Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

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.

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 follow 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."