Trial By Fire

Chapter Fifteen

Nancy spent the drive to the parking garage trying to figure out how she had slipped up. How could she have blown her cover? Bess was waiting at the Bennett Street entrance when she arrived, so Nancy decided to think about it later.

“Where’s Ned?” Bess asked.

“I couldn’t get him. I’m pretty sure his phone is off the hook. Hannah said she’d go and get him for me.”

“Okay. What are we doing?”

“First we find a conveyor elevator.”

“A what?”

Nancy explained as they trotted toward the enclosure that had served as the attendants’ booth. It seemed logical that the conveyor would be somewhere near it.

“Here it is!” Nancy said.

It was behind the booth-no more than an air shaft with a structure inside that was precisely what Mr. Tyler had described. Nancy aimed her penlight into the space below. With luck, she’d be able to climb down. If her luck held, she’d wind up on Gold Star’s side of the basement.

“Nancy, are you sure about this?” Bess asked. Her normally pink complexion was very pale.

“I’m sure. I’ve got to find Ann, as well as get proof that Brownley and Reston were behind the frame-up against my dad.” Nancy pulled a long chain from under her sweater. Hanging from it was a whistle.

“What’s that for?” Bess asked.

“Help, that’s what. You stay here. If you hear this whistle before Ned gets here, scream your head off. Do whatever you have to to get help. If Ned gets here and you haven’t heard me blow this, send him down.”

Bess shook her head stubbornly. “I’m going with you. I’m scared, but I want to, so let’s not waste time arguing about it.”

Nancy hugged her. She knew it would be more sensible to leave Bess as a lookout, but she couldn’t pass up the chance to have her along for moral support. “Thanks, Bess,” she said. “Well, let’s go.”

It was a scary climb. The belt kept swaying, and after a certain point, Nancy felt as if she were climbing into a black hole, groping for the next place to put her feet. Above her, Bess peered nervously down into the darkness.

At the bottom, however, Nancy could see fairly well. On her right was a concrete block wall and a closed door. But on her left, light spilled over a row of boxes stacked six high.

Nancy helped Bess to the bottom and signaled for her to stand still.

Bess wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?” she whispered.

It was the same smell Nancy had caught when Brownley had opened the door upstairs for Reston’s cab. She was in Gold Star territory. And the smell was paint.

Nancy crossed to the door in the concrete wall and turned the knob. If it was a closet, they might have imprisoned Ann Granger in there.

But it was a workshop. Two-way radios and other mysterious electronic equipment filled shelves along the back wall. Several large tape decks and a pair of cassette players sat on a worktable. There were also electric drills and polishers.

In a bookcase just inside the door were hundreds of cassette tapes, neatly shelved and cataloged. A file cabinet was in a corner, and one drawer was hanging open.

Bess stuck her head in, and her eyes went round with wonder.

“This must be Fleet’s side of the basement,” Nancy whispered.

“Why would a courier service need tape-editing equipment? That’s what that is.” Bess pointed to a device on the table.

Nancy nodded toward the bookcase full of cassettes. “I wonder if any of those have my father’s voice on them.”

“Why don’t I check this side of the basement?” Bess whispered. “You check the other side.”

“Okay. It’s a long shot, but my back’s against the wall.”

“Come get me if you need me.” Bess crossed to the file cabinet and dug in.

Her nose twitching from the smell of paint, Nancy went back to the other side. A row of stacked boxes was the only thing preventing her from seeing what Gold Star had stored in there.

She pushed against one stack. It didn’t move. Whatever was in the boxes was heavy. She might have to climb Up to see over them.

Moving quietly, Nancy walked the length of the boxes and found a space perhaps a foot-and-a-half wide between the last stack and a round concrete column. She turned sideways and squeezed through the narrow space.

At first, everything looked perfectly normal. Shiny new cabs were parked along the opposite wall. A row of passenger cars was backed against the boxes. It was very quiet and still.

Then Nancy heard the big door being pulled open upstairs. She was tempted to slip behind the boxes again, but there wasn’t time.

She ducked, her heart pounding, as a car roared down from the street level. It pulled in from her right and stopped. Two car doors slammed.

Brownley said, “Beautiful! Beautiful, Mac! We’ll keep this one out of sight down here until it’s time to move it. No way am I putting any paint on this baby. Wish I could keep it myself. But next time, remember-no daytime deliveries.”

Nancy lifted her head high enough to see. The dispatcher stood talking to a stranger and peeling bills off a wad of money in his hand.

“We’ll change the numbers on the engine block tonight, switch plates, and send it on to Freddie day after tomorrow. Here’s a thousand. You done good, Mac, boy.”

So that’s what this is about, Nancy mused. Stolen cars!

The man counted the bills and crammed them into his pocket. “Looks like you guys are behind schedule,” he said.

“A little. But we’ll be moving them in and out of here double-time until we’re caught up. We’ve got the paint, but we may have to buy another compressor so we can paint two at a time.”

“Good idea.”

“Mac, can you come back tonight and help us take some of these through the car wash?”

“Sure. One-thirty, okay?”

“Fine. Run them through twice,” Brownley said. “This new paint doesn’t wash off as easily.”

“If you say so. Let’s get back to the money-making business. What kind of car do you want next?” the man asked.

“Come on back up to the office and I’ll show you the list. Ever steal a Jaguar, Mac, boy?” With a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, he led him toward the exit ramp.

Once they were out of sight, Nancy stood up. The latest arrival was a beautiful white Mercedes. She tiptoed over to get a closer look. The ignition wires were dangling beneath the dashboard. I was right, Nancy thought. It had been stolen.

She checked the other passenger cars. None had license plates. Seventeen of the twenty had loose ignition wires. Brownley had a steal-to-order business going here!

At the opposite end of the garage, a Dodge, its windows, grille, and bumpers covered with paper, glistened under a bright light. Nancy touched a fender. The paint was still wet. And there was Mr. Tyler’s compressor. They used it to spray a stolen car Gold Star gold so it could be disguised until enough time had passed to sell it safely.

Nancy gazed at the row of cars now disguised as cabs. It was quite a collection-American cars, German, Japanese. The fourth from the end looked familiar. Nancy crossed to it, her heart tap-dancing in her chest. There was a slit in the back seat, and on the dashboard, a red, quarter-sized blob. Her nail polish. Ned’s car!

From behind her, Nancy heard a muffled groan. Startled, she whirled around. The sound had come from a wire enclosure beside the compressor.

She hurried over to it. At first all she saw in it were car batteries, Gold Star roof lights, a trash barrel, and stacked cans of motor oil.

The sound came again, but louder. Something rolled into view, and Nancy gasped. Ann Granger lay on her back, bound hand and foot, tape across her mouth. She stared at Nancy, her eyes unfocused.

“Shhh!” Nancy said. Ann blinked groggily.

The door of the enclosure was secured with a hefty padlock. Nancy took out her set of picks and went to work on it. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Time stretched. Nancy was in agony, working as fast as she could.

Just as the hasp pulled free with a click, Ann made an urgent sound deep in her throat. Too late Nancy realized that the click had not come from the lock, but from behind her. She turned around and found herself facing the business end of a silver-plated automatic pistol.