The Belial Stone(16)

Rocky nodded. “Okay. So if I’ve got this down correctly, you shot him twice at close range, stabbed him, and used his skull for batting practice. That about right?”

Laney looked up and saw the smile playing around Rocky’s lips. She returned the smile. “Yup. That’s about right.”

“Well then, off the record: good. Back on the record, thank you for your statement, Dr. McPhearson.”

A knock at the door pulled the women’s attention. A tall, black, good-looking detective in his late twenties strode into the room. Detective Mike Chapman, Rocky’s partner.

Mike nodded at her. “Hey, Laney. You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good, Mike.”

He pulled up a chair. “Just heard back from Dewitt. They said your house definitely looks like a fight took place. We sent over our crime techs and they’re all over the place. They found plenty of blood, but no body.”

Laney straightened up. “Did they check the neighborhood? The hospitals? I mean, that guy was really hurting. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

“They’ve checked. And they’ll keep on checking, but so far nothing. They’re canvassing the neighborhood right now. There was a blood trail leading out the back door. It disappears just beyond your property line.” Mike hesitated. “And there’s one other thing.”

Laney pictured the man’s face and had a feeling she didn't want to hear what this last thing was. “What?”

At Rocky's nod, Mike continued. “There was a note for left for you.”

“A note?” She tried to envision the bloodied man sitting down and penning a quick message to her. “As in paper and pen?”

Mike shook his head. “No. As in blood and your kitchen island.”

Laney’s stomach dropped. “What did it say?”

Mike’s eyes were full of compassion, but he looked her straight on. “See you soon.”





CHAPTER 12



Albany, NY



The pastor at Tom’s church had arranged for almost the entire congregation to speak with Jake. They had all said essentially the same thing: Tom was a good man and he wouldn’t have just left. The last person he had spoken with was Cleo Banks.

Cleo had stood in front of Jake clutching a handful of tissues, her striking pale green eyes streaked red from crying. She struggled to hold back her tears.

“We met just after he got out. He was, I guess you could say, haunted. He didn’t seem to know where he fit, or who he was. Even then, though, you could see his commitment to make something of himself. He was – is – a good man, Jake.” She stared into Jake’s eyes, daring him to contradict her.

Jake nodded, deeply touched that Tom had such a woman standing behind him.

His nod seemed to take some of the fight out of her and her shoulders slumped. She continued in a more wistful tone. “We met in the choir. I noticed him right away, but I didn’t think he noticed me.”

Jake doubted that. A man would have to be blind not to notice Cleo. Cleo was stunning. Her unusual eyes contrasted exotically with her dark skin, and even with her charcoal grey conservative skirt and lavender sweater, her shapely body was evident. A man would have to be blind not to notice Cleo.

“He didn’t even ask me for a date until after he’d walked me home for a week. He was a perfect gentleman. It was as if he was trying to make everything perfect.” Cleo paused, trying to hold back her tears. “He wouldn’t have just left, Jake. I know he wouldn’t.”

He spoke with Cleo for a few more minutes about their routine - where they had gone, who they had spoken with. But then Jake was out of questions.

Cleo stood up to leave. “Tom told me about you. He said you were a good man who’d made something of his life, after a childhood of pain. He was working towards being as good a man one day.” She grabbed his hand. “Find him, Jake. Please find him.”

Jake watched her leave, his thoughts heavy. He’d hoped that Tom had just run off. Then he’d just have to track him down, talk some sense into him, and bring him back. He knew now that wasn’t what had happened. Tom hadn’t left on his own. But unfortunately, none of Tom’s friends had been able to offer any clues as to where he might have gone.

Walking out of the church, he debated his next move. He stared at a beat-up Buick driving slowly down the street, leaving a trail of black smoke in its wake. That’s what he needed: a clear trail to follow. He sighed, pulling out his cell.

“Any luck?” Henry Chandler, Jake’s friend and boss, asked as soon as he answered.

“No. No leads, no possibilities. I’m at a dead end. Did you guys come up with anything?”