Final Cut Page 7

  "Joe!" shouted Frank. "Move it!"

  Joe broke from his cover and charged Freed, whose Uzi lay just beyond his outstretched arm. Freed gave the younger Hardy a murderous look and launched himself forward. He grabbed the gun, pointed it at Joe, and squeezed the trigger.

  There was a dry click. Either the clip was empty or the gun had jammed.

  Frank reached down to grab him from behind, but with surprising quickness Freed whirled around. He reversed the gun and lashed out at Frank with the grip. Frank ducked, but the blow caught him on the shoulder with numbing force, and Freed kicked clear.

  Joe was on him instantly. But he hit Freed high, and the tough gunman dropped lower and arched his powerful back, bucking Joe up and over him. Joe hit the roof and vaulted, disappearing from sight.

  The Hardys picked themselves up and took off after Freed. The roof Freed had dropped to was one story lower. They were landing on it as Freed raced for the door to the building's stairs.

  Before the Hardys could reach the door, Freed had darted through it and slammed it behind him. Joe tried it, but it wouldn't budge.

  "He's jammed it or locked it!" Joe shouted, banging the metal in frustration.

  They could hear footsteps pounding as Freed ran for the street below.

  "Joe! The fire escape!" yelled Frank, pointing to the top of the ladder that faced the street. The brothers started down the slippery metal rungs two at a time, watching the street below for Freed to appear.

  Frank was in front, and just as he reached the second story Freed came barreling out through the ground floor door. He took off at full speed, right for the spot where the crew was busy setting up the next shot. Frank catapulted over the side and dropped to the sidewalk, Joe right behind him.

  Frank pointed, and the two brothers dashed after Freed, who was tearing straight through the astonished production crew. He elbowed one man out of his way and sent a script girl head-on into a pile of canvas chairs as he forced his escape route through the technicians.

  Frank and Joe were faced with a mob of sightseers and film people milling around and making it impossible to run full speed. Helpless and frustrated, they tried to keep Freed in view as they struggled through the crowd. By the time they had escaped the worst of the confusion, Freed was nowhere to be seen. The man had succeeded in vanishing again.

  "Which way could he have gone?" Joe demanded urgently. Frank only shrugged, realizing that every second the thug was getting farther away.

  "We had him and we let him get away!" Joe exclaimed with a look of disgust on his face. "What a great pair of detectives we are!"

  "Take it easy," said Frank, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "He can't be too far away. Maybe somebody saw him."

  "Hey, fellas," came a voice from under a cowboy hat. Alvin was in his usual position, sitting in his chair, tilted back against a nearby trailer.

  "Alvin!" exclaimed Frank. "You didn't happen to see - "

  Alvin pointed with his thumb, indicating a right turn at the next corner. "A man oughtn't to race around like that. It's not healthy, and you can knock folks over when you aren't careful." Alvin carefully adjusted the tilt of his hat. "You know, I'm beginning to take a strong dislike to Sam Freed."

  "Thanks, Alvin, we owe you one," said Joe as the brothers resumed their pursuit.

  They rounded the corner and entered a side street, but Freed was nowhere to be seen.

  "Let's split up and check these doorways and alleys," said Joe.

  The two ran to opposite sides of the street and slowly checked each possible hiding place for Freed. Then, halfway down the block, Frank saw an old pickup truck sitting at the far end of the narrow alley with its motor running. There was someone in the driver's seat, but it was too far away to tell who.

  He turned and called, "Joe! Come here for - " But before he could finish, Sam Freed sprang out of an entryway and clubbed Frank savagely across the back of the neck with both fists. Dazed and hurt, Frank dropped to his knees as Freed ran for the pickup.

  Joe ran across the street and reached the mouth of the alley just as Freed leapt into the pickup. It sped off, reaching the end of the alley, and disappeared.

  Joe knelt beside his brother. "Frank? You all right?'

  "I think so," Frank answered, shaking his head to clear it. "Freed blindsided me and he took off in that truck. We lost him again."

  Joe carefully helped Frank to his feet. "Did you see who was driving the truck?"

  "No, it was too far away." Frank slapped the wall and scowled. "This is turning into a totally rotten day. We can't do anything right!"

  "Hey, look at it this way. Freed tried to kill us and we're still alive. It's not over till it's over, right?" Joe snapped his fingers. "You know, that truck could've been the one that dumped Fairburn's body. It didn't have plates."

  "We'd better call Dad and report in," said Frank, rubbing the back of his neck.

  "What about the police?" asked Joe.

  "We'll see what Dad says," Frank replied.

  At a pay phone they called Fenton and told him what had happened.

  After making sure that his sons were all right, Fenton asked Frank, "Could you tell if the driver was a man or a woman?"

  "No, Dad," Frank said. It was pretty far away, and the angle was wrong. "Why, you think it might have been Andrea Stuart?"

  "I wouldn't rule her out. Was she on the location today?"

  "No. Neither was Mel Clifford. But Jim Addison was around."

  "Are you sure? All day?" asked Fenton.

  "Well ..." Frank thought for a second. "Actually, he got here kind of late, and then he spent a lot of time in his dressing room."

  There was a brief silence from Fenton, and then he said, "I don't think we can rule anybody out. All we know for sure is that there's more than one person in on this murder, and that this guy Freed is harder to pin down than we figured."

  "Don't rub it in," groaned Frank.

  As Frank and Joe walked back to the filming location, Hector Ellerby came up to them.

  "Where have you two been? We need you guys. We still have a lot to get done today. Have you seen Freed, by the way?"

  Frank said, "Well - "

  Ellerby looked at his watch and interrupted. "You can tell me all about it later. Right now we're trying to shoot some close-ups, and we could use you to keep the civilians from pestering Preston Lawrence for autographs."

  Ellerby trotted away. Frank grinned at Joe.

  "Just as well that he can't wait around for an answer. It saves us the trouble of cooking one up."

  As they resumed work, Trish came by and gave Joe a look of concern.

  "Are you okay? I saw you and Frank running after Sam Freed a while ago."

  Joe grinned at her. "We're fine, but I appreciate your asking. The TV business is turning out to be more exciting than I expected. But don't worry, Frank and I can look out for ourselves."

  Her look remained worried. "Well, okay, if you say so. But you just be careful. Oh, by the way, one of my favorite old movies is playing in town tonight. Casablanca, with Humphrey Bogart. Do you want to go?"

  Joe's eyes lit up. "Sure, that sounds great! I could pick you up at - "

  "I tell you what," she interrupted as Frank walked up to them, "maybe Frank and his girlfriend would like to come along. Frank, what do you think? Want to see a classic movie tonight?"

  Frank looked at Joe, and then back at Trish. "Uh - sure, I guess so, it sounds like fun. I'll call Callie when we finish shooting today."

  "Fantastic!" Trish exclaimed, and ran off happily.

  Frank gave his brother a grin. "Sounds like you're making progress. Hang in there."

  Joe shrugged. "Maybe, but I think that if she had a choice between seeing me or a movie, I'd finish a distant second."

  Frank clapped Joe on the shoulder. "Well, that's showbiz."

  Later that afternoon, as the sun dropped low in the sky, Jerry Morrall squinted at the shot he was setting up.

  "Ivan," he
called out to the director. "We're losing the light. I think we'll have to wrap after this one."

  "Okay, Jerry," the director answered. "We got all the important stuff we needed. If we still want a few little covering bits, we can get them with a second unit, without actors, next week."

  The shot was completed, and Hector Ellerby picked up his bullhorn. "That's a wrap, people. Good work today. Let's pack it up."

  Technicians began putting lighting instruments away, carefully winding coils of cable and packing up reflectors.

  Frank came up to Joe and said, "I just called Callie, and she and I will meet you tonight at the theater. You ready to take off?"

  "I'm going to hang around while Trish finishes up here," replied Joe. "Headcase said that he'd give us a ride back to the hotel. We're going to get something to eat before the movie."

  "All right," Frank said. "Don't let her talk about movies and TV. Maybe she'll notice she's having a date."

  "I'll give it my best shot," Joe assured him. Frank left, driving the rental car they'd picked up.

  Joe helped Trish as she passed out the next day's schedule to everyone on the crew. Then he ran a couple of errands for Hector Ellerby. By the time they had finished, it was almost dark.

  Headcase called out to them, "You guys ready to go?"

  At the same moment another voice called out, "Trish! Phone call for you, in the office."

  She called back to Headcase, "I'll just take this call, and then we can all leave."

  The company had rented a storefront to serve as a temporary office for the day. It was just around the corner from where they had been shooting. Joe walked Trish over there and waited while she picked up the phone.

  "Hello?" she said. And again, "Hello? Anybody there?" She gave Joe a puzzled look.

  "Whoever it was must've hung up."

  "Well, let's go. Headcase is waiting," Joe said, opening the office door.

  They walked in silence toward the corner. Joe heard a car door slam in the darkness. He ignored it, trying to figure how to get Trish to open up a little. Footsteps approached behind them. Headcase got tired of waiting, Joe thought, and turned to say hello.

  But he didn't get all the way around. Something hard and heavy came down on the back of his head with crushing force. Joe felt a flash of pain. Then the ground rose up to meet him, and everything went black.

  Chapter 13

  "Joe! Hey, Joe!" Can you hear me, man?"

  The voice was familiar, but so far away.

  Joe slowly opened his eyes, and was aware of a nasty pain in the back of his head and a blurry face staring down at him. Gradually it came into focus. Headcase was kneeling over him with his customary headphones in place and a worried look behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Joe wondered what was going on. He couldn't quite remember.

  Then Joe noticed that he was lying on his back in the street. He raised himself on one elbow and winced as his head started to throb. Things began to come back to him. He looked around at the dark street and tried to focus his thoughts.

  There was nobody else in sight. There was no sign of Trish. Trish! He had been with Trish, and then someone had bashed him.

  "What - " Joe started to say, then stopped. "Headcase, have you seen Trish? How long have I been out like this?"

  With enormous effort Joe tried to get up. Headcase gently put a hand on his shoulder.

  "Don't move yet," warned Headcase. "You could have, you know, a concussion or something. Someone really gave you a shot, huh? I haven't seen Trish. You both walked over to the office maybe ten minutes ago. When you didn't come back, I went to look for you, and found you out cold. She wasn't around."

  Joe closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  "Can you help me up?" he asked Headcase. When the soundman still hesitated, he added, "It's all right, really. Whoever knocked me out just wanted me to go to sleep for a few minutes, not do permanent damage."

  With Headcase's help, Joe stood and held on to his arm a minute until the dizziness passed.

  "Listen," he said, "we have to check to see if anyone saw Trish leave and if she was with anyone."

  As they started back around the corner, Joe stopped and gave the soundman a serious look.

  "Be careful not to give the impression that there's anything seriously wrong. We're just curious, okay?"

  Only a few technicians still remained on location, and they hadn't seen her. Joe spotted Alvin, still in his chair.

  "Alvin!" He approached the big driver. "Listen, did you see Trish around in the last few minutes?"

  Alvin looked up from his chair. "Trish? Yeah, I saw her drive off in someone's pickup just a little bit ago. Don't know whose truck."

  A pickup truck! Joe suddenly was hit by a terrible thought. Could it be the same pickup truck? Could Trish have set him up? Could she be a part of the murder?

  Joe leaned closer to Alvin. "Did you happen to see who was with her?"

  Alvin scratched his head and thought. "Nope, sorry. I figured it must have been a couple of guys from the crew, you know, giving her a ride back to the hotel." He looked at Joe more intently. "Something wrong?"

  "No, it's no big deal," Joe said quickly. "I was just looking for her, that's all." Alvin looked up at Headcase, but the soundman simply returned the look without giving anything away. But as they walked away from Alvin, Joe sensed the driver staring after them.

  Headcase took off his headset. Joe had never seen him without it. He looked very different.

  "Listen," said Headcase quietly. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I figure you and your brother are into something pretty heavy."

  Joe shot him a suspicious frown. "You haven't been - you know, listening in when Frank and I... "

  Headcase shook his head and assured Joe. "No, no, I haven't been listening in on you or anything like that. But it doesn't take a genius to figure that something screwy is going on around here, all this bad action between you and Sam Freed, and now you get knocked out cold, and Trish disappears. All I want to say is, if I can do anything, just let me know."

  Joe smiled gratefully and said, "Thanks, Headcase. I appreciate it. We might just take you up on it." He went back to the office and used the phone to call home. His father answered almost at once, almost before the phone had had a chance to ring.

  "Hi, Dad, I - "

  "Joe," his father cut in, sounding worried, "where are you?"

  "At the location. I've been - "

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah, but - "

  "You better hurry home. I have something to show you," Fenton said urgently.

  At Joe's request, Headcase dropped him off at the Hardy house, and he walked in to find not only Fenton, but Frank and Callie, too, waiting for him with grim faces.

  "Where's Trish?" asked Frank.

  Joe filled them in on the attack he had suffered, and on Trish's disappearance.

  "I asked everyone who was still around, but nobody had seen where she went, or who took her."

  Fenton pointed to a piece of paper lying on a table. "Read that, but be careful not to touch it. There probably aren't any fingerprints, but you never know."

  Joe bent over the piece of paper, on which a message had been pasted in cut-out newspaper letters: "We have Trish. Wait for our call. Tell no one or she's history."

  Joe banged a fist on the desk. "When did you get this?" he asked his father.

  "Fifteen minutes ago. We got a phone call, and an obviously disguised voice told us to look in our mailbox. There it was."

  Callie spoke up. "What do they want with Trish?"

  Frank put an arm around her shoulders. "Probably, they don't want her specifically, except as a way of putting pressure on us. But there's no point in guessing. We just have to wait for their call - whoever 'they' are."

  "Do you figure that anybody on the crew knows what's wrong?" Frank asked Joe.

  "Well, they know that Sam Freed is a goon of some kind," replied Joe, "but I haven't heard anybody
putting things together yet. Except for Headcase. He knows that something's up, but he doesn't know what, exactly. He also said that if there was anything he could do to help to call him."

  The next half hour dragged by slowly. They all sat, staring at the phones in Fenton's office as if that would make the call come sooner.

  When it did ring, Callie jumped a little. Fenton picked it up instantly and switched on the speakerphone so that everyone could hear both sides of the conversation.

  "Is this Mr. Hardy?" The voice sounded high, squeaky, and metallic. Someone was making sure that he or she wouldn't be recognized.

  "Yes, this is Fenton Hardy."

  "The girl is fine. Play ball with us, and she stays that way. We don't want anyone hurt."

  "What do you want?" Fenton asked.

  "Get Jim Addison over to your place, now. Tell him to come alone. You have one hour. When we call again, he better be there. And there better be no cops."

  There was a click and then dead silence.

  "Addison!" Joe exclaimed. "What's going on here?"

  Fenton punched out the number of the hotel where the actor was staying. "For the moment they have the upper hand, so let's just do what they say."

  The detective got the actor on the line.

  "Jim? Fenton Hardy here."

  "Yes, Fenton, what's up?"

  "Something important has come up. I can't talk about it on the phone. We need you over here right away, and alone."

  Jim Addison didn't hesitate. "I'm on my way."

  When the doorbell rang a short time later, Frank answered it to find Jim Addison - and Andrea Stuart.

  "What's she doing here?" Joe was furious. "Hasn't she caused enough trouble?"

  Ms. Stuart held up a hand. "Wait, please. I've learned my lesson, Joe," she said. "I won't make any more waves from here on in, I promise. But Jim is not only my client, he's a dear friend. I want to stand by him."

  Fenton said, "Andrea, wait in the living room for a few minutes."

  Andrea started to protest but remained behind when the others went back to Fenton's office. After she was gone, Addison said, "What's going on here? Don't tell me you suspect Andrea? That's ridiculous!"