The Empty Chair

told her. Then: “Okay, here’s the laundry, Amelia: the prosecutor’s position is that even if Garrett turned out not to be a felon, you aided in the escape of a prisoner who’d been arrested on the basis of probable cause and you killed an officer during the commission of that crime. The prosecutor’s going for first-degree murder and throwing in the standard lesser-included offenses: both manslaughter counts—voluntary and involuntary—and reckless homicide and criminally negligent homicide.”
    “First degree?” Rhyme snapped. “It wasn’t premeditated; it was an accident! For Christ’s sake.”
    “Which is what I’m going to try to show at trial,” Geberth said. “That the other deputy, the one who grabbed you, was a partial proximate cause of the shooting. But I guarantee they’ll get the reckless homicide conviction. On the facts there’s no doubt about that.”
    “What’s the chance of acquittal?” Rhyme asked.
    “Bad. Ten, fifteen percent at best. I’m sorry, but I have to recommend you take a plea.”
    She felt this like a blow to her chest. Her eyes closed and when she exhaled it was as if her soul had fled from her body.
    “Jesus,” Rhyme muttered.
    Sachs was thinking about Nick, her former boyfriend. How, when he was arrested for hijacking and taking kickbacks, he refused a plea and took the risk of a jury trial. He said to her, “It’s like what your old man said, Aimee—when you move they can’t get you. It’s all or nothing.”
    It took the jury eighteen minutes to convict him. He was still in a New York prison.
    She looked at the smooth-cheeked Geberth. She asked, “What’s the prosecutor offering for the plea?”
    “Nothing yet. But he’ll probably accept voluntary manslaughter—if you do hard time. I’d guess eight, tenyears. I have to tell you, though, that in North Carolina it’ll be hard time. No country clubs here.”
    Rhyme grumbled, “Versus a fifteen percent chance of acquittal.”
    Geberth said, “That’s right.” Then the lawyer added, “You have to understand that there aren’t going to be any miracles here, Amelia. If we go to trial the prosecutor’s going to prove that you’re a professional law enforcer and a champion marksman and the jury’s going to have trouble buying that the shooting was accidental.”
    Normal rules don’t apply to anybody north of the Paquo. Us or them. You can see yourself shooting before you read anybody their rights and that’d be perfectly all right.
    The lawyer said, “If that happens they could convict you of murder one and you’ll get twenty-five years.”
    “Or the death penalty,” she muttered.
    “Yes, that’s a possibility. I can’t tell you it isn’t.”
    For some reason the image that came into her mind at this moment was of the peregrine falcons that nested outside of Lincoln Rhyme’s window in his Manhattan town house: the male and the female and the young hawk. She said, “If I plead to in voluntary how much time will I do?”
    “Probably six, seven years. No parole.”
    You and me, Rhyme.
    She inhaled deeply. “I’ll plead.”
    “Sachs—” Rhyme began.
    But she repeated to Geberth, “I’ll plead.”
    The lawyer rose. He nodded. “I’ll call the prosecutor right now, see if he’ll accept it. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.” With a nod at Rhyme the lawyer left the room.
    Mason glanced at Sachs’s face. He stood and walked to the door, his boots tapping loudly. “I’ll leave you two for a few minutes. I don’t have to search you, do I, Lincoln?”
    Rhyme smiled wanly. “I’m weapon-free, Mason.”
    The door swung shut.
    “What a mess, Lincoln,” she said.
    “Uh-uh, Sachs. No first names.”
    “Why not?” she asked cynically, nearly a whisper. “Bad luck?”
    “Maybe.”
    “You’re not superstitious. Or so you’re always telling me.”
    “Not usually. But this is a spooky place.”
    Tanner’s Corner. . . . The town with no children.
    “I should’ve listened to you,” he said. “You were right about Garrett. I was wrong. I looked at the evidence and got it dead wrong.”
    “But I didn’t know I was right. I didn’t know anything. I just had a hunch and I acted.”
    Rhyme said, “Whatever happens, Sachs, I’m not going anywhere.” He nodded down at the Storm Arrow and laughed. “I couldn’t get very far even if I wanted to. You do some time, I’ll be there when you get out.”
    “Words, Rhyme,” she said. “Only words. . . . My