The Eighth Day Read Online Free PDF

cutting-edge science—robotics and MEMS—not Telepizza.”
    Danny wouldn’t know MEMS from Reese’s Pieces, but he understood what Belzer was driving at. Over the last year and a half, he’d done enough work for Fellner Associates to know that the high-tech universe was a cutthroat one in which billions came and went like tropical storms. The lawyer obviously believed that his client was being smeared by a competitor. “So why doesn’t he sue?” he asked.
    Belzer took a drink of water and leaned forward with a wolfish grin. “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? I mean, that’s why we’re here.”
    “Ah.”
    The older man sat back. “We know who some of the people involved are—tabloid hacks and others. But there’s no point in going after
them
. We want to trace the stories to the source—find out who’s behind them.”
    Danny thought about that. It might be something he could do.
    “One of the people
we know
was involved,” Belzer continued, “was an American.”
    “Ah . . .”
    “A man named Terio.”
    “And how can we be sure of that?” Danny asked.
    Belzer regarded him coolly. “Maybe this isn’t something you need to know.” When the younger man looked doubtful, the lawyer shrugged. “Mr. Terio was overheard talking to a reporter.”
    “ ‘Overheard’?”
    Belzer nodded.
    “You mean like . . . he was sitting at the next table, or . . . you bugged him?”
    Belzer’s face tightened in mock indignation. “I’ve never bugged anyone in my life,” he protested. Then he paused and added, “We have people for that.” The remark made Danny smile. But he must have looked worried, too, because the lawyer hurried to reassure him: “It was in another country, Mr. Cray. The laws are different.”
    Danny nodded thoughtfully. “So what is it you’d like me to do?”
    “Well, if we could get a look at Mr. Terio’s papers . . .”
    “His ‘papers,’ ” Danny repeated. “What kind of ‘papers’?”
    Belzer shrugged. “Whatever there is. And if we could find out who he was talking to, or who
else
he was talking to, that would be even better.”
    Suddenly we’re in the past tense,
Danny thought. “ ‘Was’?”
    Belzer nodded. “Mr. Terio passed away.”
    Danny blinked.
    The lawyer shifted in his chair. “It was in the news.”
    Danny gave him an apologetic look. “I just got back in town,” he said. “My girlfriend and I were in North Carolina, so—”
    “It was in the papers,” Belzer told him. He twirled a finger in the air. “TV. Radio.”
    Danny thought about that. “So this guy was, what—prominent? I mean, to get in the papers—”
    Belzer shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “He wasn’t actually ‘prominent.’ He was a college professor. It was more the way he died than who he was.”
    Danny took another sip of coffee and leaned forward. “The
way
he died?”
    Belzer watched a 737 land on the runway behind the window. After a moment, he said, “Mr. Terio immured himself.”
    Danny wasn’t sure that he’d heard right. A couple of seconds ticked by. “Excuse me?”
    Belzer turned back to him. “I said he
immured
himself.”
    It’s a language thing,
Danny supposed.
This guy’s English is perfect, but it’s English-as-a-second-language perfect, so maybe he doesn’t mean what he thinks he means.
“When you say ‘immured,’ you mean like . . . like in that Edgar Allan Poe story?”
    Belzer nodded. “Except, in Mr. Terio’s case, it was a do-it-yourself activity.”
    The younger man sat where he was and said nothing for a while. Then his businessman imposture dissolved and he sank back in his seat with a chuckle of incredulity. “I’m sorry, man, but . . . ‘do-it-yourself’?”
    Belzer inclined his head in confirmation. “He buried himself alive.”
    Danny heard himself say,
“What!?”
    Belzer nodded.
    “But . . . how do you even
do
that?” Danny asked.
    The lawyer shook his head in bafflement. Then he frowned and tried to explain: