Flesh and Blood (4 page)

Frank looked at the photo. "He does look a little familiar, but I can't place him," he said after a moment. "The photo's old, though. Look at the shirt." He turned the photo so Joe could get a better look. "That style went out when we were kids."

Joe took the photo from Frank and stared. "He does look like somebody I know, but who I can't say."

"It's probably Mock's son, but why only a kindergarten photo? Why not other school pictures?" Frank took back the picture and flipped through the whole bundle one more time.

"Chief Collig will need to know about this," Officer Riley said. He cleared his throat and reached for the bundle. "I'll have to take those, Frank."

Frank hesitated, then palmed the kindergarten photo before handing the bundle to Officer Riley.

They walked out into the rain.

"I'll make sure our best detectives get on this," Officer Riley said as he opened the door of his police cruiser. "Try to contact your father and let him know what's going on."

"Right," Frank said, scrunching up his shoulders against the cold rain. "Our car phone's out, but we've got a CB that can reach a ham operator."

"Good." Officer Riley slid into his cruiser and fired up the engine. He stared straight ahead and said, "This kid of Mock's who's gunning for your father may also be looking for you two. I suggest you find a place to lay low for a while." He looked up at the Hardys, smiled slightly, then shut his door and sped away.

"What now?" Joe asked as he and Frank hopped into the van.

"First we need to figure out exactly who this is." Frank held up the kindergarten photo of Bobby Mock.

"Officer Riley's going to be upset with you," Joe said.

"It won't be the first time," Frank replied. "Or probably the last."

The Hardys' CB buzzed and clicked.

"Number One Girl calling Sherlock. Over," Callie said over the radio.

Frank sighed. Callie liked to use handles - trucker slang for nicknames. She had dubbed Frank "Sherlock," Joe "Bone Crusher," Chet "Pizza King," and herself "Number One Girl." It could have been worse, Frank thought.

Frank grabbed the handset. "What is it, Callie? Over."

"Number One Girl," Callie insisted.

"Okay, Number One Girl. What is it?" Frank glanced at Joe, who was laughing at Frank.

"Go to the Times, Sherlock. The Paper Girl's got something you ought to see."

"Paper Girl?"

"Liz!"

"Oh."

Joe laughed louder.

Frank ignored Joe. "Where are you, Callie?"

"I wish you'd use my handle, Sherlock." Callie paused, and Frank knew she was angry. "Pizza King and I are still at WBAY."

"How's Chet's finger?" Joe asked.

"Cal - I mean, Number One Girl, Joe wants to know about Pizza King's finger."

"He's got a splint on it, but it's really only bruised. Paper Girl is at the Bayport Times and has something she wants to show you."

"She say what it was?"

"No. She refused to say."

"Okay, Number One Girl," Frank said. "Will I see you later?"

"If you're lucky," Callie said. "Over."

"Over," Frank said. He hung up the handset and shot a glance at Joe. "What's so funny?"

Joe forced himself not to laugh while he said, "Ah, what fools we make out of ourselves for true love."

"Just drive, Bone Crusher."

Minutes later Frank and Joe were at the Bayport Times, listening to Liz Webling as she sat behind her desk. Don sat on one corner of the desk.

"I've been working as a stringer for some time," Liz was saying. Joe shot her a questioning glance.

"A part-time reporter," Don answered.

Joe locked eyes with Don. He had asked Liz not Don.

"That's why I have access to the morgue," Liz continued.

"The morgue?" Joe asked.

"It's what they call the file room where they keep the 'dead' issues," Don explained. "Get it?"

Joe locked eyes with Don again. Something about Don didn't sit right with Joe, but he couldn't put his finger on it - not yet, anyway.

"Another reporter heard about what Mangieri told the assistant district attorney and Riley. He managed to get his hands on the parole report on Leonard Mock."

"We've already found Mock, and it's not him we're worried about," Joe said impatiently.

"It's his son," Liz announced, leaning back in her chair and locking her hands behind her head.

"How did you know that?" Frank asked.

"I'm a reporter."

Liz leaned forward and stared intensely at Frank. Frank forced himself not to smile. He could tell Liz was enjoying playing the part of detective.

"Shortly after the trial," Liz began, "Mock lost custody of his son, and Bobby Mock was adopted by another family."

"What about Bobby's mother?" Frank asked.

"She died when Bobby was only three," Don answered.

Joe was about to ask Don how he knew that when Frank said, "If Bobby Mock was adopted, then his name would have been changed and that could be why we don't know anybody named Mock at school."

"That's right," Joe said, suddenly excited. "All we have to do now is find out who adopted Bobby Mock."

"Forget it," Don said.

"What?" Joe didn't like Don butting in, answering all the questions, and he didn't like Don's know-it-all tone.

"Adoption records are held by the vital records section of city hall," Don explained, sounding bored. "The only way vital records will let you look at adoption papers is through a court order. And trying to get a judge to unseal adoption records is like trying to get Joe to give out his book of phone numbers."

"How do you know so much about it?" Joe fired back, ignoring Don's jab at his numerous girlfriends.

"His dad is city manager," Liz reminded the Hardys.

"That's right," Don said smugly. "And while you two can't get to the records, I can."

"How?" Frank asked quickly. Frank could tell Joe was getting angrier by the moment. Joe didn't like interference, even helpful interference. Or was Joe jealous of Don because of Liz?

"I know everybody at city hall. Nobody's going to question my hanging around, especially during a crisis. I told you guys earlier I wanted in on this case."

"You're in," Frank said. Joe shot Frank an angry look. "And thanks."

"No problem." Don jumped up from the desk. "I'd better start now." He left the newsroom and disappeared down the hallway.

"We'd better start, too," Joe said, not wanting Don to get too far ahead of them.

"We owe you one," Frank said to Liz as they headed out of the newsroom.

"Forget it, Frank. On second thought, let me have the exclusive on this story, and we'll call it even."

"You've got it."

Once outside, Joe darted through the rain at a jog.

"Hey, what's your hurry?" Frank asked.

"You don't think I'm going to let Don solve this case before we do, do you?"

That confirms it, Frank thought, Joe is jealous of Don. With all the girls in Bayport Joe could impress, he had to decide to try to impress Liz Webling, the one girl who wouldn't have anything to do with him.

A roar split the air. It sounded like thunder, but Frank knew no thunder would crease his left temple with a searing hot wind. Shards of brick flew off the Times building where the bullet finally hit and exploded. A three-inch chunk of brick slammed into the back of Frank's head.

He fell to the wet pavement.

"Frank!" Joe shouted. He ran to his brother.

Blackness swam in front of Frank's eyes, slowly falling like a curtain over his brain. He tried to push himself up but couldn't. Time seemed to slow down. Frank raised his head and saw a man in a black raincoat and ski mask standing in the alley across the street. His hands were coiled around a .357 automatic, its deadly barrel trained on the Hardys.

The man fired again. Joe Hardy fell next to his brother.

Frank fought against the unconsciousness that sought to drown him. Through a red haze he watched as the black-clad man retreated into the darkness of the alley and disappeared.

He tried to push himself up again, but again he fell back to the wet pavement.

"Frank!" he heard someone yell in the distance.

His name echoed throughout his head, followed by a pounding that felt as though something were trying to push its way out through his temples.

He felt hands on his arm, turning him over. Once on his back, he looked up into the gray-black sky. Slowly the image of his brother came into focus.

"Joe," Frank said weakly. "I thought you were shot."

"Played possum," Joe said. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Frank sat up. "If you call an eighteen-wheel truck driving through your head okay." With Joe's help, Frank stood on wobbly legs. He had to lean against the brick building to steady himself.

"Not a truck," Joe said, fingering the three-inch hole the bullet had left in the brick wall.

"Automatic," Frank said, looking at the hole. "Three-fifty-seven."

"Frank! Joe! You okay?" Liz ran from the building, her face showing worry and fear. Several other employees were with her.

"Yeah," Frank said, trying to stand to his full height. He rocked back and forth as dizziness washed over him.

"What happened?" Liz asked.

"We don't know," Joe answered quickly. "I think I ought to treat that bump," he said to Frank. "And I think we have to get in out of the rain."

"Yeah," Frank replied.

"Everything's okay," Joe said to the small crowd that had formed around them. "Just a little accident." As the others headed back inside, Joe said to Liz, "I need to talk to you, Liz."

Once in the back of the van Joe got out the first-aid kit and began applying iodine to the back of Frank's head.

"Owww!" Frank shouted. He glared at Joe, who only smiled. "You don't have to enjoy this."

"What happened?" Liz asked again.

"We were shot at," Joe began.

"Bobby Mock, we think," Frank interrupted.

"How can you be sure?" Liz asked. "According to my sources, Leonard Mock said that Bobby is supposed to kill your father. Not you."

"We're the next best targets," Frank said as Joe finished up and put the first-aid kit away.

"I think the police ought to know about this," Liz said as she started to open the door.

"Wait," Frank said. He made a grab for her but fell back. "Man, I'm going to have some headache."

Joe hopped out into the clean dry air. The rain had finally let up. Joe gently grabbed Liz's arm to turn her around.

He began softly. "Look, Liz, Chief Collig has already threatened to throw us in jail for interfering with the investigation. If he knows about this, he'll put us in protective custody, and we won't be able to help find this Bobby Mock before he tries to kill our father."

"I don't know," Liz said hesitantly.

"Please, Liz. For me." Joe flashed his best smile at Liz and tried to look slightly helpless to appeal to her sympathies.

Liz crossed her arms. "You don't have to try to charm me, Joe Hardy." She stared for a few moments into Joe's eyes. "Okay. If it'll help, I won't say anything."

"Trying to steal my girl again, Hardy?"

Joe and Liz turned as Don walked up to the trio, his hands in his pockets.

Joe flushed with anger and embarrassment. "No."

Don looked into the van. "Hey, Frank. What are you doing in there?"

"Just getting ready to leave," Frank replied, gently stepping down from the van. "Find out anything?"

"No," Don replied with a shrug. "The computers were down. I'll have to go through the files by hand. That's why I came back here. I need to know roughly when Bobby Mock was adopted."

"I'll get it," Liz said and dashed into the newspaper building.

Don turned back to the Hardys. "As soon as I locate the file, I'll copy it and give it to you."

"You'll get into a lot of trouble if your father finds out," Frank said.

"No problem. I'd hate to think what it would be like to lose my father." Don's voice was distant, distracted.

Frank looked at Joe. "We need to get home."

"Why are you going there?" Don's question was more demanding than curious.

"Just an idea," Frank replied, purposely being evasive. "Let's go, Joe."

"I'll drop by later with the file," Don said as the Hardys hopped into the van.

"What's this idea you have?" Joe asked minutes later.

"Turn here," Frank said in reply.

"Where are we going?"

"Bayport Electronics. To find out who this is." Frank held up the kindergarten photo of Bobby Mock.

"How?"

"I read an article a few months ago about a new computer program that can age the people in photos like this one. You get a computer-generated image of what the person should look like at any age."

"I saw that on the news. They use it to help find runaways or kids who have been kidnapped." They rode on in silence a few minutes. Then Joe finally asked, "So, how old do you think Bobby Mock is now?"

"Leonard Mock's only a couple years older than Dad." Frank stared at the photo. "And judging by Bobby's shirt, I'd say he's somewhere between fifteen and twenty."

"That's quite a spread."

"It's the best we have so far."

"How long will this take?"

"An hour, two at the most."

"I'm going to the hospital," Joe announced. He steered the van into the oval drive of Bayport Electronics. "Bobby may get wind that his old man's there and try to visit him."

"I'll meet you there after the photo is done."

Joe waited until Frank entered the BE building and then drove away. He didn't really like the idea of splitting up, especially now that Mock's son had made his first move, but time was a luxury the Hardys could not afford.