“It has to be related somehow,” Fenton Hardy was saying as he paced in Chief Collig’s office.  “Why would someone call in a false tip when McBride wasn’t anywhere near here?  He was under surveillance in Los Angeles….It just doesn’t make sense unless it’s somehow related.”

“To throw you off…buy time to get away with Joe?”  The suggestion came from Sam Radley, Fenton’s close friend and associate.  Sam had flown in as soon as he heard Joe was missing, and then came straight to the police department, suspecting that his friend might be there.  He had wanted to be there last night, but it had taken some time to get back from Antigua where he had gone to relax after finishing their last case.

Fenton had called him immediately for help, once he heard Fulton McBride might have been involved. He needed everyone firing on all cylinders to find his son.

Fenton paused and stared at his partner incredulously, “You might be on to something Sam. That’s the only reason!  It certainly kept us looking elsewhere when we thought we already knew who we were looking for!”

“But why Fulton?” Sam mused, “he’s never struck on the east coast before. Why didn’t the tipster pick someone local?  New York has enough nastiness without bringing McBride over.”

Ezra watched the two detectives with great interest. It wasn’t often that he got to see them in a jamming session like this. They both had great minds, and he was awed to watch them work this around.

Fenton stopped to rub his head.  He could feel the start of a migraine, but tried to shove it away.  Right now he didn’t have the luxury of giving in.  And then he stared open-mouthed at Sam as he worked it out.  “Unless…unless the tipster was someone who had personal experience with McBride, and knew what kind of impact it would have on the investigation if his name was thrown in.”

Ezra caught on. “I get what you’re saying, Fenton.  A lot of information was withheld from the public, so unless you were in law enforcement or…”

“or family of a victim, you would never know just how sick he was,”  Sam finished excitedly. They knew they were grasping at straws but they had nowhere else to go.

* * *

Joe fought with everything he had as Miles tried to pull his shirt off over his head.  He did not want this man taking his clothes away, or that woman giving him a bath!

“Go away!”  He cried out through swollen lips as he brought up his small fist and caught Miles right in the nose.  Unprepared for the blow, the man released the child and staggered back, holding his nose.

Removing his fingers he saw blood and he backhanded the little boy twice in rapid succession.  “Little shit,” he spat as he then whipped out his handkerchief and held it to his nose, “that was a mistake!”

Grasping the chain that was fettered to Joe’s ankle, he pulled the protesting child towards him and then grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up off the bed.  The child struggled weakly, but as the enraged man continued squeezing his throat the protest was short lived and as Joe felt the world turn a sickening shade of yellow and felt his eye lids close, he knew he was going to die.

Frankie…the child thought as the darkness claimed him.

* * *

A few minutes later when Miles dumped the unconscious child into the tub Darla looked at him in disappointment. “I wanted him awake,” she sulked.

“You’re lucky he isn’t dead,” Miles snarled as he checked out his nose in the mirror, “that kid is a real piece of work.”

“Well if there’s one thing you’re good at, sweetheart.” Darla purred, “It’s working out those kinds of things.”

He smiled at her compliment and then nodded towards the child. “Look.”

Turning back to the child, Darla’s face lit up…the shock of being dumped into a tepid tub of water was bringing him around.

* * *

Joe gasped in shock as he coughed and opened his eyes. 

Looking around, his eyes widened in fear.

He was in a tub of water…

And then he saw Darla reaching for him…and he started to cry.

* * *

Frank sat down in the backyard on the lush green grass and frowned. His aunt was locked in her room, and his mother was sitting at the kitchen table again, crying.

It was a nice morning, but the child hardly noticed it. Normally his family would have been getting ready for their annual Labor Day picnic at the park, but as he glanced back at the unnaturally quiet house, he decided today was anything but normal.

And tomorrow he was supposed to start school – grade One. He wondered if his parents would still make him go if they hadn’t found Joe yet.  So far, no one had said anything.

Frank had been looking forward to going back to school…until yesterday, that was.

Now he dreaded it.  How could he go back there without his little brother?

Joey had been pestering him since Frank started Kindergarten, to go to school with him.  And now that it was his turn to start, the younger child had been talking about it almost nonstop.  It had gotten to the point that on Saturday he even told Joe to “just be quiet about it for a second, will ya!’ 

But then when he saw the hurt look on his brother’s face, Frank had felt bad and recanted, “Sorry Joey…but can we play dinkies for a while or something?  Today is Saturday….School starts on Tuesday.  That makes it only 3 more sleeps until you can start.  Besides that, we’re going to the Carnival tomorrow!”

Joe’s face had lit up. “Oh yeah, I forgot!”  The younger child was so excited. He had never been to a real carnival before.  Last year when their parents took Frank, Joe had to stay home with his aunt because he had a bad chest cold.

Eyes wide in his excited face, Joey had begged Frank to tell him everything about the Carnival.  And Frank did, starting with his favorite place…The Fun House.

And that was only two days ago….Pulling his knees up to his chest, Frank laid his head on top of his arms and cried.

He really did not want to go back to school without Joe.

* * *

At lunch time Sam Radley found his friend sitting in his car in the police station parking lot, staring straight ahead at some spot on the dashboard.

“Hey,” he said as he leaned against the side of the car and looked at the children playing in the park across the street, “how you holding up?”

Fenton sighed and sat back heavily in his seat.  “I’m just so frustrated.  We’ve tracked down and talked to five of the victims’ families, but it’s like the Nightingales have just dropped off the face of the earth or something!  I just don’t know what else to do, Sam.”

Sam sighed.  He knew exactly how Fenton felt.  As he watched a man and his son throwing the football around, he hoped that wherever Joe was right now, that he was okay, because as he glanced over his shoulder at the dejected form of his friend, Sam knew it was something neither Fenton nor his family would ever get over.

* * *

Joe sat on the dirty mattress in the dark basement and sobbed noiselessly.  He had his knees pulled up to his chest and was sitting with his cheek resting on his arms, which were wrapped tightly around his knees.  He was tired, hungry, sore and very terrified.

His hair was still damp and he was shaking from more than the cold.  At five, he wasn’t sure what the proper word was to describe how he was feeling but he knew it wasn’t right what they did.  And he felt very alone.

After they had given him the bath, they had given him a pair of blue pajamas with little ducks on them to wear.  They were a couple of sizes too big, but he obliged. He didn’t really feel like protesting, as his body reminded him of what his other protests had gotten him.

He wondered if anyone missed him yet. 

Was his father looking for him?

Was his mother sad?

Or was it like these people were telling him…were they happy he was gone?

Miserably he shuddered and then he thought about Frank.

Frank would be worried. He always took care of Joe….Always.
But then as the little boy remembered calling to his brother in the Fun House and Frank not answering him, he wondered if maybe…just maybe….

“NO!” he whispered, “No. Frankie would miss me.  He’d make them find me….He would!”

But then as he heard the sound of Miles coming back down to the basement, he prayed that they would hurry up and find him soon.  He really wanted to go home now.

* * *

Special Agent Daniel Podeszwa watched the two detectives carefully.  As was usual with missing children, the FBI was involved, and he had been sent down to help co-ordinate the search.

He waited until Fenton Hardy, Sam Radley, and Chief of Police Ezra Collig were seated around the board room table before he introduced himself and his colleague, Special Agent Miranda Monroe.

Somehow he knew that what he was about to tell them was something that the distraught father was not going to want to know…but he needed to.  They all needed to know exactly what they were up against, and what the real chances were of ever finding the missing child alive.

After the introductions, he cut right through to the chase.  “Okay folks.  What I am going to tell you cannot go outside this room, as it is highly classified and not common knowledge.”

“Go on,” Collig said gruffly. They had a child to find and he hated wasting time in briefings when they needed to be pounding the pavement.

“What do you know about Miles and Darla Nightingale?” Agent Podeszwa asked, and saw Fenton’s face pale as Sam glanced at him.  Ah, thought the Agent, impressed, so they’ve gotten their own suspicions on these two…good.

Fenton spoke. “Their son, James, was Fulton McBride’s last victim.  Since his death, they’ve been moving around a lot and currently we don’t know where they are.”

Agent Monroe smiled sympathetically at the detective, knowing how hard it was going to be on him to hear what they were going to tell him.  Her eyes glanced down again at the picture of this newest missing child, and she felt a tug on her heart as vibrant blue eyes stared up at her from a small angelic face.  The child was beautiful.

“Very good,” Agent Podeszwa said before continuing, “However there is lot more to them that you wouldn’t know about.  Apparently after their son was murdered so brutally, they changed.  Yes you’re right, they did start moving around; however, we have determined a horrifying correlation between their movements and missing kids.”

Sam heard Fenton suck in his breath, and looked at his friend with unconcealed worry on his face.  His worry intensified as Agent Podeszwa kept talking.  “It seems whenever they are in town, a child goes missing. A child like your son, Mr. Hardy.  A small boy of about five or six, abducted from somewhere like a carnival or fair.  One was even taken from a kids’ restaurant in Tulsa.”

“Have any of these children been found?”  Ezra asked.

The FBI agents traded glances before Agent Monroe answered softly, not able to look at Fenton but keeping her eyes on the little angel looking up at her. “Yes.  They all have been.”

Fenton knew she wasn’t telling them everything and demanded, “Alive?”

The Special Agent shook her head, “No.  There have been eight children taken and eight children found.  Dead.”

A heavy silence fell over the room and then Fenton pressed, as painful as it was, he had to know, “How?”

Podeszwa spoke, his eyes hardening as he did, “They were beaten to death.”

The detective gasped as he felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and he felt Sam patting him on the back. “It’s okay, Fenton, we’ll find him….This won’t be Joey. He won’t be their number nine.”

Fenton appreciated his friend’s conviction even if he was beginning to doubt it, as with each passing minute, he knew that he was closer to losing his son.

“Mr. Hardy.”  Agent Podeszwa waited until Fenton had recovered and was looking at him again. “The Nightingales are in Bayport and we do believe that they have your son.”

Ezra leaned back heavily in his seat.  His own heart felt constricted, as he too cared about the missing child.  Looking at the FBI agents, he asked, “Where?”

“We don’t know,” they admitted, “but now, at least, we know who we are looking for.”

Agent Monroe pulled a file out of her briefcase and put two pictures on the table as she said, “We only just got confirmation an hour ago that they’re in town.”

Nodding, Fenton Hardy leaned forward and picked up the two photographs, and he got his first look at the two people who had stolen his son.

Shuddering, he put them back down, their faces already burned into his brain.  Hold on Joey….Daddy’s coming.…Hold on.