The Empty Chair (21 page)

"I'll make sure of it, Amelia." A glance her way. "That was gutsy, what you did. Stepping in front of him. I wouldn't've done that."

"Well," she said, not in the mood for any more adoration. "Sometimes you just act and don't think."

He nodded brightly as if adding that expression to his repertoire. "Oh, hey, I was gonna ask – you have a nickname you go by?"

"Not really."

"Good. I like 'Amelia' just the way it is."

For a ridiculous moment she thought he was going to kiss her to celebrate the capture. Then he started off after Mason, Nathan and Garrett.

Brother
, thought exasperated Amelia Sachs, watching Jesse turn to give her a cheerful wave:
One of the deputies wants to shoot me and one of them's just about got the church reserved and the caterer lined up.

• • •

Sachs walked the grid carefully inside the mill – concentrating on the room where Garrett had kept Lydia. Walking back and forth, one step at a time.

She knew there were
some
clues here as to where Mary Beth McConnell was being held. Yet sometimes the connection between a perp and a location was so tenuous that it existed only microscopically and as Sachs traversed the room she found nothing helpful – only dirt, bits of hardware and burnt wood from the walls that had collapsed during the mill fire, food, water, empty wrappers and the duct tape that Garrett had brought (all without store labels). She found the map that poor Ed Schaeffer had gotten a look at. It showed Garrett's route to the mill but no destinations beyond that were marked.

Still, she searched twice. Then once more. Part of this was Rhyme's teaching, part of it was her own nature. (And was part of it, she wondered, a delaying tactic? To postpone as long as possible Rhyme's appointment with Dr. Weaver?)

Then Lucy's voice called, "I've got something."

Sachs had suggested that the deputy search the grinding room. That was where Lydia had told them she'd tried to escape from Garrett and Sachs had reasoned that if there'd been a struggle something might have fallen from Garrett's pockets. She'd given the deputy a fast course in walking the grid, told her what to look for and how to properly handle evidence.

"Look," Lucy said enthusiastically as she carried a cardboard box over to Sachs. "Found this hidden behind the millstone."

Inside was a pair of old shoes, a waterproof jacket, a compass and a map of the North Carolina coastline. Sachs also noticed a dusting of white sand in the shoes and in the folds of the map.

Lucy started to open up the map.

"No," Sachs said. "There could be some trace inside. Wait till we're back with Lincoln."

"But he could've marked the place where he's got her."

"He might've. But it'll still be marked when we get back to the lab. We lose trace now, we lose it forever." Then she said, "You keep searching inside. I want to check out the path he was going down when we stopped him. It led to the water. Maybe he had a boat hidden there. There might be another map or something."

Sachs left the mill and hiked down toward the stream. As she passed the rise where Mason had been shooting from she turned the corner and found two men staring at her. They carried rifles.

Oh, no. Not them.

"Well," Rich Culbeau said. Brushed away a fly that landed on his sun-burnt forehead. He tossed his head and his thick, shiny braid swung like a horse's tail.

"Thanks loads, ma'am," the other one said to her with mild sarcasm.

Sachs recalled his name: Harris Tomel – the one who resembled a Southern businessman as much as Culbeau looked like a biker.

"No reward for us," Tomel continued. "And out all day in the hot sun."

Culbeau said, "The boy tell you where Mary Beth is?"

"You'll have to talk to Sheriff Bell about that," Sachs said.

"Just thought he might've said."

Then she wondered: How had they found the mill? They might've followed the search party but they might also have had a tip – from Mason Germain maybe, hoping for a little backup for his renegade sniper operation.

"I was right," Culbeau continued.

"What's that?" Sachs asked.

"Sue McConnell upped the reward to two thousand." He shrugged.

Tomel added, "So near yet so far."

"You'll excuse me, I've got some work to do." Sachs started past them, thinking,
And where's the other one of this gang? The skinny –

A fast noise behind her and she felt her pistol being lifted out of her holster. She spun around, crouching, as the gun disappeared into the hand of scrawny, freckled Sean O'Sarian, who danced away from her, grinning like the class cutup.

Culbeau shook his head. "Sean, come on."

She held her hand out. "I'd like that back."

"Just looking. Fine piece. Harris here collects guns. This's a nice one, don't you think, Harris?"

Tomel said nothing, just sighed and wiped sweat off his forehead.

"You're borrowing trouble," Sachs said.

Culbeau said, "Give it back t'her, Sean. Too hot for your pranking."

He pretended to hand it to her, butt-first, then grinned and pulled his hand away. "Hey, honey, where you from exactly? New York, I heard. What's it like there? Wild place, I'll bet."

"Quit fooling with the goddamn gun," Culbeau muttered. "We're out the money. Let's just live with it and get back to town."

"Give me back the weapon now," Sachs muttered.

But O'Sarian was dancing around, sighting on trees as if he were a ten-year-old playing cops and robbers. "Pow, pow . . ."

"Okay, forget about it." Sachs shrugged. "It's not mine anyway. When you're through playing just take it back to the Sheriff's Department." She turned to walk past O'Sarian.

"Hey," he said, frowning with disappointment that she didn't want to play anymore. "Don't you –"

Sachs dodged to his right, ducked and came up behind him fast, catching him in a one-armed neck lock. In half a second the switchblade was out of her pocket, the blade open and the point tapping out red dots on the underside of his chin.

"Oh, Jesus, what the hell're you doing?" he blurted then realized that speaking pushed his throat against the tip of the knife. He shut up.

"Okay, okay," Culbeau said, holding up his hands. "Let's not –"

"Drop your weapons on the ground," Sachs said. "All of you."

"I didn't do anything," Culbeau protested.

"Listen, miss," Tomel said, trying to sound reasonable, "we didn't mean any trouble. Our friend here is – "

The knife tip poked his stubbly chin.

"Ahh, do it, do it!" O'Sarian said desperately, teeth together. "Put the fucking guns down."

Culbeau eased his rifle to the ground. Tomel too.

Repulsed by O'Sarian's unclean smell, Sachs slid her hand along his arm and seized her gun. He released it.

She stepped back, shoved O'Sarian away, kept the pistol pointed at him.

"I was just pranking," O'Sarian said. "I do that. I fool around. I don't mean nothing. Tell her I fool around –"

"What's going on here?" Lucy Kerr said, walking down the path, hand on her pistol grip.

Culbeau shook his head. "Sean was being an asshole."

"Which is gonna get him killed someday," Lucy said.

Sachs closed the switchblade one-handed and put it back into her pocket.

"Look, I'm cut. Look, blood!" O'Sarian held up a stained finger.

"Damn," Tomel said reverently, though Sachs had no idea what he was referring to.

Lucy looked at Sachs. "You want to do anything about this?"

"Take a shower," she responded.

Culbeau laughed.

Sachs added, "We don't have time to waste on them."

The deputy nodded to the men. "This is a crime scene. You boys're out your reward." She nodded at the rifles. "You want to hunt, do it elsewhere."

"Oh, like anything's in season," O'Sarian asked sarcastically, dishing on Lucy for the stupidity of her comment. "I mean, hell –
ohhh
."

"Then head back to town – 'fore you bollix up your lives any more'n you already have."

The men picked up their guns. Culbeau lowered his head to O'Sarian's ear and spoke quiet, angry words to him. O'Sarian gave a shrug and grinned. For a moment Sachs thought Culbeau was going to hit him. But then the tall man calmed and turned back to Lucy. "You find Mary Beth?"

"Not yet. But we got Garrett and he'll tell us."

Culbeau said, "Wish we got the reward but I'm glad he's caught. That boy's trouble."

When they were gone Sachs asked, "You find anything else in the mill?"

"No. Thought I'd come down here to help you look for a boat."

As they continued down the path Sachs said, "One thing I forgot about. We ought to send somebody back to that trap – the hornets' nest. Kill 'em and fill in the hole."

"Oh, Jim sent Trey Williams, one of our deputies, over there with a can of wasp spray and a shovel. But there weren't any wasps. It was an old nest."

"Empty?"

"Right."

So it wasn't a trap at all, just a trick to slow them down. Sachs reflected too that the ammonia bottle wasn't intended to hurt anybody either. Garrett
could
have rigged it to spill on his pursuers, blinding them. But he'd perched it on the side of a small cliff. If they hadn't found the fishing line first and tripped it, the bottle would've fallen onto rocks ten feet below the path, warning Garrett with the smell of the ammonia but not hurting anyone.

She had an image of Garrett's wide, frightened eyes once more.

I'm scared. Make him stop!

Sachs realized Lucy was talking to her. "I'm sorry?"

The deputy said, "Where'd you learn how to use that toad sticker of yours – that knife?"

"Wilderness training."

"Wilderness? Where?"

"Place called Brooklyn," Sachs responded.

• • •

Waiting.

Mary Beth McConnell stood beside the grimy window. She was edgy and dizzy – from the close heat of her prison and the bristling thirst. She hadn't found a drop of any liquid to drink in the entire house. Glancing out the back window of the cabin, past the wasps' nest, she could see empties of bottled water in a trash heap. They taunted her and the sight made her feel all the more thirsty. She knew she couldn't last more than a day or two in this heat without something to drink.

Where are you? Where?
She spoke silently to the Missionary.

If there
had
been a man there – and he wasn't just a creation of her desperate, thirst-crazed imagination.

She leaned against the hot wall of the shack. Wondered if she'd faint. Tried to swallow but there wasn't a bit of moisture in her mouth. The air enwrapped her face, stifling as hot wool.

Then thinking angrily:
Oh, Garrett . . . I knew you'd be trouble.
She remembered the old saw: No good deed goes unpunished.

I should never have helped him out . . . But how could I
not!
How could I not save him from those high school boys?
She recalled seeing the four of them, watching Garrett on the ground after he'd fainted on Maple Street last year. One tall, sneering boy, a friend of Billy Stail's from the football team, unzipped his Guess! jeans, pulled out his penis and was about to urinate on Garrett. She'd stormed up to them, given them hell and snatched one boy's cell phone to call an ambulance for Garrett.

I
had
to do it, of course.

But once I'd saved him, I was his . . .

At first, after that incident, Mary Beth was amused that he would shadow her like a shy admirer. Calling her at home to tell her things he'd heard on the news, leaving presents for her (but
what
presents: a glistening green beetle in a tiny cage; clumsy drawings of spiders and centipedes; a dragonfly on a string – a live one!).

But then she began to notice him nearby a little too often. She'd hear footsteps behind her as she walked from the car to the house, late at night. See a figure in the trees near her house in Blackwater Landing. Hear his high, eerie voice muttering words she couldn't make out, talking or singing to himself. He'd spot her on Main Street and make a beeline to her, rambling on, taking up precious time, making her feel more and more uneasy. Glancing – both embarrassed and desirous – at her breasts and legs and hair.

"
Mary Beth, Mary Beth . . . did you know that if a spiderweb was, like, stretched all around the world it'd weigh less than an ounce . . . Hey, Mary Beth, you know that a spiderweb is something like five times stronger than steel? And it's way more elastic than nylon? Some webs are really cool – they're like hammocks. Flies lie down in them and never wake up
."

(She should have noticed, she now reflected, that much of his trivia was about spiders and insects snaring prey.)

And so she rearranged her life to avoid running into him, finding new stores to shop in, different routes home, different paths to ride her mountain bike on.

But then something happened that would negate all her efforts to distance herself from Garrett Hanlon: Mary Beth made a discovery. And it happened to be on the banks of the Paquenoke River right in the heart of Blackwater Landing – a place that the boy had staked out as his personal fiefdom. Still, it was a discovery so important that not even a gang of moonshiners, let alone a skinny boy obsessed with insects, could keep her away from the place.

Mary Beth didn't know why history excited her so much. But it always had. She remembered going to Colonial Williamsburg when she was a little girl. It was only a two-hour drive from Tanner's Corner and the family went there often. Mary Beth memorized the roads near the town so that she'd know when they were almost to their destination. Then she'd close her eyes and after her father had parked the Buick she made her mother lead her by the hand into the park so that she could open her eyes and pretend that she was actually back in Colonial America.

She'd felt this same exhilaration – only a hundred times greater – when she'd been walking along the banks of the Paquenoke in Blackwater Landing last week, eyes on the ground, and noticed something half-buried in the muddy soil. She'd dropped to her knees and started moving aside dirt with the care of a surgeon exposing an ailing heart. And, yes, there they were: old relics – the evidence that a stunned twenty-three-year-old Mary Beth McConnell had been searching desperately for. Evidence that could prove her theory – which would rewrite American history.