“Let’s do this one more time, kid.” Police Detective Everett Calhoun leaned forward, his hands pressed on top of the pock-marked table in the small, colorless interrogation room.

“Why? I’ve already told you what happened,” Chet Morton replied.  His round face was pale and his brown eyes were rimmed with redness, both from weariness and crying.  It had been twenty-six hours since this nightmare had begun for the Bayport teen.

“Why? Because you won’t tell me the truth, punk!” Calhoun bellowed, slamming his beefy fists on the table.

“I am! You just don’t want to believe me!” Chet cried.

“You failed a polygraph test and there is no evidence on that bridge that supports your story, Morton,” Calhoun growled.

The door of the room opened and Detective Chris Masters walked in.  He nodded to his partner before facing the suspect.

“We found those three guys you told us about,” Masters drawled.  “Funny, but their version doesn’t match yours t’all.”

“T-then they’re lying!” Chet sputtered.

Masters glanced at his reflection in the two-way mirror and casually pointed in that direction.  “There are three of them and we questioned them separately.  Their stories match, but your story doesn’t.”

Chet had never felt so exhausted in his eighteen years of life.  He rubbed his hands over his face.  ‘Frank and Joe, where are you guys?’

“Look, boy,” Calhoun moved in on Chet again.  “Just admit it.  Nobody’s saying you killed your cousin on purpose.”

“I’ll bet you went down to that old bridge expecting your pretty cousin to let you have your way with her,” Masters added.

 Chet just looked at the man.  He felt sick as he pictured Lydia with her clothes torn on the side of the bridge.

Masters smiled.  “She wouldn’t give you the time of day, would she, boy?  Maybe you tried to force yourself on her, but she put up a fight.”

“That’s right,” chimed in Calhoun.  “Things got outta hand.  The two of you struggled and you pushed her off the bridge; just like our three witnesses said.” He vaguely waved toward the mirror.

“Then why did I go in the river?” Chet questioned. 

“You didn’t,” Calhoun stated.  “That river is ninety feet below the bridge.  If you’d jumped in, like you claim, the fall would’a killed you.”

“After Lydia went in, you felt guilty.  You realized she’d die in that water if she wasn’t already dead,” Masters continued the story, “So you ran off the bridge and down to the river bank.  You got all wet and muddy trying to find Lydia.  When you couldn’t, you crawled up the muddy bank where Mr. Neel found you.”

“No!” Chet wailed, “I’ve told you the truth.  Those other guys are lying.  Why won’t you believe me?”

“Let’s start all over again, shall we?” Calhoun queried.

“No, no, no,” Chet whimpered.  He couldn’t take anymore.  He had been questioned relentlessly for almost twenty-one hours; ever since he’d been discharged from the hospital.  He was physically and emotionally drained.

“You’re going to believe whatever you want,” Chet said softly, staring at the marred tabletop.  “If that’s the story you want to believe; fine.  Whatever you say…sure.  That’s what happened.”

“Bingo,” Calhoun smiled at Masters.  “We’ve got us a confession.”

* * *

Attorney Sean Prescott parked his dark green Volvo outside the police station in Moundville, Alabama.  He grumbled to himself as he glanced at the mass of people clogging the stairs into the building.  Most, he knew from experience, were from the regional newspapers and local television stations.

He grabbed his briefcase and reluctantly headed for the steps.

He knew he’d be recognized by some of the reporters and he wasn’t prepared for any of their nosy questions, so Sean bullied his way through the mob and got inside the building as quick as possible, ignoring the multitude of questions that were thrown at him.

He went immediately to the desk sergeant.  “I’m here to represent Chester Morton.” The officer manning the desk buzzed the intercom.

Seconds later, Detective Chris Masters came out to the lobby.  He looked at Prescott and cringed inside.  He really hated these big city criminal defense lawyers.

“Your boy confessed to killing his cousin,” Detective Masters gloated to Sean.

The experienced lawyer showed no emotion as he replied, “We’ll see about that.”

* * *

“Joe, promise me you’re going to keep your cool in here,” Frank admonished as he pulled their van to a stop behind a green Volvo. 

“Me? Loose my cool?” Joe feigned shock.  “Just call me Mr. Freeze.”

“Joe, I’m serious,” Frank turned off the engine and faced his brother.  “The last thing Chet needs right now is you blowing up in the police station.”

Joe stared solemnly back at his brother.  He then raised his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, “Yes Sir! I, Joe Hardy, do swear to do my best to control my temper in the presence of these officers of peace.”

Frank shook his head in disbelief.  “I give up,” he chuckled as he climbed out of the van.

The Hardy boys made their way through the mob of reporters that crowded the police station stairs.

“This is a circus with Chet as the main attraction,” Joe fiercely whispered to his brother as they made their way inside the police station lobby.  Frank grimly nodded.

“We’re here to see Chet Morton,” Frank told the desk sergeant as he and Joe approached.

The officer peered at the boys through half-closed eyelids.  He then frowned and crossed his thick arms.

“Who are you?”

Frank quickly introduced himself and Joe.  “Chet called us.  We came to see him until his parents could get here.  Our father will be bringing Chet’s parents as soon as he locates them.”

“He’s only allowed to see a lawyer,” Sergeant Mick Bandy, “and you kids don’t look like lawyers.”

“That’s not true,” Joe protested.  “There’s no law that says he can’t see us.”

“Oh, so you think you are a lawyer, sonny,” Bandy sneered, looking Joe eye to eye.  “We do things different around these parts.”

Frank immediately put a restraining hand on his brother’s shoulder and began steering Joe away from the desk.

“No problem, sir,” Frank waved to Bandy and herded Joe toward the door.

“What are you doing?!” Joe hissed in his brother’s ear.

“Keeping you from getting us thrown in jail, Mr. Freeze!” Frank responded through clenched teeth.