Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

"I haven't collared anybody down here. Why would they care that I'm a cop?"

"Don't make a splinter of difference where you're from," Dellray said, eyeing Geberth, who nodded in confirmation. "They ab-so-lutely won't keepya in general population."

"So it's basically five years in solitary."

"I'm afraid so," Geberth said.

She closed her eyes and felt nausea course through her.

Five years of not moving, of claustrophobia, of nightmares…

And, as an ex-convict, how could she possibly think about becoming a mother? She choked on the despair.

"So?" the lawyer asked. "What's it going to be?"

Sachs opened her eyes. "I'll take the plea."

The room was crowded. Sachs saw Mason Germain, a few of the other deputies. A grim couple, eyes red, probably Jesse Corn's parents, sat in the front row. She wanted badly to say something to them but their contemptuous gaze kept her silent. She saw only two faces that looked at her kindly: Mary Beth McConnell and a heavy woman who was presumably her mother. There was no sign of Lucy Kerr. Or of Lincoln Rhyme. She supposed that he didn't have the heart to watch her being led off in chains. Well, that was all right; she didn't want to see him under these circumstances either.

The bailiff led her to the defense table. He left the shackles on. Sol Geberth sat beside her.

They rose when the judge entered and the wiry man in a bulky black robe sat down at the tall bench. He spent some minutes looking over documents and talking with his clerk. Finally he nodded and the clerk said, "The people of the state of North Carolina versus Amelia Sachs."

The judge nodded to the prosecutor from Raleigh, a tall, silver-haired man, who rose. "Your Honor, the defendant and the state have entered into a plea arrangement, whereby the defendant has agreed to plead guilty to second-degree manslaughter in the death of Deputy Jesse Randolph Corn. The state waives all other charges and is recommending a sentence of five years, to be served without possibility of parole or reduction."

"Miss Sachs, you've discussed this arrangement with your attorney?"

"I have, Your Honor."

"And he's told you that you have the right to reject it and proceed to trial?"

"Yes."

"And you understand that by accepting this you will be pleading guilty to a felony homicide charge."

"Yes."

"You're making this decision willingly?"

She thought of her father, of Nick. And of Lincoln Rhyme. "I am, yes."

"Very well. How do you plead to the charge of second-degree manslaughter brought against you?"

"Guilty, Your Honor."

"In light of the state's recommendation the plea will be entered and I am hereby sentencing you -"

The red-leather doors leading to the corridor swung inward and with a high-pitched whine Lincoln Rhyme's wheelchair maneuvered inside. A bailiff had tried to open the doors for the Storm Arrow but Rhyme seemed to be in a hurry and just plowed through them. One slammed into the wall. Lucy Kerr was behind him.

The judge looked up, ready to reprimand the intruder. When he saw the chair he – like most people – deferred to the political correctness that Rhyme despised and said nothing. He turned back to Sachs. "I'm hereby sentencing you to five years -"

Rhyme said, "Forgive me, Your Honor. I need to speak with the defendant and her counsel for a minute."

"Well," the judge grumbled, "we're in the middle of a proceeding. You can speak to her at some future time."

"With all respect, Your Honor," Rhyme responded, "I need to speak to her now ." His voice was a grumble too but it was much louder than the jurist's.

Just like the old days, being in a courtroom.

Most people think that a criminalist's only job is finding and analyzing evidence. But when Lincoln Rhyme was head of the NYPD' s forensics operation – the Investigation and Resources Division – he had spent nearly as much time testifying in court as he did in the lab. He was a good expert witness. (Elaine, his ex-wife, often observed that he preferred to perform in front of people – herself included – rather than interact with them.)

Rhyme carefully steered up to the railing that separated the counsel tables from the gallery in the Paquenoke County Courthouse. He glanced at Amelia Sachs and the sight nearly broke his heart. In the three days she'd been in jail she'd lost a lot of weight and her face was sallow. Her red hair was dirty and pulled up in a taut bun – the way she wore it at crime scenes to keep the strands from brushing against evidence; this made her otherwise beautiful face severe and drawn.

Geberth walked over to Rhyme, crouched down. The criminalist spoke to him for a few minutes. Finally, Geberth nodded and rose. "Your Honor, I realize this is a hearing regarding a plea bargain. But I have an unusual proposal. There's some new evidence that's come to light -"

"Which you can introduce at trial," the judge snapped, "if your client chooses to reject the plea arrangement."

"I'm not proposing to introduce anything to the court; I'd like to make the state aware of this evidence and see if my worthy colleague will agree to consider it."

"For what purpose?"

"Possibly to alter the charges against my client." Geberth added coyly, "Which may just make Your Honor's docket somewhat less burdensome."

The judge rolled his eyes, to show that Yankee slickness counted for zip around these parts. Still, he glanced at the prosecutor and asked, "Well?"

The D. A. asked Geberth, "What sort of evidence? A new witness?"

Rhyme couldn't control himself any longer. "No," he said. "Physical evidence."

"You're this Lincoln Rhyme I've been hearing about?" the judge asked.

As if there were two crip criminalists plying their trade in the Tar Heel State.

"I am, yes."

The prosecutor asked, "Where is this evidence?"

"In my custody at the Paquenoke County Sheriff's Department," Lucy Kerr said.

The judge asked Rhyme, "You'll agree to be deposed, under oath?"

"Certainly."

"This's all right with you, Counselor?" the judge asked the prosecutor.

"It is, Your Honor, but if this is just tactical or if the evidence turns out to be meaningless, I'll pursue interference charges against Mr. Rhyme."

The judge thought for a moment then said, "For the record, this is not part of any proceeding. The court is merely lending itself to the parties for a deposition prior to arraignment. The examination will be conducted pursuant to North Carolina Rules of Criminal Procedure. Swear the deponent."

Rhyme parked in front of the bench. As the Bible-clutching clerk approached uncertainly, Rhyme said, "No, I can't raise my right hand." Then recited, "I swear that the testimony I am about to give is the truth, upon my solemn oath." He tried to catch Sachs' eye but she was staring at the faded mosaic tile on the courtroom floor.

Geberth strolled to the front of the courtroom. "Mr. Rhyme, could you state your name, address and occupation."

" Lincoln Rhyme, 345 Central Park West, New York City. I'm a criminalist."

"That's a forensic scientist, is that right?"

"Somewhat more than that but forensic science is the bulk of what I do."

"And how do you know the defendant, Amelia Sachs?"

"She's been my assistant and partner on a number of criminal investigations."

"And how did you happen to come to Tanner's Corner?"

"We were assisting Sheriff James Bell and the Paquenoke County Sheriff's Department. Looking into the murder of Billy Stail and the abductions of Lydia Johansson and Mary Beth McConnell."

Geberth asked, "Now, Mr. Rhyme, you say you have new evidence that bears on this case?"

"Yes, I do."