The Empty Chair

it for drinking water on sailing ships. People used to think it had magic properties.”
    “So,” Rhyme said, never much interested in local myths if they couldn’t help him forensically, “if it’s not the Paquenoke, where would the phosphates place him?”
    Davett looked at Bell. “Where’d he kidnap the girl most recently?”
    “Same place as Mary Beth. Blackwater Landing.” Bell touched the map and then moved his finger north to Location H-9. “Crossed the river, went to a hunting blind about here then headed north a half mile. Then the search party lost the trail. They’re waiting for us to give them directions.”
    “Oh, then there’s no question,” Davett said with encouraging confidence. The businessman moved his finger to the east. “He crossed Stone Creek. Here. See it? Some of the waterfalls there look like foam on beer, there’s so much detergent and phosphate in the water. It starts out near Hobeth Falls up north and there’s a ton of runoff. They don’t know a thing about planning and zoning in that town.”
    “Good,” Rhyme said. “Now, once he crossed the creek, any thoughts about which way he’d go?”
    Davett again consulted the chart. “If you found pine needles I’d have to guess this way.” Tapping the map at I-5 and J-8. “There’s pine everywhere in North Carolina but around here most of the forests are oak, old-growth cedar, cypress and gum. The only big pine forest I knowof is northeast. Here. On the way to the Great Dismal.” Davett stared at the charts for a moment longer, shook his head. “Not much else I can say, I’m afraid. How many search parties you have out?”
    “One,” Rhyme said.
    “What?” Davett turned to him, frowning. “Just one? You’re joking.”
    “No,” Bell said, sounding defensive under the man’s firm cross-examination.
    “Well, how big is it?”
    “Four deputies,” Bell said.
    Davett scoffed. “That’s crazy.” He waved at the map. “You’ve got hundreds of square miles. This’s Garrett Hanlon . . . the Insect Boy. He just about lives north of the Paquo. He can outmaneuver you in a minute.”
    The sheriff cleared his throat. “Mr. Rhyme here thinks it’s better not to use too many people.”
    “You can’t use too many people in a situation like this,” Davett said to Rhyme. “You should take fifty men, give them rifles and have them beat the bushes till you find him. You’re doing it all wrong.”
    Rhyme noticed that Ben observed Davett’s lecture with a mortified expression. The zoologist would, of course, assume that one had to take the kid-glove approach when arguing with crips. The criminalist, though, said calmly, “A big manhunt would just drive Garrett to kill Lydia and then go to ground.”
    “No,” Davett said emphatically, “it’d scare him into letting her go. I’ve got about forty-five people working a shift at the factory now. Well, a dozen are women. We couldn’t get them involved. But the men. . . . Let me get them out. We’ll find some guns. Turn them loose around Stone Creek.”
    Rhyme could just imagine what thirty or forty amateur bounty hunters would do in a search like this. He shook his head. “No, this is the way to handle it.”
    Their eyes met and for a moment there was a thicksilence in the room. Davett shrugged and looked away first but this disengagement was not a concession that Rhyme might be correct. It was just the opposite: an emphatic protest that by ignoring his advice Rhyme and Bell were proceeding at their own peril.
    “Henry,” Bell said, “I agreed to let Mr. Rhyme run the show. We’re pretty thankful to him.”
    Part of the sheriff’s comments were intended for Rhyme himself—implicitly apologizing for Davett.
    But for his part Rhyme was delighted to be on the receiving end of Davett’s bluntness. It was a shocking admission for him but Rhyme, who believed not at all in omens, felt the man’s presence now was a sign—that the surgery would go well and would have some beneficial effect on his condition. He felt this because of the brief exchange that had just occurred—in which this tough businessman had looked him in the eye and told him he was dead wrong. Davett didn’t even notice Rhyme’s condition; all he saw was Rhyme’s actions, his decision, his attitude. His damaged body was irrelevant to Davett. Dr. Weaver’s magic hands would move him a step closer to a place where more people would treat him this way.
    The businessman said, “I’ll