The Empty Chair (30 page)

But for a reason she couldn't understand, this woman cop from New York had let the simple white-hot fury burst from Lucy's heart – like the wasps that had streamed out of the nest and killed Ed Schaeffer so horribly.

White-hot fury at the betrayal of Lucy Kerr, who never intentionally caused a soul pain, who was a woman who loved plants, a woman who'd been a good wife to her man, a good daughter to her parents, a good sister, a good policewoman, a woman who wanted only the harmless pleasures life gave freely to everyone else but seemed determined to withhold from her.

No more shame or guilt or resignation or sorrow.

Simple fury – at the betrayals in her life. The betrayal by her body, by her husband, by God.

And now by Amelia Sachs.

"Hello, Lucy?" Pete asked from Elizabeth City. "You there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"You . . . are you okay? You sound funny."

She cleared her throat. "Fine. You set up?"

"You're good to go. When's the subject going to be making a call?"

Lucy looked into the other room. Called, "Ready?"

Rhyme nodded.

Into the phone she said, "Any time now."

"Stay on the line," Gregg said. "I'll liaise."

Please let this work
, Lucy thought.
Please . . .
Then she added a footnote to her prayer:
And, dear Lord, give me one clear shot at my Judas.

• • •

Thom fitted the headset over Rhyme's head. The aide then punched in a number.

If Sachs' phone was shut off it would ring only three times and the pleasant lilt of the voice-mail lady would start to speak.

One ring . . . two . . .

"Hello?"

Rhyme didn't believe he'd ever felt such relief, hearing her voice. "Sachs, are you all right?"

A pause. "I'm okay."

In the other room he saw Lucy Kerr's sullen face nod.

"Listen to me, Sachs. Listen to me. I know why you did it but you have to give yourself up. You . . . are you there?"

"I'm here, Rhyme."

"I know what you're doing. Garrett's agreed to take you to Mary Beth."

"That's right."

"You can't trust him," Rhyme said. (Thinking in despair:
Or me either.
He saw Lucy moving her finger in a circle, meaning: Keep her on the line.) "I've made a deal with Jim. If you bring him back in they'll work something out with the charges against you. The state's not involved yet. And I'll stay here as long as it takes to find Mary Beth. I've postponed the operation."

He closed his eyes momentarily, pierced with guilt. But he had no choice. He pictured what the death of that woman in Blackwater Landing had been like, the death of Deputy Ed Schaeffer . . . Imagining the hornets swarming over Amelia's body. He had to betray her in order to save her.

"Garrett's innocent, Rhyme. I know he is. I couldn't let him go to the detention center. They'd kill him there."

"Then we'll arrange for him to be held someplace else. And we'll look at the evidence again. We'll find
more
evidence. We'll do it together. You and me. That's what we say, Sachs, right? You and me . . . Always you and me. There's
nothing
we can't find."

There was a pause. "There's nobody on Garrett's side. He's all by himself, Rhyme."

"We can protect him."

"You can't protect somebody from a whole town, Lincoln."

"No first names," Rhyme said. "That's bad luck, remember?"

"This whole thing has been bad luck."

"Please, Sachs . . ."

She said, "Sometimes you just have to go on faith."

"Now who's dispensing maxims?" He forced himself to laugh – in part to reassure her. In part, himself.

Faint static.

Come home, Sachs
, he was thinking.
Please! We can still salvage something from this. Your life is as precarious as the thread of the nerve in my neck – the tiny fiber that still works.

And as precious to me.

She said, "Garrett tells me we can get to Mary Beth by tonight or tomorrow morning. I'll call you when we have her."

"Sachs, don't hang up yet. One thing. Let me say one thing."

"What?"

"Whatever you think about Garrett, don't trust him. You think he's innocent. But just accept that maybe he isn't. You know how we approach crime scenes, Sachs."

"With an open mind," she recited the rule. "No preconceptions. Believing that anything's possible."

"Right. Promise me you'll remember that."

"He's cuffed, Rhyme."

"Keep him that way. And don't let him near your weapon."

"I won't. I'll call you when we have Mary Beth."

"Sachs –"

The line went dead.

"Damn," the criminalist muttered. He closed his eyes, tried to shake off the headset in fury. Thom reached forward and lifted the unit off his head. With a brush he smoothed Rhyme's dark hair.

Lucy hung up the phone in the other room and stepped inside. Rhyme could tell from her expression that the trace hadn't worked.

"Pete said they're within three miles of downtown Tanner's Corner."

Mason muttered, "They can't do any better than that?"

Lucy said, "If she'd been on the line a few minutes longer they could've pinpointed her down to fifteen feet."

Bell was examining the map. "Okay, three miles outside of downtown."

"Would he go back to Blackwater Landing?" Rhyme asked.

"No," Bell said. "We know they're headed for the Outer Banks and Blackwater Landing'd take him in the opposite direction."

"What's the best way to get to the Banks?" the criminalist asked.

"They can't do it on foot," Bell said, walking to the map. "They'll have to take a car or car and a boat. There're two ways to get there. They could go Route 112 south to 17. That'll take them to Elizabeth City and they could get a boat or keep on 17 all the way to 158 and drive to the beaches. Or they could take Harper Road . . . Mason, you take Frank Sturgis and Trey and get over to 112. Set up a roadblock at Belmont."

Rhyme noticed this was Location M-10 on the map.

The sheriff continued, "Lucy, you and Jesse take Harper down to Millerton Road. Set up there."

This was H-14.

Bell called his brother-in-law into the room. "Steve, you coordinate communications and get everybody Handi-talkies if they don't already have them."

"Sure thing, Jim."

Bell said to Lucy and Mason, "Tell everybody that Garrett's in one of our detention jumpsuits. They're blue. What's your girl wearing? I don't remember."

"She's not my girl," Rhyme said.

"Sorry."

Rhyme said, "Jeans, black T-shirt."

"She have a hat?"

"No."

Lucy and Mason headed out the door.

A moment later the room was empty except for Bell, Rhyme and Thom.

The sheriff called the state police and told the detective who'd helped them with the mobile locator to keep somebody on that frequency, that the missing person might call in later.

Rhyme noticed Bell pause. He glanced at Rhyme and said into the phone, "Appreciate the offer, Pete. But so far it's just a missing person. Nothing serious."

He hung up. Muttered, "Nothing serious. Jesus, our Lord . . ."

Fifteen minutes later Ben Kerr walked into the office. He actually seemed glad to be back though he was visibly upset at the news that necessitated his return.

Together he and Thom finished unpacking the state police's forensic equipment while Rhyme stared up at the map and the evidence charts on the wall.

FOUND AT PRIMARY CRIME SCENE –

BLACKWATER LANDING

Kleenex with Blood

Limestone Dust

Nitrates

Phosphate

Ammonia

Detergent

Camphene

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE –

GARETT'S ROOM

Skunk Musk

Cut Pine Needles

Drawings of Insects

Pictures of Mary Beth and Family

Insect Books

Fishing Line

Money

Unknown Key

Kerosene

Ammonia

Nitrates

Camphene

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE –

QUARRY

Old Burlap Bag – Unreadable Name on It

Corn – Feed and Grain?

Scorch Marks on Bag

Deer Park Water

Planters Cheese Crackers

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE –

MILL

Map of Outer Banks

Ocean Beach Sand

Oak/Maple Leaf Residue

As Rhyme gazed at the last chart he realized how little evidence Sachs had found at the mill. This was always a problem when you locate obvious clues at crime scenes – like the map and the sand. Psychologically your attention flags and you search less diligently. He now wished they had more evidence from the scene.

Then Rhyme recalled something. Lydia had said that Garrett'd changed his clothes at the mill when the search party was closing in. Why? The only reason was that he knew that the clothes he'd hidden there could reveal where he'd hidden Mary Beth. He glanced at Bell. "Did you say Garrett was wearing a prison jumpsuit?"

"That's right."

"You have what he was wearing when he was arrested?"

"It'd be over at the lockup."

"Could you have them sent over here?"

"The clothes? Right away."

"Have them put in a paper bag," he ordered. "Don't unfold them."

The sheriff called the lockup, told a deputy to bring them over. From the one-sided conversation Rhyme deduced that the deputy was more than happy to participate in helping to find the woman who'd hog-tied and shamed him.

Rhyme stared at the map of the Eastern shore. They could narrow the search to old houses – because of the camphene lamp – and to ones set back from the beach itself – because of the maple and oak leaf trace. But the sheer size of the place was daunting. Hundreds of miles.

Bell's phone rang. He answered and spoke for a minute then hung up. Walked to the map. "They've got the roadblocks set up. Garrett and Amelia might move inland here to get around them" – he tapped Location M-10 – "but from where Mason and Frank are they've got a good view of this field and they'd be seen."

Rhyme asked, "What about that railroad line south of town?"

"Not used for passenger travel. It's a freight line and there's no set schedule for the trains. But they could hike along it. That's why I set up the block at Belmont. My bet is they'll go that way. I'm also thinking Garrett might hide out for a while in the Manitou Falls Wildlife Preserve – with his interest in bugs and nature and stuff. He probably spends a lot of time there." Bell tapped spot T-10.

Farr asked, "What about that airport?"

Bell looked at Rhyme. "Can she hot-wire an airplane?"

"No, she doesn't fly."

Rhyme noticed a reference on the map. He asked, "What's that military base?"

"Used it to store weapons in the sixties and seventies. It's been closed for years. But there're tunnels and bunkers all over the place. We'd need two-dozen men to search the place and he could still probably find a nook to hide in."

"Is it patrolled?"

"Not anymore."

"What's that square area? At spot E-5 and E-6?"

"That? Probably that old amusement park," Bell said, looking at Farr and Ben.

"Right," said Ben. "My brother and I used to go there when I was a kid. It was called, what? Indian Ridge or something."

Bell nodded. "It was a re-creation of an Indian village. Went outa business a few years ago – nobody went. Williamsburg and Six Flags were a lot more popular. Good place to hide but it's in the opposite direction of the Outer Banks. Garrett wouldn't go there."

Bell touched spot H-14. "Lucy's here. And Garrett and Amelia'd have to stick to Harper Road in those parts. They go off the road and it's swampland filled with clay. Take 'em days to get through it – if they survived, which they probably wouldn't. So . . . I guess we just wait and see what happens."

Rhyme nodded absently, his eyes moving like his friend – the skittish fly, now departed – from one topographical landmark in Paquenoke County to another.

25

Garrett Hanlon led Amelia down a wide asphalt road. They were walking slower than before, exhausted from the exertion and the heat.

There was a familiarity about the area and she realized this was Canal Road – the one that they'd taken from the County Building that morning to search the crime scenes at Blackwater Landing. Ahead she could see the dark rippling of the Paquenoke River. Across the canal were those large, beautiful houses she'd commented on earlier to Lucy.

She looked around. "I don't get it. This is the main road into town. Why aren't there any roadblocks?"

"They think we're going a different way. They've set up the roadblocks south and east of here."

"How do you know that?"

Garrett answered, "They think I'm fucked-up. They think I'm stupid. When you're different that's what people think. But I'm not."

"But we
are
going to Mary Beth?"

"Sure. Just not the way they think."

Once again Garrett's confidence and caginess troubled her but her attention slipped back to the road and they continued on in silence. In twenty minutes they were within a half-mile of the intersection where Canal Road ended at Route 112 – the place where Billy Stail had been killed.

"Listen!" he whispered, gripping her arm with hiscuffed hands.

She cocked her head but heard nothing.

"Into the bushes." They slipped off the road into a stand of scratchy holly trees.

"What?" she asked.

"Shhhh."

A moment later a large flatbed truck came into view behind them.

"That's from the factory," he whispered. "Up ahead there."

The sign on the truck was for Davett Industries. She recognized the name of the man who'd helped them with the evidence. When it was past they returned to the road.