In the history of the Bayport Police Department there had only been a handful of murders, and certainly nothing close to the brutality of Andrew Watson’s death. Fenton knew that most of the officers were extremely unsettled by the case and several of them had asked to be taken off it. The detective understood their fears only too well; most of them were fathers who could not wrap their heads around that kind of violence towards someone else’s son.

Sighing, he knocked on the door to Chief Collig’s office. The other man had called him earlier and asked him to drop by. The tone in his voice had been grimmer than usual and Fenton wondered what he wanted to talk to him about.

“Come in!” he heard the gruff voice call from inside the office.

As he pushed open the door, Chief Collig looked up from his desk. “Hello, Fenton. Come in, have a seat.”

“Thanks, Ezra,” Fenton replied, crossing the room and sitting into the chair opposite the Chief’s desk. “What did you want to see me about?”

“Fenton, I had a phone call from William Nash yesterday evening.”

The detective felt his apprehension rise. “What did he want?”

“He’s claiming that the throttle on the boat jammed while out on the Bay and Kenneth couldn’t help what happened to Joe.”

“What?! That’s crap!”

Chief Collig sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had some investigators examine the boat this morning…his story checks out, Fenton.”

Fenton exploded. “It’s been two weeks since the accident and he’s only saying this now? He’s had plenty of time to sabotage the boat since then!”

“I know, Fenton, but how can I prove it?”

“Ahem, how about the fact that it’s taken him two weeks to come forward with this?!”

“Nash is claiming that he didn’t want to disturb you until Frank was back on his feet.”

“Oh, well isn’t he considerate?!” spat Fenton sarcastically. “Ezra, seven teenagers saw Nash drive that boat just fine after he hit Joe!”

“I know! Fenton, what do you want me to do? I can’t prove it! It’s Nash’s word against theirs!”

“So, one teenager who’s caused trouble before is more believable than seven teenagers who haven’t?” Fenton was fuming.

Chief Collig frowned. “Fenton, will you please stop shouting! I believe you! And I will back you one hundred percent if you want to go ahead and press charges…but I am telling you now that if this goes to court it will be thrown out because of flimsy evidence! There is no way to prove when the boat was damaged so Nash could claim his son drove back to the dock as soon as he got the boat under control so as not hurt anyone else and not because he hit Joe! There are a hundred different excuses he could use…Fenton, you know that! How many cases have we seen go to trial only to fall apart because there wasn’t enough evidence?”

“This is unbelievable!” snarled Fenton angrily, standing up so abruptly that he knocked his chair over. “What am I supposed to tell the boys?”

“I’m sorry, Fenton,” said the Chief quietly. He was bitterly reminded of a similar scene nearly four years ago. Why was it that a man who fought so hard for truth and justice found it so hard to get any when it came to his own sons? It wasn’t fair.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, watching Fenton pace angrily back and forth.

“I don’t know. Ezra, this isn’t right! That Nash boy is nothing but trouble, how can he keep getting away with things like this?”

“Because his father is a little too good at getting him out of trouble!” Chief Collig snorted.

“He’s not doing his son any favours,” said Fenton sourly. “All that boy is learning is that he can get away with anything but someday he’s going to go too far and Daddy won’t be able to bail him out!”

“So are you going to press charges?”

“Yes. No…I don’t know.” Fenton sighed. “I need to think about this.”

He groaned as he thought about telling the boys. Joe would probably be mildly angry and forget about it an hour later, but Frank…Frank would be furious. Despite his mostly cool and laid back temperament, his eldest son sometimes displayed a furious temper that overshadowed that of his youngest. Joe blew up fast, but cooled down just as fast. Frank, however, had a raw spot where his brother was concerned; mess with Joe and you got the whole experience of Hurricane Frank.

Fenton felt like his head was going to explode and shook it.

“There’s too much going on right now, Ezra. I need to think about the best way to handle this…can I call you later?”

Chief Collig nodded his head sympathetically. He could only imagine the pressure Fenton was under right now; knowing a sadistic serial killer had his eyes on your son was enough to send any father over the edge.

Fenton righted the chair he had knocked over, straightened up and gave the Chief of Police a grim smile. “Thanks for letting me know, Ezra. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, Fenton. You take care.”

Fenton felt Chief Collig’s eyes on him as he left the office and felt a pang of remorse at his behaviour. He knew that Chief Collig didn’t like the outcome of this any more than he did. He also knew that if he did decide to press charges, Ezra Collig would support him every step of the way.

Troubled, he made his way over to Con’s desk, a little surprised when the only person he found there was Sam Radley working diligently on Andrew Watson’s file.

“Hi,” Sam greeted him.

Hey,” Fenton returned. “Where’s Con?”

“He just stepped out to grab some lunch.”

“Have you seen Mike?”

“He went back to New York this morning,” Sam answered, somewhat surprised that Fenton didn’t already know this.

“What! Why?”

“He had a meeting with his Chief of Department, just to fill him in on how the investigation is going down here. Apparently the New York media has gotten wind of this guy’s return and are having a field day with it so…”

“…his boss wants some answers,” Fenton finished. “Yeah, I know the drill.”

The detective sighed. He had really been hoping to speak with Mike; he was well aware of the fact that he owed his old friend an apology.

Fenton had stepped back from this case nearly twelve years ago, but Mike had never stopped working it. And yet as soon as Fenton had gotten involved again, he had taken over, pushing Mike to the sidelines on his own case. Mike knew this case better than he did and yet he had been dismissive of every proposition that Mike had made…including the suggestion that Fenton tell his sons’ the truth behind Frank’s attack. Mike had broached the subject several times, the last time being the day before Frank was due home from the hospital. He had argued that the boys would want answers about the attack and they would need to give Frank a reason for being under guard. But Fenton had exploded at him, shouting that this had nothing to do with Mike and he should mind his own business. Things had been a little strained between them since then and Fenton knew it was all his fault. Yet not once had Mike ever told him he was being an ass.

And Fenton knew he had been a tremendous ass. The encounter with his sons the evening before had opened his eyes to just had badly he had been handling this case, and much as Fenton hated to admit it, he had been wrong in every decision he had made regarding this case.

“Fenton, you okay?” Sam Radley’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“I’m fine, Sam, just thinking. Have we got anything new?”

“Nothing. The coroner couldn’t get anything else from Andrew Watson’s body so he’s released it to his parents for burial.”

Fenton’s heart gave a painful thump. “They shouldn’t have had to bury him in the first place.”

Sam could hear the reproach in the other man’s voice. “Fenton, you do know that this wasn’t your fault?”

Fenton half-nodded, half-shrugged. “Yeah, I know. It’s just…I can’t help but feel that if I had caught him…”

“Fenton! This guys stalks and abducts his victims so there’s no witnesses, he cleans the body so there’s no DNA or fingerprints and three criminal profilers have all stated that his IQ is well above average! This is not your common criminal and you are not a miracle worker!”

Sam looked so fierce that Fenton gave a weak laugh. “I know, Sam, I know. My own worst critic, right?”

“Exactly. Now cut yourself some slack,” Sam told him. “By the way, how’s Frank?”

“He’s okay, all things considered.”

“What do you mean?”

Fenton sighed. “The boys found out about the case.”

“What! How?”

“By being detectives,” Fenton answered with a small grin and told Sam everything that had happened the evening before.

Sam shook his head. “Well, Fenton, I will give them this, they are definitely your kids!”

“Yeah.”

“Does Laura know that the boys know?”

“Not yet. I’m trying to work out how to tell her,” Fenton grimaced. It was one conversation he was not looking forward to having with his wife. This case terrified her and she had been freaking out ever since she had discovered Frank was a target. Fenton wouldn’t be surprised if she called the school several times throughout the day just to make sure Frank and Joe were still in their classes.

Suddenly, a tinny noise erupted in his pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out his cell while Sam put his head down and continued reading the files in front of him.

“Hello?” Fenton spoke into the phone. He frowned a little as he listened to the speaker on the other end. “He did what?!”

Sam looked up from the notes as Fenton’s face got darker. “I’ll be right there,” he said and hung up.

“Problems?” asked Sam, observing Fenton’s thunderous expression.

“That was the school. Frank just got suspended.”

Sam was shocked. “What! Why?”

“Apparently, he punched Kenneth Nash in the face and broke his nose!”

“Frank did?! Way to go, Frank!”

“Sam!”

“Oh, come on, Fenton, you know as well as I do that if Frank lashed out like that then Nash must have provoked him in some way.”

Fenton sighed. “And I can guess what it was about; William Nash is claiming the boat malfunctioned and his son couldn’t control it. Chief Collig just told me.”

“That’s bull!” Sam scoffed. “Every kid on that boat saw Nash drive away without any problems after he hit Joe.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Fenton sourly. “Investigators examined the boat and found that the throttle was faulty. It’s now his word against theirs because there’s no way to prove when the boat got damaged.”

Sam was disgusted. “You do know the little brat probably sabotaged it afterwards to make it look like an accident?”

“But I can’t prove it!” Fenton scowled. “And I really wasn’t looking forward to telling Frank and Joe about it this evening, especially Frank. But it looks like Nash may have saved me the trouble.”

“If that’s the case then you really can’t blame Frank. Nash could have killed Joe and with all the stress Frank’s been through in the last two weeks, if he was taunting him about it then he was bound to snap!”

Fenton was shaking his head. “He shouldn’t have hit the Nash boy. I’ve always taught the boys that violence is never okay…I can’t believe Frank did this.”

“You’re not going to punish him, surely?”

“I don’t know yet,” Fenton replied, a grim expression on his face. “But we’re certainly going to have a little talk about his actions. I’m going to head over to the school and pick him up. I’ll see you later, Sam.”

“Okay. Bye, Fenton.”

Sam watched the detective walk out the door with an anxious frown on his face. He had never seen Fenton as stressed or uptight as he was at the moment. Not that he blamed him; it had not been an easy few weeks for the Hardys and Sam could see how much this case was eating at Fenton before Frank even became a target.

He just hoped they found this guy soon.

***

Frank was sitting outside the Principal’s Office when Fenton Hardy arrived at Bayport High. The detective gave him a furious look before striding into the office to have a word with the principal. Less than ten minutes later, he reappeared and glowered at his eldest son.

Frank stood up and stared at his father with a guilty expression. “Dad, I’m really sorry.”

“We’ll talk on the way home,” said Fenton shortly.

Frank nodded and followed his father in silence to the car. They sat in and Fenton waited until he had started the car and pulled out of the parking lot before exploding at his son. “Frank, I can’t believe you did this! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Frank tried to defend himself. “Dad, I’m sorry but he was being such a jerk! He said that none of what happened on the Bay was his fault and when I told him he was lying, he told me I should think about being nice to him or he’d sue Joe for the…for the damage his thick skull did to his boat!”

The car swerved a little as Fenton whirled to look at Frank. “He said WHAT?!”

Quickly Frank recounted everything that had happened in the hall with Nash. When he was finished, his father was grinding his teeth and clutching the steering wheel as he stared intently at the road. “That boy is never going to learn. If his father keeps bailing him out whenever he gets in trouble then all he’s going to become is a petty thug!”

“Does that mean he was telling the truth about the boat?”

“He was telling the truth about the boat being damaged,” said Fenton bitterly, “but as to when it was damaged? That’s another story.”

“Does this mean he’s going to get away with what he did?” demanded Frank, outraged.

“We can still press charges,” Fenton replied. “But I don’t know if they would stand up in court. And now there’s the possibility that Kenneth Nash could press charges against you!”

Frank dropped his head in shame. “Dad, I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have lashed out like that but when Nash started in on me…I just snapped. I don’t know what came over me.”

Fenton glanced at his son. Frank was pale and tired looking, and there was a tense, strained expression around his eyes. He sighed. Sam was right, Frank was under too much pressure.

“It’s okay, Frank,” he told him. “I understand. Don’t get me wrong, you shouldn’t have hit the Nash boy and we’re going to have to discuss some form of punishment, but I understand why you lashed out.”

Frank glanced up at his father in surprise. “You’re not mad at me?”

“I didn’t say that,” Fenton was quick to correct him. “I said I understand. Frank, I know you’re scared, and I know you’re probably wondering what’s going to happen to you if this guy isn’t caught. But I promise you, Frank, I will get this guy. No matter what it takes, I will get him.”

“But what if you don’t?”

“Believe me, Frank, I will.”

Fenton meant every word of his promise; he did not want to see his son spend the next few years of his life constantly looking over his shoulder for the monster in the shadows. He wanted him to live a normal life, not one of stifled protectiveness. He knew that if they never caught this guy then they would never know for sure if Frank was safe; would he always be a target or would this guy get bored and move onto a victim who was easier to obtain? Or would he fixate on his son and stalk him for the rest of his life? The only way to ensure that Frank was one hundred percent safe was to catch the killer.

“How long are Joe and I going to have to live under lock and key?” asked Frank suddenly.

“Just until he’s caught, Frank, you know that.”

“But how long will that take? Weeks? Months? Years? Are we supposed to just stop doing normal stuff until then?”

“You don’t have to put your lives on hold, your options will just be a little limited for a while.”

It sounded lame even to Fenton’s own ears.

“That’s not good enough, Dad. What about Joe’s football practice? We had to beg you this morning to let him go. Are we going to have that argument every time he has practice? And what about my date with Callie? Am I supposed to expect her to wait until this guy is caught so I can go out with her? And what about hanging out with our friends or doing normal stuff like going to the park?”

“Do you think I like this?” asked Fenton wearily. “Do you think I want this for either of you? Frank, I am just trying to keep you safe!”

“I know that. But, Dad, asking us to put our lives on hold so that this guy can continue to kill is punishing us, not him and it isn’t fair.”

Frank fell silent and looked out the window.

Fenton sighed. Frank was right. Confining his sons to the house was punishing them for the actions of a sadistic killer. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that all those boys were dead. It wasn’t fair that so many parents had had to bury their sons. It wasn’t fair that this man had yet to be punished for all the pain he had caused.

Pulling into the driveway of the Hardy home, Fenton noticed the officer watching the house was signalling to him. “Frank, you go inside. I’ll be in in a minute.”

He watched his son enter the house before heading over to the officer across the street.

It was Officer Griffin, a man Fenton had worked with many times and liked immensely. “Afternoon, John,” he greeted the officer with a warm but tired smile. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good,” the other man returned. “I don’t have to ask how you’ve been, the circumstances speak for themselves.”

“Yeah.” Fenton glanced away.

“Any luck finding the guy?”

Fenton shook his head. “Not a single lead.”

“That’s rough,” said John sympathetically. “Guess you’ll be keeping a pretty tight eye on your boy until he’s caught?”

“On both my boys!” said Fenton. “I’m not taking any chances with this guy.”

“You’re not the only one who’s thinking like that. Four officers with teenage sons have called in sick in the last few days. They’re all keeping a pretty close eye on their kids.”

Fenton closed his eyes. The panic was starting. It was New York all over again.

John shuffled uncomfortably. “Fenton, my shift ended two hours ago but because we’re so short on manpower, I can’t get anyone to watch the house.”

“Don’t worry about it, John. Head home, get some rest. I’ll just work out of my own office for the rest of the day.”

“Okay, but call if there’s any problems, alright?” the officer clapped Fenton on the shoulder before climbing into the police cruiser. As he pulled out and drove off, Fenton pulled out his cell phone and dialled Sam.

He listened to the phone ring on the other end before Sam picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sam, it’s Fenton.”

“Fenton, what’s up?”

“Would you mind picking Joe up after school? There isn’t any one else to watch the house this evening and I don’t want to leave it.”

“Of course. What time?”

“He has football practice, so is six thirty okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“I told him to wait inside the school doors so you might have to go into the school…sorry, Sam.”

“Fenton, it’s fine. I understand. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay. And thanks, Sam.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Sam hung up and Fenton slipped his phone back into his pocket. For several minutes he stood with his back to the trees, surveying the Hardy home.

It was the American dream; a white house with a wraparound porch, a wonderful wife and two sons. All that was missing was the picket fence.

Fenton just hoped that no one would take his dream from him.