The Empty Chair

cancer diagnoses among residents from Tanner’s Corner. She then recalled that somebody had given information to Bell about cancer patients—the three people in BlackwaterLanding that Culbeau and his friends had killed. Who better than a nurse on the onco ward? This was far-fetched but Sachs mentioned it to Lucy, who pulled out her cell phone and made an emergency call to the phone company, whose security department did a down-and-dirty pen-register search of Jim Bell’s phone calls. There were hundreds to and from Lydia.
    “She’s going to kill him!” Sachs had cried. And the two women, one with a weapon drawn, had burst into the operating room—a scene right out of a melodramatic episode of ER —just as Dr. Weaver was about to make the opening incision.
    Lydia had panicked and, trying to escape, or trying to do what Bell had sent her for, ripped the oxygen tube from Rhyme’s throat before the two women subdued her. From that trauma and because of the anesthetic Rhyme’s lungs had failed. Dr. Weaver had revived him but, afterward, his breathing hadn’t been up to par and he’d had to go back on the stimulator.
    Which was bad enough. But worse, to Rhyme’s anger and disgust, Dr. Weaver refused to perform the operation for at least another six months—until his breathing functions were completely normalized. He’d tried to insist but the surgeon proved to be as mulely as he was.
    Sachs sipped more scotch.
    “You told Roland Bell about his cousin?” Rhyme asked.
    She nodded. “He took it hard. Said Jim was the black sheep but never guessed he’d do anything like this. He’s pretty shaken up by the news.” She looked northeast. “Look,” she said, “out there. Know what that is?”
    Trying to follow her eyes, Rhyme asked, “What’re you looking at? The horizon? A cloud? An airplane? Enlighten me, Sachs.”
    “The Great Dismal Swamp. That’s where Lake Drummond is.”
    “Fascinating,” he said sarcastically.
    “It’s full of ghosts,” she added, like a tour guide.
    Lucy came up and poured some scotch into a paper cup. Sipped it. Then made a face. “It’s awful. Tastes like soap.” She opened a Heineken.
    Rhyme said, “It costs eighty dollars a bottle.”
    “Expensive soap, then.”
    Sachs watched Garrett as he shoveled corn chips into his mouth then ran into the grass. She asked Lucy, “Any word from the county?”
    “On being his foster mom?” Lucy asked. Then shook her head. “Got rejected. The being single part isn’t an issue. They have a problem with my job. Cop. Long hours.”
    “What do they know?” Rhyme scowled.
    “Doesn’t matter what they know,” she said. “What they do is the thing that’s important. Garrett’s being set up with a family up in Hobeth. Good people. I checked them out pretty good.”
    Sachs didn’t doubt that she had.
    “But we’re going on a hike next weekend.”
    Nearby Garrett eased through the grass, stalking a specimen.
    When Sachs turned back she saw Rhyme had been watching her as she gazed at the boy.
    “What?” she asked, frowning at his coy expression.
    “If you were going to say something to an empty chair, Sachs, what would it be?”
    She hesitated for a moment. “I think I’ll keep that to myself for the time being, Rhyme.”
    Suddenly Garrett gave a loud laugh and started running through the grass. He was chasing an insect, which was oblivious to its pursuer, through the dusty air. The boy caught up with it and, with outstretched arms, made a grab for his prey then tumbled to the ground. A moment later he was up, staring into his cupped hands and walking slowly back to the picnic benches.
    “Guess what I found,” he called.
    “Come show us,” Amelia Sachs said. “I want to see.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE
    I trust North Carolinians will forgive me for rearranging the geography and educational system of the Tar Heel State a bit to suit my nefarious means. If it’s any consolation, they can rest assured that I did this with the utmost respect for the state with the best basketball teams in the country.

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I
    The Wizard
    It is possible . . . to commit nearly any crime by computer. You could even kill a person using a computer.

CHAPTER 00000001 / ONE
    T he battered white van had made her uneasy.
    Lara Gibson sat at the bar of Vesta’s Grill on De Anza in