The Empty Chair

  "Whoa, she got you there, Lincoln," Ben said, laughing.

  Now being one of the gang, the young man was rewarded with a glower from Rhyme. The criminalist stared once more at the evidence then shook his head, said to Bell, "I'm sorry, Jim, the best I can tell you is that she's probably being held in a house not far from the ocean but--if the deciduous leaves are near the place--not on the water. Because oak and maple wouldn't grow in sand. And it's old--because of the camphene lamps. Nineteenth century. That's the best I can do, I'm afraid."

  Bell was looking at the map of the Eastern shore, shaking his head. "Well, I'm going to talk to Garrett again, see if he'll cooperate. If not I'm gonna give the D.A. a call and think about trading a plea for information. Worse comes to worst I'll fix up a search of the Outer Banks. I tell you, Lincoln, you're a lifesaver. I can't thank you enough. You'll be here for a spell?"

  "Only long enough to show Ben how to pack up the equipment."

  Rhyme spontaneously thought again of his mascot, Henry Davett. But he found to his surprise that his elation that his job was now finished was tainted by his frustration that the ultimate answer to the puzzle of finding Mary Beth McConnell still eluded him. But, as his ex-wife used to say to him as he walked out the door of their apartment at one or two A.M. to run a crime scene, you can't save the entire world. "I wish you luck, Jim."

  Sachs said to Bell, "You mind if I come with you? To see Garrett?"

  "Feel free," the sheriff said. He seemed to want to add something--maybe about female charm helping them get some information out of the boy. But he then apparently--and wisely, Rhyme reflected--thought better of it.

  "Let's get to work, Ben," Rhyme said. He wheeled to the table that held the density gradient tubes. "Now listen carefully. A criminalist's tools are like a tactical officer's weapons. They have to be packed and stored just right. You treat them as if somebody's life will depend on them because, believe me, it will. Are you listening, Ben?"

  "I'm listening."

  ... chapter eighteen

  The Tanner's Corner lockup was a structure two long blocks away from the Sheriff's Department.

  Sachs and Bell walked along the blistering sidewalk toward the place. Again she was struck by the ghost-town quality of Tanner's Corner. The sickly drunks they'd noticed when they first arrived were still downtown, sitting on a bench, silent. A skinny, coiffed woman parked her Mercedes in an empty row of parking spaces, climbed out and walked into the nail salon. The glitzy car seemed completely out of place in the small town. There was no one else on the street. Sachs noticed a half-dozen businesses had gone under. One of them had been a toy store. A mannequin of a baby wearing a sun-bleached jumper lay in the window. Where, she thought again, were all the children?

  Then she looked across the street and saw a face watching her from the dim recesses of Eddie's bar. She squinted. "Those three guys?" she said, nodding.

  Bell looked. "Culbeau and his buddies?"

  "Uh-huh. They're trouble. They got my weapon away from me," Sachs said. "One of them did. O'Sarian."

  The sheriff frowned. "What happened?"

  "I got it back," she answered shortly.

  "You want me to bring him in?"

  "No. Just thought you should know: they're upset about losing out on the reward. If you ask me, though, it's more than that. They're gunning for that boy."

  "Them and the rest of the town."

  Sachs said, "But the rest of the town doesn't carry around loaded weapons."

  Bell chuckled and said, "Well, not all of 'em, anyway."

  "I'm also a little curious how they happened to end up at the mill."

  The sheriff thought about this for a moment. "Mason, you thinking?"

  "Yep," Sachs said.

  "Wish he'd take his vacation this week. But there's no chance of that happening. Well, here we are. Not much of a jail. But it works."

  They walked inside the single-story cinder-block building. The groaning air conditioner kept the rooms mercifully cool. Bell told her to drop her gun in the lockbox. He did the same and they walked into the interrogation room. He closed the door.

  Wearing a blue jumpsuit, courtesy of the county, Garrett Hanlon sat at a fiberboard table, across from Jesse Corn. The deputy smiled at Sachs and she gave him a smaller smile in return. She then looked at the boy and was struck again at how sad and desperate he seemed.

  I'm scared. Make him stop!

  On his face and arms were welts that hadn't been there earlier. She asked, "What happened to your skin?"

  He looked down at his arm and rubbed self-consciously. "Poison oak," he muttered.

  In a kind voice Bell said, "You heard your rights, didn't you? Did Deputy Kerr read them to you?"

  "Yeah."

  "And you understand them?"

  "I guess."

  "There's a lawyer on his way. Mr. Fredericks. He's coming from a meeting in Elizabeth City and he'll be here pretty soon. You don't have to say anything until he gets here. You understand that?"

  He nodded.

  Sachs glanced at the one-way mirror. Wondered who was on the other side, manning the video camera.

  "But we hope you'll talk to us, Garrett," Bell continued. "We have some real important things to ask you about. First of all, it's true? Mary Beth's alive?"

  "Sure she is."

  "Did you rape her?"

  "Like, I'd never do that," he said, and the pathos momentarily gave way to indignation.

  "But you kidnapped her," Bell said.

  "Not really."

  "Not really?"

  "She, like, didn't get it that Blackwater Landing's dangerous. I had to get her away or she wouldn't be safe. That's all. I saved her. Like, sometimes you gotta make somebody do things they don't want to. For their own good. And, you know, then they catch on."

  "She's near the beach somewhere, isn't she? The Outer Banks, right?"

  He blinked at this, red eyes narrowing. He'd be realizing that they'd found the map and talked to Lydia. He looked down at the fiberboard table. Didn't say anything else.

  "Where is she exactly, Garrett?"

  "I can't tell you."

  "Son, you're in serious trouble. You got a murder conviction staring you in the face."

  "I didn't kill Billy."

  "How'd you know it was Billy I was talking about?" Bell asked quickly. Jesse Corn lifted an eyebrow to Sachs, impressed at his boss's cleverness.

  Garrett's fingernails clicked together. "Whole world knows Billy got killed." His fast eyes circled the room. Resting inevitably on Amelia Sachs. She could endure the imploring look for only a moment then had to look away.

  "We got your fingerprints on the shovel that killed him."

  "The shovel? That killed him?"

  "Yep."

  He seemed to think back to what had happened. "I remember seeing it lying there on the ground. I guess maybe I picked it up."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I felt all weird seeing Billy lying there, like, all bloody and everything."

  "Well, you have any idea who did kill Billy?"

  "This man. Mary Beth told me that she was, like, doing this project for school there, by the river, and Billy stopped to talk to her. And then this man came up. He'd been following Billy and they started arguing and fighting and this guy grabbed the shovel and killed him. Then I came by and he ran off."

  "You saw him?"

  "Yessir."

  "What were they arguing about?" Bell asked skeptically.

  "Drugs or something, Mary Beth said. Sounded like Billy was selling drugs to the kids on the football team. Like, those steroid things?"

  "Jeeez," said Jesse Corn, giving a sour laugh.

  "Garrett," Bell said. "Billy wasn't into drugs. I knew him. And we never had any reports about steroids at the high school."

  "I understand that Billy Stail ragged on you a lot," Jesse said. "Billy and a couple other boys on the team."

  Sachs thought this wasn't right--two big deputi
es double-teaming him.

  "That they made fun of you. Called you Bug Boy. You took a swing at Billy once and he and his friends beat you up bad."

  "I don't remember."

  "Principal Gilmore told us," Bell said. "They had to call security."

  "Maybe. But I didn't kill him."

  "Ed Schaeffer died, you know. He got stung to death by those wasps in the blind."

  "I'm sorry that happened. That wasn't my fault. I didn't put the nest there."

  "It wasn't a trap?"

  "No, it was just there, in the hunting blind. I went there all the time--even slept there--and they didn't bother me. Yellow jackets only sting when they're afraid you're going to hurt their family."

  "Well, tell us about this man you say killed Billy," the sheriff said. "You ever see him around here before?"

  "Yessir. Two or three times the last couple years. Walking through the woods around Blackwater Landing. Then once I saw him near the school."

  "White, black?"

  "White. And he was tall. Maybe about as old as Mr. Babbage--" "His forties?"

  "Yeah, I guess. He had blond hair. And he was wearing overalls. Tan ones. And a white shirt."

  "But it was just your and Billy's fingerprints on the shovel," Bell pointed out. "Nobody else's."

  Garrett said, "Like, I think he was wearing gloves."

  "Why'd he be wearing gloves this time of year?" Jesse said.

  "Probably so he wouldn't leave fingerprints," Garrett shot back.

  Sachs thought back to the friction-ridge prints on the shovel. She and Rhyme hadn't done the printing themselves. Sometimes it's possible to image grain prints from leather gloves. Cotton or wool glove prints were much less detectable although fabric fibers could slough off and get caught in the tiny splinters in a wooden surface like a tool handle.

  "Well, what you say could've happened, Garrett," Bell said. "But it just doesn't seem like the truth to anybody."

  "Billy was dead! I just picked up the shovel and looked at it. Which I shouldn't have. But I did. That's all that happened. I knew Mary Beth was in danger so I took her away to be safe." He said this to Sachs, gazing at her with imploring eyes.

  "Let's get back to her," Bell said. "Why was she in danger?"

  "Because she was in Blackwater Landing." He snapped his nails again.... Different from my habit, Sachs reflected. I dig into my flesh, he clicks nail against nail. Which is worse? she wondered. Mine, she decided; it's more destructive.

  He turned his damp, ruddy eyes back to Sachs.

  Stop it! I can't take that look! she thought, glancing away.

  "And Todd Wilkes? The boy who hung himself? Did you threaten him?"

  "No!"

  "His brother saw you shouting at him last week."

  "He was dropping lit matches on anthills. That's shitty and mean and I told him to stop it."

  "What about Lydia?" Bell said. "Why'd you kidnap her?"

  "I was worried about her too."

  "Because she was in Blackwater Landing?"

  "Right."

  "You were going to rape her, weren't you?"

  "No!" Garrett started to cry. "I wasn't going to hurt her. Or anybody! And I didn't kill Billy! Everybody's trying to get me to say I did something that I didn't!"

  Bell dug up a Kleenex and handed it to the boy.

  The door swung open fast and Mason Germain walked in. He'd probably been the one watching through the one-way mirror and from the look on his face it was clear he'd lost patience. Sachs smelled his raw cologne; she'd come to detest the cloying scent.

  "Mason--" Bell began.

  "Listen to me, boy, you tell us where that girl is and you tell us now! 'Cause if you don't you're going to Lancaster and you're going to stay there till they put your ass on trial.... You heard about Lancaster, haven't you? Case you haven't, let me tell--"

  "All right, that's enough," a high-pitched voice commanded.

  A bantam strode into the room--a man even shorter than Mason, with razor-trimmed hair perfectly sprayed into place. A gray suit, all buttons snug, a baby blue shirt and striped tie. He wore shoes with three-inch heels.

  "Don't say another word," he said to Garrett.

  "Hello, Cal," Bell said, not pleased the visitor was here. The sheriff introduced Sachs to Calvin Fredericks, Garrett's lawyer.

  "What the hell're you doing interrogating my client without me being here?" He nodded at Mason. "And what the hell was that Lancaster stuff about? I should have you put away for talking to him like that."

  "He knows where the girl is, Cal," Mason muttered. "He's not telling us. He had his rights read to him. He--"

  "A sixteen-year-old boy? Well, I'm inclined to get this case thrown out right now and get on to an early supper." He turned to Garrett. "Hey, young man, how you doing?"

  "My face itches."

  "They Mace you?"

  "Nosir, just happens."

  "We'll get it taken care of. Get some cream or something. Now, I'm going to be your lawyer. The state appointed me. You don't have to pay. They read you your rights? Told you you didn't have to say anything?"

  "Yessir. But Sheriff Bell wanted to ask me some questions."

  He said to Bell, "Oh, this's cute, Jim. What were you thinking of? Four deputies in here?"

  Mason said, "We were thinking of Mary Beth McConnell. Who he kidnapped."

  "Allegedly."

  "And raped," Mason muttered.

  "I didn't!" Garrett shouted.

  "We got a bloody tissue with his come all over it," Mason snapped.

  "No, no!" the boy said, his face growing alarmingly red. "Mary Beth hurt herself. That's what happened. She hit her head and I, like, wiped off the blood with a Kleenex I had in my pocket. And about the other ... sometimes I just, you know, touch myself ... I know I shouldn't. I know it's wrong. But I can't help it."

  "Shhhh, Garrett," Fredericks said, "you don't have to explain a single thing to anybody." To Bell he said, "Now, this interrogation is over with. Take him back to the cell."

  As Jesse Corn was leading him out the door Garrett stopped suddenly and turned to Sachs. "Please, you have to do something for me. Please! My room at home--it's got some jars."

  "Go on, Jesse," Bell commanded. "Take him out."

  But Sachs found herself saying, "Wait." To Garrett: "The jars? With your insects?"

  The boy nodded. "Will you put water in them? Or at least let them go--outside--so they have a chance. Mr. and Mrs. Babbage, they won't do anything to keep them alive. Please...."

  She hesitated, sensing everyone's eyes upon her. Then nodded. "I'll do it. I promise."

  Garrett gave her a faint smile.

  Bell looked at Sachs with a cryptic gaze then nodded toward the door and Jesse led the boy out. The lawyer started after him but Bell stuck a finger in his chest. "You're not going anywhere, Cal. We're sitting here till McGuire shows up."

  "Don't touch me, Bell," he muttered. But he sat as ordered. "Jesus Lord, what's all this folderol here, you talking to a sixteen-year-old without--"

  "Shut the hell up, Cal. I wasn't fishing for a confession, which he didn't give us and I wouldn't use if he did. We got more evidence than we need to put him away forever. All I care about is finding Mary Beth. She's on the Outer Banks somewhere and that's a hell of a big haystack to find somebody in without some help."

  "No way. He's not saying another word."

  "She could die of thirst, Cal, she could starve to death. Heatstroke, get sick..."

  When the lawyer gave no response, the sheriff said, "Cal, that boy's a menace. He's got a slew of incident reports against him--"

  "Which my secretary read to me on the way over here. Hell, they're mostly for truancy. Oh, and for peeping--when he, funnily enough, wasn't even on the property of the complaining party, just hanging out on the sidewalk."

  "The hornets' nest a few years ago," Mason said angrily. "Meg Blanchard."

  "You released him," the lawyer pointed out happily. "Not even indicted."


  Bell said, "This one's different, Cal. We got eyewitnesses, we got hard evidence and now Ed Schaeffer's dead. We can do to this boy pretty much what we feel like."

  A slim man in a wrinkled blue seersucker suit walked into the interrogation room. Thinning gray hair, a lined fifty-five-year-old face. He glanced at Amelia with a vacant nod and at Fredericks with a darker expression. "I heard enough of that to make me think this's one of the easiest cases of murder one, kidnapping and sexual assault I've had in years."

  Bell introduced Sachs to Bryan McGuire, the Paquenoke County prosecutor.

  "He's sixteen," Fredericks said.

  In an unflappable voice the D.A. said, "Isn't a venue in this state wouldn't try him as an adult and put him away for two hundred years."

  "So, giddyap, McGuire," Fredericks said impatiently. "You're fishing for a bargain. I know that tone."

  McGuire nodded to Bell and Sachs deduced that a conversation between the sheriff and the district attorney had occurred earlier about this very subject.

  "Of course we're bargaining," Bell continued. "There's a good chance that girl's alive and we want to find her 'fore she's not alive anymore."

  McGuire said, "We got so many charges on this one, Cal, you'd be amazed at how flexible we can be."

  "Amaze me," the cocky defense lawyer said.

  "I could go with two counts unlawful detention and assault and two counts first-degree manslaughter--one for Billy Stail, one for the deputy who died. Yessir, I'm willing to do that. All conditioned on finding the girl alive."

  "Ed Schaeffer," the lawyer countered. "That was accidental."

  Mason raged, "It was a fucking trap the boy set."

  "I'll give you first manslaughter for Billy," McGuire offered, "and negligent homicide for the deputy."

  Fredericks chewed on this for a moment. "Lemme see what I can do." His heels tapping noisily, the lawyer vanished in the direction of the cells to consult with his client. He returned five minutes later and he wasn't happy.

  "Whatsa story?" Bell asked, discouraged as he read the lawyer's expression.

  "No luck."

  "Stonewalling?"

  "Completely."

  Bell muttered, "If you know something and you're not telling us, Cal, I don't give a shit about attorney-client privilege--"