Fenton rapped on the door. “Enter!” ordered Chief Collig, his voice gruff as usual.

“Have you picked up Nolen yet?” Frank asked as he and his father entered the office and shut the door behind them.

“We haven’t found him,” Collig answered. “We went by his house but he wasn’t there and he wasn’t with the Barlow kid either. I issued an APB on him and as soon as he shows himself, we will bring him in.”

“Was it Nolen or Barlow that Joe bought the drugs from?” asked Sergeant Con Riley, a man in his late twenties with straight brown hair and brown eyes. He had been a close friend of the Hardy brothers for years and had been outraged when Joe had been forcibly addicted to heroin the previous summer. Like most of Bayport, Con hadn’t heard the truth behind Joe’s rehab experience but Frank intended to set him straight right now.

“Look,” Frank began his voice firm and strong. “Let’s get this straight once and for all. Joe was not, I repeat, NOT addicted to heroin. The withdrawal effects were purely physical. He only went into rehab so he could find the people responsible for putting the drugs on the street to begin with.”

“But...” Collig opened his mouth but Frank kept talking as if he hadn’t heard Collig’s attempt at an interruption.

“As for Joe being on drugs now, that’s even crazier! Pete and Russell gave him brownies that were laced with marijuana. Joe didn’t know,” Frank insisted.

“The LSD...” Collig tried again.

“The LSD was given to him by Walter Barlow as he was leaving,” Frank said, turning his wrath on the chief of police. “Joe was so out of it, he didn’t even realize someone stabbed him!” Frank finished.

“The knife that was used on him wasn’t his own,” Fenton picked up where Frank left off. “How could he have stabbed himself with a knife he never had?” he asked reasonably. “Also, according to the doctor, the knife entered Joe at an upward angle. If Joe had stabbed himself it would have gone in straight or at least from a downward position,” he ended, making a fist and aiming it at his stomach with his words to emphasis his point.

“Walter Barlow?” Collig inquire red, his gaze fastened on Fenton. Although not completely convinced he was willing to take Fenton‘s word for the time being. “Does Joe remember taking the LSD on how he got it?”

“He remembered Barlow giving him one brownie and an open cola to enjoy on his way home,” Frank said.

“But was it Barlow who actually stabbed Joe?” Riley asked.

“We don’t know,” Frank admitted, scowling. “But we’re going to find out. Can we see the knife?”

Riley escorted Frank and Fenton down to the evidence room and requested the knife. “Joe’s were the only prints on it,” he said, pulling the knife out of the evidence bag and handing it to Fenton.

“It’s like a fisherman would use to filet his catch,” Fenton noted.

“And Serendipity’s is close to Sampson’s Hunting and Supply shop,” Frank put in. “Maybe the owner bought it there. IF he were a regular, he would know the area.”

“And the alley where Joe was found is the only one deserted at that time of evening,” Riley put in. “I think you may be on to something.”

“I don’t suppose there’s anyway we could take it?” Frank asked, receiving the negative reply he had expected.

“But we can take a picture,” Fenton stated. “Frank, run out to the car. Your mother’s Polaroid is still in the trunk from our last trip.”

Frank quickly retrieved the camera and Fenton used the rest of the film snapping pictures of the knife. “Thanks Con,” Frank said when his dad had finished.

“Anytime,” Con replied. “Let me know what you find out?” he requested.

“We will,” Fenton promised, looking at his watch and grimacing. “Unfortunately, it will be Monday before we can go to Sampson’s. They closed over two hours ago.”

When Frank and Fenton returned to the car, there was a faint jingle coming from the back seat. “My cell phone,” Frank explained. “I forgot about it.” he snatched it up. “Hello.”

“Frank?” Biff’s voice came through. “We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Sorry,” Frank apologized. “I had to go back to the hospital. Joe took a turn for the worse.”

“Oh no! How bad is he?” Biff demanded.

“Actually, the doctor said he’s better than he was. They discovered the reason his blood pressure was fluctuating. He was still unconscious though when Dad and I left the hospital. Did Pete do anything once he was on his own?” Frank asked, changing the subject as his father started the car.

“Maybe,” Biff replied, his voice revealing his uncertainty. “Russ left Pete not long after we got to the park. Pete went to Steve Palmer’s house,” Biff named another student from Bayport High, “and stayed there about thirty minutes. Then he headed downtown to JuJu’s Juice Bar. He was there for about three hours and then he returned home. But,” Biff continued, “when he left the juice bar he was in a much better mood.”

“Did you follow him inside?” Frank queried hopefully.

“Yes,” Biff acknowledged. “He talked to four different guys. A tall guy with a twisted mustache and short black hair and another tall guy with a beard and a mustache and dirty blond hair. The other two guys I know. Paul Erikson. He runs the Bar and Grille two blocks away from JuJu’s and Jeff Frankl. Jeff works at Sampson’s Hunting and Supply.”