Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

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The Barnes Noble Review
May 2000
The Empty Chair is the third – or, if you count a guest appearance in the millennial thriller The Devil's Teardrop, the fourth – novel to feature Lincoln Rhyme, the irascible forensic genius who became a quadriplegic when a cave-in at a crime scene damaged his spinal cord beyond repair. The series began in 1997 with The Bone Collector, which was recently made into a so-so film starring Denzel Washington. Every Rhyme novel to date has been characterized by authentic forensic detail and wild, even extravagant plotting, and the latest entry is no exception. The Empty Chair may, in fact, be the single trickiest suspense novel published so far this year.
Unlike earlier volumes, The Empty Chair takes place outside of New York City in the bucolic but sinister environs of Paquenoke County, North Carolina. Rhyme – accompanied by his long-suffering physical therapist, Thom, and his beloved forensic assistant, Amelia Sachs – has just been accepted as a patient at the Medical Center of the University of North Carolina, where he is scheduled to undergo an experimental procedure that might increase the range of his mobility but might, on the other hand, result in his death. Shortly after his arrival, Lincoln 's plans are disrupted by an unforeseen emergency. Jim Bell, Paquenoke County sheriff, has trouble on his hands and needs Lincoln 's expertise.
According to Bell, a disturbed teenager – known, for reasons that become graphically clear, as the Insect Boy – has murdered a local football hero and abductedtwoyoung women. Convinced that the women have only hours to live, Bell asks Lincoln to examine the trace evidence found at the abduction site in the faint hope of pinpointing the kidnapper's location. Though he knows nothing about the physical composition of the surrounding area – he and Sachs, as he repeatedly comments, are "fish out of water" in the American South – Rhyme agrees to help. Once again using Amelia Sachs as his eyes and legs, he sets up an ad hoc forensic lab in a borrowed corner of the local Sheriff's office and goes to work.
This sort of scenario – a crazed killer, a race against time, a scattered handful of clues – offers more than enough drama to fuel any number of traditional suspense novels. In The Empty Chair, however, this same scenario is merely the first level of a complex, multitiered mystery that constantly confounds our most fundamental expectations. The first indication that The Empty Chair contains unexpected depths comes when Lincoln, flawlessly interpreting his disparate bits of evidence, locates both the Insect Boy (Garrett Hanlon) and his most recent victim (an oncology nurse named Lydia Johannsen) within the first 150 pages. At that point, Deaver throws away the rulebook.
After talking with Garrett Hanlon in the Paquenoke County jail, Amelia develops the instinctive sense that Garrett might, as he continually claims, be a victim, and that another unidentified killer might still be at large. In a moment of intuitive – and reckless – empathy, Amelia abandons her professional principles and escapes with Garrett, determined both to prove the boy's innocence and rescue the remaining victim, a local history student named Mary Beth McConnell. From this point forward, almost nothing that happens in The Empty Chair is even remotely predictable.
It would spoil too many of the carefully constructed surprises to reveal the plot in any more detail. Suffice it to say that the narrative – which seems, at first, a simple but effective chase story – broadens and deepens to become something stranger and infinitely more complex. Throwing a varied assortment of people and elements into the mix – a trio of Deliverance-style rednecks, an emotionally scarred cancer survivor, a revisionist account of the Lost Colony of Roanoke, an apparently deranged deputy sheriff, a pair of incipient rapists, the hidden motivations of a wealthy industrialist, and the tragic history of Tanner's Corner, a "town without children" – Deaver constructs an artful, entertaining melodrama that has much to say about the destructive consequences of uncontrolled greed.
If The Empty Chair has a besetting weakness, it is Deaver's relentless determination to dazzle the reader with his narrative sleight of hand, piling on an endless, constantly escalating series of shocks, surprises, and unexpected twists that might, in a lesser writer's hands, have become just a bit too much. But Deaver, as usual, is a consummate professional, and he holds it all together with the ease and assurance of a natural storyteller. Readers familiar with the earlier adventures of Lincoln Rhyme will be lining up for this one, which seems likely to attract a substantial number of new readers, as well. The Empty Chair is Jeffery Deaver at his best and most devious and is recommended, without reservation, to anyone in search of intelligent, high-adrenaline entertainment.
– Bill Sheehan

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Then she looked across the street and saw a face watching her from the dim recesses of Eddie's bar. She squinted. "Those three guys?" she said, nodding.

Bell looked. "Culbeau and his buddies?"

"Uh-huh. They're trouble. They got my weapon away from me," Sachs said. "One of them did. O'Sarian."

The sheriff frowned. "What happened?"

"I got it back," she answered shortly.

"You want me to bring him in?"

"No. Just thought you should know: they're upset about losing out on the reward. If you ask me, though, it's more than that. They're gunning for that boy."

"Them and the rest of the town."

Sachs said, "But the rest of the town doesn't carry around loaded weapons."

Bell chuckled and said, "Well, not all of 'em, anyway."

"I'm also a little curious how they happened to end up at the mill."

The sheriff thought about this for a moment. "Mason, you thinking?"

"Yep," Sachs said.

"Wish he'd take his vacation this week. But there's no chance of that happening. Well, here we are. Not much of a jail. But it works."

They walked inside the single-story cinder-block building. The groaning air-conditioner kept the rooms mercifully cool. Bell told her to drop her gun in the lockbox. He did the same and they walked into the interrogation room. He closed the door.

Wearing a blue jumpsuit, courtesy of the county, Garrett Hanlon sat at a fiberboard table, across from Jesse Corn. The deputy smiled at Sachs and she gave him a smaller smile in return. She then looked at the boy and was struck again at how sad and desperate he seemed.

I'm scared. Make him stop!

On his face and arms were welts that hadn't been there earlier. She asked, "What happened to your skin?"

He looked down at his arm and rubbed self-consciously. "Poison oak," he muttered.

In a kind voice Bell said, "You heard your rights, didn't you? Did Deputy Kerr read them to you?"

"Yeah."

"And you understand them?"

"I guess."

"There's a lawyer on his way. Mr. Fredericks. He's coming from a meeting in Elizabeth City and he'll be here pretty soon. You don't have to say anything until he gets here. You understand that?"

He nodded.

Sachs glanced at the one-way mirror. Wondered who was on the other side, manning the video camera.

"But we hope you'll talk to us, Garrett," Bell continued. "We have some real important things to ask you about. First of all, it's true? Mary Beth's alive?"

"Sure she is."

"Did you rape her?"

"Like, I'd never do that," he said, and the pathos momentarily gave way to indignation.

"But you kidnapped her," Bell said.

"Not really."

"Not really? "

"She, like, didn't get it that Blackwater Landing's dangerous. I had to get her away or she wouldn't be safe. That's all. I saved her. Like, sometimes you gotta make somebody do things they don't want to. For their own good. And, you know, then they catch on."

"She's near the beach somewhere, isn't she? The Outer Banks, right?"

He blinked at this, red eyes narrowing. He'd be realizing that they'd found the map and talked to Lydia. He looked down at the fiberboard table. Didn't say anything else.

"Where is she exactly, Garrett?"

"I can't tell you."

"Son, you're in serious trouble. You got a murder conviction staring you in the face."

"I didn't kill Billy."

"How'd you know it was Billy I was talking about?" Bell asked quickly. Jesse Corn lifted an eyebrow to Sachs, impressed at his boss's cleverness.

Garrett's fingernails clicked together. "Whole world knows Billy got killed." His fast eyes circled the room. Resting inevitably on Amelia Sachs. She could endure the imploring look for only a moment then had to look away.

"We got your fingerprints on the shovel that killed him."

"The shovel? That killed him?"

"Yep."

He seemed to think back to what had happened. "I remember seeing it lying there on the ground. I guess maybe I picked it up."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I felt all weird seeing Billy lying there, like, all bloody and everything."

"Well, you have any idea who did kill Billy?"

"This man. Mary Beth told me that she was, like, doing this project for school there, by the river, and Billy stopped to talk to her. And then this man came up. He'd been following Billy and they started arguing and fighting and this guy grabbed the shovel and killed him. Then I came by and he ran off."

"You saw him?"

"Yessir."

"What were they arguing about?" Bell asked skeptically.

"Drugs or something, Mary Beth said. Sounded like Billy was selling drugs to the kids on the football team. Like, those steroid things?"

"Jeeez," said Jesse Corn, giving a sour laugh.

"Garrett," Bell said. "Billy wasn't into drugs. I knew him. And we never had any reports about steroids at the high school."

"I understand that Billy Stail ragged on you a lot," Jesse said. "Billy and a couple other boys on the team."

Sachs thought this wasn't right – two big deputies double-teaming him.

"That they made fun of you. Called you Bug Boy. You took a swing at Billy once and he and his friends beat you up bad."

"I don't remember."

"Principal Gilmore told us," Bell said. "They had to call security."

"Maybe. But I didn't kill him."

"Ed Schaeffer died, you know. He got stung to death by those wasps in the blind."

"I'm sorry that happened. That wasn't my fault. I didn't put the nest there."

"It wasn't a trap?"

"No, it was just there, in the hunting blind. I went there all the time – even slept there – and they didn't bother me. Yellow jackets only sting when they're afraid you're going to hurt their family."

"Well, tell us about this man you say killed Billy," the sheriff said. "You ever see him around here before?"

"Yessir. Two or three times the last couple years. Walking through the woods around Blackwater Landing. Then once I saw him near the school."

"White, black?"

"White. And he was tall. Maybe about as old as Mr. Babbage -"

"His forties?"

"Yeah, I guess. He had blond hair. And he was wearing overalls. Tan ones. And a white shirt."

"But it was just your and Billy's fingerprints on the shovel," Bell pointed out. "Nobody else's."

Garrett said, "Like, I think he was wearing gloves."

"Why'd he be wearing gloves this time of year?" Jesse said.

"Probably so he wouldn't leave fingerprints," Garrett shot back.

Sachs thought back to the friction-ridge prints on the shovel. She and Rhyme hadn't done the printing themselves. Sometimes it's possible to image grain prints from leather gloves. Cotton or wool glove prints were much less detectable although fabric fibers could slough off and get caught in the tiny splinters in a wooden surface like a tool handle.

"Well, what you say could've happened, Garrett," Bell said. "But it just doesn't seem like the truth to anybody."

"Billy was dead! I just picked up the shovel and looked at it. Which I shouldn't have. But I did. That's all that happened. I knew Mary Beth was in danger so I took her away to be safe." He said this to Sachs, gazing at her with imploring eyes.

"Let's get back to her," Bell said. "Why was she in danger?"

"Because she was in Blackwater Landing." He snapped his nails again… Different from my habit , Sachs reflected. I dig into my flesh, he clicks nail against nail. Which is worse? she wondered. Mine , she decided; it's more destructive.

He turned his damp, ruddy eyes back to Sachs.

Stop it! I can't take that look! she thought, glancing away.

"And Todd Wilkes? The boy who hung himself? Did you threaten him?"

"No!"

"His brother saw you shouting at him last week."

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