008 Two Points to Murder (11 page)

"You guys are my backup. If things get out of hand in there"--she pointed to the door--"I'll scream my head off."

"But, Nancy, who's inside?" Bess hissed.

"You'll see. Remember, listen for my scream . . . if you hear it, run for the police!"

This was it. If everything went as she hoped, the case would be wrapped up in a matter of minutes! Nancy took a deep breath. Stepping up to the door, she opened it without knocking, slipped around it, and closed it behind her.

Dr. Riggs was standing behind his desk, stuffing files and notebooks into a gym bag. As she came in, his head snapped up.

"What the--"

"Hello, Doctor," she said with a smile.

"Nancy Drew! What do
you
want?"

"I want to congratulate you on the success of your gambling ring," she said. "Tell me, Doctor . . . how does it feel to retire rich?"

Chapter Seventeen

S
ILENCE FELL.
D
R.
Riggs said nothing. Instead he stared at her for a full minute. He didn't even blink. She had to give him one thing, Nancy decided: He was cool. Very cool.

Finally, the doctor returned to his files and notebooks. One by one he placed them in the gym bag. His movements were slow and deliberate. He was buying time, she knew.

"Well, Miss Drew," he said at last. "That's an interesting accusation. I'm running a gambling ring, you say?"

"From this very office. If I were you I'd go to the police right now and make a full confession," she said.

"Why should I do that?"

"Because they'll go easier on you if you turn yourself in voluntarily."

"Really!" He shook his head in amusement. "That's fascinating."

Suddenly Nancy's patience gave out. "Come on, Doctor . . . stop pretending. You're guilty and we both know it!"

"Do we?" His face grew hard. "All I've heard so far is wild fantasies from a would-be detective, Miss Drew."

"You want proof?"

"If you have any. Frankly, though, I think you're nothing more than a teenager with an overactive imagination."

An overactive--! Nancy was furious. Had she imagined the black Camaro? The list in Mike's locker? Her near-death in the sauna? No way! She crossed her arms.

"I should have realized what was going on my second day on campus," she began. "I overheard a student called Captain Hook asking for a ten-timer. That's a fifty-dollar bet, but I didn't know that at the time."

Dr. Riggs continued to pack his gym bag, but his eyes never left her.

"Strangely enough, I ran across Captain Hook again," Nancy went on. "This time he was out cold. He had been beaten up because he couldn't pay off his gambling losses. Even then I still didn't guess the truth. I was too busy hunting for the practical joker."

"Ah, yes! The practical joker! Is that me, too, Miss Drew?"

"No. I'm getting to that. First I want to explain how the gambling worked . . . call it practice for what I'm going to tell the police."

"Go on."

"A few days before each Wildcat game you set a 'line,' Dr. Riggs. That's a point spread between the winning and losing teams. Those who bet on the correct side of the line won the amount they wagered. Those who bet on the wrong side of the line paid the amount of their wager, plus a ten-percent 'vig.' "

"
Vig?
"

"That's short for vigorish, your commission on the losing bet."

"I see. Please continue."

"Well, it was a nice scam. You made a lot of money. But you weren't satisfied, Dr. Riggs. You wanted more, so eventually you began to set the line low. That made people bet
above
it, since they knew Emerson would whip their opponents by a bigger margin than the line indicated."

Nancy paused. Dr. Riggs was no longer packing his gym bag.

"After that," she went on, "all you had to do was make sure that the final scores fell below the line. You did that with the help of certain Emerson players . . . scholarship students like Mike O'Shea, Andy Hall, and Craig Watson. They shaved points in the final minutes of the games, and the result was lots of extra vig."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and you shared that money with them in the form of watches, clothes . . . even cash. Mike has two thousand dollars in small bills hidden inside his locker."

"That's all very well, Miss Drew, but you still haven't explained the practical jokes . . . where do they fit in?"

"Oh, those . . . they were staged by the players themselves to account for their jitters--and the shaved points."

All at once the atmosphere in the room grew menacing. Dr. Riggs regarded her coldly, his mouth set in a tight line.

"Well, well . . . how did you manage to figure out all that?"

"I had a little help," Nancy confessed, sending a mental thank-you to her father. "I'm not finished, though, Doctor. I still need to tell you who shot out the bus's tire and who pushed Mike off the roof and--"

"Don't bother. You've already said quite enough, I think."

Reaching into the top drawer of his desk, the doctor drew out a large revolver. He pointed it at her heart.

"You're very clever, Nancy Drew. But not clever enough!"

"P-put that down!" Nancy stammered weakly. "Put it down or I'll scream."

"You do, and it will be the last sound that ever leaves your mouth."

He wasn't kidding, she could see. He really would shoot her! The barrel of the revolver wasn't wavering in the slightest!

"Now, Miss Drew, it's my turn to talk," he said. "I'm going to give you some instructions, and I want you to follow them to the letter. Do you understand?"

Nancy nodded.

"First, walk slowly up to my desk and pick up that pen . . . fine. See that scrap of paper? Yes, that one! I want you to write the following message on it."

Startled, she looked up at him.

"Oh, come now . . . don't look so surprised! I know you must have your two friends waiting outside. Here's the message: False alarm. Go to the student union and wait for me there. Will explain later."

Nancy wrote the words exactly as he had dictated them. She was signing her death certificate, she knew, but what else could she do?

"Finished? Let me see. Now fold the paper and take two steps backward. Excellent. Don't move."

Dr. Riggs walked around his desk to stand next to Nancy. "Move slowly toward the door. I want you to open it just a bit very, very carefully and pass the note to your friends. Don't say a word. Then shut the door. And remember, I'll be right behind you."

Nancy did as she was told. "Now step back and turn around," Dr. Riggs commanded. "Place your hands on top of your head."

His gun still trained on her, Dr. Riggs moved back behind his desk. Next he reached for his telephone. A minute later, his call completed, he replaced the receiver.

"All right, Miss Drew. . . . Now we wait."

For what seemed like an eternity, they stayed as they were: Nancy with her hands on her head, Dr. Riggs with the gun pointing at her heart. Desperately, Nancy tried to think of a way out, but no plan came to her. The gun had her spellbound.

Finally, she couldn't stand the tension any longer. "What are you going to do with me?" she whispered. "Lock me in the sauna again?"

Dr. Riggs smiled. "Ah! So you know I was the one who did that!"

"Of course. I had to slip past your office that night. You saw me, I guess, and followed me to the locker room."

"Correct. Too bad you managed to escape that time. Now I've got to find another way of killing you."

Just then, Nancy heard the door behind her open. It closed again quickly.

"You're here!" Dr. Riggs beamed. "About time. Grab her."

A powerful pair of hands seized her from behind. Nancy struggled, but it was no use. In seconds her arms were pinned to her sides.

She had already guessed what was coming next. Dr. Riggs went to his medicine cabinet and soaked a handkerchief with chloroform. When he applied it to her mouth and nose, she was surprised at how much it stung--her throat felt like it was on fire!

"That's it . . . breathe deeply. It's quicker that way!"

Slowly, time began to distort. Nancy felt her struggling grow weaker, her eyelids grow heavy. It was like sinking backward into a pool, she decided . . . a deep, black pool. . . .

Chapter Eighteen

W
HEN
N
ANCY CAME
to she was still in Dr. Riggs's office. Dr. Riggs was missing, but the guy who had seized her from behind was not. As she brought him into focus, blinking, he smiled. He was holding the revolver.

"Feeling better?" he asked. His voice was like sandpaper, and his tall, thin frame looked whipcord strong.

Nancy didn't answer. She was afraid that if she tried to speak, she would be sick. She closed her eyes again.

"Not feeling too talkative, I guess. Can't say that I blame you."

For a minute, nothing happened. Nancy simply let the fog of semiconsciousness drift through her mind. What was happening? Where was Ned? They were supposed to be going out on a date tonight, weren't they? The movies, maybe, or--

No!

The truth, when it hit, was sharp as an electric shock. This was no date. This was a very dangerous situation. She was in the hands of criminals. She was probably going to die!

Little by little, she forced herself to wake up. Opening her eyes, she took stock. Her location? She was lying on the examination table:
bad
. The guy with the gun? He was leaning against the desk, watching her:
also bad
. Bess and George? Oh, yes, they were on a wild goose chase in the student union . . .

. . . very, very bad!

It all added up to not very much in her favor. Groggily, she sat up and swiveled around so that she was perched on the edge of the examination table. Yes, that was better.

"You're Frank, aren't you?" she said.

The guy looked startled. "How did you know my name?"

"I heard Captain Hook use it on the phone," she explained.

"Oh, him. Stupid jerk. He shouldn't have used it to help him make his bet. Just got himself into trouble in the end."

Some trouble! He had been beaten until he was unconscious!

"Where's Dr. Riggs?" Nancy asked next.

Frank said nothing.

"Don't bother, I think I know," she continued. "He's at the hospital finishing the job on Mike--the job you started to do this afternoon on the roof!"

"Don't know how he survived that fall," Frank said, shaking his head in puzzlement. "I was sure it would kill him!"

That confirmed it. Now Nancy was positive about the "important business" Mike had wanted to take care of that morning--he had tried to tell Dr. Riggs that he was backing out of the point-shaving scam, and Dr. Riggs had ordered Frank to shut Mike up--permanently!

Nancy was also positive of something else: Frank had been instructed to do the same to her! As soon as she could walk, no doubt, Frank would take her to his black Camaro and drive her away. Then he would dispose of her.

But would he really do it? Nancy thought about it and decided that he would. After all, he had a big stake in the gambling operation: He was the one who picked up payments, dropped off winnings, and punished those who couldn't cover their losses. Dr. Riggs was probably giving him a major share of the loot.

She had to stall, she knew. She needed time to think of a plan!

"How is Dr. Riggs going to get rid of Mike?" she asked.

Frank eyed her suspiciously. "Now why would a nice girl like you want to know something like that?" he demanded.

"I . . . uh . . . just curious, that's all."

"Well, I suppose I can tell you, seeing as you won't be around to repeat it. Riggs said Mike would die of an embolism."

Air injected into the bloodstream! Nancy winced. How horrible. Once the bubbles got into Mike's heart, he would die within minutes. Was there any chance she could save him, too?

She continued to stall. "And how did you get involved with Dr. Riggs?" she asked.

"Nosy, aren't you? Riggs recruited me from the county hospital."

"What did you do there?"

"I was a male nurse. Funny, huh? Before, I made people feel better. Now I make them feel worse!" He chuckled at the witticism.

Nancy was revolted.

"Hey, don't look so uptight. If Riggs promised you as much money as he promised me, you'd be working for him, too."

"I doubt that." Nancy was getting impatient. She had to get free soon--but how?

Frank seemed to sense the new urgency she was feeling. "You're looking awfully perky," he said. "I think it's time to take you for a nice, long ride, Nancy Drew."

Bending over, he reached for a piece of rope that was lying by his feet. Nancy saw her chance. Bracing herself with her hands, she pushed herself off the examination table and at the same time kicked upward with her foot.

The kick wasn't strong enough to knock Frank out, but it did catch him squarely in the face. Howling, he fell backward onto the desk. Blood gushed from his shattered nose, but Nancy didn't hang around to see more. Heart pounding, she ran to the door and opened it.

Running was difficult. Nancy was still groggy from the chloroform. She felt herself weaving back and forth, pushing off walls, tripping and getting up. No matter what, though, she kept going. She would only get one chance!

How long had she delayed Frank with that kick? Not very long, she was sure. He was probably after her already. He had the revolver, too. Somehow she had to get out of the building--she'd have a better chance in the open. A car might come by. Someone might hear her scream.

On and on she ran. Why had they made the halls so long? Finally, she reached a stairway and staggered up it. Another long hall and she was in the main lobby.

It was empty, of course. The game was long over, and everyone had gone home. Even the security guard wasn't around. Anxiously, she raced to the glass front doors and pushed. They were locked! She glanced around wildly for another way out--and spotted it. Off to her right, another set of doors!

Sprinting, she burst through them--and stopped dead. She was in the gym! This wasn't any good--she was a sitting duck in the middle of all this space.