008 Two Points to Murder (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

A
FEELING OF
horror swept through her. In no time she remembered how Mike had hurried from the fraternity common room. Was this the "important business" that he had insisted on attending to?

It was possible. Ten minutes or more had passed since she, too, had left the fraternity. Mike could have done it in that time. Especially if he had been driving a Camaro. It was harder to imagine the police also arriving so quickly, but who could tell? The way this case was going, Nancy was ready to believe almost anything.

She had to get inside, Nancy decided. She felt responsible for what had happened. If she had thought faster she might have stopped Mike. The assault might not have occurred.

The police had roped off the building's main entrance, so she walked instead to a door on one side. It was easy to find the scene of the assault: Policemen were everywhere, their radios crackling. In the middle of it all lay the student. A red emergency blanket was spread over him, but his face was visible. Nancy edged close . . . and gasped.

It was Captain Hook, the hunk she had seen talking on the phone!

With a jolt, she remembered how handsome she had found him that morning in the student bookstore. He didn't look very good now, though. His face was purple with bruises, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He wasn't moving.

Nancy turned to a nearby policeman. "Is he going to be all right?" she asked.

"Hard to say," the officer shrugged. "He was worked over fairly hard."

"Is he conscious?"

"No, he's out."

Nancy turned away, then walked outside, feeling shaky. Maybe she should have taken Bess's advice and remained in bed, she thought. That wasn't realistic, though. Time was quickly running out. The final Emerson game was that night, and unless she put the practical joker out of action before then it was dead certain that he would stage one final prank, a prank that would be aimed at knocking Emerson out of the running for good.

That wouldn't be the end of it, either. Who could tell how long the beatings would continue? They might go on until each and every Emerson student had either been attacked or frightened away!

What should she do? As she walked toward the dorm, she turned over the possibilities. She couldn't go to the police, of course. She had evidence against Mike, but no positive proof.

Maybe she could get to him through Jan Teller, she thought. If she told Mike's girlfriend about the awful things he was doing, Jan might agree to talk to him, to ask him to turn himself in. But no, she decided, that plan had too many problems. It would take time, for one thing. For another, there was no guarantee that Mike would cooperate.

Ned? Help from her boyfriend was definitely out of the question, she knew. The new evidence from Mike's locker would not convince him of his co-captain's guilt. She was beginning to think that
nothing
would convince him of that!

Was that because he was guilty of taking illegal payments himself?

For the hundredth time, Nancy's thoughts returned to the awful possibility that the boy she loved was not the boy she thought he was. Would he even tell her the truth when she finally asked him? She didn't know. In a way, she felt like she didn't know anything anymore. Since this case had started, her world had turned upside down. Would she ever get it straightened out?

Nancy needed to sit down and think. Looking around, she spotted the library off to her right. She walked briskly toward it.

Inside, the building smelled of books and floor wax. Nancy walked to an area crammed with study cubicles, slipped into an empty one, and sat down. Mentally, she tried to sort through the pieces of the puzzle.

Suddenly a student working nearby caught her attention. Ray Ungar! What was he doing here? The library was the last place she ever expected to see him, especially on a Saturday!

Ray looked up and saw her watching him. Instantly, he scooped up his books and started to leave. Nancy blocked his exit.

"Ray, wait! You don't have to go."

"Why should I stay? So you can pry into my life some more?"

"I'm not prying into your life. I'm not doing anything to you at all."

"Sure," he snapped. "Tell me another one. You're just like everyone else. You think I'm funny . . . stupid Ray, Mr. Flunk-out!"

Nancy stared. What was he talking about? Why did he sound so bitter? "Ray, would you mind explaining this to me? I'm not trying to make fun of you. I'm trying to understand!"

He hesitated. At first Nancy thought he would go, but then he dropped his books on top of his desk with a clatter.

"All my life I've had trouble in school," Ray said. "Math, English, history . . . other kids learn that stuff easy, but not me. I have to work, and work hard, just to get C's!"

"That's not so unusual. Lots of kids have trouble in school."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't make it any easier for me. The only time I feel like somebody important is when I play basketball."

"I see. Is that why you hate Coach Burnett so much? Because he cut you from the team and took away your self-respect?"

Ray looked surprised. "I don't hate Coach! He
had
to cut me from the team. My grades were too low . . . that's the rules!"

"Wait a minute! Hold on . . ." Nancy touched her temples with her fingertips. "Am I hearing this right? You don't think Coach Burnett did anything wrong when he cut you?"

"No way."

"Then why do you claim to hate the team? Why did you swear you'd never go to another Wildcat game as long as you live?"

"Oh, that! I was just ticked off. I didn't mean what I said."

"So at the Haviland game, you really
were
cheering for Emerson?"

"How did you know I was there?"

"I saw you on a videotape," she explained. "Look, Ray, there's still something I don't understand . . . why pretend? Why let your teammates think that you don't support them?"

Ray's eyes dropped. "It's the way they look at me. They all feel sorry for me, and I can't stand that!" he said.

"So you act angry at them to put them off? To keep them from pitying you?"

"That's right. That way I can work on my grades without them always asking how it's going. Man, school is hard enough without people getting on your case all the time."

"And that's why you're at the library today?" she asked. "You're studying in order to push your grades up and get back on the team?"

He nodded. "Coach says that if I get my grade-point average up, he'll put me in the starting lineup next season."

Now Nancy understood. Ray wasn't handling his problems in the best possible way, in her opinion, but that wasn't her business. All that mattered to her was that he had no reason to hurt the Wildcats with practical jokes.

Of course, it was possible that he was lying to her, but the sincerity in his voice convinced Nancy that for once he was telling the truth.

She was glad, but nervous, too. With both Tom and Ray out of the running, she would now have to tell Ned something that she knew he didn't want to hear: His friend and co-captain, Mike O'Shea, was definitely responsible for the practical jokes--and a lot more, besides!

Chapter Thirteen

T
HAT AFTERNOON AN
enormous pep rally took place in the gym. Emotions ran high as the band played a medley of fight songs. The cheerleaders whipped the crowd into a hand-clapping, foot-stamping frenzy. The division championship was at stake that night, and one question loomed large in everyone's mind: Would the Wildcats win the crown, or would they go down in defeat?

Nancy stood near the doors with Bess and George, pondering a different question: When and how would the practical joker strike next? There was no doubt in her mind that he would. He had to! This was his last chance to stop the team's drive for the title.

As the rally's finale neared, a series of floats motored onto the court. A thousand purple and orange balloons fell from the ceiling as a platoon of baton twirlers kicked and smiled. It was an exciting scene, but Nancy was too worried to enjoy it.

A second later, George touched her arm. "Nancy, I think there's a problem outside. Want to check it out?"

Outside in the corridor, the team members were waiting to be introduced to the crowd. They were all nicely dressed in khaki slacks, ties, and Emerson, blazers, but on their faces were looks of worry. What now? Nancy wondered.

"Ned? What's going on?"

"It's Mike . . . he hasn't shown up yet," her boyfriend said tensely.

"He knew about the rally, right?"

"Of course he did!" Ned snapped irritably.

Nancy felt her face go red. Part of her wanted to shout at him, and part of her wanted to beg him not to be angry with her anymore. In the end, she did neither.

"Maybe he's been delayed for some reason," she suggested evenly.

Howie Little stepped forward and shook his head. "Mike's the first one to arrive anywhere, even for practice!"

"Yeah, it's not like him to go AWOL," Andy Hall added.

Nancy didn't see what she could do about the situation. If her suspicions about Mike were correct--and she was certain that they were--there was no telling where he might be.

In the gym, the dean of the college stepped up to the microphone. "
And now it's time to meet our team!
" he announced. "
First, playing forward, number thirty-two . . . Kyle . . . Jefferson!
"

Cheers shook the gym. He was starting at the bottom of the roster, Nancy realized. That was good. It meant that Mike and Ned, the co-captains, would be the last to be introduced. Mike had a few more minutes to show.

One by one, the players walked into the gym as their names and numbers were called. Nancy watched the front entrance of the building anxiously, but finally Ned was the only one left in the corridor. Mike wasn't going to appear.

"Looks like I'll have to cover for him," Ned muttered. "Where
is
he?"

Inside the gym, the dean's voice rose excitedly. "
And next, the finest point guard in the history of our school . . . co-captain of the team, number seven . . . Ned . . . Nickerson!
"

The roar that burst from the crowd was thunderous. Ned strode confidently into the gym, stopped, and raised his arms in a victory sign. The roar grew even louder. Nancy was proud that Ned was so popular, but at the same time she felt terrible. She knew how torn up he must feel. This was definitely a moment he would want to share with Mike!

Slipping back into the gym, Nancy watched Ned step forward to the microphone and smoothly apologize for Mike's absence. Wisely,'he didn't dwell on it, but moved straight into his thank-you's to the team's supporters.

As he talked, Nancy felt another touch on her arm. It was Pat Burnett. Like his team, the coach was wearing khakis, a tie, and an Emerson blazer. He also wore an identical look of worry--worry that she knew was growing from more than his concern over the upcoming game.

"Well, this is it. Our last game. I don't suppose you've had any luck since we last talked?"

Nancy had phoned the coach several times to update him on the case. There had been little to report, though--until now. She wasn't looking forward to telling him about his star forward.

She swallowed. "Yes, I have. Coach Burnett, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but . . . but . . ."

Go on, tell him! she said to herself. Somehow she couldn't do it. The problem was, she wasn't totally sure that she was right. True, the evidence against Mike was overwhelming, yet for all that she still had no idea
why
he was doing such horrible things. Why was he pulling the pranks? Why was he assaulting innocent students? And why did he have two thousand dollars in his locker?

The money!
All at once, Nancy remembered Tom Stafford's charge. Was it true that illegal salaries were being paid? If so, it might shed some light on Mike's motives, she knew. With all the tact at her command, Nancy quietly put the issue to the coach. His jaw tightened.

"Absolutely not, young lady," he pronounced when she had finished. "No Emerson player has ever . . . or
will
ever . . . be paid a penny to play for this school. Not while I'm around!"

"Is it possible that someone else could have made such payments?" Nancy asked. "Someone on the admissions staff, maybe?"

"No way! If they were doing anything like that, believe me, I'd know!"

She believed him. What else could she do? The force and conviction of his words were enough to persuade a stone!

Suddenly Nancy felt as if twenty tons of lead had been lifted from her shoulders. The coach's words meant that Ned was honest--every bit as honest as she had always believed! What a relief! At the same time, however, the denial left open the question of the money in Mike's locker. Where had it come from, if not from the school?

There was no time left for speculation, she knew. Her time was up. The coach was waiting impatiently for her report.

"Well, Nancy? Can you tell me the name of the practical joker?" he asked.

She nodded. "Unfortunately I can. Mr. Burnett, I'm afraid he's--"

Nancy never finished her sentence. At that moment, a security guard rushed through the door and ran up to the coach.

"Mr. Burnett? You'd better come with me, sir," the guard panted. "One of your players is hurt. He says his name is Mike O'Shea, and it looks like he fell off the roof!"

Chapter Fourteen

I
N THE MIDDLE
of the gym, Ned was getting ready to introduce the coach. Pat Burnett was already gone, however, and Nancy was only two steps behind him. She hated to leave Ned in such an awkward spot, but what could she do? Finding out about Mike came first!

Mike was lying in the snow near the base of one of the building's side walls. Glancing up, Nancy estimated the drop at sixty feet or so. The snow below her feet was only a foot deep, so Mike's fall had not been cushioned. Her heart began to race.

How badly was he hurt? It was hard to tell. One thing
was
clear. He was in agony. His face was twisted with pain, and his breath came in shallow gulps.