008 Two Points to Murder (6 page)

". . . so you see, just before the final buzzer the losing team will commit a foul on purpose. That way they can--"

Her lecture was interrupted by a cry of rage from the back of the bus. Twisting around, Nancy tried to see what was happening.

It was Howie. The center was squatting in the aisle, emptying his gym bag onto the floor. "I don't believe it. I just don't believe it!" he said over and over.

"What happened?" Ned shouted to him.

"Some bozo stole my lucky socks outta my bag!"

An angry murmur swept through the bus. The practical joker had struck again! Was the Wildcats' luck ever going to change?

Just then, George touched her arm. "Nancy, look . . . that Camaro! Isn't that like the one you saw last night?"

Nancy turned to the left and looked out her window. A Camaro was cruising next to the bus in the fastest lane of the four-lane highway. It was black. It had smoked windows. Its hubcaps were flashing, exactly like--

In a flash, she realized that it wasn't
like
the killer Camaro--it
was
the killer Camaro! What was it doing here?

As she watched, horrified, the car moved into position alongside the bus's front wheel. Then its window powered down. A gun barrel appeared. There was a burst of flame, followed by a loud pop and a deafening hiss.

The front of the bus began to shudder wildly. The tire was out! The driver gave a panicky cry and stomped on the brake. In no time the bus skidded to the right, swinging across two entire lanes of the highway and narrowly missing the other traffic.

A loud screech came next. Screams and shouts filled the air as the bus started to tip over!

Chapter Eight

T
HEY WERE DONE
for, Nancy was certain of it! She braced for the impact, gripping her armrests tightly.

At the last second, however, the driver swung the wheel in the direction of the skid. The bus teetered crazily but slid to a halt without overturning.

Pandemonium broke loose. Amid the commotion, Nancy heard Ned shout, "Stay calm! Stay in your seats! Is everyone okay?"

A quick survey showed that no one was injured. Nerves were frayed, though, and it took several minutes for everyone to calm down enough to stop yelling.

Nancy checked the driver. He was unhurt but badly shaken.

"It's my fault," he said. "I shouldn't have hit the brakes."

"Don't worry about it. Everything turned out all right," she told him.

"Everything except the tire. What a time to have a blowout!"

Didn't he know that the tire had been shot out? Obviously not. Nancy wondered whether to tell him, but decided against it. What good would it do? The Camaro was gone, and spreading the story would only make the players more upset than they were already.

The driver used an emergency roadside phone to call for another bus. It arrived an hour later, and the team transferred into it. When they reached the Haviland gym it was just minutes before the game was due to start.

"Those guys are really shaken up," Bess said as the girls took their seats in the bleachers. She had been sitting in the back of the bus with cute Craig Watson and looked pretty shaken herself. "Do you think they'll win?"

"Let's hope so," Nancy said.

George added, "If they don't, it's goodbye playoffs!"

At first, the game looked like a rout. Emerson ran fast and hard, and quickly built a twenty-five point lead. The trouble came in the second half. With just ten minutes to go, the Wildcats began to slip. Scoring opportunities went unnoticed. Foul shots missed. In no time, their lead faded to just twelve points.

Was it the shock of the near-disaster finally catching up with them? Nancy wondered. Probably. She cheered loudly, but her mind wasn't really on the game. Instead, she was brooding about the black Camaro. First it had turned up at the scene of an assault, and then it had been used to shoot out the bus's tire!

In her mind, that could mean only one thing: The beatings and the practical jokes against the team were connected. But how? And why? She had no idea.

When the final buzzer sounded, Emerson had won the game by nine points.

On the return trip Nancy reversed two of the seats so that she, George, Bess, and Ned could sit together. Softly, so that the other team members wouldn't hear, they discussed the case. Ned was shocked when he heard about the Camaro and its part in the accident.

"Nancy, you should have called the police!" he said.

"There wasn't any point. I missed the license number again. Anyway, why delay the trip even more by bringing in the cops? We almost missed the start of the game as it was!"

"True."

Nancy slumped in her seat. "The real issue is that Camaro driver. Why would someone who likes to beat up people also pull a practical joke? It doesn't make sense."

"Some practical joke," Bess muttered. "That bullet almost got us killed!"

"Not true. Think about it . . . it wasn't the shot that almost spilled the bus, but the way the driver hit the brakes."

"Oh, sure. If that Camaro guy wasn't trying to kill us, then what was he trying to do?"

"Slow us down," Nancy explained. "He wanted the team to arrive late . . . maybe even late enough to make them forfeit the game."

"Hmmm . . ."

George was puzzled about something else. "I don't understand . . . why do you think it's weird that the same guy is responsible for both the pranks and the assaults?"

"Yeah, it makes perfect sense to me," Ned agreed.

Nancy shook her head. "Beating people up and playing jokes on them are two different things. One involves direct physical contact, while the other involves watching from a distance."

"But the Camaro definitely ties the two cases together," Ned pointed out.

"You're right, it does."

"Who do you think was driving it?" George asked next.

Nancy shrugged. "That's the big question. I don't know."

Silence. For several minutes the foursome sifted the clues in their minds. For her part, Nancy felt that one suspect stood out more than any other--Mike O'Shea. He had not been with the team when the tire was shot. There was also the effigy material in his room. Should she voice her suspicion? She knew how Ned would react, but that was not the reason she kept quiet.

The reason was that she now had another strong suspect--Ray Ungar. That morning at the rifle range she had learned that he was a crack marksman. Could he have been the one who shot out the bus's tire? Unless he had a rock-solid alibi, it was possible, she knew.

It was George who suggested the third suspect. "I think it's that creep Tom Stafford," she said forcefully.

"Tom! Why him?" Ned asked.

"Well, he wants the trustees to cut the P.E. department's budget, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"There you go! He's sabotaging the Wildcats' season in order to give the trustees an excuse to zap the funding."

"I don't know . . . that sounds too elaborate," Ned said doubtfully.

"Come on, the guy's a fanatic! He'd do anything to further his cause!"

George had a point, Nancy had to admit. Tom was an idealist, and idealists sometimes got carried away. At any rate, they, had a motive for Tom--more than she could say about Mike!

"I think you have it wrong, George," Bess declared. "I think the joker is that weirdo Ray Ungar that Nancy told us about."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because he hates the Wildcats. Or at least Coach Burnett. I say he's playing the pranks as revenge for being kicked off the team."

Nodding, Nancy filled them in on her encounter with Ray in the rifle range.

"That clinches it as far as I'm concerned," Ned said grimly. "Ray's our man. All we have to do is find out whether he has an alibi for this afternoon and if he drives a Camaro."

"Forget it. It's not going to be that easy," Nancy objected. "Naturally, the joker's going to have an alibi. And as for the Camaro . . . he'd be a fool to drive it around openly."

"And our practical joker is no fool," George added.

"I suppose you're right."

Another silence fell. Where did they go from here? Nancy wondered. Tom, Ray, Mike--any of them could be the practical joker. Each had points in his favor, yet there wasn't enough evidence to pin down any of them.

Once again they were at a dead end. She felt more frustrated than ever. The bigger this case grew, the harder it seemed to be to crack. Whoever he was, this practical joker had earned her respect: With one possible exception, he had pulled off all his crimes without leaving any clues.

Back at Emerson, the young detective said an awkward goodnight to Ned and started back to the dorm with her friends. The three walked in silence. Their mood was gloomy.

Finally, Bess spoke. "This is awful. It seems like there's no way to catch this guy. You've seen him, though, right?"

"Last night in the parking lot," George said, "didn't you get any idea about who he might be?"

Nancy sighed. "No, and believe me, I've thought about it plenty. All I could tell was that the guy is tall and thin. That description could fit lots of people."

"Like Tom."

"Or Ray."

"Or Mike," Nancy concluded.

Not even seeing the practical joker in the flesh had done any good! Maybe Bess was right, Nancy thought darkly. Maybe there wasn't any way to catch him at all!

A few minutes later, the trio rounded the corner of a large, windowless brick building. From the tall smokestack rising above it, Nancy guessed that it was the college's central heating plant.

Suddenly George grabbed Nancy's arm. "Nancy, look . . . over there by that fence! It's the Camaro!"

Chapter Nine

N
ANCY'S HEART BEGAN
to race. George was right! To one side a short drive widened into a small shipping yard. On the yard's far side, parked near a snow fence, was the Camaro!

There was no question that it was the one. It had the same smoked windows and the same custom hubcaps.

"I don't believe it! What a break!" Nancy nearly shouted. "I'm going over there to get its license number."

Bess whitened. "But, Nan, that guy could be somewhere around here!"

"I'll be careful."

As she started toward it, however, the car's headlights blazed on. Its engine roared to life. The driver was still inside--the dark windows had hidden him from view!

Nancy watched in horror as the car leapt forward with a screech. He was going to get away! She had to stop him!

She glanced around wildly. At the top of the entrance drive was a pyramid of steel drums. She ran toward them, her hair flying. When she reached them she pushed with all her might, praying that they were empty.

They were. The top three drums tumbled over and began to roll slowly. Trapped, the Camaro skidded to a stop. Smoke spun from its rear tires as it flew backward. In no time it came to a stop near the open loading-bay door that led into the heating plant. What was he doing?

The driver's door swung open. For a brief instant his tall, thin figure was silhouetted in the plant's doorway. Then he disappeared inside.

"Quick! He's getting away! Let's go after him!" Nancy shouted.

George caught her at the entrance. "Nancy, don't you think we should just get the license number and call the police?"

"Yes, let the cops handle it," Bess agreed as she ran up.

"No way! Don't you see? This is probably the only entrance to the building--we can trap him inside! Come on, you guys!"

Inside, Nancy tugged on the chain to the overhead door. It wouldn't budge.

"Oh no! We're going to have to hunt him down! George, you and Bess go around to the right. I'll go the other way."

"But, Nancy--!"

"Be careful. He probably has his gun."

Nancy didn't give them time to object. Quick as a flash she darted to the left, making her way around the side of a massive steam turbine, the noise from which was deafening.

The corridor ahead of her was empty. She crept forward warily, prepared to throw herself to the floor at any second. She reached the corridor's end without a problem, though. Trembling slightly, she peered around the corner.

The corridor jogged right for ten feet, then left again. Nancy took the double corner cautiously, then crept forward once more. Tension mounted inside her. Somewhere ahead was the practical joker. Was it Mike? Ray? Tom? Whoever he was, he was very likely armed and dangerous!

Finally, she reached the last corner. She was at the back of the heating plant, she knew. With George and Bess coming down the other side, that meant that the joker was trapped. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she flattened herself against a wire mesh cage and risked a peek.

George and Bess were coming toward her, looks of fear on their faces.

Nancy stepped around the corner with a cry. "Hey! Where did he go?"

Her friends jumped. Bess looked ready to faint. "Aaargh! Don't do that! You nearly scared me to death, Nancy!"

"Sorry. I was sure we had him trapped back here. What happened?"

George pointed. "Look!"

Off to their left, a large tunnel angled down and away from the heating plant. Attached to its walls were dozens of pipes and ducts. So! There
was
another way out!

"What is that?" Bess asked. "What are all those pipes?"

Nancy started toward the opening. "They hold the electrical cables, I'll bet. The ducts probably carry leftover steam from the turbines."

"Carry it where?"

"To the other buildings, for heat."

George's eyes bugged out. "Nancy, are you saying there's a maze of tunnels under the campus?"

"I wouldn't doubt it. And that's where the joker went. Come on!"

The tunnel was suffocatingly hot. Pursuing the joker here was highly dangerous, Nancy knew, but she was determined to catch him. He had hurt too many people in too many ways to let him escape now that they had him!

On and on they jogged. The tunnel twisted and turned, and they had to peer around every corner in case the joker lay ahead. Nancy was worried. Their caution was slowing them down. He might escape.