Danger in Disguise, Page 2

  “But—” Nancy began to say, when she heard a sound that brought her bolt upright in her seat. She hurried over to the window.

  One of the policemen below had reached up and grabbed the extension ladder to the fire escape and pulled it down toward him. The corroded metal was clanking and squealing in response.

  “That’s what I heard!” she exclaimed. “When I was outside the door to this apartment, I heard metal clanking. It must have been the ladder.”

  “How long between then and when you got to the window?” asked Detective Hicks. He sounded skeptical, but at least she’d captured his attention.

  “Not more than a minute,” Nancy answered.

  The detective pulled his pen out again. “But you didn’t actually see anyone?”

  “No, but there could have been time for whoever it was to get out of sight if what I heard was the ladder coming back up after someone had climbed down it.”

  “Did you hear footsteps running away?”

  “No, I didn’t hear anything like that.” Nancy couldn’t help but feel exasperated with this methodical man. While he asked all his questions, whoever had caused Kathy Novello to fall to her death was getting away. “What I did hear was metal—clanking metal.”

  “I’m not surprised that you did,” said a voice from the window.

  Nancy turned to see the police officer from the alley climbing into the room.

  “I’ll bet there was a lot of clatter when she hit those trash cans. They’re scattered all over down there.”

  “I see,” said Detective Hicks as he closed his notebook and put it away.

  Nancy gritted her teeth. “Please listen to me. I know someone meant to hurt Kathy Novello. And now she’s dead. There has to be a connection!”

  Detective Hicks sighed. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Ms. Drew. But I have no evidence. I don’t even know where to start looking for this murderer of yours! The department will look into it. But it’s going to take some time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some things to take care of. The sergeant here will take your phone numbers, in case we need to contact you again.”

  Nancy knew Hicks was doing his job. But she also knew that the longer the case waited, the colder the-trail would get. She couldn’t sit by and do nothing while a murderer got away!

  Bess had been right, she realized. She had found trouble—and she was in the middle of another case.

  • • •

  A half hour later the girls were still sitting in Nancy’s car in front of Kathy’s apartment building. Nancy couldn’t bring herself to drive away with the cause of Kathy Novello’s death hanging unresolved. Yet, she didn’t know what else to do.

  “You have to agree with Hicks that a conversation you accidentally overheard really isn’t solid evidence,” said George.

  “I know it isn’t,” Nancy conceded, more discouraged than ever. “If I could just establish that there was a specific motive for those men to want Kathy out of the way—”

  “You’d have to know what was on the piece of paper they were after.”

  “Right. And—Wait a second! We were the last people to use the copier. It could have gotten mixed in with the flyers we were copying,” said Nancy, suddenly feeling revived.

  A lead at last! This could be the starting point.

  “Did either of you see an odd piece of paper mixed in with the flyers?” she asked eagerly.

  “It wasn’t in the pile we used for stuffing envelopes. I’m almost positive of that,” said George.

  “If it was in the tray of the machine before we started making copies then it would have ended up on the bottom of the first batch we did. What happened to that batch?”

  “I took it,” Bess chimed in. “I just hope I didn’t leave off the paper you want at one of those stores I visited. I think I just handed out the ones off the top of the pile, but—”

  “No ‘buts’ about it,” said Nancy triumphantly. She’d been rummaging among the flyers Bess had tossed on the back seat when they jumped into the car. “Bless your heart, Bess. You dealt those flyers straight off the top of the deck, and look what we have here.”

  Nancy brandished the single sheet of paper that didn’t match the rest.

  “The motive!” she said.

  Chapter

  Three

  THIS HAS TO BE what those men were after,” Nancy went on, her eyes sparkling.

  George and Bess pressed over Nancy’s shoulder to get a look at the piece of paper that seemed to have caused the death of Kathy Novello.

  “What is it?” asked Bess.

  “Looks like a copy of a computer printout page,” said George.

  “It has something to do with the Immigration and Naturalization Service,” Nancy added, skimming the contents. “And it looks as if somebody had folded over the upper right-hand corner before copying it. It has something to do with a Michael Mulraney.”

  “I know that name,” said George. “I filed some papers about him at the councilman’s office.”

  “Immigration papers?” asked Nancy.

  “No, nothing like that. These files had to do with municipal contracts. Mulraney owns a contracting business—he was bidding on a job for the city.”

  “What does Councilman Terry have to do with that?” asked Nancy.

  “He heads up an oversight committee to make sure the city doesn’t hire any crooked contractors. A lot of towns have gotten into serious scandals over kickbacks and faulty work. Some have even been cheated out of millions. Tim Terry is determined not to have anything like that happen here.”

  “You’re really stuck on this guy, aren’t you?” asked Bess from the back seat.

  “I’m not in love with him, if that’s what you mean—I just think he’s a good guy. What’s wrong with that?” George sounded a little defensive.

  “What did the oversight committee find out about Mulraney?” Nancy asked quickly.

  “I don’t have any idea. I was just helping out with the filing. That kind of information is confidential.”

  “Yes, I suppose it would be.” Nancy thought a moment longer. “Do you know how to get in touch with him?”

  “Mulraney? He has an office on the outskirts of town, if I remember right. I’m sure he’s listed in the phone book. What are you planning, Nancy?”

  “I feel a sudden urge to interview a building contractor,” said Nancy, turning the key in the ignition and listening as the Mustang rumbled to life. “Maybe that committee found out something that wasn’t quite legitimate about the way Mr. Mulraney does business.”

  “But he got the job.”

  “What?” Nancy had been about to pull out but hesitated instead.

  “The city accepted Mulraney’s bid, and he was given the contract,” said George. “Nothing very big, as I remember. Nothing that would be worth risking jail for. And what would it have to do with immigration anyway?”

  “I don’t know, but there has to be a connection somewhere. I’m going to find it.”

  With a single, deft turn of the wheel, Nancy pulled the Mustang away from the curb. “If either of you sees a pay phone, yell,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Aaaaagh!” Bess cried promptly.

  Nancy smiled. Count on Bess to bring a little lightness to any situation. “Thanks.”

  Michael Mulraney’s answering service said he was still on the job, though it was nearly eight o’clock.

  When the girls arrived at the construction site, they found him in the middle of inspecting the day’s work. He was of medium height and compactly built; casually dressed in jeans and a blue work shirt, he could easily have been mistaken for one of his workers. As he held a portable work lamp aloft, Nancy saw thick, dark hair and blue eyes lit by its glow. He welcomed them with a wide, friendly smile.

  “What can I do for you ladies?” He gestured toward the two-story duplex under construction behind him. “If you’re interested in renting one of these places once they’re built, I can give you the name of the agent.�
�

  Nancy barely registered the words he’d spoken. She was too busy listening to his voice, which was unusually deep. Could it be the one she’d heard earlier in the copy room? Her heart beat a little faster.

  “Are you doing this work for the city of River Heights?” she asked to give herself something to say while she chose her next move.

  If this was the man from the copy room, she had good reason to believe his jovial greeting was just a front, and he should be handled carefully.

  “No, it isn’t. I don’t start that job till next month. Did you read about it in the paper?”

  “Actually, I work for Councilman Tim Terry. I heard about it there,” George chimed in.

  Watching him, Nancy came to a decision. Knowing as little as she did about this case, she couldn’t very well bluff her way through. Not when she didn’t even know what she was trying to find out. She’d have to try shock treatment.

  “I have something here that might interest you,” she said, pulling the printout copy from her shoulder bag and holding it out for Mulraney to see.

  If her purpose had been to break through Michael Mulraney’s facade, then she had succeeded. He’d lifted the work lamp over the paper to read. His eyes were cast in shadow, but she could sense his whole body tensing suddenly. Nancy could feel anger there.

  He grabbed for the paper with his free hand. Nancy whisked it out of reach just in time.

  “Is that why the corner of the original is missing?” she asked. “Because you snatched it away from somebody?”

  He’d moved the lamp, and she could see his eyes now. “Will you give me that?” he asked, the low tones of his voice rumbling. He was on the brink of rage. “It’s my property after all.”

  “I’m not sure about that. I think I’d better keep it,” Nancy said.

  Mulraney glared at her. He wouldn’t dare try anything in public, would he? Nancy wondered. She was suddenly glad she had her two friends there to back her up.

  “Get off this site then,” he said abruptly, “and don’t come back.”

  His voice was different! Trying to conceal her surprise, Nancy stuffed the document into her bag and motioned for George and Bess to follow as she turned to leave. She remained silent as they walked back to the car.

  “That sure didn’t accomplish much,” Bess said as she opened the door and climbed into the back seat.

  “I’ll say it didn’t,” George agreed. “What do you think, Nan?”

  Nancy’s hand was suspended in midair, with the key halfway to the ignition. She was staring out the window. She was remembering the deep voice she’d heard in the copy room.

  “Earth to Nancy Drew. I asked what you thought,” George repeated much louder.

  “What? Oh. I don’t think it was a bust at all,” said Nancy. She fitted the key into the ignition. “We learned one very important thing.”

  “What did we learn?” asked Bess and George in unison.

  “Well, both Mulraney and the man in the copy room have deep voices. In fact, they sound very much alike.”

  “But what does that tell us?” asked George. “Are they the same person?”

  “Wouldn’t you say that Mr. Mulraney was angry and upset?” asked Nancy.

  “He sure was,” answered Bess. “I thought he was going to try to make you into the Statue of Liberty, except you’d be carrying the lamp in your forehead instead of your hand.”

  “Well, the man at the councilman’s office was also very angry and upset,” Nancy went on. “But did you notice what happened to Mulraney’s speech when he got angry and upset?”

  “Yes, I did,” George piped up. “He started talking with an Irish brogue.”

  “That’s right,” said Nancy, “but the man in the copy room didn’t have even a trace of an accent.”

  “So it wasn’t Michael Mulraney you overheard today,” George concluded.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m glad that’s cleared up,” said Bess. “I think he’s kind of cute.”

  “Good old Bess,” said Nancy, smiling at her friend.

  “But why did he get so mad when you showed him that piece of paper?” asked George.

  “That’s the other important thing,” said Nancy, looking over her shoulder as she backed through the opening in the steel mesh fence that surrounded the construction area. “The one we didn’t find the answer to.”

  But, she added to herself, tomorrow I can really start getting some answers.

  • • •

  The next afternoon Nancy was back home, lounging in the corner of the comfortable old couch in the den. She’d put on a blue skirt with a floral print and a white knit pullover, so she’d look neat and respectable when she went to the immigration office.

  She was contemplating what kind of story she could tell there to get them to show her the intact version of the Mulraney document, when the front doorbell rang.

  Nancy answered it and found herself face-to-face with the last person she expected to see on her front porch—Michael Mulraney.

  “Uh—hi. What a surprise,” Nancy said lamely. What was he doing there?

  She noted with relief that the lock on the screen door was hooked. Although if Michael Mulraney wanted to, he could probably rip the door right off its hinges.

  “I’ve come to apologize.” He didn’t sound angry, but Nancy remembered how quickly his mood had changed the night before. “One of my men who was working late recognized you last night. He told me you were a detective—he says you help people when they’re in trouble.”

  “I try,” she said, still cautious.

  “I need you to help me with this.”

  He was holding a piece of paper up to the screen. There was a single sentence typed in the exact center, but Nancy couldn’t make out what it said.

  It took only a second for her curiosity to get the better of her caution. Opening the door, she stepped forward to read:

  “The real Michael Mulraney is still alive.”

  Chapter

  Four

  NANCY READ that surprising sentence through twice before looking up at Mulraney. His expression was very intense. She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

  “It’s a complicated story,” he said, “and I can’t stay away from the job site for very long. My men think I’ve gone to lunch.”

  “At three in the afternoon?”

  He shrugged. “Some of us work odd hours. That has something to do with my problem, actually. I can tell you about it out here on the porch if that’s better for you.”

  His brogue had begun to set in. Whatever he had to say to her was obviously pretty important to him. Looking at him, Nancy saw nothing but distress on his face. Her instincts told her she had nothing to fear from Michael Mulraney.

  “Let’s talk inside,” she said as she held open the screen door.

  He followed her down the hall to the sunny, spacious kitchen. She offered him a seat and brought him a cola. He didn’t relax much and sat on the edge of his chair.

  Nancy and her guest weren’t likely to be interrupted. Carson Drew was spending the week at a New York legal conference. And the Drews’ housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, was out shopping for groceries, which usually took her hours.

  “Would you like a sandwich or something?”

  “Thanks, but no.” He shook his head, then stared down at his callused, red hands.

  “What does that note mean?” she asked, hoping to get him talking.

  He looked up at her, and what she saw in his eyes touched her heart.

  “It means that someone’s found me out,” he said in a lilting brogue. “Somebody knows I’m not really Michael Mulraney.”

  Nancy took the seat across the table from him. “Then who are you?”

  He hesitated.

  “You can trust me,” she said softly.

  “I have to trust someone, I guess.” He pulled at the collar of his blue work shirt and sighed before going on.

  “My real name is Kevin Doughe
rty, and I come from Belfast, Ireland. The part of Belfast they call the Bogside.”

  He said the name in a way that told Nancy he had no happy memories of the place.

  “My family is still back there. Ever since I came to America three years ago, I’ve thought of nothing but getting them out and bringing them here, especially my brother. But he won’t come without my mother and sisters. So I must make enough money to bring them all together.”

  He was staring at his hands again, his face clouded by troubles that were an ocean away.

  “Why is it so important to you to bring your family here?” Nancy asked.

  “Because the Bogside is no fit place to live,” he said almost angrily. “The place is like a war zone. And there are no jobs, especially not for young men like my brother. I know what it’s like to have no work to go to and nothing to do. It’s easy to get in trouble when you have nothing to do.”

  “Is that what happened to you? Did you get into trouble back there?” That might explain why he’d changed his name.

  “Not quite, but I came close. And my brother Jamie is closer even than I was. My mother writes me that he stays out half the night with a gang from the streets. I had friends that did the same thing, and they’re in prison now.”

  His hands were clenched tight together, knuckles showing white through his deep tan. His eyes pleaded for her to understand.

  “Don’t you see? I had to do whatever was necessary to get them out of there.”

  “What exactly did you do?” Nancy asked carefully. Her heart went out to him. But she had to know more before making a final judgment.

  “I pretended I was somebody else, somebody I thought was dead.” He sighed again and sank back in his chair, as if he’d been deflated by the words.

  “Tell me how you did that.” Nancy encouraged him to continue.

  He leaned forward once more. “I saved up for two years. The plane ticket from Dublin took most of that, but a friend of my mother’s had come over to River Heights several years earlier, so I had a free place to stay. Then, my second day here I was offered a job as a carpenter, the work my father taught me before he died. I could hardly believe my good luck. Just the work I wanted to do, and so fast. But there was a problem.”