The Crisscross Crime Read online

  “I think the police are headed to the wrong branch of Empire Federal,” Joe said. “Biff spotted somebody casing the downtown branch.”

  Frank had to make a decision. If they quit following the police now, they would miss out on what was happening at the Ridge Street branch. “Biff says he saw something suspicious? That’s all we’re going on?”

  Joe nodded.

  Frank clenched his jaw and hit the brakes. As the van skidded to a stop, he wrenched the wheel around and gunned the engine. Seconds later they were headed back in the direction they had come from—toward downtown Bayport.

  “I hope Biff’s right,” Frank said.

  Downtown, everything seemed strangely quiet compared to the wailing of the police sirens. Frank pulled the van to the curb about half a block from the sub shop.

  The Hardys got out, acting casual, then walked over to meet Biff. Without being too obvious, they glanced over at the stately, four-story stone building that housed the downtown branch of Empire Federal Bank. Few other people were out on the sidewalks in the midafternoon heat, and the Hardys didn’t see anyone outside the bank.

  They found Biff sitting at a window booth in the sub shop. From there he had a clear view of the front entrance to the bank.

  “Okay,” Frank said, settling into the booth. “What’s up?”

  Biff leaned forward, his huge shoulders hunched up by his ears. “He was over there, I swear.”

  Joe threw up his hands. “You mean he’s gone now?”

  Biff looked embarrassed. “He was really creepy looking, Joe. He had thick red hair, you know. It was, like, all over the place. And he had sunglasses and a mustache.”

  “What’s so creepy about that?”

  “It all looked fake, like the hair was a wig. The mustache didn’t look right either.”

  “Hey,” Joe said, under his breath. “That must be him.”

  Frank and Biff followed Joe’s gaze out the window. They watched as a redheaded man dressed in a cheap-looking business suit stepped out of an alley between a jewelry store and the bank.

  “That’s him!” Biff confirmed.

  The man stopped outside the bank doors. He glanced around before quickly disappearing inside.

  Joe jumped up. “Yeah, he looks like he’s about to make a mighty big withdrawal.”

  “Be cool,” Frank warned as he and Biff followed Joe out. “We don’t want to make a mistake and bust some guy for just looking funny.”

  “Don’t worry,” Joe said. “If looking funny were a crime, you’d get a life sentence.”

  Biff chuckled out loud.

  The three friends crossed the street quickly, then slowed as they carefully approached the bank. With the afternoon glare, they couldn’t see anything through the smoked-glass windows. The street was nearly deserted.

  “Here’s what we do,” Frank whispered. “I’ll walk in like a regular customer. If there’s nothing wrong, I’ll act like I forgot something and walk right back out. If I don’t come out in ten seconds, you know something’s up. Call the police.”

  Joe and Biff nodded.

  Frank set his facial expression on neutral, just a normal guy running a bank errand. Then he walked through the first set of double doors.

  Pausing in the space between the two sets of doors, he felt a cool breeze from the bank’s air-conditioning. Trying to see through the second set of doors, he thought he could make out the shapes of people moving around inside. Things looked normal enough.

  He pushed through the second set of doors and into the bank. The sight inside sent a chill down his spine.

  Five or six bank customers lay on the floor, their hands clasped behind their heads.

  Two tellers rushed around behind the counter, dumping trays of cash into a cloth satchel. One of them sobbed quietly as she worked.

  The redheaded man stood in the center of the room, a gun raised over his head.

  He spotted Frank instantly. “Get down!” he shouted. He took a step toward Frank and brandished the gun in his direction. “Get on the floor—now!”

  9 Hit Batsman

  * * *

  Outside, Biff and Joe waited. The seconds ticked past.

  “Something’s wrong,” Joe said. “We’ve got to get in there.”

  Biff put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Frank said to call the cops and wait.”

  “No,” Joe said. “That could take too long. Frank might be in trouble.” He took off, leaving Biff with a bewildered expression on his face.

  Joe sprinted across the street to the van. He yanked the sliding door open and pulled out two baseball bats.

  A woman coming out of an ice-cream store stopped and stared at him.

  “Call the police!” Joe called to her as he ran back across the street. “Empire Federal’s being robbed.”

  The woman dropped her yogurt to the sidewalk and dashed back inside the ice-cream store.

  Joe tossed a bat to Biff. “I’ll go around to the side,” he said. “Give me ten seconds, then go in the front, fast.”

  Joe ran to the side entrance, counting to himself. He barely had time to catch his breath before he reached ten. Lowering his shoulder, he slammed into the door, hitting it so hard that it swung back into the wall. The glass shattered, showering the floor with tiny glass pellets.

  • • •

  Inside, Frank had done as he was told and was lying on the floor, his fingers locked behind his head.

  He felt the redheaded man looming over him, making sure he was complying. When Frank saw the man’s shoes start to move the other way, he peeked up, hoping to memorize something about the robber that would help in capturing him later.

  The man spun around suddenly. “Keep that head down!” he yelled. Then he spoke to everyone in the bank. “You all stay nice and quiet,” he said. “This will all be over in a few minutes.”

  At that moment Frank heard a terrific crash. He looked up to see Joe stagger in, covered with round pellets of glass.

  Startled, the crook held the gun out in two hands, pointed right at Joe. Then Frank saw him turn to the front door. There was Biff!

  Biff held the bat ready to swing and took a step toward the robber.

  “Biff! He’s got a gun!” Frank shouted.

  Biff froze.

  Frank heard the gun go off. An awful orange flash lit up the bank.

  The bullet ripped through the barrel of Biff’s bat, exploding it into a confetti of wood chips. For a split second, Biff stood holding just the handle of the bat, then he dove for cover behind a desk.

  Joe saw his chance. He blitzed the thug, swinging his bat at the guy’s wrists. He hit the gun, and it went skittering across the tile floor.

  The redheaded man started to go for the gun, but Frank was already up, blocking his path to the weapon.

  “Come and get it,” Frank said, beckoning the man with a wave of his hand.

  After a second’s hesitation the crook turned and fled through the rear emergency exit. The Hardys pursued him into the parking lot.

  Running at full speed, Joe swung the bat, hitting the man on the side of his leg. The crook tripped and tumbled forward.

  Joe went in to finish him off, but the thug was up in a flash, ready to fight.

  Frank circled to the man’s right, while Joe took a step to his left.

  “You’d better give it up,” Joe warned, holding the bat out menacingly. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  The thug grinned. He reached into the lining of his suit coat and withdrew a steel crowbar. “Now it’s your turn to bring it on,” he said.

  Unfazed, Joe took a swing. The man held out the crowbar. There was a loud thock! as wood and steel collided. Joe’s hands rung with pain.

  Frank took a chance. While the man’s back was turned, he stepped in, planning to bring the guy down with a side kick to the back of his knee.

  The thug was too quick.

  As Frank’s leg shot out, the man spun and nailed him right in the shin with the crowbar. />
  Frank yowled and crumpled to the ground.

  The thug turned and ran toward the alley. Joe rushed to his brother’s side.

  “I’m okay,” Frank said through gritted teeth. “Go after him, Joe!”

  Joe sprinted to the mouth of the alley. It was completely empty. He ran to where it opened up on State Street, across from the sub shop. He looked right and left. No sign of the redheaded man.

  A white-haired woman stood waiting at the bus stop a few yards away.

  “Did you see a guy running out here a few seconds ago?” Joe asked.

  The woman looked at Joe, then at his baseball bat. “No,” she said. Then she began scolding Joe. “You shouldn’t be playing baseball back in that parking lot,” she said. “There are parks for that kind of thing, you know.”

  Joe sighed. “I know,” he said. “Thanks.”

  He headed back through the alley. Stopping in the middle, he looked up. No fire escapes, no way to climb up to the roof, he thought. The guy had just vanished, inside an alley.

  He tapped the barrel of the bat along the pavement as he headed back to Frank. He noticed that the sound had changed pitch. Looking down, he saw that he’d struck a manhole cover a lot like the one he’d tripped over in the junkyard. Well, he thought, at least I didn’t take a tumble over this one. Then he had an idea. Reaching down, he tried to get his fingers under the rim of the lid to lift it up.

  “No way,” he muttered, almost tearing off his fingernails. “This thing must weigh close to two hundred pounds. No way to get it up without some kind of help.”

  Back in the parking lot, he found Biff helping Frank up.

  “How’s the leg?”

  Frank pulled up the leg of his jeans, revealing an egg-size welt. He tested the leg, walking slowly in circles. “I’ll live.”

  “Where’d the guy go?” Biff asked.

  Joe rested his bat on his shoulder. “No idea. Went into the alley and then”—Joe snapped his fingers—“vanished. He didn’t look nearly big enough to be Meredith, though.”

  Frank stamped his pants leg back into place. “This time it must’ve been Racine or Galatin wearing a wig, like Biff figured.” He walked gingerly to the bank door. “I want to get back inside the bank and ask some questions,” he said.

  The Hardys and Biff found most of the customers gathered in a clump next to the teller line. They were hugging one another and talking loudly about the adventure they’d just shared.

  The crook’s gun still lay in the middle of the floor, and Frank asked Biff to make sure no one touched it.

  Behind the counter, the bank manager and several other employees tried to comfort the teller who’d been crying before.

  Frank and Joe asked a few questions, but the customers had either been too scared to take a close look at the robber or were now too upset to talk about it.

  Joe was about to go over to talk to the employees when a deep voice called his name from across the lobby.

  “Joe Hardy! What are you doing here!”

  It was Chief Collig, leading a troop of five or six officers. While one officer swooped down on the gun, Collig came straight up to Frank and Joe. “I’ve had enough of your interference in this investigation,” he said, poking an index finger into Joe’s chest. He turned to Frank next. “You’re supposed to be the older, more responsible one. What were you thinking coming in here like cowboys? You could’ve gotten hurt. These innocent people could’ve been killed!”

  The bank manager strode around from behind the counter. “Please!” she said. “I have something to say.”

  Collig stared at her, his face red with anger.

  “Thanks to these young men, we’re all safe,” the manager said firmly. “The thief didn’t even get any money. What I’d like to know is why it took you so long to get here after I pushed the alarm.”

  Joe didn’t think Chief Collig’s face could get any redder, but it did. “Humph” was all Collig said before turning abruptly to give orders to his officers. When he finally had himself composed, he apologized to the manager—but not before he told the Hardys and Biff to get out of his sight.

  Joe was happy to follow the chief’s orders.

  “I’ve got to get home,” Biff said.

  Frank and Joe said goodbye to their friend, then walked over to find Con Riley using the manager’s key ring to get into a back storage room.

  “False alarm out on Ridge?” Frank asked.

  “That’s right,” Con said in a whisper. “A little bit different from yesterday, though.” He tried another key. “The manager out there said that two men walked into the bank wearing black ski masks. One watched the customers while the other went into the manager’s office and demanded that he push the alarm button.”

  “No way!” Joe said.

  “Yup. The guys were cool as cucumbers, the manager said. They stood around for two or three minutes—just long enough for us to get close—then took off.”

  Con finally found the right key and got the room open. Frank and Joe followed him into what appeared to be a file room. Cardboard file boxes were stacked up to the ceiling against three of the four walls. The fourth wall housed the electrical box and a shelf with three small TV monitors.

  “So you didn’t catch them?” Joe asked.

  Con laughed bitterly. “Not even close. We had the helicopter up in the sky, we had K-9 units out with dogs. They disappeared without a trace.”

  Joe told Con about the redheaded man and how he’d vanished as well.

  “Do you think any one of the guys could’ve been Meredith?” Frank asked.

  “That’s another strange thing,” Con said, going over to the monitors. “We checked on Meredith on our way back into town. He was cleaning the courthouse, as he was supposed to be.”

  “Who told you that?” Joe asked.

  “Judge Hopkins,” Con replied. “He was watching Meredith vacuum his office carpet. You don’t get a much better alibi than that.”

  “No, I guess not,” Joe said. “Maybe he sat this one out, you know? He let his partners run this job because we were getting too close to him.”

  “Maybe,” Frank said. “There’s still too much we don’t know.”

  Con pushed some buttons under the monitors. “Here’s one more chance for some answers,” he said. “These are the surveillance tapes. I’m winding them back twenty minutes.”

  Con pushed a few more buttons, and soon Frank and Joe were watching themselves on TV. They saw the redheaded man come in waving his gun. They saw the customers fall to the floor. They saw Frank enter first, then Joe and Biff. They saw the gunshot shatter Biff’s bat. They saw the fight in the parking lot. Then it was over.

  “Not much we can use,” Con said, clearly disappointed.

  “Wait a second,” Joe said. “Rewind it to the beginning, will you?”

  Con punched a button, waited, then hit Play.

  The film ran for less than fifteen seconds before Joe shouted to freeze it.

  Con hit Pause.

  Joe was so excited he could barely talk. “Look right here,” he said. He pointed to a customer at the front of the line.

  Frank recognized a tall woman with light hair. “It’s Sylvia,” he said. “I can’t believe we didn’t see her.”

  “There was too much going on,” Joe said. “Now watch what happens.”

  They ran through the entire film again. When the redheaded man came in, Sylvia dropped to the floor with all the others. She remained down with the others during the fight. When the Hardys chased the robber out of the bank, all the customers except one stayed down on the floor.

  Only Sylvia calmly stood up, brushed herself off, and walked out the front door.

  10 The Change-up

  * * *

  “Talk about cool as a cucumber!” Joe exclaimed. “She was never worried at all.”

  “I think we need to have another talk with Miss van Loveren,” Con said. “She might be the inside contact after all.”

  Frank hated t
o admit it, but it seemed Con and his brother were right. He’d been wrong about Sylvia. She was guilty.

  Con’s walkie-talkie crackled to life. Through the static, a voice said, “Unit twelve calling unit seven. Unit twelve calling unit seven.”

  Con held the radio to his mouth. “This is unit seven. Go ahead.”

  “This is a follow-up on one Earl Galatin,” the voice said. “The suspect put down the Bay View Motel as his address on the rental car application. Checked it out. It’s a dead end. Over.”

  “Got it,” Con said. “Unit seven out.”

  Joe shook his head. “These guys are pretty slippery.”

  “They’ll make a mistake,” Frank said. “Then we’ll make them pay for it.”

  Con put a hand on each of the Hardy’s shoulders. “You know I like having your help,” he said. “But be careful, all right?”

  “Always,” Joe said, grinning.

  Con looked at Frank. “Make sure you keep this hardheaded brother of yours under control, okay?”

  Frank smiled. “Always.”

  • • •

  Outside, the Hardys ran into Bayport Savings’ president, Alex Stendahl.

  “Hold up. Hey, Jim Harper, just the person I wanted to talk to,” he said as he hurried over to Joe. He looked over at Frank. “Are you a reporter for the Globe, too?”

  “Ah, not exactly,” Frank said. “Sometimes I help Jim with his . . . investigations.”

  “Good,” Stendahl said. “Listen. The police won’t tell me what happened. Was it the same guy as at Bayport Savings? Did they catch him?”

  “No, he got away,” Joe said.

  Stendahl self-consciously touched the bandage over his eye. “Hmm. That’s bad,” he said. “They’re going to arrest Miss van Loveren, though, right? I mean, I saw her come out of the bank during the robbery. I know she was there.”

  “You saw her?” Frank asked.

  “Sure.” Stendahl pointed diagonally across the street. “I was sitting in my office. She came out the front door here. A few minutes later police were all over the place. That’s how I knew there’d been another robbery.”