Balance of Power: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles Book 25)

by R. L. King

  “Someone…hit him? Bloody hell. Do they know who?”

  “No.” She riffled through some papers on her desk, obviously as restless in her own way as Stone. “They…found him late last night, when the new security guard came on shift. He and the previous guard checked to see when Brandon would be done, but he didn’t answer their knock. They went inside and found him unconscious on the floor.”

  Stone narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You’re saying Kelso—the previous guard—was there, but he didn’t see anyone come in? Didn’t hear anyone break into the storeroom?”

  “Apparently not.” She looked grim. “Needless to say, both the police and campus security aren’t very happy with him at the moment.”

  “They don’t think he might have been involved, do they?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know he’s been with the University for many years, and he’s never had an incident before. His record’s spotless. I’ve heard he feels terrible about what happened.”

  A cold knot was forming in the pit of Stone’s stomach. “And Greene was still inside the storeroom?”

  “Yes. The door was locked. When they got no answer to their knock, they figured he must have left when Kelso wasn’t looking. The other guard insisted on checking inside. Thank God he did.”

  “Damn…” Stone slowed his pacing. “Do they know when this happened? Did anything show on the cameras?”

  Martinez shot him a surprised look. “How did you know about the cameras?”

  “I was there yesterday. I stopped by to look at the collection around four, just after our meeting. I have a friend who’s a private investigator, so I’ve sort of got in the habit of looking for them.”

  She seemed to accept that without suspicion. “They don’t know yet what time it happened. There was a log sheet outside the storeroom, but apparently whoever did this took it with them. Even if Brandon had signed in, we won’t know when he was there until he wakes up. The only thing we know is it must have been before midnight, because that’s when the new guard came on shift.”

  Stone gazed over Martinez’s shoulder and out the window, which overlooked one of the campus’s central quads. “Was anything missing? Do the police know why someone might break in? I didn’t think it was common knowledge that the collection was even here.”

  “It wasn’t. It certainly wasn’t in the news or anything. In fact, we haven’t told anyone other than a few faculty members who might be interested in viewing it before it’s auctioned. So far, we don’t know if anything is missing. It’s going to be hard to tell, since the items weren’t terribly organized in there to start with, and the thieves made even more of a mess.” She sighed. “Perhaps you should come with me to the meeting with the police. If you were in the storeroom yesterday they’ll probably find your fingerprints in there, so best if they talk to you so they can take you off the suspect list.”

  Yes, let’s do that, even though I’m responsible for at least one theft. He let his breath out. “This is…horrible. I mean—we’re not talking about King Tut’s treasures here. As far as I could tell, some of the items in there were valuable, but not enough to nearly kill anyone over.”

  She nodded soberly. “I agree. I feel terrible for Brandon.”

  The knot in Stone’s stomach twisted a little. “Yes, of course I’ll come with you. I should go visit Greene at the hospital, too.”

  “I think he’ll like that, but last I heard he was still unconscious. They’re keeping him sedated to give him a chance to heal. He took a pretty good knock on the head.” She rose from her desk, looking more sober than ever. “You’re right, Alastair—this is horrible. I’d never have agreed to let them store the collection here if I’d thought something like this would happen.”

  “It’s not your fault. Let’s go see what we can find out, and go from there.”

  The police had cordoned off the area surrounding the storeroom’s building. A crowd of curious students, reporters, and other onlookers had gathered, but so far everybody was behaving. As Stone walked through with Martinez, he was reminded of another, similar situation a few years back, when two men had been brutally mutilated inside a lecture hall by the demon he’d dubbed “Archie.”

  Martinez showed her identification and introduced Stone, and a uniformed cop let them through the cordon. “First room on the right is where they’ve set up,” she told them. “Don’t go past that.”

  The indicated room was another storeroom, empty this time except for a few metal shelves holding boxes of paper and other office supplies. The police had set up a table which was now covered with papers, and a few cops, both uniformed and dressed in the coveralls of crime-scene investigators, hurried in and out. Behind the table stood a purposeful-looking dark-haired woman in a business suit. She was talking to one of the uniforms, but looked up when Martinez and Stone entered. “You Dr. Martinez?”

  “Yes. This is Dr. Alastair Stone, one of my colleagues. He’s a professor in the Occult Studies department.”

  The woman’s sharp gaze raked over Stone’s black T-shirt, jeans, and long black coat. “You don’t look like a college professor.” She shrugged before either of them could answer. “Doesn’t matter. Not important. I’m Detective Bertola, Palo Alto PD. We’re working with the Stanford authorities.”

  Martinez shook Bertola’s hand; Stone didn’t.

  “How can we help you, Detective?” Martinez asked. “Have you discovered anything else about what might have happened?”

  “Still working the scene. It’s going to take quite some time, I’m afraid. It’s a mess in there.”

  “So you don’t know what was stolen yet, if anything?”

  Bertola snorted. “It’ll probably be days before we figure that out, even with the list of stuff you sent us. Right now, we’re more focused on the assault.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  “It’s okay. This whole thing is unsettling, I know.” She glanced at Stone. “I thought I was just meeting with you.”

  “I called Dr. Stone this morning—Brandon Greene is a friend and colleague, so I thought he’d want to know. He told me he was looking at the collection yesterday.”

  “Is that right?” Bertola’s eyebrows rose. She pulled out a notebook, suddenly showing more interest in Stone. “What time, Dr. Stone?”

  “Around three-thirty. I was inside for about an hour and a half.”

  “What were you doing in there that long? Just looking around?”

  “As Dr. Martinez said, I’m a professor of occult studies. The entire collection was occult-related, so I’m sure you can see how I might find that fascinating. I sort of lost track of time, to be honest.”

  “Yeah, makes sense.” She made another note. “So you arrived at three-thirty and left at five-ish. Did you see anything out of the ordinary when you were in the area?”

  If you only knew, he thought, but didn’t let any reaction reach his face. “Out of the ordinary?”

  “Yeah—you know, anybody lurking around the building that you didn’t recognize? Anything weird inside the room?”

  “Everything inside that room would probably qualify as weird to most people. But as for anything else—no. The area was fairly deserted. A few students walking by, but nothing else.”

  “Did you see Mr. Greene or Mr. Kelso, the security guard?”

  “I didn’t see Mr. Greene after the meeting with Dr. Martinez. Mr. Kelso was on duty when I arrived. He’s the one who let me into the storeroom.”

  She noted that down. “Did Mr. Greene say anything about wanting to visit the collection?”

  “He did, yes. When we spoke yesterday after the meeting, he told me he couldn’t go right away because he had a class, but mentioned he might pop in later yesterday or perhaps today. Nothing specific, though.”

  She looked him over again. “Okay. And you didn’t see anything strange when you left?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t even see Mr. Kelso. He told me to make sure I locked u
p.”

  “And did you?”

  “Absolutely. I double-checked the lock before leaving.”

  “Got it. One more question and then I’ll let you go so I can get back to Dr. Martinez. You say you’re an expert on this occult stuff.”

  “That’s what it says on my business card.”

  She shot him a grumpy glare, but let it go. “In your…professional opinion…was there anything in that collection that might have been valuable enough for somebody want bad enough to kill for?”

  Stone pondered, trying to think like a mundane. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his mind’s eye to visualize the objects in the room. “I honestly don’t think so. I don’t recall seeing anything involving precious metals or stones, or anything like that. Most of the items I saw in that room were fascinating to people like me—perhaps to a few obscure collectors—but that’s about it.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Do you know any of these collectors, Dr. Stone? Anybody you can think of who might be a little…overzealous to pick up a few new acquisitions?”

  He chuckled, once again wondering what she’d do if she knew the whole truth. “Honestly, Detective, most of the collectors I know are rather elderly, very strange, and wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to pull off something like this—not to mention committing assault to do it.”

  “You’d be surprised what people can do when they want something bad enough.” She flipped to a new page in her notebook. “Suppose you give me some names.”

  Stone paused as if thinking. “Let’s see…well, there’s Hubbard—the other Occult Studies professor here—but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Too lazy to get out of his chair most of the time, he thought but didn’t say. “Plus, I doubt he’d be interested enough in the first place.”

  “Anybody else?”

  He gave her a few more names, deliberately keeping to older mundane colleagues in both the United States and England whom he was certain would have ironclad alibis. While he thought it was possible this crime might be solved by mundane police work—he still wasn’t certain the thief had been after anything but valuable items they could fence—his gut told him otherwise. Why would a mundane thief break into a building to steal bits of a collection nobody except a handful of people even knew was here in the first place, and why would they risk killing someone to get what they were looking for? Stranger things had happened, sure, but he didn’t think they had this time.

  Bertola dutifully wrote down all the names, then snapped her notebook shut. “Thank you, Dr. Stone. That’s all for now. Will you be around if I have any other questions?”

  “Of course.” He took one of his business cards and a pen from his coat pocket and scrawled his cell number on the back. “I’m at your service, Detective.”

  She gave him another odd look, glanced at the card, and frowned, almost as if disappointed it didn’t actually say Expert on Occult Stuff. Then she tucked it into her pocket and turned to Martinez. “Okay. Let’s get started so I don’t have to keep you too long.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, then…” Stone nodded farewell and left the room, brushing past more uniformed cops and CSIs moving in an out of the room. He wished he could get another look inside the storeroom, but even with his best disregarding spell he didn’t think that would be a good idea. Too many people around to spot him. Perhaps he could pop in later if he needed to.

  Right now, he had other, more important, places to be.

  5

  Stone had forgotten to ask Martinez where they’d taken Greene, but since Stanford Medical Center was both close by and one of the best hospitals in northern California, he took a chance rather than interrupt her meeting with Detective Bertola.

  He got lucky—stopping at the front desk and acting like he already knew Greene was there, he found out his friend’s room number.

  “Check in at the nurses’ station up there to make sure he can have visitors,” the receptionist told him.

  He half-expected to see a police guard on the room’s door, but didn’t. The door was closed, though.

  “Oh, yes,” the on-duty nurse said, consulting her computer. “Mr. Greene is awake this morning and can have visitors. Are you a relative?”

  “I’m a work colleague. I heard about what happened and came right over.”

  “Don’t stay too long. He needs his rest.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  Stone knocked on the door, then pushed it partway open to reveal an empty bed on the near side and a privacy curtain drawn around another one near the window. “Greene? Are you decent?”

  “No, I’m over here having a three-way with two hot nurses.”

  Stone smiled in relief. Greene sounded tired and a bit woozy, but he was still the same old Greene. “Well, then, suppose I join in? The more the merrier, they say.”

  “I’m not sure the bed can handle one more, but you’re welcome to give it a shot.”

  “Let’s find out.” He pushed aside the curtain, and his smile died.

  Greene lay in the bed, dressed in a hospital gown, a white bandage wrapped around his head. His normally-pale face was even paler than usual, except for the dark circles around them. An IV tube led to a bag of clear liquid suspended on his left side, and the usual assortment of beeping monitors stood mostly unobtrusively beneath it. He’d been looking at something on his phone, but put it aside.

  “You’ll do just about anything to get out of work, won’t you?” Stone pulled up a chair and sat, keeping his voice light even though he felt anything but. He tried not to think about how easily Greene could have died.

  “Yeah, you know me—finally got the job I’ve been working toward my whole college career, so I totally want to slack off and get fired.” His smile faded. “I’ve been reading about what happened, since I don’t really remember much. Nobody else got hurt, did they? The security guy?”

  “No—he’s fine. But as you can imagine, he’s apparently not in anyone’s good graces right now. Did you talk to him when you went in?”

  “Yeah. He let me in and told me to find him before I left so he could make sure the place was locked up.”

  “How are you feeling now?” Stone wanted to get to the more pertinent questions fast before they made him leave, but he forced himself to slow down.

  “Eh, my head hurts. They’ve got me on some good drugs, and they’re pretty sure I’ve got a concussion. I’m pretty sure I’ve got one too. My brain feels scrambled, you know? But it sounds like I was really lucky.”

  “Yes, it seems so.” He leaned forward. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”

  Greene’s eyes narrowed. “Questions? What are you, moonlighting as a detective when you’re not teaching goth kids about the Mothman?”

  “Just…curious, I suppose. I was in there yesterday a few hours before you were—it could easily have been me who got bonked on the head.”

  “Better you than me.” Greene’s tone made it obvious he didn’t mean it. “But yeah, I guess I could answer a few questions. I doubt I’ll be much help, though. I don’t remember much about what happened.”

  “Let’s give it a go, shall we?” Stone glanced toward the door to make sure the nurse wasn’t coming in to kick him out already. “What time did you go to look at the collection?”

  The younger man appeared to be having trouble organizing his thoughts. “Sorry…like I said, they’ve got me doped up and my brain’s scrambled. Uh…I think I got there around nine. I had a late class, and stopped in to Coupa to grab a quick bite after that, then headed over there.”

  “Did you notice anything odd about the area? Anybody else lurking around? Anyone who seemed to be paying too much attention to the building?”

  Greene snorted. “Are you kidding? That place is out in the middle of bumfuck Egypt, even worse than our building. There aren’t any classes out that far, so nobody would be in the area that late. Unless they’re curious idiots like me.”

  “Any particular reason you went tonight, instead of wa
iting until tomorrow?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to see it, I guess. And I’m glad I did. There were some seriously cool things in there. I was planning to talk to you and Dr. Martinez about maybe signing out a couple of them to show the Intro class.”

  “Okay.” Once again, Stone checked the door. “Do you have any idea how long you were there before anything happened?”

  “Not too long. Maybe a half-hour. I got a little distracted looking at the markings on one of the big statues, so I wasn’t paying close attention to time.”

  “Did you hear anything? You know—the door opening, or Mr. Kelso talking to anyone outside?”

  “That’s the weird thing.” Greene frowned, and although Stone couldn’t see his brow furrowing beneath the wide bandage, he didn’t have to. “I didn’t hear a thing. You’d think I’d have at least heard the click of the lock or the door opening, but I didn’t. Normally I wear my earbuds and listen to music when I’m studying, but it felt wrong to do it in there. It was really quiet. Kinda too eerie for me, if I’m gonna be honest. And you know me—I love eerie. It was quiet as a tomb. I would have heard a mouse fart.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t get distracted? You know how we can be when we’ve got something interesting to examine.”

  “Yeah, no. I mean, I like this stuff—a lot. You know that. But I guess I wasn’t born with the absent-minded professor gene. I pay attention to my surroundings, even when I’m studying. And I’m certain nobody came in through that door.”

  Stone wasn’t so sure, but he let it go. “Go on.”

  Greene shrugged. “Not much else to tell. One minute I was looking at that statue, and the next my head felt like it was splitting and I was looking up at an EMT in the back of an ambulance.”

  “So you don’t even remember being hit?” This wasn’t what Stone was hoping to hear. If Greene couldn’t tell him anything about the intruder, he didn’t have too many other places to look. He doubted Detective Bertola would give him access to the recordings from the hallway cameras—if anything even showed up on them. If this thief was that good, chances were high they’d disabled the cameras before going in. There hadn’t been any windows in the storeroom, so the door was the only way in. He didn’t think it would have been all that difficult to evade Kelso long enough to pop the lock on the door and slip inside.