District Attorney Valerie St. James stood to shake hands with the young man that entered her office.

“Mr. Prescott,” the D. A. greeted, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Sean smiled warmly at the attractive woman.  With her tall, slim figure and long blond hair, Valerie St. James could have been a fashion model.  She slid gracefully into the leather chair behind the desk.

“Tell me about your case,” Valerie instructed.  “From what I’ve seen in the paper, this looks like a pretty open and shut scenario.”

“Don’t believe the media,” Sean admonished.  “Here is a copy of the police report and the supposed confession of my client.  I know you’ll read it in detail at your leisure, but let me give you a summary.”

Sean quickly outlined the police report for the D. A., and then told her what Chet had told him.

“Mr. Morton didn’t sign a copy of his confession. Do they have his confession on tape?”

“No,” Sean replied, “neither audio, nor visual.”

“And there is no body, correct?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Sean answered. “No body.”

“And these supposed others on the bridge,” Valerie questioned, “they’ve not come forward?”

“No, but if they are the ones really responsible…” Sean began.

“Then of course, they won’t be anxious to come forth as witnesses,” Valerie finished for him.  She glanced at the paperwork in front of her while she pinched the bridge of her nose between a manicured forefinger and thumb.

“Morton was taken to the hospital and treated for minor injuries,” Valerie read out loud.

“Yes,” Sean replied.  “He was tossed around quite a bit in the river, plus the jump itself.”

“Yet the police don’t think he jumped off the bridge according to their report,” the D. A. said.

“Right, they feel the injuries were from a struggle with the victim,” Sean informed her.

Valerie shook her head.  “They do show that he failed the poly.”

“Right,” Sean squirmed slightly, “but you and I both know the old-fashioned polygraph equipment these small towns use is often inaccurate.”

“True enough.  Besides, the poly isn’t enough to build a case,” Valerie confirmed.

Sean smiled.  That was exactly what he wanted to hear.  “You’ll get me a release form for Chet?”

“I have to read this all through, but I should be able to swing a release by tomorrow,” Valerie stated.  She looked up at Sean, “They have nothing to hold him on.  You’ll get your client released, but I want to investigate this matter in more detail.”

“I’m working with a private detective named Fenton Hardy,” Sean offered.

“I know of Mr. Hardy by reputation,” Valerie responded.  “Good.  I’m sure he’ll find some answers for us. I’ll want a copy of everything Mr. Hardy discovers.”

* * *

“Here’s Lydia’s name,” Frank Hardy called out to his brother.  He and Joe had gone to the County Line Bridge first thing the next morning while their father took Mr. Morton to see Chet.

Frank looked up when Joe didn’t respond.  He saw his brother peering over the edge with a perplexed frown on his face.  He walked over to Joe.

“What’s up?”

Joe glanced at Frank, but then turned back to the water.  “According to the police report Sean showed us, there is a seventy foot drop to the water from this bridge.  They said Chet couldn’t have survived if he’d jumped into the river.

“Well, I’m looking from the bridge and there is no way that’s a seventy foot drop.”

Frank looked down at the churning, muddy water.  He bent forward and looked at the concrete bridge supports underneath.  The white supports bore no water lines.

“The river is higher than usual,” Frank stated.

“What?”

“Maybe,” Frank explained, “just maybe the river is higher than it usually runs.  It’s moving awfully fast and muddy…”

“…And there’s lots of floating debris!” Joe finished, picking up Frank’s train of thought.  “The weather report yesterday mentioned a higher-than-usual rainfall for the month!”

“Still,” Frank concluded, “we’re talking about a huge difference here.”

“Yeah,” Joe agreed.  “The drop is only about thirty, forty feet at the most, not seventy.”

“That’s still quite a fall, but a strong person might survive it,” Frank nodded.

“Someone like Chet, who has been raised near the ocean and has been swimming since he could walk,” Joe said.  He looked intently at Frank. 

“The police exaggerated.”

“Yeah, it looks that way,” Frank responded.  “I wish we could prove it.”

“We can!” Joe grinned and ran back toward their van parked at the end of the closed bridge.

* * *

Fenton Hardy couldn’t believe how bad Chet looked.  The eighteen-year-old looked as if he’d aged five years since Fenton had seen him last.

He sat back away from the table and let Chester have some private time with his son.  As Fenton watched the exchange between the two Mortons, he felt a burning desire to get to the bottom of this whole mess.

“M-my attorney said he’d be back today,” Chet told his father.

“I met Mr. Prescott last night,” Chester said.  “He was going to see the District Attorney first thing this morning.”

“I’m sure Sean will be here soon,” Fenton interjected.  He didn’t want to falsely build Chet or Chester’s hopes, but he had every reason to believe that Sean would have Chet out of jail later that day.

* * *

Brian Jackson frowned and tugged nervously on a long, black dreadlock as he saw the blond boy pull a rope from the black customized van.  Vernon Dixon had asked him to keep an eye on the bridge, just to see how much the cops were snooping around.

He only lived a quarter-mile from the County Line Bridge, so he’d walked out toward the river and spied on the bridge from the small grove of pines across the road.

Now as he watched the teenager carry the rope back to his dark-haired friend on the bridge, he couldn’t help but wonder what they were up to.