Chapter 16: The Mysterious Voice

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!  Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Frank didn’t answer right away—just stared at the phone.  There’d been a lot of phone calls this case, many of which had brought trouble.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer this one.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!  Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Of course, if he didn’t, that phone would just keep ringing.  Besides, maybe it would be the mysterious person who’d delivered the warning—in fact, if that’s who it was…

Frank pressed a button—then, he picked up the phone.  “Anderson residence, Frank speaking.”

“Hi, Frank!”  The voice on the end was unfamiliar, but the speaker quickly introduced himself.  “This is Ronald Detwiler.  My servant informed me you paid a call on me this afternoon.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed.  “That is correct,” he said, trying not to show any emotion.

“Mm yes, well, at the time, we had no idea who might have called you.  Since then, though, we’ve figured out the answer.”

“Oh?” Frank still tried not to act too excited.  “Who?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone.  Could you come by my house at seven o’clock tonight?”

“Seven?” asked Frank.  “Sure, why not?  That’ll work.”

“Fine, see you then.  Goodbye.”

“Same to you,” Frank said, hanging up the phone.  His door swung open, and Nancy poked her head in.

“Who was that?”

“Goodness, Nancy, do you always have to listen outside the door?”

“I don’t always listen!” Nancy retorted indignantly.  “Sometimes I have Susan do it for me.”

“Oh…I see.  Well, if you want to know what was said, listen to this.” Frank pushed a button on the recorder, and the conversation started to play back.  Meanwhile, he started doing something on the computer.

Nancy listened to the call, a scowl of suspicion crossing over her face.  When the recording was over, she said, “Sounds fishy to me.  You’re not actually planning to go, are you?”

“Hold on a second,” said Frank.  “Listen to this!”

He clicked something, and the video of a news story began to play.

“Police say they have suspects in custody from last night’s gas station holdup at the McDonald’s on NE 10^th, thanks to this security video.”

That video was then played—it showed three masked men walking into a gas station.  The visual effect was a little blurry, but the audio was quite clear.  “Put up your hands!” yelled a voice.  “Back against the wall—all of you—”

Nancy gasped, as Frank stopped the video.  “That sounds like the voice you just recorded!”

“Probably is.  Also, it’s the one I overheard at Bob’s car dealership,” Frank tapped the screen.  “That man is Vince Hill.”

“The guy Officer Kurtz told us to watch out for?”  Nancy reached for the phone.  “We’d better call the police, and—”

“No, let’s not,” said Frank.  “Hill’s no freshman crook.  He’ll be watching for the police.”

“You can’t go yourself, though,” Nancy said.  “They can’t intend to let you go again!”

“I’ve got to make it look good, though,” Frank argued.  “Mr. Hill will have company this evening…it just might not be what he’s expecting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ding-dong!

A smile on his face, Dooley wandered to the door, still wearing the striped coat from earlier.  He stretched out his left hand to turn the knob.  Meanwhile, his right hand—the one he was proficient with—rested in his coat pocket, fingers closed around a metal object most commonly associated with loud sounds and death.

“Yes?” he said, opening the door.  “Frank Anderson.”

“No, Frank couldn’t come, so he sent me instead.  I’m Dick White!”

Dick and Ellen White were some of the Andersons’ best friends—had been, ever since they’d moved to Norman a few months ago.  That was the first time the youths had met, but their fathers had known each other for years-partly because both were in law enforcement.  Mr. and Mrs. White were in the CIA—what they did exactly, as well as their location 40% of the time, was secret.  Nothing was secret about their children, though.  Dick could be described as having the same amount of confidence as Frank, but his hair was Nancy’s color, and his eyes were green instead of blue.

“Frank said you had something to tell him,” Dick continued.  “About a certain phone call.”

“Y-yes.”  Dooley stared glumly out the door, then closed it behind the lad.  “Uh, Detwiler’s in the back,” he said, wandering down the hall.  “Won’t you please follow?”

“OK by me,” Dick glanced around as he walked through the hallways.  “Wow, would you look at those paintings?  Nice!  Who’s that one by?”

“Mr. Detwiler could answer that better than I can,” Dooley said, leading the way into the living room.  “Uh, Detwiler?  We’ve got—”

“I see that!” retorted a man, who (from the description Frank had given him) Dick assumed to be Vince.  “What’s he doing here?  And where’s Frank?”

“At home,” said Dick.  “He had other plans, so he wanted me to come instead and deliver a message for him.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”  A malicious smile crossed Vince’s face.  “Well, you’ll deliver a message, alright.  Your very own ransom message!  Pick up the phone!”  He gestured to the telephone on his desk.  “Go on, move!”

If Dick was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“You don’t need to get tough with me, Mr. Detwiler.  Frank’ll be happy to do as you say.  It’s not like you’re a criminal or anything—unless, of course, you’re the one who shot Bob.”

It was a shot in the dark, but it hit its target.  Fear crossed Vince’s face for a second.  Just as quickly, it was replaced with rage.

“So, he did see me?” the man snarled.  “Too bad he had to tell you about it, you little brat.  That means you won’t be going home tonight—”

“It might interest you to know that Bob squealed before he went to the hospital,” Dick said.  “He told us all about the Subway.  It’s only a matter of time before the Oklahoma City Police Department uncovers the right one.”

“The OKCPD?”  Hill grinned sardonically.  “I don’t think so, young man.  The place that you speak of is too big for them to find.  It’s too big for anyone to find, except the right people—and you happen to be Mr. Wrong.  A couple Miss Wrongs have already found it, and they ain’t coming back.”

“So you do know where they are?”  Dick nodded in the direction of the driveway.  “I thought that car outside looked familiar.”

“Yeah, we ain’t letting him go, are we?”  Dooley scowled.  “I say shoot him, and be done with it—”

“Uh-uh,” Vince shook his head.  “The boss doesn’t want any killing—yet!”  He snarled at Dick.  “I’ve talked enough already.  Now, it’s your turn.  Pick up that phone, call Frank, and tell him exactly what I tell you to say.  If you don’t,” Hill motioned to his partner, “Dooley might get his wish before the night is over…if you understand what I mean.”

“I think so,” Dick picked up the phone and started to dial, but Hill cut him off.  “I’ll be the one pushing the buttons.”  Carefully, he dialed a number he’d recently learned—a number that Dick knew only too well.  “Whoever answers, ask for Frank,” Hill said, handing the boy back the receiver.  “And, when he comes on—”

“Hello?”

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but the words never came.  Not from his lips, anyway.

Instead, a creepy, deep-sounding laugh filled the room—just before the lights went out!

“What?!” screamed Vince.  “Hey, who said that?!  Who’s there?”

“This is ‘The Shadow,’” bellowed a voice, sounding like it was coming from upstairs.

“Where are you?” Vince called, flicking on a flashlight.  He swung it around.  “I can’t see you—”

“No man can see The Shadow!”  It was the same voice, but this time, it came from the arch leading into the room!

Vince’s flashlight beam swerved over to there, but no one was in sight!

“The weed of crime bears bitter fruit.  Crime does not pay!  The Shadow knows!”

Vince whirled in fright as the creepy laugh seemed to come right from the desk itself.

“Alright, Shadow!” he yelled.  Pulling his gun, he fired two shots—nowhere in particular.  He looked around for Dick, but Frank’s friend had wisely taken this opportunity to find a hiding place.  Scrambling towards the center of the room, Vince pulled open a secret trapdoor!

“Anyone who tries to follow me has bullets waiting for them!” he shouted.  “Come on, Dooley!”

The other thug was already heading through the trapdoor.  As it shut, the lights came on again.  Dick slipped out from his spot behind the sofa.

“Huh?” he said, looking around.  “What just happened?”

“I can tell you,” called a voice from upstairs.  Dick glanced up—in time to see Frank, standing on the balcony and staring down into the room below.

Only, he wasn’t alone.