The Belial Stone (The Belial Series) (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

H
er uncle wanted to stay, but Laney needed to be alone.  She needed to grieve, yell, break things.  And if her uncle were here, she’d be focused on him and how he was reacting.  She needed to be selfish.  Just for tonight. 

Outside on the porch, he hugged her tight.  “I’ll be back in the morning, right after 7:30 Mass.  I’ll bring bagels, okay?”

Laney concentrated on keeping her voice even.  “Sounds like a plan.”

Patrick gave her one last look.  She knew if she showed any sign of despair, he’d never leave.  “I’m okay.  I just need some time to myself.”

He reached up and kissed her on the cheek.  “You call me if you need me, okay?” 

She nodded, but didn’t speak.  She knew if she opened her mouth, the ocean of tears she was holding back would burst forth.  He headed down the porch stairs to his car.  She watched until he drove off. 

Her legs shook as she walked back into the house.   Tears began to rain down her cheeks.  She focused on the stairs. Just make it to the stairs, she ordered herself.  Just there. 

Her knees gave out just before she reached them.  Pulling herself to the bottom step, she collapsed, her back against the wall.  The rain of tears was now a waterfall.  She squeezed her legs to her chest, as if somehow she could provide herself with some comfort. 

This wasn’t possible.  He was fine this morning.  There was nothing in his voice to indicate he was that desperate… Was there?

She replayed the conversation in her mind.   She shook her head.  No, something was wrong here.  There was nothing to suggest he was suicidal.  He was the most upbeat person she’d ever known.  He wouldn’t have killed himself.  Her conviction drove her to her feet. 

“He wouldn’t have killed himself,” she said, needing to hear the words out loud. 

She walked into the kitchen, swatting at the tears on her cheeks. Pulling a bottle of water from the fridge, she took a long drink.  Okay, if he didn’t kill himself, it must have been an accident.  But what happened? She knew the police wouldn’t reveal any information to her.  But…

She pulled out her phone and punched in Rocky’s number.  “Detective Martinez.”

“Rocky.  I need some help.”  She quickly explained about Drew.  “They’re saying it’s a suicide.  But I know him.  He wouldn’t have killed himself.  Can you find out anything?”

“Give me a couple minutes.  I’ll call you back.”

A couple of minutes turned out to be over an hour.  She tried to grade some papers while she waited.  But her mind kept wandering back to Drew.  She gave up when she could no longer read the words through the tears. 

She needed to do something with her hands, something that would distract her.  She unloaded the dishwasher, folded laundry, filled the dishwasher, swept the kitchen floor. 

The whole time, doubts flooded her mind.  Had she missed something?  Should she have called more?  Should she have pushed him more when her uncle offered him the job? 

With each new question, she cleaned harder.   She was about to tackle the bathroom when her cell rang.  She had it open before the second ring.

“Rocky?”

“Yeah, Laney.  How you doing?”

The calm tone made Laney go cold.  “What’d you find?”

“You might want to sit down.”

She pulled out a kitchen chair and sank into it.  “Okay.  Tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Laney.  Drew hung himself.”

Her body jolted at the words.  A vision of Drew, lifeless and hanging, flashed across her mind. 

Rocky continued, oblivious to Laney’s response.  “Apparently, a friend stopped by.   They were supposed to go to lunch.  When Drew didn’t answer, he used his spare key to open the door.  He said Drew sometimes got caught up in work and didn’t hear the door.” 

A memory from college ghosted across her mind.  Eight friends had shown up at her and Drew’s place once for a night of drinking.  Drew had been lost in his work, oblivious to the party that had broken out around him.  An hour after everyone arrived, he’d looked up, shocked, when she’d handed him a beer. 

Rocky’s voice was somber.  “He found him hanging from the ceiling fan and called the police.”

Laney rocked in her chair, tears streaming down her face, a hitch in her voice.  “There’s no mistake?  They’re sure it was a suicide?”

“They’re pretty sure.  I’m so sorry, honey.”

Standing, she paced the room. “No.  You don’t understand.  He wouldn’t do this.”  Her voice broke.  She paused, staring at the ceiling, and willed the tears back.

Taking a deep breath, she continued.  “Was there anything off in the apartment?  Anything missing?”

“No…nothing was missing, according to the friend.” 

Laney pounced on the hesitation in Rocky’s voice.  “But there was something, wasn't there?”

“Well, there was just this one thing.  Everything was there, like I said.  But his laptop was completely wiped.”

Laney thought of the file Drew had sent her.  “Wiped?” 

“Yeah.  Apparently, there were no data files, no programs except the basics that came with the model.  In fact, they said that if they didn’t know any better, they would have thought it was brand new.  But the friend ID’d it.  They figured Drew wiped it before… well, just before.”

Laney’s brain struggled to make sense of what Rocky was telling her.  “How did they find that out?  Why did they check the computer?”

“They were looking for a suicide note.  Apparently he’d printed one, but they didn’t see it right away.  It fell behind a dresser.   So they checked the laptop for one, and realized it had been wiped.  If they’d found that note, they probably wouldn’t have checked the laptop at all.”

“It wasn’t a suicide, Rocky.  And Drew would never wipe out all his work.  Somebody did this to him.”

“I know you’re upset, honey.  But all the evidence points to a suicide. You need to accept that and let yourself grieve.  Why don’t I come over?  We can talk.”

“No,” Laney barked and then closed her eyes, softening her tone.  “Sorry, sorry.  It’s just a lot to take in.  I think I just need to be alone right now.”

Rocky was silent for a moment.  “Okay.  But if you need anything, you call me, all right?”

“All right.  And thanks, Rocky.”

She closed the phone and stared out the kitchen window.  The backyard was bathed in shadows.  She pulled the blinds shut, the sight making her feel more alone.

She ran her hands through her hair.  This wasn’t right.  Why would Drew wipe his hard drive?  She shook her head.  He wouldn’t.  Drew was proud of his work.  He would never just let it disappear.

Unless he was desperate, a small part of her brain whispered. But she shut the voice down.  No.  Until she knew otherwise, she was going to trust her feelings.  She and Drew had been friends for almost ten years.  She knew him.  If he were ever despairing, he would reach out for help.  He would ask her. 

A chill went through her and her head jerked up.  The file.  He said he was sending her a file.  What if he’d asked for help and she hadn't known? 

She flew up the stairs and into her office, guilt and fear dogging her steps.  She flipped open her laptop and hit the power button. 

After an agonizing wait, she entered her password and made her way to her email program.  Scrolling through the unsolicited ads and emails from students and colleagues, she found the email from Drew, entitled: For Your Eyes Only :).  She smiled at the emoticon. 

She moved the mouse over to it and, taking a deep breath, double-clicked.  A dialogue box opened:

             
Hey, Laney.  Thanks for letting me vent earlier.  I think I just needed someone to listen.  I’ve attached the file.  Can you read it and get back to me with any comments?  You are a lifesaver!             

             
And I was thinking, I’ve got some free time coming up in a few weeks.  Mind if I come up for a visit?  It'd be great to see you and your uncle.  It’s been way too long.

             
Love ya lots,

             
Drew

She stared at the screen, trying to find some hidden meaning in Drew’s words.  But there were none.  It was just what it appeared to be:  a message asking for help with a paper and about getting together in the future.  Nothing sinister, nothing despairing.  Just normal. 

Tears once again threatened, but this time they were tinged with relief.  He hadn’t killed himself.  She knew he hadn’t.  So what had happened? 

She glanced at the attached file link.  She moved the mouse to click on it and paused.  Not quite yet.

She ran down the stairs and found her keys.   Sprinting back to the office, she inserted the flash drive attached to her key ring and copied the file.

“Probably just being paranoid,” she muttered. 

She stared at the screen before forcing herself to click on the file.  A Word document opened up, entitled: The Belial Stone.  She smiled.  Drew always did like making waves with his titles. 

And the term Belial would certainly do that.  Depending upon the source you were reading, Belial denoted either wickedness or even the Devil himself.  The term appeared in the Bible multiple times as well as in a number of the Gnostic Gospels. 

She remembered the
project she and Drew had developed.  It incorporated the final apocalyptic battle between the Sons of Belial and the Children of the Light depicted in the Hebrew War Scroll. But she’d never heard of the term Belial associated with a stone before.               

She started reading through the first few sentences and couldn’t make it further.  His writing style was almost as familiar to her as her own.  She stifled a sob.  She wasn’t ready to read this.  She closed down the file and ejected the flash drive. 

Laney pictured Drew when they’d met freshman year of college.  He’d been hopelessly lost in the library, and she’d been equally confused.  Together, they’d found the books they needed.  Realizing they were both majoring in anthropology, they spent most of their time together from that point on.  They’d been each other’s shoulder when their love lives had careened off the rails and the person they could always count on for a laugh.  He was the brother she’d never had.  And now he was gone. 

She couldn’t stifle the sob that escaped her lips this time.  And she didn’t try to stop those that followed.  She slid off the chair and onto the floor, giving in to the tears.  The grief enveloped her. 

At the edges of her mind, however, a single question whispered:  If Drew hadn’t killed himself, then who had?

CHAPTER 5

New York City, NY

T
he sounds of Pavarotti breathed through the penthouse, his soulful tenor seeming to reach for the dome of the cathedral ceilings.  Gideon stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park, his eyes closed, embracing the emotion of the music.  As the last strains of the aria died away, he opened his eyes and watched the traffic crawl through the Manhattan streets below.

He drained his wineglass and walked to the dark granite island, taking a seat at one of the high-backed leather chairs.  He refilled the glass from the bottle of cabernet he’d left to breathe. 

Swirling the dark liquid in his glass, he powered up the laptop in front of him.  “So, Mr. Masters, let’s see what you’ve figured out.”

He pulled up the most recent documents.  The title of the first one leapt off the screen at him.  He quickly scanned the document.

“My, my, aren’t you a clever boy,” he murmured.  His anger began to simmer as he realized how Priddle’s trust of Drew Masters could have ruined everything.  If this had gotten out…

He glanced through the remainder of the files, shaking his head at how truly dangerous Priddle’s actions had been.  That fool.  He punched a number into his phone.

“Dr. Arthur Priddle.”

“Dr. Priddle,” Gideon drawled, his voice laced with quiet rage.  “You have not been following our agreement.”

Priddle’s words stumbled over each other in a rush.   “Mr. Gideon, I have.  I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

“Really?  Why, then, am I sitting here reading a paper entitled ‘The Belial Stone’ written by a Dr. Drew Masters?”

“Sir,” Priddle said, his voice taking on an unpleasant whining quality, “I had to bring on some more help.  There’s just so much to do with the site and with my classes.  But he was sworn to secrecy.  He was never supposed to talk about any of our work.”

“Well, apparently he didn’t keep up his end of the bargain, either.  That, however, will no longer be a problem.  It seems Dr. Masters gave into a moment of despair.  He’s dead.”

“What?”  Priddle screeched.

Gideon held the phone away from his ear with a look of disgust.  When the squealing died down, he said, “Perhaps you should keep the stakes in mind before you make any more unwise decisions, as well as the prize.”

“Uh, yes, yes, sir.  Of course.  It won't happen again.”

“I’ll make sure of it.  You’re leaving for the site tonight.  I’ll have a car at your residence in two hours.”

“Uh, sir, I’ll need a few days to wrap things up with the University.”

Gideon’s words lashed out.  “Tonight.  I don’t care what you tell the University.  You will be on a plane in three hours’ time.  Do not forget who you are dealing with.” Gideon disconnected the call.

He didn’t worry about whether the professor would follow his orders.  He knew he would.  He’d tapped into two of the professor’s most motivating emotions: fear and greed. 

He idly brought up the laptop’s browser and glanced at the last few sites Drew had visited.  None were problematic, except, maybe…  

He opened the email page and spent a few minutes hacking into the program.  He glanced at the emails Drew had sent over the last day.  Most were innocuous: notes to students about class, one to his mother, a few bills he’d paid online. 

The last email, though, was to a Delaney McPhearson.  It had an attachment.  He opened it and then cursed softly.  Damn it, more fires to put out.

He looked up as the door opened from the bedroom across the living room.  An Asian man, dressed in a tight black t-shirt and a long leather coat, crossed the room. 

“I’m heading out.  Are you sure you don't want to join me?”  Paul Cook raised an eyebrow as he caught Gideon’s eye.  “Problem?”

“Yes.  It seems, brother, we have another fire to put out.   I need you to track down a woman named Delaney McPhearson.”  Gideon switched to a search engine and typed in her name.  “She’s a professor of criminology at the University of Syracuse.  She lives just outside of the city, in a town called Dewitt.”

Paul crossed to the island and poured himself a glass of wine.  Leaning against the island, he took a sip.  “Okay.  Any reason you can’t handle it?”

Gideon grimaced. “I have to head to D.C. to deal with the Senator.  He's getting antsy.”

“Ah, and you need to play lap dog.”

Gideon glared at him. 

Paul chuckled and raised his hands.  “Just kidding.  I know we need to keep the Senator happy.  His happiness ensures our success.  So, this professor, what do I do when I find her?”

Gideon’s voice was steel.  “Eliminate her.”