“So, how long is this rope?” Frank Hardy asked his brother.

“Don’t know,” Joe replied dropping the rope at Frank’s feet.

“Then we can’t use it to measure with, Joe,” Frank stated.  “If we knew the length, we could drop it over the edge and…what are you doing?”

“We don’t know the length of the rope, but we both know that I’m six feet tall,” Joe answered, securing the rope around his waist.  “Tie the other end of this to the rail there.”

“No way! You’re nuts, Joe!”

“Frank, you can help lower me down and get a fairly close approximation of the distance by using my body as a measuring guide as you pull me back up,” Joe responded. 

Frank shook his head as he reluctantly tied the other end of the rope securely to the bridge railing.  Both boys pulled on the heavy gloves Joe had brought from the van, as well. Frank helped Joe climb over the rail.

“Be careful,” Frank admonished as Joe eased himself over the edge.  Frank held tight to the rope as Joe disappeared from his view.  Frank moved forward and pressed his body against the side of the bridge.  He watched Joe’s descent.

“Just pull me up as soon as I touch water,” Joe said, “and start counting.”

* * *

Police Detective Everett Calhoun watched the trio in the interrogation room through the two-way mirror.  He was not happy about Fenton Hardy’s presence.  While he’d never met the famous detective, he knew the man by reputation.

“How were we supposed to know the kid had friends in high places?” Detective Chris Masters asked as he joined his partner.

“We just need to stick with our story and the kid did confess,” Calhoun said with a snarl in his voice.  “He’s goin’ down for killin’ that girl.”  ‘And I’ll get the credit for bustin’ a killer,’ he thought.  It would look good on his record and maybe even get him a promotion.

* * *

“Well,” Chief of Police Cecil Struthers smiled, but it was a smile of contempt, not pleasure, “you big-city lawyers all gotta stick together I see.”

Sean Prescott was not surprised by the officer’s response to the Warrant of Release he’d given the man for Chet Morton.  Sean knew it was also pointless to irritate the man any further.

“Chief Struthers,” the lawyer spoke in an even tone, “I’d like to see my client now, please.”

Struthers was seething on the inside.  Calhoun and Masters had screwed up.  They’d been too anxious with the Morton kid and now they’d have a hard time proving the kid had ever confessed.

This was going to look bad on him come fall elections.  He’d planned to be the Chief of Police in Moundville until he was old enough to retire.  Now he’d be lucky if he didn’t get demoted to a Captain again.

“Mr. Morton is with his father and a family friend right now,” Struthers said, keeping his voice smooth.  “I’ll take you to them myself.”

* * *

Luke Martin sat beside Iola Morton on the sofa in the Hardys’ living room. “Frank, Joe and Mr. Hardy will find out the truth, Iola,” Luke said, putting a comforting arm around the dark-haired girl’s shoulder.  Luke was spending as much time as he could at the Hardy home, where Iola and her mother were staying.

“I know,” Iola carefully signed with her delicate hands.  She had been severely injured in a bomb explosion.  Everyone had assumed she was dead, but Luke’s father had rescued Iola from the terrorist group known as the Assassins; a rescue attempt that eventually cost Luke’s parents their lives.

Now, reunited with her family, Iola Morton had undergone several surgeries.  With skin grafts and plastic surgery, she was once again a very pretty girl, but her vocal cords could not be repaired.  She relied on American Sign-Language to communicate with her family and friends.

Iola had regained the use of her hands and could even walk for short periods of time with special braces fitted on her lower body.  As she healed, she and Luke found themselves growing closer – both had suffered terrible tragedy at the hands of the Assassins and both had lost so much.  Their comfort for each other had blossomed into a deeper emotion.  They had fallen in love.

Because of the change in their relationship, Luke moved out of the Mortons’ home where he’d stayed after his parents’ death.  Now he lived with Tigh Cassidy, a close friend of the Hardy family, and fiancé to Fenton’s sister Gertrude.

“The Hardy men are the best detectives,” Iola signed, “but I’m still so afraid for Chet.  My heart also hurts for Aunt Joyce and Uncle Chuck.  Lydia was their only child.”

In another part of the Hardy home, Laura Hardy served a cup of tea to her longtime friend, Betty Morton.

“I called Chuck and Joyce last night,” Betty said, pushing a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear.  “Joyce couldn’t bring herself to even talk to me.  Chuck can’t believe that Chet had anything to do with Lydia’s death, but yet, he has no reason to doubt the police.”

Laura grasped Betty’s hands in her own.  “Listen to me.  I’ve been married to a detective long enough to know there are a lot of dirty cops out there.  I don’t want to pass judgment on the Moundville police, but we all know Chet isn’t capable of killing anyone.  I’m sure Fenton and the boys will get to the bottom of all of this in no time at all.”

* * *

Brian Jackson moved closer to the County Line Bridge.  He squatted in some shrubs and watched as the blond boy was lowered over the side of the bridge.  He didn’t know what they were doing, but he had a bad feeling in his gut.  Those two boys were going to make trouble for him and his associates, he just knew it.

* * *

“Sean,” Fenton Hardy stood and shook hands with the young lawyer.  “Thought we’d be seeing you this morning.”

“Hello gentlemen,” Sean Prescott greeted the trio in the interrogation room.  He then faced Chet.  “Your paperwork is being processed now for your immediate release.”

“Thank God,” Chester Morton sighed and squeezed his son’s hand.

“What does that mean exactly?” Fenton asked.

Sean glanced at the two-way mirror and then whispered to Fenton.  “I’d rather wait ‘til we are out of here before discussing the case.  I’m afraid the walls have ears.

“Where are your boys this morning?”

Fenton grinned, “They’re on a little…ah…scouting trip.”  Sean raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I’m sure they’ll have much to tell us when we meet them later,” the detective responded. 

The door of the room opened and Detective Everett Calhoun walked in with a form in one hand and a large envelope in the other.  He threw both on the table in front of Chet.

Leaning on the table, Calhoun stared at Chet.  “Your big, city lawyer might get you out of here for now, punk, but don’t wander too far.”