Secrets Can Kill (13 page)

“Nancy's right,” Ned said quietly. “Besides, if Daryl doesn't show, then Mitch will definitely suspect something.”

It was too late to try to do any more persuading. Nancy just looked at Daryl, silently urging him to hang in. Daryl stared at the ground a few seconds, considering. Then he raised his head and nodded at Nancy. “Let's go, Detective.”

As calmly as if they had an entire police force
waiting in the wings, the six young people took their places. Bess and her rock star-to-be sat close together on one of the park benches, their arms around each other. They didn't have to pretend to be in love, Nancy noticed.

Nancy, Ned, and George concealed themselves behind the shrubs, where they could film the encounter without being seen. Nancy panned the camera over the park, stopping on Daryl for a few moments.

Daryl was sitting on another bench, some distance away from the young lovers. Nancy had been worried about him before, but as she looked at him now, the worry vanished. He was lounging casually on the bench, idly scanning one of his school books, looking as calm and relaxed as the day she'd first seen him at the stoplight in Bedford.

“He's pretty cool,” George commented softly.

Nancy nodded. “He really missed his calling. He should have been an actor.” A branch was poking her in the ear; she reached up to push it away and felt Ned's hand close over hers. She smiled and started to say something, but just then Ned's eyes shifted from her face and she felt him tense. “Company,” he whispered.

Through the camera lens, Nancy watched a heavyset man stroll into the park. He was wearing jeans and a dark-blue windbreaker, and as he stopped by the duck pond, he brought
out a handful of popcorn from his pocket and threw it into the water. He didn't hurry or glance around. He was simply a man taking a late-afternoon walk through the park.

Just one thing set him apart and made Nancy's hands begin to sweat—his bushy mustache. It was the same mustache she'd seen on Jake's tape, and he was the same man who'd met Daryl in front of the defense plant. It was Mitch Dillon, spy, killer, and soon-to-be convicted criminal, if everything went the way Nancy hoped it would.

Dillon stopped feeding the ducks, and as he walked along the curved path at the edge of the pond, Nancy could tell that he wasn't as oblivious to his surroundings as most people would have thought. His eyes roved constantly over the park, looking for signs of a trap. As he glanced over the shrubs where the camera crew was hidden, Nancy instinctively held her breath, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

Then Dillon took a drink from the water fountain, and when he straightened up, he gave the surroundings one last look. Seemingly satisfied, he wiped his mustache and began a slow amble toward Daryl.

Nancy gripped the camera tightly, holding it steady as Dillon eased himself down on the bench beside his “contact.” Nancy saw Dillon's lips move; then Daryl nodded, reached into his
bookbag, and pulled out a bulky envelope. It wasn't the incriminating tape, of course; it was blank. Daryl didn't hand it over right away, though; instead, he started talking, and Nancy knew he was talking about Jake Webb.

Keep talking,
she urged Daryl silently.
Get that murder confession out of Dillon and onto that mini-cassette you're wearing under your shirt
.

Nancy hated being where she was, out of earshot, looking at the scene through a tiny lens. She wanted to be where the action was, hearing everything for herself. It was frustrating, being so out of it. She toyed with the idea of giving the camera to George or Ned and sneaking through the bushes until she was closer to Daryl and Dillon, but she decided it wasn't worth the chance. One false move, one too many twigs snapping under her feet, could blow it. And she couldn't afford to blow it, especially without the police to back her up.

Dillon reached for the envelope then, but Daryl didn't let go. He was still talking. That must have meant that Dillon hadn't said anything about Jake's murder. Nancy wondered why. Could something have gone wrong? Was Daryl being so obvious that Dillon suspected something?

Keeping the camera steady, Nancy looked away from the viewfinder for a second. Maybe a “real” look would tell her something. But before
she could see anything, a blinding flash of light went off in the bushes in front of the park bench. Nancy stared long enough to see Mitch Dillon leap up from the bench, the envelope in his hands. Then she dropped the video camera and began running. Something had gone wrong and Dillon was on his feet. Nancy had to stop him before he got away!

A
S
N
ANCY RACED
through the bushes a scream rang out, shattering the peaceful silence of the park. There was another scream, and then a woman's voice cried, “What are you doing? Let go of me!”

Although the shrubbery blocked Nancy's view, it didn't matter. She would have known that voice anywhere. It belonged to Brenda Carlton. The “ace” reporter had blown it for Nancy again.

Nancy was so angry she was shaking. Mostly she was angry at herself. She'd made the deal with Brenda, and she should have known better. Brenda couldn't be trusted; she was trouble,
right down to the tips of her perfectly manicured nails. Thinking about Brenda made Nancy careless for a second, and a second was all it took. A thick root lay like a snake across the path; Nancy tripped on it and went sprawling face down, right next to the bench where Daryl and Mitch Dillon had been sitting.

“Well, well, who's this?” Dillon said with a sneer. “Another member of the kiddie corps? Get up!” he ordered roughly.

Nancy stood up, quickly appraising the situation. Daryl was standing a few feet from the park bench, Brenda's camera and its flash attachment on the ground in front of him. Dillon had one arm around Brenda's neck, and in his other hand he held a gun. The gun was pointed at Brenda's head.

“Nancy, please,” Brenda stammered. “I didn't mean for this to happen. If—if you'd just told me everything, I would have stayed out of your way!”

“You've been following me the whole time, haven't you?” Nancy said.

Brenda nodded dumbly and then winced as Dillon tightened his grip around her throat. Brenda's eyes were terrified, and Nancy couldn't help feeling sorry for her. There was no pity in Mitch Dillon's eyes, though. They were about as compassionate as a shark's. “That's enough chitchat, girls,” he said. “It's time to stop playing games.”

“This isn't a game,” Nancy said.

Dillon eyed her coolly. “You're right, it's not. It's real life and it's going to get rough if you don't do what I say.” He shifted his glance to Daryl. “I want that camera,” he said, eyeing Brenda's camera on the ground. “You hand it to me and nobody gets hurt. I'll walk out of the park and out of your lives. It'll be like a bad dream.”

It already is,
Nancy thought. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do. Then suddenly she noticed something—Bess and Alan were close by, but neither Ned nor George had followed her through the shrubs. So Dillon had no way of knowing that they were even around. Nancy knew Ned and George well enough to know that they weren't just standing by, waiting to see what happened. One of them had probably snuck out of the park already and called the police. If Nancy could keep Mitch Dillon talking, keep him from leaving somehow, then there was a chance they could get out of the mess. All she needed was time. “What happens if you don't get the camera?” she asked.

Dillon sighed wearily. “If I don't get the camera, then somebody gets hurt. Do you want to guess who?” He spoke as if Nancy were a child asking annoying questions, and Nancy decided to play along with him.

“Who?” she asked.

“Who do you think?” Brenda cried. “I'm the one he's pointing the gun at! Will you just give him the stupid camera so he'll let me go?!”

“Smart girl,” Dillon said. “I suggest you follow her advice, Red.”

Nancy hated to be called Red, especially by someone like Dillon. “And if I don't, then you'll kill her, just like you killed Jake Webb, right?” she asked.

“You're catching on fast,” Dillon replied. “I already killed one nosy kid. I'm not afraid to kill another. You got it just right.”

At least we got the confession,
Nancy told herself,
no thanks to Brenda.

Dillon shifted impatiently. “Now, how about the camera, Red?”

Nancy gritted her teeth. “If you want it so much, why don't you get it yourself? Nobody's stopping you. We're all just a bunch of stupid kids, remember?”

“You may be stupid but I'm not,” Dillon said. “You think I don't know what'll happen if I reach for that camera? You'll try to play hero and jump me, and even though I'd win, I just don't have time for a brawl right now.”

“I'll bet,” Nancy said. “Gotta catch a plane to Russia, right? Back to the U.S.S.R.”

“I'm starting to lose my patience.” Dillon shook his head in disgust and turned to Daryl. “Okay, buddy. Do your partner one last favor and hand me the camera. Now!”

“Don't do it, Daryl!” Nancy shouted.

“Nancy!” Brenda squeaked. “What are you doing? He's going to kill me!”

“That's right.” Dillon was staring at Daryl. “I'm going to kill her if you don't give me that camera in ten seconds. Ten . . . nine . . .”

“Hey.” Daryl held out his hands. “Just keep cool, Mitch. I'll give it to you.”

“Six . . . five . . .”

Brenda opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Four . . .”

Slowly Daryl bent down and took hold of the camera strap. As Dillon reached the count of two, Daryl straightened up and in one quick move swung the heavy camera at Dillon's face. At that same instant the gun went off.

The gunshot set Nancy into motion. She didn't know if Dillon hit anyone, but she hurled herself at him, determined to stop him from doing any more damage. She hit him just below the knees, and as she tried to get a good grip on his jeans, Dillon reached down and took a swing at her. His fist collided with her jaw in a punch that gave her an instant headache.

You really do see stars,
Nancy thought. Her ears were ringing and her vision was blurred. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on, but she sensed a lot of movement around her. Then she heard a familiar voice calling to her. “Don't
worry, Nancy!” Ned shouted. “The police are on their way!”

Nancy rubbed her eyes and saw Ned and Alan racing together after Mitch Dillon, who was charging across an open field of grass, heading for the sidewalk that bordered the park. He was still clutching the fake tape in one hand, and the camera swung wildly by its strap in the other.

If Dillon had only known that neither the tape nor the camera was going to do him any good, he might have gotten away. But he was determined to take all the “evidence” with him, and it slowed him down. The heavy camera kept banging into his knees. It probably hurt, Nancy thought with satisfaction, which was why Dillon finally broke stride for a few seconds and tried to get a tight grip on the camera itself.

Those few seconds were all it took. As Dillon grappled with the camera, Ned and Alan put on a burst of speed and reached him just as he was about to take off again. First Ned, then Alan leaped on top of Dillon, the three of them rolling over and over until they came to a jarring stop against the base of a water fountain. Dillon wasn't going anywhere for the moment; they had him. Nancy closed her eyes in relief.

When she opened them again, the first person she saw was Brenda Carlton, looking more like
a bag lady than a fashion-conscious reporter. Her butter-soft leather boots were covered with mud and grass stains, her red silk blouse was missing two buttons, and a smear of lipstick decorated her chin. She was still sitting where Dillon had tossed her; the gun was right next to her, and every time she looked at it, she sobbed hysterically.

A hundred sarcastic remarks went through Nancy's mind, but before she could decide which one to say, Bess touched her shoulder. “Nan?” Her voice was shaky. “Do you know anything about gunshot wounds?”

“What?” Nancy whirled around to face her friend. “Were you hit?!”

“No, I'm okay,” Bess assured her. “It's Daryl.”

Daryl Gray was sitting a few feet away from Brenda. His handsome face was pale, and his eyes were full of pain. He was clutching his right shoulder, and even as Nancy looked a bright red stream of blood seeped through his fingers.

“I don't think it's too bad,” he said as Nancy crouched beside him. “But it sure does hurt.”

He grinned weakly, and Nancy smiled back. “Thank you,” she said. “You really came through for us.”

“So did this,” George said triumphantly. She emerged from the bushes and pointed at the video camera she was carrying. “I got the whole scene on tape, every last bit of it!”