The Empty Chair

Banks—the grains were clear, not opaque, as would have been the case with inland sand.
    “Run a sample through the chromatograph. Let’s see if there’s any other trace that’ll be helpful.”
    Ben started the noisy machine.
    As they waited for the results he spread the map out on the table. Bell, Ben and Rhyme examined it carefully. It depicted the eastern shore of the U.S. from Norfolk, Virginia, and the Hampton Roads shipping lanes all the way down to South Carolina. They looked over every inch but Garrett hadn’t circled or marked any location.
    Of course not, Rhyme thought; it’s never that easy. They used the flashlight on this map too. But found no indented writing.
    The chromatograph results flashed up onto the screen. Rhyme glanced at it quickly. “Not much help. Sodium chloride—salt—along with iodine, organic material. . . .All consistent with seawater. But there’s hardly any other trace. Doesn’t do us much good for tying the sand to a specific location.” Rhyme nodded at the shoes that had been in the box with the map. He asked Ben, “Any other trace in those?”
    The young man examined them carefully, even unlacing them—just as Rhyme was about to ask him to do. This boy has good criminalist potential, Rhyme thought. He shouldn’t be wasting his talent on neurotic fish.
    The shoes were old Nikes—so common that tracing them to a particular store where Garrett might have bought them was impossible.
    “Flecks of dried leaves, looks like. Maple and oak. If I had to guess.”
    Rhyme nodded. “Nothing else in the box?”
    “Nothing.”
    Rhyme looked up at the other evidence charts. His eye paused at the references to camphene.
    “Sachs, in the mill, were there old-fashioned lamps on the walls? Or lanterns?”
    “No,” Sachs answered. “None.”
    “Are you sure,” he persisted gruffly, “or did you just not notice?”
    She crossed her arms and said evenly, “The floors were ten-inch-wide chestnut, the walls plaster and lath. There was graffiti on one of the walls in blue spray paint. It said, ‘Josh and Brittany, luv always,’ love spelled L-U-V. There was one Shaker-style table, cracked down the middle and painted black, three bottles of Deer Park water, a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, five bags of Doritos, two bags of Cape Cod potato chips, six cans of Pepsi, four cans of Coke, eight packets of Planters peanut butter and cheese crackers. There were two windows in the room. One was boarded over. In the unboarded window there was only one pane that was unbroken—the others had been smashed—and every doorknob and window latch in the place was stolen. There were old-fashionedraised electric switches on the walls. And, yes, I’m sure there were no old-fashioned lamps.”
    “Whoa, she got you there, Lincoln,” Ben said, laughing.
    Now being one of the gang, the young man was rewarded with a glower from Rhyme. The criminalist stared once more at the evidence then shook his head, said to Bell, “I’m sorry, Jim, the best I can tell you is that she’s probably being held in a house not far from the ocean but—if the deciduous leaves are near the place—not on the water. Because oak and maple wouldn’t grow in sand. And it’s old—because of the camphene lamps. Nineteenth century. That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”
    Bell was looking at the map of the Eastern shore, shaking his head. “Well, I’m going to talk to Garrett again, see if he’ll cooperate. If not I’m gonna give the D.A. a call and think about trading a plea for information. Worse comes to worst I’ll fix up a search of the Outer Banks. I tell you, Lincoln, you’re a lifesaver. I can’t thank you enough. You’ll be here for a spell?”
    “Only long enough to show Ben how to pack up the equipment.”
    Rhyme spontaneously thought again of his mascot, Henry Davett. But he found to his surprise that his elation that his job was now finished was tainted by his frustration that the ultimate answer to the puzzle of finding Mary Beth McConnell still eluded him. But, as his ex-wife used to say to him as he walked out the door of their apartment at one or two A.M. to run a crime scene, you can’t save the entire world. “I wish you luck, Jim.”
    Sachs said to Bell, “You mind if I come with you? To see Garrett?”
    “Feel free,” the sheriff said. He seemed to want to add something—maybe about female charm helping them get some information out of the boy. But he then