Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

On the floor an insect of some kind made a diligent trek from one wall to the other. What was its mission? To eat, to mate, to find shelter?

If all the people on earth disappeared tomorrow the world'd keep going just fine. But if the insects all went away then life'd be over with way fast – like, one generation. The plants'd die then the animals and the earth'd turn into this big rock again.

The door to the main office swung open. A deputy she didn't recognize stood there. "You've got a call." He opened the cell door, shackled her and led her to a small metal table on which sat a phone. It would be her mother, she supposed. Rhyme was going to call the woman and give her the news. Or maybe it was her best friend in New York, Amy.

But when she picked up the receiver, the thick chains clinking, she heard Lincoln Rhyme's voice. "How is it in there, Sachs? Cool?"

"It's all right," she muttered.

"That lawyer'll be here tonight. He's good. He's been doing criminal law for twenty years. He got off a suspect in a burglary I made a case against. Anybody does that, you know they have to be good."

"Rhyme, come on. Why even bother? I'm an outsider who broke a murderer out of jail and killed one of the local cops. It doesn't get any more hopeless than that."

"We'll talk about your case later. I've got to ask you something else. You spent a couple of days with Garrett. Did you talk about anything?"

"Sure we did."

"What?"

"I don't know. Insects. The woods, the swamp." Why was he asking her these things? "I don't remember."

"I need you to remember. I need you to tell me everything he said."

"Why bother, Rhyme?" she repeated.

"Come on, Sachs. Humor an old crip, will you?"

Lincoln Rhyme was alone in the impromptu lab, gazing at the evidence charts.

FOUND AT PRIMARY CRIME SCENE -

BLACKWATER LANDING

Kleenex with Blood

Limestone Dust

Nitrates

Phosphate

Ammonia

Detergent

Camphene

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE -

GARETT'S ROOM

Skunk Musk

Cut Pine Needles

Drawings of Insects

Pictures of Mary Beth and Family

Insect Books

Fishing Line

Money

Unknown Key

Kerosene

Ammonia

Nitrates

Camphene

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE -

QUARRY

Old Burlap Bag – Unreadable Name on It

Corn – Feed and Grain?

Scorch Marks on Bag

Deer Park Water

Planters Cheese Crackers

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE -

MILL

Brown Paint on Pants

Sundew Plant

Clay

Peat Moss

Fruit Juice

Paper Fibers

Stinkball Bait

Sugar

Camphene

Alcohol

Kerosene

Yeast

Then he studied the map, eyes tracing the course of the Paquenoke River as it made its way from the Great Dismal Swamp through Blackwater Landing and meandered west.

There was a peak in the stiff paper of the map – a wrinkle that made you itch to smooth it.

That's been my life for the past few years , Lincoln Rhyme thought: itches that can't be scratched.

Maybe, soon, I'll be able to do that. After Dr. Weaver cuts and stitches and fills me up with her magic potions and youthful shark… maybe then I'll be able to run my hand over maps like this, flatten out a little crinkle.

An unnecessary gesture, pointless, really. But what a victory it would be.

Footsteps sounded. Boots, Rhyme deduced from the sound. With hard leather heels. From the interval between the steps it had to be a tall man. He hoped it would be Jim Bell and it was.

Breathing carefully into the sip-and-puff controller, Rhyme turned away from the wall.

" Lincoln," the sheriff asked. "What's up? Nathan said it was urgent."

"Come on in. Close the door. But first – is anybody in the hall?"

Bell gave a faint smile at this intrigue and looked. "Empty."

Rhyme reflected that the man's cousin, Roland, would have tacked on a Southernism of some sort. "Quiet as a church on payday" was one that he'd heard the northern Bell use from time to time.

The sheriff swung the door shut then walked to the table, leaned against it, crossed his arms. Rhyme turned slightly and continued to study the map of the area. "Our map doesn't go far enough north and east to show the Dismal Swamp Canal, does it?"

"The canal? No, it doesn't."

Rhyme asked, "You know much about it?"

"Not really," Bell said deferentially. He'd known Rhyme for only a short while but must've sensed when to play straight man.

"I've been doing a little research," Rhyme said, nodding at the phone. "The Dismal Swamp Canal's part of the Intracoastal Waterway. You know you can take a boat all the way from Norfolk, Virginia, down to Miami and not have to sail on open sea?"

"Sure. Everybody in Carolina knows about the Intracoastal. I've never been on it. I'm not much of a boater. I got seasick watching Titanic ."

"Took twelve years to dig the canal. It's twenty-two miles long. Dug completely by hand. Amazing, don't you think?… Relax, Jim. This's going someplace, I promise you. Look at that line up there, the one between Tanner's Corner and the Paquenoke River. G-11 to G-10 on the map."

"You mean, our canal. The Blackwater Canal?"

"Right. Now, a boat could sail up that to the Paquo then to the Great Dismal and – "

The approaching footsteps weren't half as loud as Bell 's had been, with the door being shut, and there was little warning before it swung open. Rhyme stopped speaking.

Mason Germain stood in the doorway. He glanced at Rhyme then at his boss and said, "Wondered where you'd got to, Jim. We got to make a call to Elizabeth City. Captain Dexter has some questions 'bout what happened at the 'shiners' cabin."

"Just having a chat with Lincoln. We were talking about -"

But Rhyme interrupted him quickly. "Say, Mason, I wonder if you could give us a few minutes alone here."

Mason glanced from one to the other. He nodded slowly. "They're in a mind to talk to you pretty soon, Jim." He left before Bell could respond.

"Is he gone?" Rhyme asked.

Once again Bell glanced down the corridor then nodded. "What's this all about, Lincoln?"

"Could you check out the window? Make sure Mason's left? Oh, and I'd close that door again."

Bell did. Then he walked to the window and looked out. "Yeah. He's headed up the street. Why all this…?" He lifted his hands to complete the thought.

"How well do you know Mason?"

"As good as I know mosta my deputies. Why?"

"Because he murdered Garrett Hanlon's family."

" What? " Bell started to smile but the expression faded fast. "Mason?"

"Mason," Rhyme said.

"But why on earth?"

"Because Henry Davett paid him to."

"Hold up," Bell said. "You're a couple steps past me."

"I can't prove it yet. But I'm sure."

"Henry? What's his involvement?"

Rhyme said, "It all has to do with the Blackwater Canal." He fell into his lecturing mode, eyes on the map. "Now, the point of digging the canals in the eighteenth century was having dependable transport because the roads were so bad. But as the roads and railroads got better, shippers stopped using the waterways."

"Where'd you find all this out?"

"Historical Society in Raleigh. Talked to a charming lady, Julie DeVere. According to her, Blackwater Canal was closed just after the Civil War. Wasn't used for a hundred thirty years. Until Henry Davett started running barges on it again."

Bell nodded. "That was about five years ago."

Rhyme continued, "Let me ask – you ever wonder why Davett started using it?"

The sheriff shook his head. "I remember some of us were a little worried kids'd try to swim out to a barge and get hurt and drown but none of 'em ever did and we never thought any more about it. But now you mention it I don't know why he'd use the canal. He's got trucks coming and going all the time. Norfolk 's nothing to get to by truck."