Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

In a gruff voice the sheriff said, "Nathan said that your Amelia trussed him up at gunpoint and broke Garrett outa jail. It's a felony escape. They're on the run, they're armed and nobody has a clue where they are."

Running. As best she could. Her legs ached from the waves of arthritic pain coursing through her body. She was drenched in sweat and was already dizzy from the heat and dehydration.

And she was still in shock at the thought of what she'd done.

Garrett was beside her, jogging silently through the forest outside Tanner's Corner.

This is way past stupid, lady…

When Sachs had gone into the cell to give Garrett The Miniature World she'd watched the boy's happy face as he'd taken the book from her. A moment or two passed and, almost as if someone else were forcing her to, she'd reached through the bars, taken the boy by the shoulders. Flustered, he'd looked away. "No, look at me," she'd instructed. "Look."

Finally he had. She'd studied his blotched face, his twitching mouth, the dark pits of eyes, the thick brows. "Garrett, I need to know the truth. This is only between you and me. Tell me – did you kill Billy Stail?"

"I swear I didn't. I swear! It was that man – the one in the tan overalls. He killed Billy. That's the truth!"

"It's not what the facts show, Garrett."

"But people can see the same thing different," he'd responded in a calm voice. "Like, the way we can look at the same thing a fly sees but it doesn't look the same."

"What do you mean?"

" We see something moving – just a blur when somebody's hand's trying to swat the fly. But the way a fly's eyes work is he sees a hand stopping in midair a hundred times on its way down. Like a bunch of still pictures. It's the same hand, same motion, but the fly and us see it way different. And colors… We look at something that's just solid red to us but some insects see a dozen different types of red."

The evidence suggests he's guilty, Rhyme. It doesn't prove it. Evidence can be interpreted in a lot of different ways.

"And Lydia," Sachs had persisted, gripping the boy even more firmly, "why'd you kidnap her?"

"I told everybody why… 'Cause she was in danger too. Blackwater Landing… it's a dangerous place. People die there. People disappear. I was just protecting her."

Of course it's a dangerous place , she'd thought. But is it dangerous because of you!

Sachs had then said, "She said you were going to rape her."

"No, no, no… She jumped into the water and her uniform got wet and torn. I saw her, you know, on top. Her chest. And I got kind of… turned on. But that's all."

"And Mary Beth. Did you hurt her, rape her?"

"No, no, no! I told you! She hit her head and I cleaned it off with that tissue. I'd never do that, not to Mary Beth."

Sachs had stared at him a moment longer.

Blackwater Landing… it's a dangerous place.

Finally she'd asked, "If I get you out of here will you take me to Mary Beth?"

Garrett had frowned. "I do that, then you'd bring her back to Tanner's Corner. And she might get hurt."

"It's the only way, Garrett. I'll get you out if you take me to her. We can make sure she'll be safe, Lincoln Rhyme and I."

"You can do that?"

"Yes. But if you don't agree you'll stay in jail for a long time. And if Mary Beth dies because of you it'll be murder, same as if you shot her. And you'll never get out of jail."

He'd looked out the window. It seemed that his eyes were following the flight of an insect. Sachs couldn't see it. "All right."

"How far away is she?"

"On foot, it'll take us eight, ten hours. Depending."

"On what?"

"On how many they got coming after us and how careful we are getting away."

Garrett said this quickly and his assured tone troubled Sachs – it was as if he'd been anticipating that someone would break him out or that he'd escape and he'd already considered avoiding pursuit.

"Wait here," she'd told him. And stepped back into the office. She'd reached into the lockbox, pulled out her gun and knife and, against all training and sense, turned the Smith & Wesson on Nathan Groomer.

"I'm sorry to do this," she whispered. "I need the key to his cell and then I need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back."

Wide-eyed, he'd hesitated, perhaps debating whether or not to go for his sidearm. Or – she realized now – probably not even thinking at all. Instinct or reflex or just plain anger might've driven him to pull the weapon from his holster.

"This is way past stupid, lady," he'd said.

"The key."

He opened the drawer and tossed it on the desk. He put his hands behind his back. She cuffed him with his own handcuffs and ripped the phone from the wall.

She'd then freed Garrett, cuffed him too. The back door to the lockup seemed to be open but she thought she heard footsteps and a running car engine outside. She opted for the front door. They'd made a clean escape, undetected.

Now, a mile from downtown, surrounded by brush and trees, the boy directed her along an ill-defined path. The chains of the cuffs clinked as he pointed in the direction they should go.

She was thinking: But, Rhyme, there was nothing I could do! Do you understand? I had no choice. If the detention center in Lancaster was like what she expected he'd be raped and beaten his first day there and perhaps killed before a week passed. Sachs knew too that this was the only way to find Mary Beth. Rhyme had exhausted the possibilities with the evidence and the defiance in Garrett's eyes told her that he'd never cooperate.

( No, I'm not confusing being maternal with being concerned, Dr. Penny. All I know is that if Lincoln and I had a son he'd be as single-minded and stubborn as we are and that if anything happened to us I'd pray for someone to look out for him the way I'm looking out for Garrett… )

They moved quickly. Sachs was surprised at how elegantly the boy slipped through the woods, despite having his hands cuffed. He seemed to know exactly where to put his feet, what plants you could easily push through and which offered resistance. Where the ground was too soft to walk on.

"Don't step there," he said sternly. "That's clay from a Carolina bay. It'll hold you like glue."

They hiked for a half-hour until the ground grew soupy and the air became fragrant with the smells of methane and decay. The route finally became impassable – the path ended in a thick bog – and Garrett led them to a two-lane asphalt road. They started through the brush beside the shoulder.

Several cars drove by leisurely, their drivers oblivious to the felony they were passing.

Sachs watched them enviously. On the lam for only twenty minutes, she reflected, and already she felt a heart-wrenching tug at the normalcy of everyone else's life – and at the dark turn hers had taken.

This is way past stupid, lady.

"Hey there!"

Mary Beth McConnell jerked awake.

With the heat and oppressive atmosphere in the cabin she'd fallen asleep on the smelly couch.

The voice, nearby, called again. "Miss, are you all right? Hello? Mary Beth?"

She leapt from the bed and walked quickly toward the broken window. She felt dizzy, had to lower her head for a minute, steady herself against the wall. The pain in her temple throbbed ferociously. She thought: Fuck you, Garrett.

The pain subsided, her vision cleared. And she continued to the window.

It was the Missionary. He had his friend with him, a tall, balding man in gray slacks and a work shirt. The Missionary carried an ax.