The Empty Chair

by Jeffery Deaver

When she finished he took the bottle away from her, untaped her hands and retaped them behind her back. "You have to do that?" she asked angrily.

  He rolled his eyes at the foolishness of the question. He eased her to the floor. "Sit there and keep your goddamn mouth shut." Garrett sat against the opposite wall and closed his eyes. Lydia cocked her head toward the window and listened for the sounds of helicopters or swamp boats or the baying of the search party's dogs. But she heard only Garrett's breathing, which she decided in her despair was really the sound of God Himself abandoning her.

  ... chapter ten

  A figure appeared in the doorway, accompanying Jim Bell.

  He was a man in his fifties, thinning hair and a round, distinguished face. A blue blazer was over his arm and his white shirt was perfectly pressed and heavily starched though darkened with sweat stains under the arms. A striped tie was stuck in place with a bar.

  Rhyme had thought this might be Henry Davett but the criminalist's eyes were one aspect of his physical body that had come through his accident unscathed--his vision was perfect--and he read the monogram on the man's tie bar from ten feet away: WWJD.

  William? Walter? Wayne?

  Rhyme didn't have a clue who he might be.

  The man looked at Rhyme, squinted appraisingly and nodded. Then Jim Bell said, "Henry, I'd like you to meet Lincoln Rhyme."

  So, not a monogram. This was Davett. Rhyme nodded back to the man, concluding that the tie bar had probably been his father's. William Ward Jonathan Davett.

  He stepped into the room. His fast eyes took in the equipment.

  "Ah, you know chromatographs?" Rhyme asked, observing a flicker of recognition.

  "My Research and Development Department has a couple of them. But this model ..." He shook his head critically. "They don't even make it anymore. Why're you using it?"

  "State budget, Henry," Bell said.

  "I'll send one over."

  "Not necessary."

  "This is garbage," the man said gruffly. "I'll get a new one here in twenty minutes."

  Rhyme said, "Getting the evidence isn't the problem. Interpreting it is. That's why I can use your help. This is Ben Kerr, my forensic assistant."

  They shook hands. Ben seemed relieved that another able-bodied person was in the room.

  "Sit down, Henry," Bell said, rolling an office chair up to him. The man sat and, leaning forward somewhat, carefully smoothed his tie. The gesture, his posture, the tiny dots of his confident eyes coalesced in Rhyme's perception and he thought: charming, smart... and one hell of a tough businessman.

  Rhyme wondered again about WWJD. He wasn't sure he'd solved the puzzle.

  "This is about those women who got kidnapped, isn't it?"

  Bell nodded. "Nobody's really coming right out and saying it but in the back of our minds ..." He looked at Rhyme and Ben. "... We're thinking Garrett might've already raped and killed Mary Beth, dumped her body someplace."

  Twenty-four hours ...

  The sheriff continued, "But we've still got a chance to save Lydia, we're hoping. And we have to stop Garrett before he goes after somebody else."

  The businessman said angrily, "And Billy, that was such a shame. I heard he was just being a Good Samaritan, trying to save Mary Beth, and got himself killed."

  "Garrett crushed his head in with a shovel. It was pretty bad."

  "So time's at a premium. What can I do?" Davett turned to Rhyme. "You said interpreting something?"

  "We have some clues as to where Garrett's been and where he might be headed with Lydia. I was hoping you might know something about the area around here and might be able to help us."

  Davett nodded. "I know the lay of the land pretty well. I have geology and chemical engineering degrees. I've also lived in Tanner's Corner all my life so I'm pretty familiar with Paquenoke County."

  Rhyme nodded toward the evidence charts. "Can you look at those and give us any thoughts? We're trying to link those clues to a specific location."

  Bell added, "It'll probably be someplace they could get to by foot. Garrett doesn't like cars. He won't drive."

  Davett put on eyeglasses and eased his head back, looking up at the wall.

  FOUND AT PRIMARY CRIME SCENE-- BLACKWATER LANDING

  Kleenex with Blood

  Limestone Dust

  Nitrates

  Phosphate

  Ammonia

  Detergent

  Camphene

  FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE-- GARRETT'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

  Davett scanned the list up and down, taking his time, eyes narrowing several times. A faint frown. "Nitrates and ammonia? You know what that could be?"

  Rhyme nodded. "I think he left some explosive devices to stop the search party. I've told them about it."

  Grimacing, Davett returned to the chart. "The camphene ... I think that was used in old lanterns. Like coal-oil lamps."

  "That's right. So we think the place he's got Mary Beth is old. Nineteenth century."

  "There must be thousands of old houses and barns and shacks around here.... What else? Limestone dust.... That's not going to narrow things down much. There's a huge ridge of limestone that runs all the way through Paquenoke County. It used to be a big moneymaker here." He rose and moved his finger diagonally along the map from the southern edge of the Great Dismal Swamp to the southwest, from Location L-4 to C-14. "You could find limestone anywhere along that line. That won't do you much good. But"--he stepped back, crossed his arms--"the phosphate's helpful. North Carolina's a major producer of phosphate but it's not mined around here. That's farther south. So, combined with the detergent, I'd say he's been near polluted water."

  "Hell," Jim Bell said, "that just means he's been in the Paquenoke."

  "No," Davett said, "the Paquo's clean as well water. It's dark but it's fed by the Dismal Swamp and Lake Drummond."

  "Oh, it's magic water," the sheriff said.

  "What's that?" Rhyme asked.

  Davett explained. "Some of us old-timers call the water from the Great Dismal magic water. It's full of tannic acid from decaying cypress and juniper trees. The acid kills bacteria so it stays fresh for a long time--before refrigeration they'd use it for drinking water on sailing ships. People used to think it had magic properties."

  "So," Rhyme said, never much interested in local myths if they couldn't help him forensically, "if it's not the Paquenoke, where would the phosphates place him?"

  Davett looked at Bell. "Where'd he kidnap the girl most recently?"

  "Same place as Mary Beth. Blackwater Landing." Bell touched the map and then moved his finger north to Location H-9. "Crossed the river, went to a hunting blind about here then headed north a half mile. Then the search party lost the trail. They're waiting for us to give them directions."

  "Oh, then there's no question," Davett said with encouraging confidence. The businessman moved his finger to the east. "He crossed Stone Creek. Here. See it? Some of the waterfalls there look like foam on beer, there's so much detergent and phosphate in the water. It starts out near Hobeth Falls up north and there's a ton of runoff. They don't know a thing about planning and zoning in that town."

  "Good," Rhyme said. "Now, once he crossed the creek, any thoughts about which way he'd go?"

  Davett again consulted the chart. "If you found pine needles I'd have to guess this way." Tapping the map at I-5 and J-8. "There's pine everywhere in North Carolina but around here most of the forests are oak, old-growth cedar, cypress and gum. The only big pine forest I know of is northeast. Here. On the way to the Great Dismal." Davett stared at the charts for a moment longer, shook his head. "Not much else I can say, I'm afraid. How man
y search parties you have out?"

  "One," Rhyme said.

  "What?" Davett turned to him, frowning. "Just one? You're joking."

  "No," Bell said, sounding defensive under the man's firm cross-examination.

  "Well, how big is it?"

  "Four deputies," Bell said.

  Davett scoffed. "That's crazy." He waved at the map. "You've got hundreds of square miles. This's Garrett Hanlon ... the Insect Boy. He just about lives north of the Paquo. He can outmaneuver you in a minute."

  The sheriff cleared his throat. "Mr. Rhyme here thinks it's better not to use too many people."

  "You can't use too many people in a situation like this," Davett said to Rhyme. "You should take fifty men, give them rifles and have them beat the bushes till you find him. You're doing it all wrong."

  Rhyme noticed that Ben observed Davett's lecture with a mortified expression. The zoologist would, of course, assume that one had to take the kid-glove approach when arguing with crips. The criminalist, though, said calmly, "A big manhunt would just drive Garrett to kill Lydia and then go to ground."

  "No," Davett said emphatically, "it'd scare him into letting her go. I've got about forty-five people working a shift at the factory now. Well, a dozen are women. We couldn't get them involved. But the men.... Let me get them out. We'll find some guns. Turn them loose around Stone Creek."

  Rhyme could just imagine what thirty or forty amateur bounty hunters would do in a search like this. He shook his head. "No, this is the way to handle it."

  Their eyes met and for a moment there was a thick silence in the room. Davett shrugged and looked away first but this disengagement was not a concession that Rhyme might be correct. It was just the opposite: an emphatic protest that by ignoring his advice Rhyme and Bell were proceeding at their own peril.

  "Henry," Bell said, "I agreed to let Mr. Rhyme run the show. We're pretty thankful to him."

  Part of the sheriff's comments were intended for Rhyme himself--implicitly apologizing for Davett.

  But for his part Rhyme was delighted to be on the receiving end of Davett's bluntness. It was a shocking admission for him but Rhyme, who believed not at all in omens, felt the man's presence now was a sign--that the surgery would go well and would have some beneficial effect on his condition. He felt this because of the brief exchange that had just occurred--in which this tough businessman had looked him in the eye and told him he was dead wrong. Davett didn't even notice Rhyme's condition; all he saw was Rhyme's actions, his decision, his attitude. His damaged body was irrelevant to Davett. Dr. Weaver's magic hands would move him a step closer to a place where more people would treat him this way.

  The businessman said, "I'll pray for those girls." Then turned to Rhyme. "I'll pray for you too, sir." The glance lasted a moment longer than a valediction normally would and Rhyme sensed the last promise was meant sincerely--and literally. He walked out the door.

  "Henry's a bit opinionated," Bell said when Davett had left.

  "And he's got his own interests here, right?" Rhyme asked.

  "The girl who died from the hornets last year. Meg Blanchard...."

  Got herself stung 137 times. Rhyme nodded.

  Bell continued, "She worked for Henry's company. Went to the same church he and his family belong to too. He's no different from most folks here--he thinks the town'd be better off without Garrett Hanlon in it. He just tends to think his way is the best way to handle things."

  Church ... prayer ... Rhyme suddenly understood something. He said to Bell, "Davett's tie bar. The J stands for Jesus?"

  Bell laughed. "You got that right. Oh, Henry'd drive a competitor out of business without a blink but he's a deacon in church. Goes three times a week or so. One of the reasons he'd like to send an army out after Garrett is that he's thinking that the boy's probably a heathen."

  Rhyme still couldn't figure out the rest of the initials. "I give up. What're the other letters?"

  "Stands for 'What Would Jesus Do?' That's what all those good Christians 'round here ask themselves when they're facing a big decision. I myself don't have a clue what He'd do in a case like this. But I'll tell you what I'm doing: calling up Lucy and your friend and gettin' 'em on Garrett's trail."

  "Stone Creek?" Jesse Corn said after Sachs had relayed Rhyme's message to the search party. The deputy pointed. "A half mile that way."

  He started through the brush, followed by Lucy and Amelia. Ned Spoto was in the rear, his pale eyes scanning the surroundings uneasily.

  In five minutes they broke out of the tangle and stepped onto a well-trod path. Jesse motioned them along it, to the right--east.

  "This is the path?" Sachs asked Lucy. "The one you thought he'd gone down?"

  "That's right," Lucy responded.

  "You were right," Sachs said quietly, for her ears only. "But we still had to wait."

  "No, you had to show who was in charge," Lucy said brusquely.

  That's absolutely right, Sachs thought. Then added: "But now we know there's probably a bomb on the trail. We didn't know that before."

  "I would've been looking for traps anyway." Lucy fell silent and she continued along the path, eyes fixed on the ground, proving that she would, in fact, have been looking.

  In ten minutes they came to Stone Creek, its water milky and frothing with pollutant suds. On the bank they found two sets of footprints--sneaker prints in a small size, but deep, probably left by a heavyset woman. Lydia, undoubtedly. And a man's bare feet. Garrett had apparently discarded his remaining shoe.

  "Let's cross here," Jesse said. "I know the pine woods that Mr. Rhyme mentioned. This's the shortest way to get to them."

  Sachs started toward the water.

  "Stop!" Jesse called abruptly.

  She froze, hand on her pistol, crouching. "What's the matter?" she asked. Lucy and Ned, snickering at her reaction, were sitting on rocks, taking off their shoes and socks.

  "You get your socks wet and keep walking," Lucy said, "you'll be standing in need of about a dozen bandages 'fore you go a hundred yards. Blisters."

  "Don't know much 'bout hiking, do you?" Ned asked the policewoman.

  Jesse Corn gave an exasperated laugh at his fellow deputy. "'Cause she lives in the city, Ned. Just like I don't figure you'd be an expert on subways and skyscrapers."

  Sachs ignored both the chide and the gallant defense, and pulled off her short boots and black ankle-length socks. Rolled her jeans cuffs up.

  They started through the stream. The water was ice-cold and felt wonderful. She regretted when the short trek through the creek--which Jesse pronounced "crick"--was over.

  They waited a few minutes on the other side for their feet to dry then pulled on socks and shoes. Then searched the shore until they found the footprints once more. The party followed the trail into the woods but, as the ground grew drier and more tangled with brush, they lost the tracks.

  "The pine trees're that way," Jesse said. He pointed northeast. "Makes the most sense for them to go straight through there."

  Following his general guidance, they hiked for another twenty minutes, single file, scanning the ground for trip wires. Then the oak and holly and sedge gave way to juniper and hemlock. Ahead of them, a quarter mile, was a huge line of pine trees. But there was no longer any sign of the kidnapper's or his victim's footprints--no clue as to where they'd entered the forest.

  "Too damn big," Lucy muttered. "How're we going to find the trail in there?"

  "Let's fan out," Ned suggested. He too looked dismayed at the tangle of flora in front of them. "If he's left a bomb here it'll be the dickens to see it."

  They were about to spread out when Sachs lifted her head. "Wait. Stay here," she ordered then started slowly through the brush, eyes on the ground, looking for traps. Only fifty feet away from the deputies, in a grove of some flowering trees, now barren and surrounded by rotting petals, she found Garrett's and Lydia's footprints in the dusty earth. They led to a clear path that headed into the forest.

&n
bsp; "They came this way!" she called. "Follow my footprints. I checked it for traps."

  A moment later the three deputies joined her.

  "How'd you find it?" asked infatuated Jesse Corn.

  "What do you smell?" she asked.

  "Skunk," Ned said.

  Sachs said, "Garrett had skunk scent on the pants I found in his house. I figured he'd come this way before. I just followed the smell here."

  Jesse laughed and said to Ned, "How's that for a city girl?"

  Ned rolled his eyes and they all started up the path, moving slowly toward the line of pine trees.

  Several times along this route they passed large, barren areas--the trees and bushes were dead. Sachs felt uneasy as they trekked through these--the search party was completely exposed to attack. Halfway through the second clearing, and after another bad scare when an animal or bird rustled the brush ringing the bare dirt, she pulled out her cell phone.

  "Rhyme, you there?"

  "What is it? Found anything?"

  "We've picked up the trail. But tell-me--did any of the evidence point to Garrett doing any shooting?"

  "No," he answered. "Why?"

  "There're some big barren patches in the woods here--acid rain or pollution's killed all the plants. We have zero cover. It's a perfect place for an ambush."

  "I don't see any trace that's consistent with firearms. We've got the nitrates but if that was from ammunition we'd've found burnt powder grains, cleaning solvent, grease, cordite, fulminate of mercury. There's none of that."

  "Which just means he hasn't fired a weapon in a while," she said.

  "True."

  She hung up.

  Looking around cautiously now, skittish, they walked for several miles more, surrounded by the turpentiney scent of the air. Lulled by the heat, the buzzing of insects, they were still on the path that Garrett and Lydia had started along, though their footsteps were no longer visible. Sachs wondered if they'd missed--

  "Stop!" Lucy Kerr cried. She dropped to her knees. Ned and Jesse froze. Sachs drew her pistol in a fraction of a second. Then she noticed what Lucy was referring to--the silvery glimmer of a wire across the path.

  "Man," Ned said, "how'd you see that? It's full-up invisible."

  Lucy didn't respond. She crawled to the side of the path, following the wire. Gently pulled aside bushes. Hot, crisp leaves rustled as she lifted them out one by one.

  "Want me to get the bomb squad over here from Elizabeth City?" Jesse asked.