The Empty Chair

by Jeffery Deaver

  "No, no, Jim, for real. He says he's protecting the girl. He says she's happy where she is and you oughta go looking for this guy in tan overalls and a white shirt."

  Bell said, "He doesn't even have a good description and if he gave us one it'd change tomorrow because he's making it up."

  McGuire slicked back his already-slicked-back hair. The defense used Aqua Net, Sachs could smell. The prosecution, Brylcreem. "Listen, Cal, this's your problem. I'm offering you what I'm offering. You get us the girl's whereabouts and she's alive, I'll go with reduced counts. You don't, I'll take it to trial and go for the moon. That boy'll never see the outside-of a prison again. We both know it."

  Silence for a moment.

  Fredericks said, "I've got a thought."

  "Uh-huh," McGuire said skeptically.

  "No, listen ... I had a case in Albemarle a spell back, a woman claimed her boy'd run away from home. But it seemed fishy."

  "The Williams case?" McGuire asked. "That black woman?"

  "That was it."

  "I heard of that one. You represented her?" Bell asked.

  "Right. She was giving us pretty odd stories and had a history of mental problems. I hired this psychologist over in Avery, hoping he could give me an insanity opinion. He ran some tests on her. During one of 'em she opened up and told us what had happened."

  "Hypnosis--that recovered-memory crap?" McGuire asked.

  "No, it's something else. He called it empty chair therapy. I don't exactly know how it works but it really started her talking. Like all she needed was a little push. Let me give this guy a call and have him come over and talk to Garrett. The boy might see reason.... But"--now the defense got to poke a finger in Bell's chest--"everything they talk about's privileged and you don't get diddly unless the guardian ad litem and I say so first."

  Bell caught McGuire's eye and nodded. The D.A. said, "Call him."

  "Okay." Fredericks stepped toward the phone in the corner of the interrogation room.

  Sachs said, "Excuse me?"

  The lawyer turned to her.

  "That case the psychologist helped you with? The Williams case?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What happened with her child? Did he run away?"

  "Naw, the mother killed him. Baled him up in chicken wire and a cinder block and drowned him in a pond behind the house. Hey, Jim, how do I get an outside line?"

  The scream was so loud that it stung her dry throat like fire and for all Mary Beth knew permanently damaged her vocal cords.

  The Missionary, walking by the edge of the woods, paused. His backpack was over one shoulder, a tank like a weed sprayer in his hand. He glanced around himself.

  Please, please, please, Mary Beth was thinking. Ignoring the pain, she tried again. "Over here! Help me!"

  He looked at the cabin. Started to walk away.

  She took a deep breath, thought of Garrett Hanlon's clicking fingernails, his wet eyes and hard erection, thought of her father's brave death, of Virginia Dare.... And she gave the loudest scream she ever had.

  This time the Missionary stopped, looked toward the cabin again. He pulled off his hat, left the rucksack and tank on the ground and started running toward her.

  Thank you.... She started to sob. Oh, thank you!

  He was thin and well-tanned. In his fifties but in good shape. Clearly an outdoorsman.

  "What's wrong?" he called, gasping, when he was fifty feet away, slowing to a trot. "Are you all right?"

  "Please!" she rasped. The pain in her throat was overwhelming. She spit more blood.

  He walked cautiously up to the broken window, looking at the shards of glass on the ground.

  "You need some help?"

  "I can't get out. Somebody's kidnapped me--"

  "Kidnapped?"

  Mary Beth wiped her face, which was wet with tears of relief and sweat. "A high school kid from Tanner's Corner."

  "Wait... I heard about that. Was on the news. You're the one he kidnapped?"

  "That's right."

  "Where is he now?"

  She tried to speak but her throat hurt too much. She breathed deeply and finally responded, "I don't know. He left last night. Please ... do you have any water?"

  "A canteen, with my gear. I'll get it."

  "And call the police. You have a phone?"

  "Not with me." He shook his head and grimaced. "I'm doing contract work for the county." He nodded toward the backpack and tank. "We're killing marijuana, you know, that kids plant out here. The county gives us those cell phones but I never bother with mine. You hurt bad?" He studied her head, the crusted blood.

  "It's okay. But... water. I need water."

  He trotted back to the woods and for a terrible moment she was afraid he'd keep going. But he picked up an olive drab canteen and ran back. She took it with trembling hands and forced herself to drink slowly. The water was hot and musty but she'd never had as wonderful a drink as this.

  "I'm going to try and get you out," the man said. He walked to the front door. A moment later she heard a faint thud as he either kicked the door or tried to break it with his shoulder. Another. Two more. He picked up a rock and slammed it into the wood. It had no effect. He returned to the window. "It's not budging." He wiped sweat from his forehead as he examined the bars on the windows. "Man, he built himself a prison here. Hacksaw'd take hours. Okay, I'll go for help. What's your name?"

  "Mary Beth McConnell."

  "I'm going to call the police then come back and get you out."

  "Please, don't be long."

  "I got a friend isn't too far away. I'll call nine-one-one from his place and we'll come back. That boy ... does he have a gun?"

  "I don't know. I didn't see one. But I don't know."

  "You sit tight, Mary Beth. You're gonna be okay. I don't run as a rule but I'll do some running today." He turned and started through the field.

  "Mister... thank you."

  But he didn't acknowledge her gratitude. He sprinted through the sedge and tall grass and disappeared in the woods, not even pausing to collect his gear. Mary Beth remained standing in front of the window, cradling the canteen as if it were a newborn baby.

  ... chapter nineteen

  On the street across from the lockup Sachs saw Lucy Kerr sitting on a park bench in front of a deli, drinking an Arizona iced tea. She crossed the street. The women nodded to each other.

  Sachs noticed a sign on the front of the place. COLD BEER. She asked Lucy, "You have an open-container law in Tanner's Corner?"

  "Yeah," Lucy said. "And we take it pretty serious. The law is if you're going to drink from a container it's got to be open."

  Took just a second for the joke to register. Sachs laughed. She said, "You want something stronger?"

  Lucy nodded at the iced tea. "This'll do fine."

  Sachs came out a minute later with a Sam Adams ale foaming excessively in a large Styrofoam cup. She sat down next to the deputy. She told Lucy about the discussion between McGuire and Fredericks, about the psychologist.

  "Hope that works," Lucy said. "Jim was figuring there's gotta be thousands of old houses on the Outer Banks. We'll have to narrow down the search some."

  They said nothing for a few minutes. A lone teenager clattered past on a noisy skateboard and vanished. Sachs commented on the absence of children in town.

  "True," Lucy said. "Hadn't thought about it but there aren't a lot of kids here. I think most of the young couples've moved away, places closer to the interstate maybe or bigger towns. Tanner's Corner's not the sort of place for anybody on the way up."

  Sachs asked, "You have any? Children?"

  "No. Buddy and I never did. Then we split up and I never met anybody after that. My big regret, I'll have to say. No kids."

  "How long you been divorced?"

  "Three years."

  Sachs was surprised the woman hadn't remarried. She was very attractive--especially her eyes. When Sachs had been a professional model in New York, before she'd decided to f
ollow in her father's law enforcement career, she'd spent a lot of time with many gorgeous people. But so often their gazes were vacant; if the eyes aren't beautiful, Amelia Sachs had concluded, neither is the person.

  Sachs told Lucy, "Oh, you'll meet somebody, have a family."

  "I've got my job," Lucy said quickly. "Don't have to do everything in life, you know."

  Something was going unsaid here--something that she felt Lucy wanted to divulge. Sachs wondered whether she should push it or not. She tried the oblique approach. "Must be a thousand men in Paquenoke County dying to go out with you."

  After a moment Lucy said, "Fact is, I don't date much."

  "Really?"

  Another pause. Sachs looked up and down the dusty, deserted street. The skateboarder was long gone. Lucy took a breath to say something, opted for a long sip of iced tea instead. Then, on impulse, it seemed, the policewoman said, "You know that medical problem I told you about?"

  Sachs nodded.

  "Breast cancer. Wasn't too advanced but the doctor said they probably should do a double radical. And that's what they did."

  "I'm sorry," Sachs said, frowning with sympathy. "You go through the treatments?"

  "Yup. Was bald for a while. Interesting look." She sipped more of the iced tea. "I'm three and a half years in remission. So far, so good." Lucy continued, "Really threw me for a loop, that happening. No history of it in my family. Grandmother's healthy as a horse. My mom's still working five days a week at the Mattamuskeet National Wildlife Reserve. She and my dad hike the Appalachian two, three times a year."

  Sachs asked, "You can't have kids because of the radiation?"

  "Oh, no, they used a shield. It's just... I guess I'm not inclined to date much. You know where a man's hand goes right after you kiss serious for the first time..."

  Sachs couldn't argue with that.

  "I'll meet some nice guy and we'll have coffee or something but in ten minutes I start to worry about what he's going to think when he finds out. And I end up not returning his phone calls."

  Sachs said, "So you've given up on a family?"

  "Maybe, when I'm older, I'll meet a widower with a couple grown kids. That'd be nice."

  She said this casually but Sachs could hear in her voice that she'd repeated it to herself often. Maybe every day.

  Lucy lowered her head, sighed. "I'd give up my badge in a minute to have children. But, hey, life doesn't always go in the direction we want."

  "And your ex left you after the operation? What's his name again?"

  "Bud. Not right after. But eight months later. Hell, I can't blame him."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "What?"

  "That you can't blame him?" Sachs asked.

  "Just, I can't. I changed and ended up being different. I turned into something he hadn't bargained for."

  Sachs said nothing for a moment then she offered, "Lincoln's different. About as different as they come."

  Lucy considered this. "So there's more to you two than just being, what would you say, colleagues?"

  "That's right," Sachs said.

  "Thought that might be the case." Then she laughed. "Hey, you're a tough cop from the big city.... How do you feel about children?"

  "I'd like some. Pop--my father--wanted grandkids. He was a cop too. Liked the idea of three generations on the force. Thought People magazine might do a story on us or something. He loved People."

  "Past tense?"

  "Died a few years ago."

  "Killed on his beat?"

  Sachs debated but finally answered, "Cancer."

  Lucy said nothing for a moment. Looked at Sachs in profile, back to the lockup. "Can he have children? Lincoln?"

  The foam was down in the cup of beer and she sipped in earnest. "Theoretically, yes."

  And chose not to tell Lucy that this morning, when they were at the Neurologic Research Institute in Avery, the reason that Sachs had slipped out of the room with Dr. Weaver was to ask if the operation would affect Rhyme's chances of having children. The doctor had said that it wouldn't and had started to explain about the intervention necessary that would enable her to get pregnant. But just then Jim Bell had showed up with his plea for help.

  Nor did she tell the deputy that Rhyme had deflected the subject of children every time it came up and she was left to speculate why he was so reluctant to consider the matter. It could have been any number of reasons, of course: his fear that having a family might interfere with his practice of criminalistics, which he needed to keep his sanity. Or his knowledge that quadriplegics, statistically at least, have a shorter life span than the nondisabled. Or maybe he wanted to have the freedom to wake up one day and decide that he'd had enough and that he didn't want to live any longer. Perhaps it was all of these, coupled with the belief that he and Sachs would hardly be the most normal of parents (though she would have countered: And what exactly is normal nowadays?).

  Lucy mused, "I always wondered if I had kids would I keep working? How 'bout you?"

  "I carry a weapon but I'm mostly crime scene. I'd cut out the risky stuff. Have to drive slower too. I've got a Camaro that'll churn three hundred sixty horses sitting in my garage in Brooklyn right now. Can't really see having one of those baby seats in it." A laugh. "I guess I'd have to learn how to drive a Volvo station wagon with an automatic. Maybe I could take lessons."

  "I can see you laying rubber pulling out of the Food Lion parking lot."

  Silence fell between them, that odd silence of strangers who've shared complicated secrets and realize they can go no further with them.

  Lucy looked at her watch. "I should get back to the station house. Help Jim make calls about the Outer Banks." She tossed the empty bottle into the trash. Shook her head. "I keep thinking about Mary Beth. Wondering where she is, if she's okay, if she's scared."

  As she said this, though, Amelia Sachs was thinking not about the girl but about Garrett Hanlon. Because they'd been talking about children Sachs was imagining how she'd feel if she had a son who was accused of murder and kidnapping. Who was looking at the prospect of spending the night in jail. Maybe a hundred nights, maybe thousands.

  Lucy paused. "You headed back?"

  "In a minute or two."

  "Hope to see you 'fore you leave." The deputy disappeared up the street.

  A few minutes later the door to the lockup opened and Mason Germain walked out. She'd never once seen him smile and he wasn't smiling now. He looked around the street but didn't notice her. He strode over the broken sidewalk and disappeared into one of the buildings--a store or bar--on the way to the County Building.

  Then a car pulled up across the street and two men got out. Garrett's lawyer, Cal Fredericks, was one and the other was a heavyset man in his forties. He was in a shirt and tie--the top button undone and the sloppy knot of his striped tie pulled down a few inches from his throat. His sleeves were rolled up and his navy sports jacket was draped over his arm. His tan slacks were savagely wrinkled. His face had the kindness of a grade-school teacher. They walked inside.

  Sachs tossed the cup in an oil drum outside the deli. She crossed the empty street and followed them into the lockup.

  ... chapter twenty

  Cal Fredericks introduced Sachs to Doctor Elliott Penny.

  "Oh, you're working with Lincoln Rhyme?" the doctor asked, surprising Sachs.

  "That's right."

  "Cal told me it was mostly because of you two they caught Garrett. Is he here? Lincoln?"

  "He's at the County Building right now. Probably won't be there long."

  "We have a friend in common. I'd like to say hi. I'll stop by if I get a chance."

  Sachs said, "He should be there for another hour or so." She turned to Cal Fredericks. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Yes'm," the defense lawyer said cautiously; Sachs was, in theory, working for the enemy.

  "Mason Germain was talking to Garrett in the lockup earlier. He mentioned Lancaster. What's that?"

  "The
Violent Felony Detention Center. He'll be transferred there after the arraignment. Held there until the trial."

  "It's juvenile?"

  "No, no. Adult."

  "But he's sixteen," Sachs said.

  "Oh, McGuire'll try him as an adult--if we can't work out a plea."

  "How bad is it?"

  "What, Lancaster?" The lawyer shrugged his narrow shoulders. "He'll get hurt. No getting around that. I don't know how bad. But he will get hurt. A boy like him's gonna be at the bottom of the food chain at VFDC."

  "Can he be segregated?"

  "Not there. It's all general population. Just a big holding pen, basically. The best we can do is hope the guards look out for him."

  "How 'bout bail?"

  Fredericks laughed. "There's no judge in the world'd set bail in a case like this. He's a bond-jumper waiting to happen."

  "Is there anything we can do to get him into a different facility? Lincoln's got friends in New York."

  "New York?" Fredericks gave her a genteel but wry Southern smile. "I don't think that carries much weight south of the Mason-Dixon line. Probably not even west of the Hudson." He nodded toward Dr. Penny. "No, our best bet is to get Garrett to cooperate then work out a plea."

  "Shouldn't his foster parents be here?"

  "Should be, yep. I called them but Hal said the boy's on his own. He wouldn't even let me talk to Maggie--his mother."

  "But Garrett can't be making decisions on his own," Sachs said. "He's just a boy."

  "Oh," Fredericks explained, "before the arraignment or plea deal's agreed to the court'll appoint a guardian ad litem. Don't worry, he'll be looked out for."

  Sachs turned to the doctor. "What're you going to do? This empty chair test?"

  Dr. Penny glanced at the lawyer, who nodded his okay to explain. "It's not a test. It's a type of Gestalt therapy--a behavioral technique that's known for getting very fast results in understanding certain types of behavior. I'm going to have Garrett imagine that Mary Beth is sitting in a chair in front of him and have him talk to her. Explain to her why he kidnapped her. I hope to get him to understand that she's upset and frightened and that what he did was wrong. That she'll be better off if he tells us where she is."

  "And this'll work?"

  "It's not really intended for this type of situation but I think it could get results."

  The lawyer glanced at his watch. "You ready, Doctor?"

  He nodded.

  "Let's go." The doctor and Fredericks disappeared into the interrogation room.