Hotline to Danger (5 page)

Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but Tony quickly held up both hands. “Don't get too excited, it wasn't much. Apparently, Paul told Mr. A that he'd met Rachel at the community
college. He was handing out teen center pamphlets after one of his classes.”

“So Paul was taking courses,” George said.

“Right. Rachel hung around asking questions, and Paul offered to bring her to the center. He introduced her to Mr. A. That was about a week and a half ago. Rachel told Mr. A she had no place to stay and hinted that she'd left home kind of abruptly. But Mr. A told me he was pretty certain Rachel was eighteen, so legally she could be on her own.”

“Hmmm.” Nancy frowned thoughtfully. “Did he say anything about Paul's murder?”

Tony let out his breath. “He was pretty shaken up about it. The police contacted him first thing this morning, since Paul was living at the center.”

Nancy looked startled. “Really? You didn't tell me that.”

Tony shrugged. “I guess Mr. A told me, but with the hotline, the groups, and school, I didn't pay much attention. Mr. A said he was bunking on the third floor. In exchange for a place to stay, he was doing some of the renovation work—painting, sanding, stuff like that—and helping Mr. A out in the office. Mr. A told me today that he liked having someone here all night in case the center was broken into or vandalized. Plus, Paul was supposedly pretty good with figures.”

“It seems that Mr. A put a lot of trust in Paul,” George commented.

“Paul was a good guy. Even before he left the Nighthawks, he was working hard to turn his life around. Mr. A thought of him as one of the center's success stories.”

“And now he's dead,” Nancy said, shaking her head.

Just then Kyle walked into the hotline office. “Hi. Is Bess here yet?” he asked, unbuttoning his overcoat.

Nancy shook her head. “She called and said she'd be in at noon. Why aren't you at work?”

“I had to deliver some papers for your dad.” He patted the bulging pocket of his coat, then looked over at Tony. “So, were all of you out last night playing cops and robbers?”

“Until three in the morning,” George said with a groan.

“Three?” Kyle raised one brow.

“Three,” Tony replied. Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms across the University of Illinois emblem on his sweatshirt and met Kyle's gaze.

Nancy rolled her eyes. Kyle was acting jealous, and it almost looked to her as if Tony was egging him on. “Bess will be here at twelve,” she told Kyle.

He turned his attention back to Nancy. “Maybe we can all have lunch together.”

“Sounds good to me,” George said.

“Me, too,” Tony said. “The hotline's closed from twelve to three.”

Kyle stared at him, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? I'll call Bess and let her know.”

With a nod goodbye, he turned and left.

Tony started to chuckle. “I don't think Bess's boyfriend likes me much.”

“Hey, Kyle's a great guy,” Nancy defended him. “It's just that he knows he's leaving soon for law school, and I don't think he and Bess have really talked about what's going to happen when he goes.”

Just then the phone on Nancy's desk rang. She picked it up. “Help Is Here Hotline. Nancy speaking.”

“Nancy? Are you the same volunteer I talked to last night?” a voice whispered into the phone. It was the girl who had called the night before! Quickly, Nancy gestured to Tony and George to keep their voices low.

“Yes. It's me. Are you all right?”

“Um. Yes. I—” The caller took a deep breath. “I was wondering if anyone at the teen center knew anything about . . . um . . .”

Nancy decided to level with her. “Paul Remer's death?”

“Yes! I was so afraid to tell you anything last night, but I wanted the police or someone to find him,” the caller said, her words tumbling out in a relieved rush.

“The police discovered the body late last night,” Nancy explained. “They also discovered
a bracelet in a nearby phone booth with the initials RJT. Was it yours?”

There was a long silence. Finally the caller asked, “Are the police there now?”

“No,” Nancy said. “This is just between you and me.”

“It was my bracelet. I must have snagged it on something when I called the hotline. I was so freaked out, I didn't even notice it was gone.”

Nancy paused, then said, “I want you to know that you can trust me.”

“What do you mean?” the girl asked.

“I think I know your name. Is it Rachel?”

There was a sharp intake of breath. “How'd you know?”

Nancy told Rachel about Tony's hunch and how they had checked out Billie's apartment. She didn't tell her what Detective Hawkins suspected about the Nighthawks and Kip DiFranco.

“We're worried about you,” Nancy added. “You're running away from something, and we'd like to help.”

Suddenly Rachel burst into tears. “You're right. I
am
running away. But you can't help. No one can,” she sobbed into the phone. “Because I know who murdered Paul Remer!”

Nancy hitched in her breath. “Rachel, if you witnessed the murder, the killer could be after you. Rachel—” Nancy pleaded.

But then she heard a click, followed by the humming of the dial tone.

I
DON'T BELIEVE IT
!” Nancy exclaimed, banging down the receiver. “I lost her again!”

“Did she say where she was?” George asked. She and Tony were watching Nancy closely.

“No. But we were right. She says she knows who murdered Paul.” Nancy picked up the phone again. “I'd better call B.D.” She dialed and was soon put through to the detective. Nancy told him all about Rachel's call.

“I'm going to get a court order to have the phone company trace all the hotline calls. We should be able to do it by this afternoon,” B.D. told Nancy. “That way, if Rachel calls again, at least we'll be able to figure out where she's calling from. We know she hasn't gone back to the apartment because I have an officer keeping an eye on it. Mrs. Thackett was interviewed, but she
said she hasn't seen Rachel in almost two weeks. And we still haven't found Billie.”

Nancy talked to the detective for a few more minutes while George and Tony listened intently to Nancy's end of the conversation.

“Well?” Tony prompted as soon as Nancy hung up.

“He's worried, too. The police can't find either Billie or Rachel. They did talk to Mrs. Thackett, Rachel's mom. She said that Rachel left home almost two weeks ago after an argument, and she hasn't seen her since. The police are going to ask the phone company to trace all incoming calls to the hotline.”

Tony frowned. “Wait a minute. I don't like the sound of that. If our callers find out, they'll quit calling.”

“The police are only interested in Rachel's call,” Nancy explained. “They won't be listening in to all hotline calls, just getting a report from the phone company that pinpoints where the calls were made from. If Rachel's the key to cracking Paul's murder, the police need to get her in protective custody.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it makes sense,” Tony said.

“But what's really worrying B.D.,” Nancy said, “is that the police can't find Kip DiFranco. It's as if he just vanished. And the other gang members aren't cooperating either.”

Tony frowned. “Do the police think Kip's after Rachel?”

“I don't know.” Nancy sighed.

Just then both phones rang, and for the next hour, George and Nancy were kept busy with callers. It was almost noon when Bess and Kyle came into the office. Tony had left at ten to run a therapy group.

“Ready for lunch?” Bess asked. Her arm was linked with Kyle's. She was wearing a beret that matched the beige turtleneck sweater she had on under her coat. Nancy could tell she'd spent a lot of time on her hair and makeup.

“I don't know if we're dressed for it,” Nancy said, glancing down at her jeans.

Bess waved away her protest. “We're just going to the Riverside. It's casual dress for lunch.”

Nancy was telling Bess and Kyle everything that had happened that morning when Tony walked in carrying a clipboard. “Hey, Bess. Did you say something about joining my self-defense class?”

“Yes.” Bess's face brightened.

Tony handed her the clipboard. “It starts this evening at seven. I've got three more slots.”

“Then sign me up, too,” Kyle said quickly. “Otherwise, I'll never see you, Bess,” he added.

“Oh, good. It should be fun,” Bess said, signing her name to the list. Smiling, she handed the clipboard to Kyle.

“Hey, kids,” B.D. said, striding into the office.
His hair was tousled, dark shadows circled his eyes, and he obviously hadn't shaved.

“The tracer will be in place after two o'clock,” B.D. told the group. “The phone company will record the numbers of all hotline callers and when they called. On this end, the volunteers will have to note the exact time that Rachel calls again so we can match the time to the number. Then we'll get an address from the phone company computer. Tony, you can be responsible for informing the other volunteers what they need to do.”

“Gotcha,” Tony said.

“Nancy,” B.D. said, motioning for her to follow him into the hall, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Nancy said. Once they were in the hallway, she asked, “What's up?”

“How'd you like to stick around and help me out?” he asked. “The precinct couldn't spare another uniformed cop, and I need to interview as many kids as I can at the teen center, to find out who knew Paul Remer.”

Nancy nodded her head vigorously. “I'd love to. Just let me tell the guys I can't join them for lunch.”

Twenty minutes later Nancy was standing in the doorway of the teen center's recreation room. For a moment she studied the place. The room took up one side of the building's first floor. In
the middle, two boys played pool on a brand-new pool table with a brass plaque that read Donated by Henry Haroldson, Sr.

Beyond the pool table two girls played a video game, and along the right side of the room were a new TV, VCR, two sofas, chairs, and a pay phone. Several teens were watching a soap opera. Above one sofa, Mr. A had hung artwork done by kids from the center. Near the door where Nancy stood was a bulletin board filled with job listings and ads.

On the wall across from Nancy, three ceiling-high windows let the sunlight stream in. The whole effect was bright, cheery, and comfortable. Obviously, Mr. A had worked hard to make the center welcoming.

Nancy introduced herself to the two boys playing pool, while B.D. went over to interview the kids watching TV. They looked about twelve years old, and she wondered why they weren't in school.

“No, man, we didn't know Remer. We just saw him around,” the taller of the two said. He was shaking his head and frowning seriously. “The dude was always too busy to talk.”

Nancy had written down their names in her notebook. The taller one was called Mike.

Danny, the shorter, younger-looking one frowned, too, trying to look just as tough as his friend. “Remer wasn't like Mr. A. That Mr. A,
he's cool. Always stops and asks us how we're doing.”

Nancy raised one brow. “Do either of you know any members of the Nighthawks?”

Mike and Danny shot each other a furtive glance.

“Uh, no, man. We don't,” Mike spoke for the two of them.

Nancy wasn't sure they were telling the truth, but still she wrote down everything they said. Next, she went over to interview the girls.

“Nope, we didn't know either him or his girlfriend.” Carisse, the blond one, shook her head until a slicked-back lock of hair fell over her forehead, partially covering one eye.

“Who was his girlfriend?” Nancy prodded.

“Some red-haired girl,” Tanya, the flashier of the two, replied. “Looked kind of snotty.” Leaning closer to Nancy, she lowered her voice. “But I do remember one thing; Remer and his girlfriend had a big fight yesterday morning.”

“A fight?”

“Yeah,” Tanya went on. “She must've been in his room on the third floor. I saw them coming down the stairs. She looked like she'd been crying, and he looked mad.”

“Hmmm. Thanks.” Nancy mulled over the information as she went out into the hall. B.D. was standing in the doorway, talking to a group of older guys in leather jackets.

“Nighthawks?” she whispered when the group went outside.

B.D. shook his head. “Motorcycle nuts.”

The two went back into the rec room, grabbed some crackers and soda from the vending machines, then sat down on the sofa farthest from the TV and compared notes.

When they were finished, B.D. rested his head on the back of the sofa. “Not much to go on.”