“I – I thought the questioning was over?” Chet Morton asked as he was being led from the holding cell to the interrogation room where he’d spent over twenty-one hours.  The officer didn’t answer.  Instead, he opened the door to the room and motioned for Chet to enter.

Chet hoped desperately that he would find the Hardy brothers or possibly his parents inside the all-too-familiar room.  He hesitantly walked through the door.

“Hello Chet,” greeted a man dressed in an expensive-looking suit.  “Come and sit down here with me.”

“W-who are you?”

“My name is Sean Prescott.  I’m a criminal lawyer from Birmingham.”

Chet sat across from the lawyer.  “How did you know about me?”

“Fenton Hardy is a good friend of my father, Chet,” Sean explained.  He looked carefully at the eighteen year old across from him, and realized the boy had obviously been put through a rough interrogation by the local police.

Sean leaned forward in his chair and gazed compassionately into Chet’s brown eyes.  “Chet, I know you’ve been through a horrible experience, both at the bridge and here with the police.

“They’ve given me this folder that tells their version of what happened.  I know you’re probably tired of telling it, but I need to hear your story.”

Chet sighed and felt hot tears coming to his eyes.  “No one believes me,” he said softly.

Sean Prescott grasped both of Chet’s hands in his own.  “Chet, I’ll believe you.  I promise.”

Sean listened intently to every word Chet spoke.  Mentally, he compared Chet’s story to the version he’d read in the police report.  He felt his anger kindled as Chet told about the three men on the bridge and the lies the police told Chet about having the men’s testimonies.

Sean sat back as Chet finished his tale.  “Chet, there are some things you need to know.

“First, there are a lot of discrepancies between what you’ve told me and what the police are saying.  I want you to know that the police have lied to you.  They don’t believe there was anyone else on the bridge with you and Lydia.”

“T-they said the men were here,” Chet cried.  “They said the men told them that I pushed Lydia into the water!”

“I know,” Sean said.  “They used a lie to get you to confess.

“The police are going to arrest you now,” Sean explained.  “You’ll be charged with murder.  You will have to spend the night here again.”

Chet sighed again and rested his head on his arms on top of the table.

“Chet, according to this report, you haven’t signed anything yet,” Sean continued.  “They may have someone type-up a paper with your so-called confession on it.  Don’t sign it.  Tell them I told you not to sign anything.

“Chet, do you understand what I’ve told you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Sean said.  “Is there anything else I can do for you right now?”

Chet looked into Sean’s hazel eyes.  “Just tell me that you believe me.”

Sean smiled and returned Chet’s anxious gaze.  “Chet, I believe you.”

* * *

“This has to be some kind of a nightmare,” Chester Morton ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“I’m sure Sam told you as much as we know,” Fenton Hardy gently said.  The two men were on a plane headed for Birmingham.  It had been decided, at least for the time being, that Chester’s wife, Betty and their daughter Iola stay in Bayport.

“Lydia dead…Chet in jail…” Chester’s thoughts came out in rambling statements.  He looked intently at Fenton.

“My boy,” he began, “my boy wouldn’t hurt Lydia.  You know that, right?”

“I’ve known Chet since he was five,” Fenton replied, “and I’ve never seen any behavior that would suggest he was capable of hurting a young girl.

“Chester, we’ll find the truth,” Fenton assured the man.  “In fact, if I know my boys, they’re already doing their best to prove Chet’s innocence.”

* * *

“How are you going to know who the lawyer is, Frank?”

Frank Hardy smiled at his year-younger brother as the two of them sat waiting in their van.

“I’m guessing he’ll be the owner of the car in front of us,” Frank replied.

“Guess it does kind of stand out in this rinky-dink, hick town,” Joe had to agree.

Frank had proposed that they wait and talk to Chet’s lawyer, knowing that the attorney was probably hired by their father to represent their friend.

“Whoa! That guy’s got ‘lawyer’ written all over him,” Joe stated as he gazed at the young man in the expensive suit walking toward the Volvo.  Joe started to reach for the door handle, but Frank grabbed his arm.

“If we confront him here, he’ll think we’re with the mob of reporters,” Frank said.

“So,” Joe grinned as he sat back in the driver’s seat, “we tail him.”

Frank nodded.  “Hopefully, he’ll stop somewhere local and we can talk to him then.  Otherwise, we may have to tail him all the way back to Birmingham.”

“Right,” Joe agreed, pulling out a few minutes after the Volvo drove away.  “Although I think he’s probably staying somewhere closer.”

The Hardy brothers knew how to tail – their father had taught them well.  Yet, it almost seemed as if the Volvo was leading them on a wild goose chase.

“Is he onto us?” Joe asked, frustrated at the seemingly aimless jaunt around the little town.  “Besides, I’m starved.  We missed lunch today.”

“Maybe he just can’t find what he’s looking for?” Frank asked, hopefully.

Finally the Volvo parked in front of a small roadside market.  The man got out and walked inside the building.  Joe pulled the van into the parking lot and turned off the ignition.

“This looks like as good a place as any to have a chat with Mr. Lawyer.”

Frank agreed and they went inside.  They didn’t see the man and began moving up and down the aisles of fresh fruit and flowers.

Near the far corner of the store, Joe suddenly felt an arm snake around his throat.  He gasped and Frank turned toward the sound.  He saw the man they had assumed was Chet’s lawyer with a gun pointed at Joe’s head.