Read Online The Crisscross Crime by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online

of books, each as thick as a dictionary, down on the table. “Consays you got a look at one of the guys who tried to break into First City,” she said to Joe. “Flip through these mug books. See what you can see.”
    Joe’s shoulders sagged. “Sure,” he said. When the officer left, he shoved half the books over to Frank. “Look for a dude with a buzz cut,” he said, remembering the man he’d seen get out of the black sedan and peek into the First City bank window. “Dark hair, square chin, thick neck, like a wrestler.”
    For the next fifteen minutes, the Hardys flipped through pages and pages of mug shots. Every minute or so, Frank would turn his book toward Joe and ask, “Is this the guy?”
    Joe would shake his head. “No, look for bigger eyes,” he’d instruct. Or, “Watch for a nose that looks like it’s been busted a couple of times.”
    Finally Con came back in, holding a computer printout. “Any luck?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” Joe said, closing a book. “Plenty of ugly mugs in here, though. What’d you get?”
    â€œGot a hit on that plate,” Con said. “The car’s registered to Speedy Rent-a-Car. I called and they said they rented that car yesterday morning to a guy named . . .” Con glanced at the printout. “A guy named Earl Galatin.”
    â€œCool,” Joe said. “You get an address?”
    Con smiled apologetically. “We’re already checking it out,” he said. “Chief Collig says,‘Thanks for the information, but stay clear of the investigation from now on.’ ”
    â€œFigures,” Joe said. He pushed his chair back from the table. “Let’s get out of here, Frank. Chief Collig wants us to go home and bake cookies or something.”
    The door to the interrogation room opened and the officer stuck her head back in. “No news, Con,” she said. “Unit fifteen just got back from Ron’s Salvage. They didn’t find anything—no evidence of foul play.”
    Con nodded. “Thanks.”
    â€œWait,” Frank said. He’d suddenly remembered what Sylvia van Loveren had said about people photocopying currency. “Did they say anything about the copy machine in the office?”
    The officer got a funny look on her face. “Yeah, they did. Mrs. Quick said her husband was having money troubles, but almost the only thing in his office was a brand-new copy machine that must’ve cost like around fifty grand. How’d you know?”
    Frank shrugged. He didn’t want to say too much until he had things figured out. “We saw it yesterday. Seemed a little strange to us, too.”
    The officer left and Joe started to get up to go. As Frank stood, he flipped through one more page of the mug book.
    â€œHold on,” he said, pushing the book over to Joe. “How about him?”
    Joe leaned forward, studying the photo. “That’s him,” he said. “That’s the guy I saw.”
    Con looked at the photograph in silence.
    â€œWho is he?” Frank asked.
    Con let out a deep breath. “You might be right about Bart Meredith after all,” he said. “That’s Eddie Racine. He was Meredith’s cellmate in prison. Got out a few weeks ago.”
    The Hardys looked at each other. “I knew it,” Joe said. “No way Meredith had an alibi for the robbery.”
    Frank pointed a finger at Joe. “So, Eddie Racine was in the car, and Meredith robbed Bayport Savings . . . but who was the driver of the black car? It must be this Earl Galatin guy, right?”
    â€œDon’t forget Sylvia van Loveren,” Joe said. “It had to be her giving them inside information.” He looked up at Con. “I’d say we’re about to close another case.”
    Frank wasn’t so sure. He had six fake bills in his pocket from Meredith, and there was the