responded. He stuck the two pins into the lock that held Rojas’s locker closed. After a few jiggles, the lock mechanism yielded to Frank’s expert touch. Joe immediately began searching through the locker while Frank went to work on Wingfoot’s lock.

  “Find anything?” Frank asked as he began his search of Wingfoot’s possessions.

  “Just a goofy picture,” Joe replied. “Here, look at this.”

  Frank glanced over to see what his brother was holding.

  “ ‘To some great performers. You’re the best, Monty Andrews,’ ” Frank read. Joe had found a picture of Rojas and Wingfoot posing with the host of Monty Mania. “Looks like they were picked from the audience at one of the tapings.”

  Frank stuck his head inside Wingfoot’s locker. Joe replaced the picture on the inside of the door to Rojas’s locker. Then he closed the door and latched the lock.

  “Bingo,” Frank exhaled. Joe kneeled down to get a look at what had gotten Frank’s attention.

  “What have we here?” Joe asked with a smile.

  “Gee,” came a booming voice from behind the brothers, “we were just going to ask the same thing!”

  8 Wanted Men

  * * *

  Frank and Joe stood up slowly. Frank still held the object that had riveted his attention before they were startled by the booming voice behind them. Joe gave his brother a what-do-we-do-now look as they calmly turned to face the guy, who was backed up by the Shoreham High School baseball team.

  There was a moment of tense silence. Frank counted the number of people they faced—thirteen to two, not very good odds.

  “I’ll ask again,” said a tall, lanky boy with dark skin and an angular face. “What do we have here?”

  “Looks like a couple of thieves!” shouted a voice from the back of the pack of boys.

  “Looks like a couple of Bayport bums, come here to sabotage us,” another voice said.

  “Yeah, I recognize them,” said the dark-skinned teen. “You two play for Bayport High’s baseball team. The Hardy brothers.”

  “And you’re Pepper Wingfoot, and it looks like you’re guilty,” Joe responded. He pointed to what was clenched in Frank’s hand. The older Hardy dangled a bright gold necklace between two fingers. The necklace had a heart-shaped charm that bore a small, sparkling diamond.

  “Hey!” Wingfoot spat. “Where’d you get that necklace?” Wingfoot lunged forward to swipe the necklace from Frank’s hand, but Frank clenched his fist and pulled the bauble out of reach.

  “The real question should be, where did you get it?” Frank said. “Been doing some after-hours shopping?”

  “Don’t answer that,” said the boy next to Pepper. He was as tall as Wingfoot but much more muscular. “We don’t have to answer any questions about that.”

  “What are you hiding, Rojas?” Joe asked as he realized who the other boy was.

  “Enough with the talk!” shouted another ballplayer. “Let’s teach these Bayport goons a lesson.”

  “Yeah!” grumbled some of the other players as they descended on Frank and Joe. The brothers both put their hands in front of them.

  “Come on, now,” Frank said. “We didn’t come here for a fight.”

  “Well, it looks like you found one,” Rojas responded. He raised his fist, aiming it at Joe, who crossed his arms in front of his body in a defensive posture.

  The punch, however, was halted by a loud voice instead.

  “What are you guys all crowded around for?” asked a man in a Shoreham baseball uniform as he pushed through the crowd.

  “These guys from Bayport broke in here and ransacked our lockers, Coach,” Wingfoot explained.

  The coach glared at Frank and Joe. Then he glanced at Rojas, who still had his fist cocked.

  “Relax, Roberto,” the coach said. “You don’t need any more trouble.”

  “That’s what we’re here about,” Frank said, holding up
the jeweled necklace he had found in Pepper Wingfoot’s gym bag.

  The coach’s eyes widened. He glanced at the crowd of ballplayers.

  “Okay, hit the showers!” he growled. The crowd began to disperse, murmuring threats at Frank and Joe.

  “You two come with me,” the coach said to the Hardys. “You guys also.” He indicated Rojas and Wingfoot. The four teens glared as they walked in silence behind the coach. He led them to a small office at the front of the locker room. When he was sitting behind his desk, he addressed the boys.

  “One at a time, starting with you,” he said pointing to Frank. “Names and explanations.”

  “I’m Frank Hardy, and this is my brother, Joe,” Frank began. “We came here hoping to get some information from Rojas and Wingfoot about the robbery at the Jewelry Exchange.”

  “By breaking into my locker?” Wingfoot asked angrily.

  “We wanted to see if you really were involved in that crime,” Frank said.

  “And I guess we found our answer,” Joe added, indicating the necklace in his brother’s hand.

  “Let me see that,” the coach said to Frank, who handed the necklace across the desk.

  “Can you explain this?” he said to Wingfoot.

  “Hey, maybe those guys planted it!” Rojas interjected.

  Wingfoot shook his head. “Nice try at a save, buddy. But the truth will serve us better here. I bought it for my girlfriend a few weeks ago. I was saving it for her birthday.”

  “In your locker?” Joe asked with skepticism.

  “After we were, you know, arrested, I moved it here so if the cops searched my house, they wouldn’t be suspicious like you guys are now.”

  “Why wasn’t it gift wrapped?” Frank asked.

  “I was going to slip it around her neck. Figured it was cooler than just handing her a box with a ribbon around it.”

  “Do you have proof that you bought this necklace, Pepper?” the coach asked.

  “Sure, Coach,” Wingfoot replied. “I have a receipt and everything. Guess I didn’t want any more hassle from the cops so I stashed it here.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” the coach said. He glared at Frank and Joe. “So, what’s your interest in all of this. You work for the cops? Or maybe the jewelry store?”