Chapter 17!

I had wanted to post this a little earlier as a mother's day thing. But sorry, I just could not work up an appetite for McDonalds.

franknjoe: this chapter you'll see you're right, the little favor's not little at all. Yup its finished, but I'll tightened it a little before posting. Plus clean up the grammar a little.

Thanks Jessica, Bhar and raphfreak for leaving a line. It makes it worth the effort to write :)

Please enjoy, cheers.

WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

Chapter Seventeen

-o-

The half-naked young woman sprawled across the bed in a deluxe room of the Radisson hotel had an expression of absolute ecstasy as her death mask. Her skin was alabaster white, a startling contrast to the crimson red of her lips. The effect was something rather surreal and even a little eerie.

"At least she died happy," Bill Anson commented wryly.

Frank shook his head at his partner's tasteless comment. Then again, Bill had never been known for his tact, and that was why he was remained a detective for the last twenty years despite his skills and experience.

"Wondered what killed her?" Bill mused as he continued examining the room.

"No signs of forced entry, and no signs of any other person in the room with her," Frank said. "But I do wonder what's she's been eating or drinking."

On the elaborately carved wooden side table was a lipstick stained glass half filled with water, and several pieces of tissue. There appeared to be some white residue on it.

"So, an OD, you think?" Bill asked.

Frank shrugged as he loaded those tissues into an evidence bag, taking care not to lose any of that few specks of whitish powder. "Possibly… can't be certain till the autopsy and lab tests are done."

"Okay, I'm done," Bill announced.

"Me too," Frank said, and waved for the forensic team to take over.

He followed his partner down into the lobby after leaving a number of specific instructions regarding the unknown white residue and the autopsy.

"It is rumored that two new designer drugs, just hit the market just three or four days back," Bill suddenly said as he lit up a cigarette and took a deep puff once they're out of the hotel. "Each drug's apparently being pushed by a different syndicate. Supposed to give an incredible high… but also said to be highly addictive. The ultimate money making machine was what the bosses are harping about."

Frank lifted his brow surprised. He had not heard about that. Then again, he was totally taken up by the Blacks cases and his brother. Today was his first day back at work.

"Psychedelic drugs rarely last long before they're overtaken by something else," Frank commented.

"Perhaps," Bill responded. "Have you heard about the homicide case last night?"

Frank shook his head. There was one?

"According to Officer James, that guy mutilated and killed himself. And he died happy, joyously happy with a big smile on his face. James said that was the creepiest thing he saw in his twenty year career…" Bill finished before drawing another deep puff of smoke.

Something about the way Bill said it gave Frank the spooks.

"The cases might be related then," Frank said instead. "I'll take a look at Jame's report when I get back to the office."

"You do that, Frank. You do that. But first, grab yourself some lunch."

"What about you?" Frank asked wondering what Bill was up to.

"I just saw the girl's driver's license," Bill said, handing him another evidence bag. "I know her. Well, sort of. I know her mother. I'll have to tell the chief that, and you'll probably be working with someone else for this one. Conflict of interest…"

Frank nodded. He understood.

"Well, take the car. I'll be taking a walk to clear my head. See you back at the station, kiddo," Bill said with a wave as he headed down the road. "And remember to eat your lunch."

Frank watched Bill disappeared round the corner and headed back to the car.

At the back of his mind, concerns over the whereabouts of Andrew Kempton and what he might be planning lingered. Thank god his father runs a private practice and was able to continue working full time on that. And thanks god that Sam was willing to give up potential earnings to help them out.

But Frank forced himself to focus on the case on hand, which he already had a bad feeling about. New drugs, possible OD deaths, different gangs involved… all points towards a potential turf war, Frank thought. As a detective with the BPD, he had a responsibility towards the State, at least during his official work hours. What he did after that would be his own business.

So deeply in thought Frank was, he failed to notice the dark alley behind him. Not that there was much he could do if he had notice given that he was outnumbered. He was reaching for his keys when a number of hands reached out of the shadows and dragged him into that alleyway. The car keys clattered onto the ground.

Minutes later, a gloved hand picked up the keys and left it in the car door.

From a second floor window across the street, a pair of terrified young eyes watched what happened.

Ten minutes later, a punky youth happened to chance upon the car with the keys in conveniently in the door. He drove the car away happily, unable to believe his good fortune.

-o-

It was just about dinner time.

Fenton Hardy was glad to get out of that greasy and smoked filled burger bar on the East End. He could not help feeling disappointed. That tipoff on Kempton was another dud. It was another dead end. He sighed and head back to his car. He could only hope Sam had better luck than him.

His cell phone rang. "Hardy here."

"Fenton, is Frank with you?"

That was Chief Collig, and he sounded grave. Fenton felt his heart beating a little harder.

"No… he's back at work today, isn't he?" As far as Fenton's concern that bodes ill.

"He is," Collig confirmed. "But no one seemed to have seen him since, as far as I can determine, about lunch time. He's not picking up his phone, as a matter of fact, his phone's shut off, and I've been trying to find him for the last ten minutes…"

"Who's the last person with him?" Fenton asked, even as he picked up his pace towards his car. "And when?"

"Bill, Frank's partner on the case, was the last to see him before they parted for lunch. Frank was supposed to deliver a bag of evidence from the crime scene back to the office. As far as I can determine, he never arrived… and it seemed the car's missing as well."

"And Bill?" Fenton asked as he unlocked the door to his car. Shouldn't Bill know what happened to Frank since lunch?

"Bill knew the victim and was removed from the case, so he assumed Frank was paired with someone else and off interviewing suspects…" Collig explained.

At that point, something else hits Fenton. "Ezra… why are you looking for Frank?"

The silence from the other end was deafening.

"Ezra?!"

"The safe house's been compromised… Callie and Vanessa's missing…"

Fenton stilled. Callie and Vanessa missing, Frank's missing…

"I sent a team over when the officers on duty missed their regular call-ins. They found Meg and Tommy unconscious, and the two girls missing. We believed there were at least four assailants…"

"And Joe? Is he still with Leron?" Fenton asked.

"I'm about to check that out," Collig answered. "I'll be increasing patrol around that hotel and sending two officers over… we'll have to move…"

Fenton hung up. He was desperately searching for Leron's business card from his files. Then he cursed. He had Joe's number. He rang Joe instead.

"Come on Joe," he muttered as he started the engines and raced towards the hotel. "Pick up the phone."

"Hello?"

The voice was tentative. But it was Joe's and never had Fenton felt so relieved in his life.

"Joe! Thank God you're all right. Where are you?!" Fenton blurted out.

He held his cell phone so tightly to his ear, it hurts. But he was desperate to get the confirmation that his younger son was still in the hotel with Leron. Simon Leron had enough experience to keep Joe safe under normal circumstances.

"Frank, Callie and Vanessa are all missing," Fenton added almost frantically as an explanation. "Now, where are you?!"

He knew he was not being reasonable or coherent. But he was desperate. He was scared. He was driving. And he was on the phone chatting.

"What…?!"

Joe sounded shocked. Scared? And Fenton cursed himself for his momentary loss of control.

Then Joe spoke again. This time, Joe's voice's more controlled, or perhaps colder? Fenton could not decide. But it had the effect of calming him down.

"Dad. Calm down. Tell me what happened."

"The safe house's been compromised. Both girls were taken…" Fenton found himself rattling off what Sean Freeman just told him. "… and Frank's been missing since about lunch time…" he finished off.

"Joe? You still there?" Fenton asked when all he could hear was heavy breathing from the other end.

"I'm coming over right now, son," Fenton said as he turned his car onto the road leading to the hotel. "Just wait for me. You're still at the hotel, right?"

There was no response from the other end.

"Joe… you're still at the hotel, right?" Fenton asked again, but this time he had a feeling the answer would be negative.

He slowed the car down, and then parked it at the side of the road. It mattered not that he just parked illegally.

"No…"

Joe's reply was soft, almost inaudible.

"Where are you now?" The father asked, this time, his voice was amazingly calm.

There was no answer. But he could hear deep breaths being taken.

"Joe?"

Then he thought he heard a soft grunt. That was followed by a loud clattering sound.

Joe dropped the phone? Fenton thought, and that thought was obliterated by a rising fear.

"Joe!" He yelled into the phone.

Come on, answer me! Fenton pleaded in his heart as he yelled his son's name into his phone a second, then a third time.

Then he heard a soft mocking laughter. That laughter grew louder, and louder, until it was suddenly cut off.

The line went dead.

For a moment, Fenton just sat there staring blankly into nothingness.

He knew that laugh. He could never forget that laugh.

"Mr. Hardy!" he thought he heard someone call him from a distance.

"Mr. Hardy!" You okay?"

Fenton turned his head towards that youthful voice. It was a traffic cop. Apparently that cop knew him. He blinked.

Kempton got Joe, was all Fenton could think about. And he got Frank, and Callie, and Vanessa too…

"Are you having car trouble?" That cop asked, even though the voice sounded like it was floating towards him from miles away.

He needed to get to the crime scene. While the trails still hot. That might be his only chance to find Joe, and perhaps Frank and the others too. But where? Joe said he's not at the hotel…

"Mr. Hardy!"

Fenton jerked back to the present.

"Call for back up. We need to get to the lighthouse on The Point," he told the traffic cop. "Something just happened there. It's a crime scene. Check with Chief Collig if you have to. But get someone up there NOW."

With that, Fenton started his engines and drove off again, leaving behind a befuddled traffic cop talking frantically into his radio.

-o-

An hour later, the house on The Point was crawling with police yet again.

Fenton sat on the rung of a rusty ladder staring at the spot where it happened.

On the ground not far away from that spot was a rusty broken iron pipe. There were traces of blood on it, and several strands of blonde hair. The father had no doubt DNA testing would confirmed the blood and hair as belonging to his younger son.

Using the patterns of disturbed dust, the PI reconstructed what happened in his mind.

Joe was sitting there possibly staring out into the sea. Kempton came up from behind and hit him with that pipe. Joe never had a chance to fight back. His son fell onto the ground, and the cell phone clattered across the floor. Kempton followed the path of the cell phone, picked it up, heard Fenton's voice on the other end, laughed and then terminated the call. Then he placed the cell phone on the ledge with a short note before leaving with Joe, who's most likely unconscious at that point.

The note was brutally clear and simple:

So Fenton, are you feeling alone and lonely yet?

"We'll find him."

Fenton looked up to see Simon Leron looking down grimly at him. He could see a tightly controlled anger behind those green eyes. Apparently Chief Collig had called the lawyer after failing to get through to Fenton, and Leron, on discovering that Joe disappeared with his rental car, figured that Joe would have gone home to his place on The Point.

"We'll find them," Leron said calmly. "But we won't be able to do that if you all you do is stay here and wallow over what already happened."

"Joe was talking to me," Fenton confessed. "If I wasn't on the phone distracting him, he might have heard Kempton's approach."

"You don't know that, Hardy," Leron countered. "No one knows what actually happened up here. But there's one thing I know for certain. Every second you waste up here moaning over your supposed mistake is one extra second Kempton gain to carry out his agenda."

Leron was right of course.

"That's why I'm not wasting time wondering why didn't I hire two jailers at half the cost to make sure Joe stayed in his hotel room instead of spending a fortune trying to hire two of the best security experts I know."

Fenton smiled a little at that thinly veiled exasperated tone in Leron's voice. Joe never liked to be confined or restricted in any way.

"Thanks," Fenton said as he stood up slowly.

He was tired.

Then Officer Con Riley appeared at the stairwell.

"Chief Collig just called. He said to tell you that the reports from the safe house are in, and there are some new developments. He said you might want to go through them," Con announced. "And chief said to tell you that Sam's already there waiting."

"Thanks Con," Fenton responded.

And as he walked past Con, he felt a friendly hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder.

"Don't worry. We'll find them. We won't rest till we do. We won't let Kempton get away this time."

There was this determined glint in Con's eyes. Fenton felt his eyes mist. Con and his boys had always been close, ever since Frank and Joe started dabbling in little cases when they were sixteen and fifteen

"Thanks," he managed to choke out to Con before leaving with Leron.

They have work to do back at the Station. It's going to be a long night.

-o-

The skies were just turning grey, and the first golden ray from the rising sun just broke from the East.

A skinny and aged looking man in tattered clothes was making his way towards the Bayport Police Station. He had a delivery to make. The man who gave him the package promised him that the Bayport police would treat him to a scrumptious breakfast in exchange for that package. As he neared the station, he started to have misgivings about what he was about to do. He halted at the main entrance, the nervousness and uncertainty written on his face. Then he stomach growled. He hadn't had a good hot steaming breakfast for years!

'What are you so worried about, Ross?' the man asked himself. 'You have nothing to lose and a hot breakfast to gain.'

He took a deep breath, tidied up his tattered clothes the best he could, and stepped into the police station. The place was relatively empty, it was still early. He headed straight to the front desk – if that could be called a front desk.

"I would like to see either Chief Collig or Fenton Hardy," he said to the young man at the counter.

"It's important," he added when the young officer told him that both Chief Collig and Fenton Hardy were busy and unavailable. "It concerns a missing homicide detective."

Things got moving pretty fast after that.

One hour later, he was digging into one of the best breakfast he ever had in years. They even gave him a second helping if he's willing to stay a little longer while they viewed the recording.

Later, they offered him lunch if he stayed to help provide a sketch of the man that gave him the package.

Even later, they offered him dinner if he stayed, in case they had more questions.

That day was heaven-sent, Ross thought happily. He would remember it for the rest of his life.

-o-

The mood in the conference room was tensed and somber as Chief Collig inserted the recording into the player for the selected members of the investigative team.

The recording was clearly a cheap and simple home made production.

But the contents were painful to watch, only because the 'star' of the production was one of their own.

It opened with a simple title that was clearly printed in New Times Roman block letters:

THE EFFECTIVENESS AND POTENCY OF AMBROSIA

A blurred image of several whitish colored pills appeared on the screen followed by another set of printed text:

TEST SUBJECT: FRANK HARDY

In smaller print below that was a mockery of the usual copyright statement.

For distribution and viewing of selected vendors and interested suppliers of Ambrosia only.

That was followed by a close up shot of Frank's badge and photo-ID. A disguised voice was narrating Frank Hardy's background as a homicide detective, and his record in solving crimes and taking down various criminals. Much focus was given to Frank's stand on drug trafficking and the various supplier networks that he helped to close down. The perfect test subject for the effectiveness of Ambrosia addiction, the narrator concluded before flashing to the next scene.

It started with the shot of four whitish pills seated innocently on a palm. At the top right hand corner of the screen was a running clock. The pills were then dissolved in some liquid and drawn into a syringe. At the bottom of the screen was a simple message: Oral consumption produces the best effect, but injection method recommended for stubborn clients.

There were two masked thugs holding a struggling Frank down. It was clear from the bruises that Frank had endured a beating. A third guy appeared on scene. He held up the syringe to the camera before proceeding to inject its contents into Frank's arm. A short while later, Frank stopped struggling.

The screen turned black for a fraction of a second before resuming. It was now almost three hours later. Frank was now strapped down to a metal frame bed. He was moving restlessly, clearly in some discomfort. A masked man again appeared on screen. This time he held up the syringe in front of Frank's eyes. Frank tensed. The camera zoomed in. It was clear that Frank was repelled by as well as drawn towards that syringe. That scene ended with Frank turning his face away as the masked man again injected the contents into his arm.

Another three hours flew by in darkness on screen. Frank was still strapped down on the bed. He was clearly extremely distressed. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. Again, a masked man appeared on screen. This time, he held three pills on his palm before the camera before showing it to Frank. The camera zoomed in. That spark of interest in those brown eyes was undeniable. It was quickly followed by an expression of self-disgust. Then the eyes snapped tightly closed as Frank pushed himself further back into the bed and away from those pills. But the truth was, he did not fight it when the masked man placed those pills in his mouth. He simply drank the water and swallowed them.

Fast forward another three hours. Frank was no longer strapped down to the bed. But he was not making any attempts to escape either. He simply sat there in the corner of the room with his arms held tightly around his knees rocking. When he looked up, his face was pale and sweaty, his eyes red and glazed. He was staring at the palm holding three little pills. His mouth opened slightly before snapping shut. His fingers were gripping so tightly onto his sides, it cuts into the flesh and drew blood. The audio turned on, and soft mocking laughter could be heard.

"Still stubborn, I see," the voice commented.

A masked man approached Frank with the pills.

"Open your mouth," the voice ordered.

Frank opened his mouth. He almost grabbed the tumbler of water to help wash down the pills. His actions stood in stark contrast to the tears streaming down the side of his face. The expression on the face was one who knows that he was on his way down, and was unable to stop it, because at the end of the day he was a willing partner to that downward slide.

"Next time, you would have to pay for your fix, Frankie…" the voice sounded triumphant.

But it was also clear from the recording that Frank by then was too far gone to hear what was being said.

And it was another three hours later on screen time.

And the scene showed…

Fenton Hardy snatched the remote control from Chief Freeman and shut off the recording. His heart was pounding. His breathing was deep and uneven. His heart hurts.

What one would do for the next fix? The respectable PI thought dully. The evils of drugs…

Fenton stared at the dark screen. Then he moved towards the TV and turned it around so that he would be the only one watching. He had to, because there might be crucial information later on. But some scenes are not for others.

If he could, he would delete them all as if it never happened.

But it did, and Frank would have to live with it.

His heart wept, even as he forced himself to watch on.

Mercifully, it was over quickly.

Fenton watched with tears in his eyes as Frank accepted his next fix almost eagerly. That final scene finished with Frank caught in the throes of Ambrosia, clearly enjoying its effects.

THE END

But no, there was more. The clock was still running.

The masked man again appeared on screen.

"I hope you enjoyed the show, Hardy. Frankie here is a tough nut to crack. You might want to know most people cracked by their third dose. Frankie here took five. Perhaps having a son as an addict would help you learn some compassion and empathy towards other addicts, especially those who turned peddlers or criminals. And oh, that was the last dose we're giving him. Ambrosia's too valuable to be wasted on the likes of a cop. We're going to just dump him in some dark corner for him to make his own way home. Don't blame us, Hardy. We're merely returning you cops the favor given what you cops think of us. And oh, I think you better find Frankie before his need for his next fix drives him to do the unthinkable, huh?"

A number of mocking laughter filled the air.

Then there was a scene where Frank was shoved into a dark alleyway clad only in his boxers.

"Good luck hunting, Hardy."

And that was the end of the recording.