-LIKELY SUSPECTS-

Wednesday, 10.20pm

Frank ran from the kitchen to pick up the telephone in the loungeroom. Joe had just left to take Callie and Vanessa home, leaving Frank to help his parents and Aunt Gertrude with the cleaning up.

‘Hello?’ said Frank, wondering who would be ringing at such a late hour. ‘Hey Chet! …. What? Are you okay?…. Where are you?…. Okay, stay put. I’ll leave now…. No, I’ll get mum to do that. See you in five.’

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Mrs. Hardy as Frank returned to the kitchen, his face concerned.

‘Chet’s had a bit of a bingle,’ explained Frank, downplaying the situation so as not to alarm his mother or aunt. ‘He’s fine, but he needs some help with the car. Would you please ring for a tow truck? He’s in Davis Street .’

‘Certainly,’ replied Laura. ‘I’ll contact Joe on his mobile so he knows what’s happened. Make sure Chet rings his parents so they don’t panic.’

Kissing his mother and Aunt Gertrude on the cheek, Frank hurriedly grabbed his car keys.

Wednesday, 10.45pm

When Joe finally arrived at the Mc Gillacuddy house, the first people he saw were his brother and a tow truck driver in deep conversation. There was no sign of Chet, which concerned Joe, but as the younger Hardy got out of the car, he spied his portly friend sitting on the curb holding a wad of paper towel to his nose. Joe immediately jogged over to the road side and sat next to Chet. Laura had told Joe that Chet was apparently fine, but he was anxious to determine this for himself.

‘Man, are you okay?’ he asked anxiously.

Chet lowered the bloodied towel and nodded, forcing a weak grin.

‘I’m fine,’ he assured him. ‘Just a bit of a blood nose. I wish I could say the same thing about the W - and the gates for that matter!’

Joe patted Chet on the shoulder and stood up so that he could view the damage to the gates and the 4WD. The whole front end of Chet’s vehicle had been buckled inwards. Steam was still issuing from the engine. The gates were past repair.

‘There’ll be here soon,’ Joe heard his brother tell the tow truck operator. ‘You can’t even touch it until then.’ The man turned in disgust, leant against his truck and folded his arms. Frank came over to Joe and Chet.

‘What’s up?’ asked Joe. ‘Can’t he just tow it now?’

‘I’ve called the police,’ explained Frank. ‘They’ll need to take a look before the car’s moved.’

‘Why?’ asked Joe, puzzled. Frank gripped his brother by the elbow and led him towards what was left of Chet’s car. He knew that Joe was not going to be happy about what he was going to tell him. Frank himself had been livid!

‘The brake’s failed. Chet said that when he tried the hand-brake, the whole thing came out in his hand.’

Joe’s face turned a shade paler.

‘When did he have it serviced last?’ Joe asked, somehow knowing this was not going to be a case of sloppy maintenance.

‘A fortnight ago,’ said Frank grimly. ‘But the brakes aren’t the only things that have been tampered with.’

Leading Joe to the driver’s side door that had been hanging open since Frank had yanked it in order to get Chet out, Frank pointed inside.

‘Kneel on the driver’s seat and take a look at the back seats,’ he told Joe, handing him small torch. Puzzled, Joe complied. The torch beam illuminated numerous slash marks in the upholstery. In black texta, something was written across the back of the seat:

STAY AT HOME NEXT TIME