For the third time that day, Frank was handcuffed. His father and brother had been told to leave five minutes earlier. Their goodbye's had been subdued, with Fenton promising Frank he'd have him out tomorrow. Fenton went with Max to track down the judge, and Joe left for home, giving Con a lift back to Bayport.

The trip to the state prison was short, and Frank felt his spirits sink when he saw armed guards close the gate behind them. He looked at the double chain link fence, two fences spaced five feet apart so the guards could patrol between them. They both had coils of barbed wire on top of them. He'd seen the documentary 'Scared Straight', but had never thought he'd have to go through it.

The prison was old, the buildings square two story structures with no windows. There where three buildings, two approximately the same size, with the third being about half their size. The smaller building had an unused look about it. He found out later it had been closed because it was in such bad repair.

He was turned over to the prison guards and led to a small room and told to strip. Luckily only one guard stayed. He felt degraded as he was strip searched, expecting but not hearing the usual exclamation when the someone saw his scars for the first time. The bored guard had seen it all before. He was handed the prison garb of dull gray slacks and shirt and plain black tennis shoes. He was allowed to keep his own underwear. When he had finished dressing, he was taken to see the warden.

The warden's office was cluttered with an array of surveillance equipment, monitoring the prison. The rest of the furniture was sparse, only one chair besides that which the Warden sat in. He was not offered the seat, and stood in front of the desk, waiting.

Warden Carl Villman was a dark, brooding man. He was tough on his guards and even tougher with the inmates, almost to the point of cruelty. There was a strange light in his eyes as he looked at Frank--almost gleeful, anticipatory. "You look like your father."

"You know my dad?"

"We've met, a long time ago," Villman said coldly, a hint of unrecognizable emotion behind the words. "I understand you will be with us for a few days, waiting on bail. I'm afraid we don't have separate facilities for just overnight guests. We currently don't have any empty cells, so you'll have to share one. Normally we have only two men per cell, but right now we are overcrowded and there are three men in over half the cells. You'll be put in with two others in Cell Block B."

Another guard entered the office. He looked Frank up and down, nodding to himself, silently counting the profit he could make on the kid if Villman let him have his way.

"This is Hanks, the head guard in the block. He'll take you to your cell and acquaint you with the rules and regs here. Wait outside while I talk to him a moment." The younger guard led Frank out of the office.

"How do you want him treated?" Hanks asked, knowing Villman's plans for the kid.

"Do what you want with him. He'll be dead by Monday. He won't be talking to anyone." He knew what Hanks had in mind. To bad Fenton Hardy wouldn't know what his kid went through before he died. Well, maybe he would--autopsies told a lot these days.

"Joe, I know better than to ask you to sit this one out. I don't think even the Chief would expect you to," Con said on the way back from Riverton.

"I'm glad you see it that way. You know how Frank and I hate going behind your back when we have to," Joe replied.

Con chuckled. "That's never stopped you though." He then continued seriously. "Just be real careful about how you get any evidence. Anything you find will be suspect. Make sure it's authenticity and legitimacy can be proven up, down, backwards and forwards."

"Thanks, Con. We'll be careful," Joe said gratefully.

He dropped Con off at the station, then continued on home. He wasn't looking forward to being the one that had to tell his mother that Frank was spending the night in jail, but his father was off trying to track down the judge. As he pulled into the drive, he saw an old wreck of a jalopy parked in front of the house. 'Wonder what Chet wants?' he asked himself as he entered the house.

As usual, he found his friend in the kitchen with an empty plate, which had obviously had a piece of Aunt Gertrude's pie on it, in front of him. Chet Morton was an long time friend of the brothers and his appetite, especially when it came to their Aunt Gertrude's cooking, was well known. Joe assumed Chet had stopped by because he knew Aunt Gertrude always baked a couple pies on Saturday for the next week.

"Hey, Chet, make sure you leave enough for us to have after dinner tomorrow," Joe kidded.

"Don't worry, your Aunt always makes extra for me," he said with a full mouth. "But I didn't come over for pie tonight. I just thought I'd have a piece while I waited for you. What's this I hear about Frank being arrested?"

"Where'd you hear that?" Joe asked.

"From Liz. She heard it from the reporter covering the police station this afternoon. She called me and I came right over. Your mother was pretty upset, so I decided to stay till you got home."

"Oh, great. I bet it'll be all over the front page tomorrow. Mom and Aunt Gertrude are upset enough as it is," Joe moaned. "Where are they anyway?"

"Here we are, sweetie," Laura Hardy said as she and Gertrude entered the kitchen. She looked around and failing to see her other son, frowned. "Where's Frank and your father?"

"Uh...there was...a little problem," Joe stammered.

"What problem? Where's Frank?" Aunt Gertrude demanded.

"Uhm, the judge had gone out of town. Frank couldn't get bail tonight...He's still in jail." Joe didn't tell them that Frank was spending the night at the state prison. It was bad enough if they thought Frank was just in a local lock-up.

"And your father allowed this?" Aunt Gertrude asked, while Laura sat down hard, stunned that one of her boys would be spending the night in jail.

"He didn't have much choice. He's out now trying to track down the judge and get Frank out in the morning," Joe answered.