Bell looked at them. "I don't get it."
"Garrett's family's property was right across Route 112 from the river in Blackwater Landing. Mason and Culbeau poisoned the family then burned and buried the bodies and pushed their car into the water. Davett bribed the coroner to fake the death report and paid off somebody at the funeral home to pretend to cremate the remains. The graves're empty, I guarantee. Mary Beth must've mentioned finding the bones to somebody and word got back to Mason. He paid Billy Stail to go to Blackwater Landing to kill her and steal the evidence--the bones."
"What? Billy?"
"Except that Garrett happened to be there, keeping an eye on Mary Beth. He was right, you know: Blackwater Landing is a dangerous place. People did die there--those other cases in the last few years. Only it wasn't Garrett who killed them. It was Mason and Culbeau. They were murdered because they'd gotten sick from the toxaphene and started asking questions about why. Everybody in town knew about the Insect Boy so Mason or Culbeau killed that one girl--Meg Blanchard--with the hornets' nest to make it look like he was the killer. The others they hit over the head and pitched into the canal to drown. People who didn't question getting sick--like Mary Beth's father and Lucy Kerr--they didn't bother with."
"But Garrett's fingerprints were on the shovel ... the murder weapon."
"Ah, the shovel," Rhyme mused. "Something very interesting about that shovel. I stumbled again.... There were only two sets of fingerprints on it."
"Right, Billy's and Garrett's."
"But where were Mary Beth's?" Rhyme asked.
Bell's eyes narrowed. He nodded. "Right. There were none of hers."
"Because it wasn't her shovel. Mason gave it to Billy to take to Blackwater Landing--after wiping his own prints off it, of course. I asked Mary Beth about it. She said that Billy came out of the bushes carrying it. Mason figured it would be the perfect murder weapon--because as an archaeologist Mary Beth'd probably have a shovel with her. Well, Billy gets to Blackwater Landing and sees Garrett with her. He figures he'll kill the Insect Boy too. But Garrett got the shovel away and hit Billy. He thought he killed him. But he didn't."
"Garrett didn't kill Billy?"
"No, no, no.... He only hit Billy once or twice. Knocked him out but didn't hurt him that seriously. Then Garrett took Mary Beth away with him to the moonshiners' cabin. Mason was the first on the scene. He admitted that."
"That's right. He took the call."
"Kind of a coincidence that he was nearby, don't you think?" Rhyme asked.
"I guess. I didn't think about it at the time."
"Mason found Billy. He picked up the shovel--wearing latex evidence gloves--and beat the boy until he died."
"How do you know that?"
"Because of the position of the latex prints. I had Ben reexamine the handle of the shovel an hour ago with an alternative light source. Mason held the shovel like a baseball bat. That's not how somebody would pick up evidence at a crime scene. And he adjusted his grip a number of times to get better leverage. When Sachs was at the crime scene she said the blood pattern showed Billy'd been hit first in the head and knocked down. But he was still alive. Until Mason hit him in the neck with the shovel."
Bell looked out the window, his face hollow. "Why would Mason kill Billy?"
"He probably figured that Billy'd panic and tell the truth. Or maybe the boy was conscious when Mason got there and said he was fed up and wanted out of the deal."
"So that's why you wanted Mason to leave ... a few minutes ago. I wondered what that was about. So how're we going to prove all of this, Lincoln?"
"I've got the latex prints on the shovel. I've got the bones, which test positive for toxaphene in high concentrations. I want to get a diver and look for the Hanlons' car in the Paquenoke. Some evidence will've survived--even after five years. Then we should search Billy's house and see if there's any cash there that can be traced to Mason. And we'll search Mason's house too. It'll be a tough case." Rhyme gave a faint smile. "But I'm good, Jim. I can do it." Then his smile faded. "But if Mason doesn't turn state's evidence against Henry Davett it's going to be tough to make the case against him. All I've got's that." Rhyme nodded to a plastic exemplar jar filled with about eight ounces of pale liquid.
"What's that?"
"Pure toxaphene. Lucy got a sample from Davett's warehouse a half hour ago. She said there must've been ten thousand gallons of the stuff there. If we can establish a compositional identity between the chemical that killed Garrett's family and what's in that jar we might convince the prosecutor to bring a case against Davett."
"But Davett helped us find Garrett."
"Of course he did. It was in his interest to find the boy--and Mary Beth--as fast as possible. Davett was the one who wanted her dead most of all."
"Mason," Bell muttered, shaking his head. "I've known him for years ...You think he suspects?"
"You're the only one I've told. I didn't even tell Lucy--I just had her do some legwork for me. I was afraid somebody'd overhear and word'd get back to Mason or Davett. This town, Jim, it's a nest of hornets. I don't know who to trust."
Bell sighed. "How can you be so sure it's Mason?"
"Because Culbeau and his friends showed up at the moonshiners' cabin just after we figured out where it was. And Mason was the only one who knew that ... aside from me and you and Ben. He must've called Culbeau and told him where the cabin was. So ... let's call the state police, have one of their divers come on down here and check out Blackwater Landing. We should get on those warrants to search Billy's and Mason's houses too."
Rhyme watched Bell nod. But instead of going to the phone he walked to the window and slid it shut. Then he stepped to the door again, opened it, looked out, closed it.
Locked the latch.
"Jim, what're you doing?"
Bell hesitated then took a step toward Rhyme.
The criminalist looked once into the sheriff's eyes and gripped the sip-and-puff controller quickly between his teeth. He blew into it and the wheelchair started forward. But Bell stepped behind him and yanked the battery cable free. The Storm Arrow eased forward a few inches and stopped.
"Jim," he whispered. "Not you too?"
"You got that right."
Rhyme's eyes closed. "No, no," he whispered. His head dipped. But only a few millimeters. As with most great men Lincoln Rhyme's gestures of defeat were very subtle.
V
The Town Without Children
... chapter forty-two
Mason Germain and the sullen black man moved slowly through the alley next to the Tanner's County lockup.
The man was sweating and he slapped in irritation at a mosquito. He muttered something and wiped a long hand over his short kinky hair.
Mason felt an urge to needle him but resisted.
The man was tall and by stretching up on his toes he could look into the lockup window. Mason saw that he wore short black boots--shiny patent leather--which for some reason added to the deputy's contempt for the out-of-towner. He wondered how many men he'd shot.
"She's in there," the man said. "She's alone."
"We're keeping Garrett on the other side."
"You go in the front. Can somebody get out through the back?"
"I'm a deputy, remember? I got a key. I can unlock it." He said this in a snide tone, wondering again if this fellow was halfway bright.
He got snide in return. "I was only asking if there's a door in the back. Which I don't know, never having been in this swamp of a town before."
"Oh. Yeah, there's a door."
"Well, let's go then."
Mason noticed that the man's gun was in his hand and that he hadn't seen him draw it.
Sachs sat on the bench in her cell, hypnotized by the motion of a fly.
What kind was it? she wondered. Garrett would know in an instant. He was a warehouse of knowledge. A thought occurred to her: There'd be that moment when a child's knowledge of a subject surpasses his parents'. It must be a miraculou
s thing, exhilarating, to know that you'd produced this creation who'd outsoared you. Humbling too.
An experience that she now would never know.
She thought once again about her father. The man had diffused crime. Never fired his gun in all his years on duty. Proud as he was of his daughter, he'd worried about her fascination with firearms. "Shoot last," he'd often remind her.
Oh, Jesse.... What can I say to you?
Nothing, of course. I can't say a word. You're gone.
She thought she saw a shadow outside the lockup window. But she ignored it, and her thoughts slipped to Rhyme.
You and me, she was thinking. You and me.
Recalling the time a few months ago, lying together in his opulent Clinitron bed in his Manhattan town house, as they watched Baz Luhrmann's stylish Romeo and Juliet, an updated version set in Miami. With Rhyme, death always hovered close and, watching the final scenes of the movie, Amelia Sachs had realized that, like Shakespeare's characters, she and Rhyme were in a way star-crossed lovers too. And another thought had then flashed through her mind: that the two of them would also die together.
She hadn't dared share this thought with rationalist Lincoln Rhyme, who didn't have a sentimental cell in his brain. But once this notion had occurred to her it seated itself permanently in her psyche and for some reason gave her great comfort.
Yet now she couldn't even find solace in this odd thought. No, now--thanks to her--they'd live separately and die separately. They'd--
The door to the lockup swung open and a young deputy walked inside. She recognized him. It was Steve Farr, Jim Bell's brother-in-law.
"Hey there," he called.
Sachs nodded. Then she noticed two things about him. One was that he wore a Rolex watch, which must've cost half the annual salary of a typical cop in North Carolina.
The other was that he wore a sidearm and that the holster thong was unsnapped.
Despite the sign outside the door to the cells: PLACE ALL WEAPONS IN THE LOCKBOX BEFORE ENTERING THE CELL AREA.
"How you doing?" Farr asked.
She looked at him, gave no reaction.
"Being the silent type today, huh? Well, miss, I got good news for you. You're free to go." He flicked at one of his prominent ears.
"Free? To go?"
He fished for his keys.
"Yep. They've decided the shooting was accidental. You can just leave."
She studied his face closely. He wasn't looking her way.
"What about the disposition report?" "What's that?" Farr asked.
"Nobody charged with a crime can be released from custody without a disposition report waiving charges, signed by the prosecutor."
Farr unlocked the cell door and stood back. Hand hovering near the pistol butt. "Oh, maybe that's how you do things in the big city. But down here we're a ton more casual. You know, they say we move slower in the South. But that ain't right. No, ma'am. We're really more efficient."
Sachs remained seated. "Can I ask why you're wearing your weapon in the lockup?"
"Oh, this?" He tapped the gun. "We don't have any hard-and-fast rules about that sort of thing. Now, come on. You're free to leave. Most people'd be jumping up and down at that news." He nodded toward the back of the lockup.
"Out the back door?" she asked.
"Sure."
"You can't shoot a fleeing prisoner in the back. That's murder."
He nodded slowly.
How was it set up? she wondered. Was there someone else outside the door to do the actual shooting? Probably. Farr bangs himself on the head and calls for help. Fires a shot into the ceiling. Outside, somebody--maybe a "concerned" citizen--claims he heard the gun and assumes Sachs is armed, shoots her.
She didn't move.
"Now stand up and git your ass outside." Farr pulled the pistol from his holster.
Slowly she stood.
You and me, Rhyme ...
"You were pretty close, Lincoln," Jim Bell said.
After a moment he added, "Ninety percent right. My experience in law enforcement is that's a good percentage. Too bad for you I'm the ten percent you missed."
Bell shut off the air conditioner. With the window closed the room heated up immediately. Rhyme felt sweat on his forehead. His breathing grew labored.
The sheriff continued, "Two families along Blackwater Canal wouldn't grant Mr. Davett easements to run his barges."
A respectful Mister Davett, Rhyme noted.
"So his security chief hired a few of us to take care of the problem. We had a long talk with the Conklins and they decided to grant the easement. But Garrett's father never would agree. We were going to make it look like a car crash and we got a can of that shit"--he nodded to the jar on the table--"to knock them out. We knew the family went out to dinner every Wednesday. We poured the poison into the car's vent and hid in the woods. They got in and Garrett's father turned on the air conditioner. The stuff sprayed out all over them. But we used too much--"
He glanced again at the jar. "That there's enough to kill a man twice over." He continued, frowning at the memory. "The family started twitching and convulsing.... Was a hard thing to see. Garrett wasn't in the car but he ran up and saw what was going on. He tried to get inside but couldn't. He got a good whiff of the stuff, though, and it was like he became this zombie. He just stumbled off into the woods 'fore we could catch him. And by the time he surfaced--a week or two later--he didn't remember what'd happened. That MCS thing you were mentioning, I guess. So we just let him be for the time being--too suspicious if he was to die right after his family did.
"Then we did just what you figured. Set fire to the bodies and buried them at Blackwater Landing. Pushed the car into the inlet by Canal Road. Paid the coroner a hundred thousand for some ginned-up reports. Whenever we heard that somebody else'd got a funny kind of cancer and was asking questions why, Culbeau and the others took care of them."
"That funeral we saw on the way into town. You killed that boy, didn't you?"
"Todd Wilkes?" Bell said. "No. He did kill himself."
"But because he was sick from the toxaphene, right? What'd he have, cancer? Liver damage? Brain damage?"
"Maybe. I don't know." But the sheriff's face said that he knew only too well.
"But Garrett didn't have anything to do with it, did he?"
"No."
"What about those men at the moonshiners' cabin? The ones who assaulted Mary Beth?"
Bell nodded again, grimly. "Tom Boston and Lott Cooper. They were part of it too--they handled testing a lot of Davett's toxins out in the mountains where it's less populated. They knew we were looking for Mary Beth but when Lott found her I guess he decided they'd hold off letting me know until they'd had some fun with her. And, yeah, we hired Billy Stail to kill her but Garrett got her away 'fore he could."
"And you needed me to help you find her. Not to save her--but so you could kill her and destroy any other evidence she might've found."
"After you found Garrett and we brought him back from the mill, I left the door to the lockup open so Culbeau and his buddies could, let's say, talk Garrett into telling us where Mary Beth was. But your friend went and busted him out before they could snatch him."
Rhyme said, "And when I found the cabin you called Culbeau and the others. Sent them there to kill us all."
"I'm sorry ... it's all become a nightmare. Didn't want it to but... there you have it."
"A hornets' nest..."
"Oh, yeah, this town's got itself a few hornets."
Rhyme shook his head. "Tell me, are the fancy cars and the big houses and all the money worth destroying the entire town? Look around you, Bell. It was a child's funeral the other day but there were no children at the cemetery. Amelia said there are hardly any kids in town anymore. You know why? People're sterile."
"It's risky when you bargain with the devil," Bell said shortly. "But, far as I'm concerned, life's just one big trade-off." He looked at Rhyme for a long moment, walked to the table. H
e pulled on latex gloves, picked up the toxaphene jar. He stepped toward Rhyme and slowly began to unscrew the lid.
Steve Farr roughly led Amelia Sachs to the back door of the lockup, the pistol firmly in the square of her back.
He was making the classic mistake of holding the muzzle of his weapon against the body of his victim. It gave her leverage--when she stepped outside she'd know exactly where the gun was and could sweep her elbow into it. With some luck Farr would drop the weapon and she'd sprint as fast as she could. If she could make it to Main Street there'd be witnesses and he might hesitate to shoot.
He opened the back door.
A stream of hot sunlight flooded into the dusty lockup. She blinked. A fly buzzed around her head.
As long as Farr stayed right up against her, pressing the gun into her skin, she'd have a chance....
"What now?" she asked.
"Free to go," he said cheerfully, shrugging. She tensed, about to swing into him, planning every move. But then he stepped back fast, shoving her outside into the scruffy lot behind the jail. Farr remained inside, well out of reach.
From nearby, behind a tall bush in the field, she heard another sound. The cocking of a pistol, she thought.
"Go ahead," Farr said. "Git on outa here."
She thought of Romeo and Juliet again.
And of the beautiful cemetery on the hill overlooking Tanner's Corner they'd driven past what now seemed like a lifetime ago.
Oh, Rhyme ...
The fly zipped past her face. Instinctively she brushed it away and began to walk forward into the low grass.
Rhyme said to Bell, "Don't you think somebody might wonder if I die this way? I can hardly open a jar by myself."
The sheriff responded, "You bumped the table. The lid wasn't on tight. It splashed on you. I went for help but we couldn't save you in time."