Shadow of a Doubt

  A few minutes later she was standing outside Dennis Allard’s office.

  “Mr. Allard will be with you in a minute,” a young secretary told her, pointing, to a chair. “Have a seat.” Then the girl walked away on stiletto heels. I’ve seen enough secretaries and receptionists on this case to last me a lifetime, Nancy thought.

  Nancy walked around the small outer office. From the lone voice inside Allard’s office, Nancy assumed he was on the phone. She moved closer to his door, noticing it was slightly ajar.

  “Don’t worry,” she heard him saying. “Everything’s under control. Yes. I said don’t worry.” Then Nancy saw him catch her eye. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, quickly finishing his conversation.

  Nancy covered herself by knocking softly on the door. “Can I come in?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Allard said with a smile. “Just taking care of some business. What can I do for you today? Still thinking about the Gleason case?” he asked.

  “Actually, yes,” Nancy answered. “I’ve been thinking about the missing money. Last night my father told me that the embezzled money had been stashed in the bank.”

  “I seem to remember that was the case,” Allard said, rubbing his chin. “But from what I recall, the money disappeared from here, and none of it was ever recovered.”

  “I was hoping you could help me find it, though.” It was a long shot, Nancy knew. Banks had all sorts of laws against anyone looking at their records.

  Allard seemed to read her mind. “You realize I can’t really allow you to see those records,” he said.

  “I know it would be asking a lot,” Nancy said. “But this is the last time I’ll ask for your help.” She watched Allard’s face for some kind of reaction, but his features remained a blank.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, smiling. “It’s a little unorthodox, but I still feel as if I owe Carson Drew a favor. Come with me.”

  As Allard took Nancy down to the bank’s record room, Nancy thought about how helpful he was being. If he was guilty, Allard had everything to lose by cooperating with her. Instead, he was even bending the law a bit to allow her to look at the records. That wasn’t the act of a guilty man, she thought.

  In the records room, Nancy saw stacks of computer printouts; several people were seated at terminals and microfiche readers working on bank statements.

  “Alan here can help you,” Allard said, introducing her to a tall young man with thick blond hair and preppy round glasses. “Explain to him what you’re looking for and maybe, between the two of you, you’ll find it.”

  Nancy thanked Allard and started telling Alan about Gleason’s bank account.

  “Let’s see,” Alan said. His fingers quickly tapped out Gleason’s name. “Eight years ago, you say. Hmmm. Here it is.” With a few keystrokes, Alan had pulled up a record of the account.

  “Withdrawal. Closed out the account. Whew! That’s a lot of money to take out all at once.”

  “Can you see if there’s a record of a deposit around the same day for the same amount?” Nancy asked. “I’m trying to find out if the money appeared in some other account.”

  “Good thought,” Alan said. Tap, tap. “Nope. Nothing. No large deposits into either a checking or a savings account.”

  “Are you sure?” Nancy felt her disappointment rising.

  “Look, I’m a pro. If I can’t find it, no one can. That’s what I told the other guy who was here a few days ago asking the same thing. What is it with this account, anyway? You’re not from the IRS, are you?” Alan looked at Nancy over his glasses.

  “Me? No.” Nancy barely even heard the question. “What’s that you said about ‘the other guy’?”

  “Mr. Allard brought a kid down here several days ago and told me to help him out the same way.” Alan leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know what you people are doing, but personally, I have better things to do with my time.”

  There was only one other person who would be so interested in the account, Nancy realized. “Sorry,” Nancy distractedly told Alan. “I’ll let you get back to work.” She headed for the door.

  “That kid, was he about six feet tall with wavy brown hair and green eyes?” she turned to ask.

  “Yep,” Alan said. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “Sort of,” Nancy said, as she left.

  She and Chris Gleason had a lot to talk about and it couldn’t wait another minute.

  Nancy remembered that Cheryl had said Chris worked at a foreign-car shop in River Heights. At the second one she checked Nancy spotted a familiar figure working under a Porsche up on the lift.

  “Chris,” she said, coming up to him. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

  Chris turned around. “Oh, it’s you. Look, I’m busy. Can it wait?”

  “No, it can’t,” she said firmly. Chris looked at her with a puzzled expression.

  Nancy went on. “If you want me to help you find out who killed your father—if he really was killed—why are you doing your own investigating? What’s going on?”

  “Look, Nancy, I can’t talk now. Maybe later.” Chris went back to work under the car.

  Nancy looked around and saw that aside from the car Chris was working on, things seemed to be slow at the garage. She felt herself getting angry.

  “Can’t you take a break?” she asked.

  “I told you—” Chris began. Nancy saw him look up. “That’s strange—”

  “What?” she asked.

  Then Nancy saw what had caught his attention. With quick jerks, the lift holding up the Porsche was losing height. The car was rapidly lurching toward the ground.

  And they were standing right beneath it!

  Chapter

  Twelve

  GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

  Chris pushed Nancy to the ground. At that moment the car crashed all the way to the garage floor. Two of its hubcaps hurtled off, spun in the air for a moment, and settled down in a metallic whir.

  “What—” Chris rolled over Nancy and picked himself up.

  Nancy sat up, dazed and shaking. She watched as Chris went over to inspect the damage to the car.

  Slowly Nancy got up off the garage floor, brushing off her jeans. On wobbly legs, she went over to the air compressor that kept the pneumatic lift up. With a shock, she saw the air hose connecting the compressor to the lift had a deep slash mark in it.

  “Chris, take a look at this.” Nancy pointed the gash out to him when he came over. “It looks like someone wanted that lift to fall on you,” she said slowly.

  Chris squinted his eyes and bent down to look more carefully at the hose. After he saw the torn hose, he looked up at Nancy, wide-eyed.

  “I think you’re right,” he said. “The compressor had only been on for a few minutes, so I had no way of knowing the lift wasn’t getting enough air. And with this running”—he pointed to the pneumatic drill lying beside the Porsche—“it’s impossible to hear a thing.”

  “Did you see anyone around here this morning?” Nancy asked him.

  “No one,” Chris said, shaking his head. “But it had to have happened while the garage was open, because we lock up at night.” Chris ran his hands through his hair and looked again at the compressor.

  Nancy took a deep breath. “Maybe you can see now why I need to talk to you. This”—she pointed to the Porsche—“is pretty serious. Someone obviously is sending you a warning.”

  “You may be right,” Chris agreed.

  “So when can we all get together to talk?” Nancy asked. “You, your sister, Cheryl, and me?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not free until tomorrow,” Chris said. “I’m the only one here today.” Nancy sighed. “I wish I could do it sooner, but I can’t,” he added weakly.

  “Then lunch tomorrow,” Nancy said firmly. “Let’s meet in the mall at Bonne Cuisine. And I’d suggest you lay low until then.”

  As Nancy drove away, she wondered who would threaten Chris Gleason and why he still seemed t
o be holding back. She decided to ask Bess and George what they thought over lunch.

  • • •

  “It was the funniest thing,” Bess said after the three girls had been served. “I followed Kate, and who should I meet up with but George.”

  “I saw Bess’s car outside the health club and asked her what she was doing there,” George continued. “We had a good laugh when we realized we were both there following someone.”

  “So Kate and Cheryl met and worked out together. What else?” Nancy asked.

  “Nothing happened with Cheryl.” George shook her head. “Cheryl went off to work—very late.”

  “And Kate did some shopping,” Bess added. “What’s new on your front?”

  Nancy waited for the waitress to put their plates down before she told her friends about what had happened at the garage.

  “Wow. Someone is playing for keeps,” Bess said, taking a bite of her salad. “And you could have been killed, too.”

  Nancy nodded, staring into space.

  George brought her back with a jolt. “Nancy, what’s on your mind?” she asked.

  Nancy shook her head slowly. “I just can’t figure out what to make of this case,” she said. “It looks like Chris has his eye on the money, but I don’t think he’s found it.”

  “Meanwhile, neither of the Gleasons is helping you very much,” George said.

  “That’s true,” Nancy agreed.

  “But they asked you to get involved in the first place,” Bess pointed out.

  “It’s pretty strange,” George admitted. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we all meet tomorrow, and Bess and I will keep our eyes on them while you try to get at the truth?”

  “Great idea, George,” Nancy said. “I’ve already planned on doing just that. Lunch tomorrow. Here.” After wolfing down the rest of her sandwich, Nancy looked at her watch. “I’d better be going. I want to call my dad and find out what happened with the DA. Meet you two outside?”

  Nancy left George and Bess to pay the check. She found a phone booth to call her father, and after a minute he came on the line.

  “I told him everything, Nancy,” Carson said. “And he wants to meet with you, as soon as possible, to hear everything you know.”

  “Okay, Dad,” Nancy said with a sigh. “I’ll head over there now with Bess and George.”

  As she hung up, Nancy hoped the DA wasn’t going to tell her to quit her investigation. She felt too involved now to want to let someone else take over.

  Nancy walked back to the restaurant. “We’ve got an appointment with the DA,” she told Bess and George, who were standing outside.

  “We?” Bess asked.

  “You got it,” Nancy answered. “And I’d hate to keep him waiting, so let’s go!”

  • • •

  “Nancy, could you please explain all this?” Bess said as they wandered through the city office building.

  “My father insisted I go to the district attorney to tell him everything I know,” Nancy explained. “I want the two of you along because I want to ask him a favor, and if he agrees, I’m going to need your help. Here we are,” she said, pushing open a door with District Attorney stenciled in big black letters.

  Inside, the office was filled with ancient desks and filing cabinets piled high with papers, folders, and stacks of what looked like legal documents. And, Nancy noticed as she just stifled a sneeze, the whole place was covered in dust.

  Bess, George, and Nancy introduced themselves and waited while the receptionist buzzed the district attorney on the intercom.

  “Nancy Drew to see you? Right,” she said, hanging up the phone. “Go ahead. First and only door in that corridor to your right.”

  The three friends made their way around several desks crowded together in the middle of the room. Nancy knocked softly on the door. A thin, balding man only slightly taller than she opened it.

  “Joseph Levine,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Nancy Drew,” she said. “And these are my friends, Bess Marvin and George Fayne.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Levine said. “Come on in. Sorry about the mess, but somehow cleaning up never makes it to the top of my list of things to do.” He laughed.

  After Levine cleared papers off three chairs, the girls sat down.

  “Now that we’re all comfortable,” Levine said, “why don’t you tell me why you’re here? Mr. Drew’s explained a little bit, but I’d like to hear it straight from the detective’s mouth, as it were.” Levine laughed again.

  Nancy smiled. Then she took a deep breath and launched into a description of what had happened over the past few days.

  “As you can see,” she concluded, “there are a lot of loose ends. Did Gleason really commit suicide? What’s the missing evidence? Where’s the money, and do the Gleason kids care more about that than their father?”

  “And,” the DA added, “was Robert Gleason guilty in the first place?”

  “Exactly,” Nancy said.

  Bess and George had been silent while Nancy told the story. Now George let out a half sigh, half whistle.

  “To hear you tell it that way, Nancy, I just realized how messy this case really is,” she said.

  “Not really,” the DA said. “It seems to me that the first thing we have to do is find out whether or not Gleason killed himself. I’ll take care of that side of the investigation.” Joe Levine got up from behind his desk, came around in front of Nancy and sat on his desk. He looked her straight in the eye.

  “Your father said he didn’t want you to be involved in this anymore. You know that, don’t you?” he asked.

  Nancy swallowed and looked down at her feet. “I know. But it’s really tough when your own father’s career could be on the line,” she said.

  “I agree.” Levine paused. “I’m required to investigate all the sides of the law. You know there may be proof that your father suppressed evidence eight years ago?”

  Nancy nodded. Bess and George were silent.

  “That story was never supposed to be leaked. It’s an ongoing investigation, and Carson Drew has yet to be charged.” He shook his head. “But it happened. Meanwhile, I don’t have any authority to take you off the case.”

  The three friends exchanged a look. “That’s good news,” Nancy said, relieved.

  “I do have some advice for you, though,” Levine said firmly. “No more funny business. Anything you learn, you tell me. It’ll only help your father,” he pointed out.

  Nancy looked down and bit on her lower lip. She was thinking about Gleason’s notebook back home in her room. “Then I guess I should tell you. I took something from Robert Gleason’s apartment.”

  “What?” Bess and George said in unison.

  She explained to Levine and her friends about the notebook. When she was finished, Levine said simply, with no room for argument, “You’d better return it first thing tomorrow.”

  Nancy nodded. “I promise,” she said. “I have one more favor to ask: Would it be all right if my friends and I did a little research in the trial archives?”

  Bess and George looked surprised. Joe Levine rested his chin between his index finger and the palm of his hand, trying to figure out what Nancy had in mind.

  “Sure,” he said eventually. “But what do you hope to find?”

  “Remember that evidence Cheryl Pomeroy found?” Nancy asked. Levine nodded. “Well,” she went on, “it’s been bothering me. I just can’t figure out what it might be.”

  “And you want to go through the old trial records to see if there isn’t something missing?” Levine concluded.

  “Right,” Nancy said. “I doubt anything will turn up, but it’s the only way I can think of to figure out why Gleason got so excited about the evidence. And why someone might have killed him for it.”

  “If he was killed,” Levine said, staring hard at Nancy. “That remains to be proven.”

  • • •

  Two hours later Nancy, Bess, and George had plowed throu
gh hundreds of pages of transcripts from the trial and several notebooks full of descriptions of exhibits that had been introduced.

  “I don’t think I can take much more of this,” Bess said. “This is so boring. On television trials always seem so glamorous. Who would ever have thought that they were mostly a lot of paperwork.”

  “You said it,” George agreed, rubbing her eyes. “I’m still not sure what we’re looking for here, Nancy.”

  “I wasn’t sure, either, George,” Nancy said. “But I think I’ve found something that may be important. Read this.” She handed George a page of the trial transcript.

  George’s eyes quickly scanned the page. “It looks to me like more of the same. Gleason insisting he’s innocent, that he’s been framed. But without any proof, what good is it?”

  “George, you just said the magic word: proof,” Nancy said excitedly. “Gleason told Cheryl that the file she gave him would prove that he was innocent. So what kind of proof would he need? Proof that he didn’t do the embezzling, that the program the prosecution accused him of writing he hadn’t written.”

  “Take a look.” She pointed to a spot in the trial transcript.

  Bess and George quickly scanned the page. “From what I can tell, Gleason claimed there was a real program written for a set of phony books, kept by the ‘real’ embezzler,” George said.

  “And that program they say he wrote was part of an elaborate frame,” Nancy concluded.

  “Hold on, Nancy,” Bess said. “I’m not sure I follow. What you’re saying is that there were two programs written with phony books: one that was used only to frame Gleason, and one that was really used by the real embezzler?”

  “I know it sounds crazy,” Nancy admitted. “But it’s the only answer.”

  “Nancy,” Bess squeaked. “Do you realize what that means?”

  “That Gleason was innocent,” Nancy finished for her. “And Dennis Allard was guilty after all.”

  Chapter

  Thirteen