The Empty Chair (32 page)

She nudged the accelerator closer to the floor.

You drive fast, Amelia. I drive fast.

You're a good shot.

But I'm a good shot too. I don't make a show of it like you do, what with all that fancy quick-draw crap, but I've lived with guns all my life.

Recalling that when Buddy left her she took every round of live ammo in the house and pitched them into the murky waters of Blackwater Canal. Worrying that she might wake up one night, glance at his empty side of the bed and then wrap her lips around the oily barrel of her service revolver and send herself to the place where her husband, and nature, seemed to want her to be.

Lucy had gone around for three and a half months with an unloaded service pistol, collaring 'shiners and militiamen and big, snotty teens huffed to oblivion on butane. And she'd handled them all on bluff alone.

Then she woke up one morning and, as if a fever had passed, had gone to Shakey's Hardware on Maple Street and bought a box of Winchester .357 shells. ("Jeez, Lucy, the county's in worser shape than I thought, making you buy your own ammo.") She'd gone home and loaded her weapon and kept it that way ever since.

It was a significant event for her. The reloaded gun was an emblem of survival.

Amelia, I shared my darkest moments with you. I told you about the surgery – which is the black hole of my life. I told you about my shyness with men. About my love for children. I backed you up when Sean O'Sarian got your gun. I apologized when you were right and I was wrong.

I trusted you. I –

A hand touched her shoulder. She glanced at Jesse Corn. He was giving her one of his gentle smiles. "The highway curves up ahead," he said. "I'd just as soon
we
made that curve too."

Lucy exhaled slowly and sat back in the seat, let her shoulders slump. She eased off on the speed.

Still, when they made the curve Jesse'd mentioned, which was posted forty, she was doing sixty-five.

• • •

"A hundred feet up the road," Jesse Corn whispered.

They were out of their cars, the deputies, and were clustered around Mason Germain and Lucy Kerr.

The state police had finally lost the signal from Amelia's cell phone but only after it'd been stationary for about five minutes at the location they were now looking at: a barn fifty feet from a house in the woods – a mile off Route 112. It was, Lucy noted,
west
of Tanner's Corner. Just as Lincoln Rhyme had predicted.

"You don't think Mary Beth's in
there
, do you?" asked Frank Sturgis, brushing at his yellow-stained moustache. "I mean, it's all of seven miles from downtown. I'd feel pretty foolish, he's been keeping the girl that close to town."

"Naw, they're just waiting for us to go past," Mason said. "Then they're gonna go on to Hobeth Falls and pick up the rental car."

"Anyway," Jesse said, "somebody lives here." He'd called in the address of the house. "Pete Hallburton. Anybody know him?"

"Think so," said Trey Williams. "Married. No connection to Garrett that I know of."

"They have kids?"

Trey shrugged. "Think they might. Seem to recall a soccer game last year . . ."

"It's summer. The youngsters might be home," Frank muttered. "Garrett might've taken 'em hostage inside."

"Maybe," Lucy said. "But the triangulation on Amelia's phone signal placed them in the barn, not the house. They
could've
gone inside but I don't know . . . I can't see 'em takin' hostages. Mason's right, I think: They're just hiding out here until they think it's safe to get up to Hobeth for that rental car."

"Whatta we do?" Frank asked. "Block the drive with our cars?"

"We pull up, do that, they'll hear us," Jesse said.

Lucy nodded. "I think we should just hit the barn on foot – fast – from two directions."

"I've got CS gas," Mason said. CS-38 – a powerful military tear gas kept under lock and key in the Sheriff's Department. Bell hadn't distributed any and Lucy wondered how Mason had gotten his hands on some.

"No, no," Jesse protested. "Might make 'em panic."

Lucy believed that wasn't his concern at all. She bet he didn't want to expose his new girlfriend to the vicious gas. Still, she agreed, feeling that, since the deputies didn't have masks, gas might work against
them.
"No gas," she said. "I'll go in the front. Trey, you take the –"

"No," Mason said evenly. "I go in the front."

Lucy hesitated then said, "Okay. I'll go in the side door. Trey and Frank, you're on the back and far side." She looked at Jesse. "I want you and Ned to keep an eye on the front and back doors of the house. There."

"Got it," Jesse said.

"And the windows," Mason said sternly to Ned. "I don't want anybody sighting down on our backs from inside."

Lucy said, "If they come out driving, just take out the tires or if you've got a Magnum like Frank there aim for the engine block. Don't shoot Garrett or Amelia unless you have to. You all know the rules of engagement." She was looking at Mason when she said this, thinking of his sniper attack at the mill. But the deputy seemed not to hear her. She called in on her Handi-talkie and told Jim Bell they were about to storm the barn.

"I've got the ambulance standing by," he said.

"This isn't a SWAT operation," Jesse said, overhearing the transmission. "We've gotta be damn careful about any shooting."

Lucy clicked off the radio. She nodded toward the building. "Let's move out."

They ran, crouching, using the oaks and pine for cover. Her eyes were fastened on the dark windows of the barn. Twice she was sure she saw movement inside. It might have been the reflection of trees and clouds as she ran but she couldn't be sure. As they approached she paused and switched her gun to her left hand, wiped her palm. Took the weapon once more in her shooting hand.

The deputies clustered at the windowless back of the barn. Lucy was thinking that she'd never done anything like this.

This isn't a SWAT operation . . .

But you're wrong, Jesse – that's exactly what it is.

Dear Lord, give me one clear shot at my Judas.

A fat dragonfly strafed her. She brushed it away with her left hand. It returned and hovered nearby ominously, as if Garrett had sent the creature out to distract her.

Stupid thought
, she told herself. Then swatted furiously at the bug again.

The Insect Boy . . .

You're going down
, Lucy thought – the message meant for both fugitives.

"I'm not going to say anything," Mason said. "I'm just going in. When you hear me kick in the door, Lucy, you go through the side."

She nodded. And as concerned as she was about Mason being too eager, as desirous as she was to get Amelia Sachs, she was still happy to share some of the burden of this hard job.

"Let me make sure the side door's open," she whispered.

They dispersed, jogging into position. Lucy ducked under one of the windows and hurried to the side door. It wasn't locked and was open a crack. She nodded to Mason, who stood at the corner, watching her. He nodded back and held up ten fingers, meaning, she assumed, to count the seconds down until he went through the door, and then disappeared.

Ten, nine, eight . . .

She turned to the door, smelling the musty wood scent laced with the sweet aroma of gasoline and oil that flowed from inside the barn. She listened carefully. She heard a tapping – the noise of the engine of the car or truck Amelia had stolen.

Five, four, three . . .

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Another.

Ready
, she told herself.

Then there was a loud crash from the front of the building as Mason kicked inside. "Sheriff's office!" he cried. "Nobody move!"

Go!
she thought.

Lucy kicked the side door. But it moved only a few inches and stopped fast – hitting a large riding lawn mower parked just inside the door. It wouldn't go any farther. She slammed into it with her shoulder twice but the door held.

"Shit," she whispered and ran around to the front of the barn.

Before she got halfway there she heard Mason call out, "Oh, Jesus."

And then she heard a gunshot.

Followed a moment later by a second one.

• • •

"What's going on?" Rhyme demanded.

"Okay," Bell said uncertainly, holding the phone. There was something about his stance that alarmed Rhyme; the sheriff stood with the phone pressed hard against his ear, his other fist clenched and away from his body. He nodded as he listened. Looked at Rhyme. "There've been shots."

"Shots?"

"Mason and Lucy went into the barn. Jesse said there were two shots." He looked up, shouted into the other room. "Get the ambulance over to the Hallburton place. Badger Hollow Road, off Route 112."

Steve Farr called, "It's on its way."

Rhyme pressed his head back into the headrest of the chair. Glanced at Thom, who said nothing.

Who was shooting? Who'd been hit?

Oh, Sachs . . .

An edge in his voice, Bell said, "Well, find out, Jesse! Is anybody down? What the hell's going on?"

"Is Amelia all right?" Rhyme shouted.

"We'll know in a minute," Bell said.

But it felt more like days.

Finally Bell stiffened again as Jesse Corn or somebody came on the phone. He nodded. "Jesus, he did what?" He listened a moment longer then looked at Rhyme's alarmed face. "It's all right. Nobody's hurt. Mason kicked his way into the barn and saw some overalls hung up on the wall. A rake or shovel or something in front of it. It was real dark. He thought it was Garrett with a gun. He fired a couple times. That's all."

"Amelia's all right?"

"They weren't even there. It was just the truck they stole that was inside. Garrett and Amelia must've been in the house but they probably've heard the shots and took off into the woods. They can't get too far. I know the property – it's all surrounded by bogs."

Rhyme said angrily, "I want Mason off the case. That was no mistake – he shot on purpose. I
told
you he was too hotheaded."

Bell obviously agreed. Into the phone he said, "Jesse, put Mason on . . ." There was a short pause. "Mason, what the hell is this all about? . . . Why'd you fire? . . . Well, what if it'd been Pete Hallburton standing there? Or his wife or one of his kids? . . . I don't care. You head back here right now. That's an order . . . Well, let
them
search the house. Get in your cruiser and head back . . . I'm not telling you again. I – "

"Shit." Bell hung up. A moment later the phone rang again. "Lucy, what's going on? . . ." The sheriff listened, frowning, eyes on the floor. He paced. "Oh, Jesus . . . You're sure?" He nodded then said, "Okay, stay there. I'll call you back." He hung up.

"What happened?"

Bell shook his head. "I don't believe it. We got suckered. She did a number on us, your friend."

"What?"

Bell said, "Pete Hallburton's
there.
He's home – in his house. Lucy and Jesse just talked to him. His wife works the three-to-eleven shift over at Davett's company and she forgot her supper so he dropped it off a half hour ago and drove home."

"
He
drove home? Were Amelia and Garrett hiding in the trunk?"

Bell gave a disgusted sigh. "He's got a pickup. No place
to
hide. Not for them anyway. But there was plenty of room for her cell phone. Behind a cooler he had in the back."

Rhyme too now barked a cynical laugh. "She called the rental company, got put on hold and hid the phone in the truck."

"You got that right," Bell muttered.

Thom said, "Remember, Lincoln, she called that rental place this morning. She was mad because she was on hold for so long."

"She
knew
we'd have a locator on the phone," Bell said. "They waited till Lucy and the squad cars left Canal Road and then went on their merry goddamn way." He looked at the map. "They've got forty minutes on us. They could be anywhere."

27

After the police cruisers had abandoned the roadblock and disappeared west down Route 112, Garrett and Sachs jogged to the end of Canal Road and crossed the highway.

They skirted the Blackwater Landing crime scenes then turned left and moved quickly through brush and an oak forest, following the Paquenoke River.

A half-mile into the forest they came to a tributary of the Paquo. It was impossible to go around and Sachs had no desire to swim across the dark water, dotted with insects and slime and trash.

But Garrett had made other arrangements. He pointed his cuffed hands to a place on the shore. "The boat."

"Boat? Where?"

"There, there." He pointed again.

She squinted and could just make out the shape of a small boat. It was covered with brush and leaves.

Garrett walked to it, and working as best he could with the handcuffs on, began stripping off the foliage hiding the vessel. Sachs helped him.

"Camouflage," he said proudly. "I learned it from insects. There's this little cricket in France – the truxalis. This is totally cool – it changes its color three times a summer to match the different greens of grass during the season. Predators can hardly see it."

Well, Sachs too had used some of the boy's esoteric knowledge about insects. When Garrett had commented on the moths – their ability to sense electronic and radio signals – she'd realized that of course Rhyme had set up a locator on her cell phone. She'd remembered that she'd been on hold for a long time at Piedmont-Carolina Car Rental that morning. Then she'd snuck into the Davett Industries parking lot, called the rental company and slipped the phone, playing interminable Muzak, into the back of an unoccupied pickup truck whose motor'd been running, parked in front of the employee entrance to the building.

The trick had apparently worked. The deputies took off after the truck when it left the grounds.