This Side of Evil (8 page)

“While you’re doing that,” George broke in, “I hope you don’t mind if I go out with Pierre. Tomorrow’s his day off, and he wants to show me the view from Mont-Royal. I could go to the stadium from there and meet you after my run.”

Nancy stared at her friend in mock anger. “You know, it’s a good thing I don’t have to depend on
you
to solve this case, Fayne.”

“Well, you can’t blame a girl for falling in love, can you?” George said dreamily.

“So you don’t believe what I’ve told you?” Dr. Dandridge growled. He had agreed to meet Nancy and Ned in his office the next morning even though it was Saturday. “You still insist that I’ve got something to do with this blackmail business?”

Nancy smiled pleasantly. “Right now there are just too many loose ends to permit me to draw
any
conclusions, Dr. Dandridge. However, there is a way you could help us tie some of them up.”

The doctor frowned. “Just what did you have in mind, Ms. Drew?”

“Your bank account should be a complete record of your dealings with the blackmailer. We’d like to see it.”

Dr. Dandridge looked shocked. “My bank account? You want my personal records?”

“Actually, it would be easier if you just called an officer at your bank,” Nancy told him. “I could review the account there and save you the inconvenience of digging out your statements.”

Dr. Dandridge sighed and reached for the phone. “If this is the only way to convince you,” he said, “then it’s worth it. Fortunately, my bank is open on Saturday mornings.”

On the way to the bank, Nancy stopped to call Ms. Amberton at her home to bring her up to date on what they’d done the day before, and on their talk with the doctor. But she wasn’t home.

“It was okay,” Nancy told Ned. “I just left a message telling her that we found out who was driving the yellow Mercedes. That should interest her.”

“You understand, of course, that this is extremely irregular,” the bank manager said. He was dressed in a conservative black suit and vest, and his hair was thinning on top. “It is highly unusual to give out information on other people’s accounts.”

“But you had Dr. Dandridge’s phone call,” Nancy assured him smoothly. “And I’ve also brought you a signed request.”

“Yes, of course,” the manager said with a sigh. He cleared his throat. “Well, then, here is a summary of the activity in the account.” He handed a computer printout to Nancy. “I must say, I have been puzzled by the recent large cash withdrawals from this account.”

Nancy scanned the printout. She spotted the withdrawals right away. They exactly corresponded to what Dr. Dandridge had told them.

“This is the only account the doctor has with this bank?” she asked, just to be sure.

“The only one,” the manager said. “With the exception of his loan account, of course.” He shifted uneasily. “A rather
large
loan, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, then, I think we’ve found what we came for,” she told the manager and stood up.

“So, we can scratch Dandridge as a suspect,” Ned remarked as they threaded their way through the crowd of afternoon shoppers on Saint-Antoine Street.

“I suppose so,” Nancy said, stopping to eye a fashionable flowered sundress in a shop window. “His bank account confirms what he’s already told us. Too bad—he was such a promising suspect. I mean, just look at the clues!”

“Yeah,” Ned said, linking his arm in hers as they started to walk again. “First the liquid nitrogen, then the impression of the prescription written on notepaper from
his
desk.”

“And don’t forget that he knew we’d be in the plaza at five,” Nancy added. “Everything definitely points to Dandridge. It’s almost as if somebody wanted us to suspect him. But here we are, up against a stone wall.” She shook her head gloomily. “And we thought this was going to be such an easy case.”

A clock in a nearby church struck the half hour.

“Hey, it’s ten-thirty,” Ned said. “We’d better hurry if we want to see George run in the stadium.” He tugged at Nancy’s arm. “I want to stop by the apartment and get my camera. We have to get pictures of this!”

Nancy and Ned got out of the taxi at the edge of Olympic Park. Before them loomed a huge oval stadium. It was made of concrete and steel and supported by V-shaped concrete ribs.

“It’s huge!” Nancy exclaimed, staring up at the gigantic building. Standing beside one of the massive supporting ribs, she felt tiny.

“Over here,” Ned said, pointing to a sign that said Press Entrance. He slid his camera case higher on his shoulder. “The press box must be this way.”

They presented their passes to the guard at the gate, who looked at them curiously.

“Where’d you get these passes?” he demanded.

“From Lake Sinclair,” Nancy told him.

“Oh, that’s fine, then,” he said, his face relaxing. “We don’t usually let people into the building except on guided tours.” He shrugged. “Someone else with a pass came through here a few minutes ago. She a friend of yours?”

“That must be George,” Ned said. “Come on, Nancy! I want to see the inside of this thing.”

The stadium seemed even larger inside than it had from the outside—maybe because it was absolutely empty. The press box was a long glass booth along one side of the open-roofed structure. From there they had a bird’s-eye view of the track, far below. The far side of the track was over a hundred yards away.

Nancy sat down at the table along the window, holding an imaginary microphone in her hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “we’re here in world-famous Olympic Stadium to watch the running debut of Ms. Georgia Fayne, international champion jogger. Beneath us is the track, where Ms. Fayne will perform. Above us we can see the sky. All around us are empty seats—rows and rows of empty seats.”

Ned laughed. “Almost sixty thousand empty seats,” he said. He opened his camera bag and carefully removed a long lens, fitting it onto his camera. “This is a great place to try out my new telephoto lens,” he said enthusiastically.

“Oh, look, Ned!” Nancy exclaimed, pushing up the sleeves of her red blouse. “There’s George! Doesn’t she look tiny down there?”

George came into view far below, moving swiftly from left to right around the track. She was wearing an Olympic running shirt and red, white, and blue shorts. Nancy waved as her friend passed in front of the press box, but George didn’t look up.

As Nancy turned back to Ned, who was still busy with his camera, she noticed a second person coming down the ramp at the far end of the stadium. Apparently, George was going to have company on the track because the person was dressed in a white jogging jacket with the hood pulled up.

Ned stopped fiddling with his lens and raised the camera to his eye. “Hey, neat,” he said, looking around the track. “Just like a telescope.”

“What do you see?” Nancy wanted to know.

“Well, George certainly has great legs,” Ned replied, a hint of teasing laughter in his voice.

Nancy grinned and gave him a playful shove. “Hey, what about
my
legs?” she asked, pouting.

Ned turned, pointing his camera at Nancy’s legs. He whistled. “Wow!” he said admiringly. “
Some
legs.”

“What I really want to know about is that other runner,” Nancy said, directing his attention back to the track.

Ned swiveled his camera. “I can’t tell about her legs. Or maybe his,” he reported with a grin. The other runner was almost opposite them then, on the far side of the track. George was catching up fast. “That’s strange,” Ned remarked.

“What? What’s strange?” Nancy asked, watching George, who was now almost on the heels of the other runner.

Ned shrugged. “That runner’s wearing white gloves and carrying a can of hair spray or something.”

“Gloves? Hair spray?” Nancy exclaimed, alarmed. “Let me see!” She jerked the camera away from Ned and looked through the view-finder.

Just as Nancy got the camera focused, George flashed into view on the right side of the frame, right behind the runner.

“Ned!” Nancy exclaimed. “That’s no can of hairspray! It’s—”

Nancy and Ned watched helplessly as the gloved runner whirled around, grabbed George’s arm with one hand, and pushed the can toward George’s face.

Stumbling, George raised her hands and rubbed her eyes. Then she took two steps and collapsed.

Chapter Twelve

“
I
T LOOKS LIKE
tear gas or something!” Nancy yelled. On the track, George was gasping frantically and tearing at her eyes.

Ned jumped up, knocking his chair over, and bolted for the door. In an instant he was clattering down the long, steep stairway toward the field far below. Nancy followed as fast as she could. Ned was a super-fast runner, though, and he was rapidly outdistancing her. Already he had reached the lowest tier of seats.

Down on the track, George was struggling to sit up. The attacker bent over her for a moment, and then George fell back, not moving.

The runner bent over and hoisted the now-limp George into a fireman’s carry, straightening up with difficulty. Once the attacker was standing upright, George’s weight seemed to be an easier burden. Carrying George, the white-jacketed figure shuffled to a nearby tunnel and disappeared.

Ned finally reached the end of the aisle and vaulted over the rail and onto the track. At a dead run he raced across the field toward the exit where George and her attacker had vanished. But just as Ned reached the mouth of the tunnel, Nancy heard the echoing screech of car tires, and her heart sank. Running was no use anymore—George was gone.

George was gone!
Suddenly the reality of it hit Nancy. George had been kidnapped! Where was she being taken?
Who
had taken her?

Her heart pounding painfully, Nancy jogged down the track to the spot where George had fallen. There was something on the track: the empty can and a syringe. Nancy shook her head. There was no use looking for fingerprints on the can or the syringe—the white gloves would have taken care of that. Like everything else in this case, the kidnapping had been carefully planned and beautifully executed. There was no doubt about it. They were dealing with a first-rate criminal mind, and so far it had defeated them at every turn. It was almost as if they were playing some sort of game.

But it was a deadly game now. There was a life at stake. George’s life.

Ned ran back to Nancy, panting. From the look on his face, Nancy knew he hadn’t seen a thing.

“It’s no use,” he gasped, out of breath. “Whoever it was—had everything planned perfectly. All I could see was a pair of taillights disappearing around the corner. I didn’t even see the car. The garage was too dark.”

“Well, we know one thing,” Nancy said. “The kidnapper had to be a man. George is no featherweight.”

“Not so fast,” Ned cautioned. “A woman could have managed to carry her with that fireman’s carry. All the weight is over your back and legs. You could carry me if you had to.” He shook his head. “No, it still could be a woman, Nancy.”

“Whoever it is, he—or she—is a pro,” Nancy said, picking up the syringe carefully. “This was probably loaded with some kind of quick-acting sedative. Once George was blinded by the tear gas, she was knocked out with this.”

“Now what?” Ned asked as they made their way back up to the press box to pick up Ned’s camera. “Do we call the police and report a kidnapping?”

“Only if we have to,” Nancy replied grimly. “We know more about this case than the police could find out in a week. But there is one person we have to check out, and on the double.”

“Oh?” Ned asked. “Who’s that?”

Soberly Nancy looked at Ned. “Who knew we were going to be here this afternoon?”

Ned shook his head. “Nobody. Except Lake Sinclair, that is. She had to because she arranged the passes for us.”

“Right. And remember the first time we met her? She was wearing a white jogging suit, just like the top the attacker had on. There was a weight room in her condo, too. If it was a woman who kidnapped George, it could have been Lake.”

“Passes?” Lake gasped in surprise. She was standing in the middle of her kitchen, surrounded by trays and platters of food. “I didn’t arrange any passes for you. I meant to, but I didn’t have time. I’ve been too busy getting ready for my party tonight.”

“If
you
didn’t, then who did?” Ned asked.

“The blackmailer, of course,” Nancy said wearily. “Remember the letter I got? Obviously, he’s made good on his threat to hurt you or George.”

“If you need proof that I wasn’t involved,” Lake added, picking up a tray of tiny sandwiches, “ask anyone here.” She turned to a white-aproned caterer who was working behind her at the stove. “Tell these people where I’ve been all morning, Philippe.”

“She’s been right here in the kitchen, mademoiselle,” Philippe answered in surprise. “Of course.”

“Well, that’s that,” Nancy said. It was nearly two, and she and Ned had just gotten back to the apartment. “It’s obvious that Lake really didn’t have anything to do with George’s disappearance.” She looked around the apartment. It seemed so empty without George.

Nancy picked up the phone. “I’d better let Ms. Amberton know what’s happened.” She was still out, so Nancy left another message to tell her that George had disappeared.

Nancy put the phone down with a sigh. “I guess there’s nothing to do now but wait.” She stretched wearily out on the sofa, her hands behind her head. “The kidnapper’s bound to get in touch with us, sooner or later.”

“Well, while we’re waiting,” Ned said, “I vote for a sandwich. We never even ate lunch. How about it?”

“I think there are some cold cuts in the refrigerator,” Nancy said. “And some soda.”

They had just settled down to the salami sandwiches Ned had made when there was a knock on the door.

“Delivery service,” someone called.

“We’re not expecting anything,” Nancy said to Ned in a low voice.

Cautiously Ned went to the door and opened it as far as the chain would allow. “It
is
a delivery,” he reported. “A plastic box.”