The Empty Chair

"Illusion's based on science. That's what." A glance at Sachs. "I'll call you as soon as I find something."

The two women and Jesse Corn left the evidence room.

And so, the precious evidence arrayed before him, the familiar equipment warmed up, internal politics disposed of, Lincoln Rhyme eased his head back against the wheelchair headrest and stared at the bags Sachs had delivered to him – willing, or coercing, or perhaps just allowing his mind to roam where his legs could not walk, to touch what his hands could not feel.

8

The deputies were talking. Mason Germain, arms crossed, leaning against the hallway wall beside the door that led to the Sheriff's Department deputy cubicles, could just hear their voices.

"How come we're just sitting here not doing anything?"

"No, no, no… Didn't you hear? Jim's sent out a search party."

"Yeah? No, I didn't hear that."

Goddamn, thought Mason. Who hadn't heard it either.

"Lucy, Ned and Jesse. And that lady cop from Washington."

"Naw, it's New York. You see that hair of hers?"

"I don't care 'bout that hair of hers. I care 'bout finding Mary Beth and Lydia."

"I do too. I'm just saying…"

Mason's gut tightened further. They only sent four people out after the Insect Boy? Was Bell crazy?

He stormed up the corridor, on his way to the sheriff's office, and nearly collided with Bell himself as he walked out of the storeroom – where that weird guy, the one in the wheelchair, was set up. Bell glanced at the senior deputy with a surprised blink.

"Hey, Mason… I was looking for you."

Not looking too hard, though, don't seem.

"I want you to get over to Rich Culbeau's place."

"Culbeau? What for?"

"Sue McCo

Mason didn't even bother to respond to this bizarre request. "You sent Lucy out after Garrett. And didn't tell me."

Bell looked the deputy up and down. "She and a couple others're going over to Blackwater Landing, see if they can pick up his trail."

"You musta known I wanted to be in the search party."

"I can't send everybody. Culbeau's already been over to Blackwater Landing once today. I can't have him screwing up the search."

"Come on, Jim. Don't bullshit me."

Bell sighed. "All right. The truth? Being as you got a hard-on for that boy, Mason, I decided not to send you. I don't want any mistakes made. There're lives at stake. We've got to get him and get him fast."

"Which is my intent, Jim. As you ought to know. I been after this kid for three years. I can't believe you'd just cut me out and hand the case over to that freak in there -"

"Hey, enough of that."

"Come on. I know Blackwater ten times better'n Lucy. I used to live there. Remember?"

Bell lowered his voice. "You want him too bad, Mason. It could affect your judgment."

"Did you think of that? Or was it him?" Nodding to the room where Mason now heard the eerie whine of the wheelchair. It set him on edge like a dentist's drill. Bell asking that freak to help them out could cause all kinds of problems that Mason didn't even want to think about.

"Come on, facts is facts. The whole world knows how you feel about Garrett."

"And the whole world happens to agree with me."

"Well, the way I told you's the way it is. You're go

The deputy laughed bitterly. "So now I'm baby-sitting a redneck 'shiner."

Bell looked past Mason, motioned to another deputy. "Hey, Frank…"

The tall, round officer ambled over to the two men.

"Frank, you go with Mason here. Over to Rich Culbeau's."

"Go

"Naw, no papers. Mason'll fill you in. If Culbeau's not at his place just wait for him. And make sure him and his buddies don't go anywhere near the search party. You got that, Mason?"

The deputy didn't answer. He just turned and walked away from his boss, who called, "This's better for everybody."

Don't think so, Mason thought.

"Mason…"

But the man said nothing and strode into the deputies' room. Frank followed a moment later. Mason didn't acknowledge the cluster of uniformed men, talking about the Insect Boy and about pretty Mary Beth and about Billy Stail's incredible 92-yard runback. He walked to his office and dug a key out of his pocket. He unlocked his desk and took out an extra Speedloader, clipped in six.357 shells. He slipped the Speedloader into its leather case and hooked it to his belt. He stepped to the doorway of his office. His voice cut through the conversation in the room as he gestured toward Nathan Groomer – a strawberry-blond deputy of about thirty-five. "Groomer, I'm going to have a talk with Culbeau. You're coming with me."

"Well," Frank began slowly, holding the hat he'd fetched from his cubicle. "I thought Jim wanted me to go."

"I want Nathan," Mason said.

"Rich Culbeau?" Nathan asked. "Him and me're oil and water. I brought him in three times for DUI and hurt him some the last time. I'd take Frank."

"Yeah," agreed Frank. "Culbeau's cousin works with my wife's dad. He thinks I'm kin. He'll listen to me."

Mason looked coldly at Nathan. "I want you."

Frank tried again. "But Jim said -"

"And I want you now."

"Come on, Mason," Nathan said in a brittle voice. "There's no call to break your ma

Mason was looking at an elaborate decoy – a mallard duck – on Nathan's desk, his most recent carving. That man has some talent, he thought. Then said to the deputy, "You ready?"

Nathan sighed, stood up.

Frank asked, "But whatta I tell Jim?"

Without responding, Mason walked out of the office, Nathan in tow, and headed toward Mason's squad car. They climbed in. Mason felt the heat bristle around him and he got the engine going and the AC blasting full up.

After they'd belted up, as the slogan on the side of the cruiser instructed all responsible citizens to do, Mason said, "Now, listen up. I -"

"Aw, come on, Mason, don't get that way. I was only telling you what made sense. I mean, last year Frank and Culbeau -"

"Just shut up and listen."

"Okay. I'll listen. Don't think you need to be talking that way… Okay. I'm listening. What's Culbeau done now?"

But Mason didn't answer. He asked, "Where's your Ruger?"

"My deer rifle? The M77?"

"Right."

"In my truck. At home."

"You got the Hitech 'scope mounted?"

"Course I do."

"We're go

They pulled out of the parking lot and as soon as they were on Main Street Mason hit the switch for the gumball machine – the revolving red and blue light on top of the car. Kept the siren off. He sped out of town.

Nathan tucked some Red Indian inside his cheek, which he couldn't do with Jim around but Mason didn't mind. "The Ruger… So. That's why you wanted me. Not Frank."

"That's right."

Nathan Groomer was the best rifle shot in the department, one of the best in Paquenoke County. Mason'd seen him bring down a ten-point buck at eight hundred yards.

"So. After I get the rifle we going to Culbeau's house?"

"No."

"Where we going?"

"We're going hunting."

"Nice houses here," Amelia Sachs observed.

She and Lucy Kerr were driving north along Canal Road, back to Blackwater Landing from downtown. Jesse Corn and Ned Spoto, a stocky deputy in his late thirties, were behind them in a second squad car.