Dead on Target Read Free

much less Iola. The guy who did this ought to be squashed like a bug."
    "Joe - "
    With choppy motions, Joe ripped off his tie.
    "You say I shouldn't blame myself, but it was my fault. I can't forget that. Remember these?" He pulled a chain out of his shirt.
    On it were a pair of keys, twisted and melted together. The last time Frank had seen them, they'd been jingling in midair, with Iola's hand grabbing for them.
    Joe tucked them back inside his collar. "I'm keeping them to remind me that we've got work to do. Somebody's got to pay. Are you with me?"
    "Are you kidding?" said Frank. "We're in this together. And don't forget that."
    For the first time that day, Joe Hardy smiled. "Okay. So where do we start?" "The cops," Frank responded.
    The Bayport police station was on Main Street, a short walk from the park. It was a solid, old fashioned brick building with an old-fashioned brick jailhouse in the back. As the Hardys walked up the worn stone steps, they were greeted by a friendly face. It belonged to Officer Con Riley. "Con?" Frank asked. "Who's handling the Morton case?"
    "That's the new guy," Riley responded. "Butler. He's supposed to be a real hotshot, with a big arrest record for the NYPD."
    "A hotshot detective from New York, huh?" said Joe. "Let's go in and check this guy out."
    The boys walked through the offices of the Detective Division, and Joe knocked on a door labeled S. BUTLER - DETECTIVE INSPECTOR.
    The desk inside was piled high with papers, and behind them sat a tall, black-haired man. His tanned face was long and thin, his eyes so dark they looked black. He stared at them, pokerfaced, until he heard Frank and Joe's names. Then his eyes narrowed.
    "Well, you saved me the trouble of calling you downtown," he said crisply. "Maybe you'll smarten up and confess." His stern, unmoving face swiveled between Frank and Joe. "I want to know what you two clowns had in that car, because whatever it was makes you responsible for Iola Morton's murder!"

Chapter 3
    JOE'S FACE TURNED pale, then brick red. "Are you accusing us . . . ?" He was so angry his voice choked off.
    Butler looked him straight in the eye. "Did you really think I'd fall for that ridiculous mad bomber story? Nobody would waste a bomb on a pair of punk kids. But punk kids playing with the wrong toys might blow themselves up. Especially kids who get involved in politics."
    "If you're trying to make us look like a pair of political crazies, maybe you should talk to Chief Collig." Frank's voice was quiet but icy. "We've worked on cases for him. He knows us."
    "Oh, sure. I heard this song all the time in New York." Butler's lips started to twist into a sneer; then the poker face slid on, almost as if it hurt him to show any expression. "Human slime with important friends to cover for them. Even if they're caught red-handed, there're always people to say, 'Oh, Inspector, they're really good boys.' That does not impress me."
    Joe's rage finally found a voice. "You do a real terrifying tough cop. Where do you get those lines? Watching 'Kojak' reruns?"
    For a moment, Butler gave him a blank, almost startled stare. "Never mind where I get my 'lines,' "he snapped. ”Just remember this. I hear you two go around playing junior detectives. Well, don't get in my way. You're my prime suspects right now.
    "If I catch either of you muddying up the waters, I'll arrest you for impeding an investigation. I'll do it so fast your heads will spin. And it won't do any good to go whining to your important friends to bail you out."
    The corners of Butler's mouth went up two millimeters in the faintest of smiles. "I'm sure I'll have questions for you as I go on . . . lots of questions. And it goes without saying-don’t leave town.”
    He turned back to the papers on his desk, as if the Hardys had disappeared.
    Joe followed his brother through the office door, slamming it behind him. "That miserable - " He bit off the rest of what he was going to say. "Well, I can see that the cops