The Empty Chair

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?”

. . . chapter forty
    Lincoln Rhyme was alone in the impromptu lab, gazing at the evidence charts.
    F OUND AT P RIMARY C RIME S CENE —B LACKWATER L ANDING
    Kleenex with Blood
    Limestone Dust
    Nitrates
    Phosphate
    Ammonia
    Detergent
    Camphene
    F OUND AT S ECONDARY C RIME S CENE —G ARRETT’S R OOM
    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
    F OUND AT S ECONDARY C RIME S CENE —Q UARRY
    Old Burlap Bag—Unreadable Name on It
    Corn—Feed and Grain?
    Scorch Marks on Bag
    Deer Park Water
    Planters Cheese Crackers
    F OUND AT THE S ECONDARY C RIME S CENE —M ILL
    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, noddingat 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