The Empty Chair

apparently—and wisely, Rhyme reflected—thought better of it.
    “Let’s get to work, Ben,” Rhyme said. He wheeled tothe table that held the density gradient tubes. “Now listen carefully. A criminalist’s tools are like a tactical officer’s weapons. They have to be packed and stored just right. You treat them as if somebody’s life will depend on them because, believe me, it will. Are you listening, Ben?”
    “I’m listening.”

. . . chapter eighteen
    The Tanner’s Corner lockup was a structure two long blocks away from the Sheriff’s Department.
    Sachs and Bell walked along the blistering sidewalk toward the place. Again she was struck by the ghost-town quality of Tanner’s Corner. The sickly drunks they’d noticed when they first arrived were still downtown, sitting on a bench, silent. A skinny, coiffed woman parked her Mercedes in an empty row of parking spaces, climbed out and walked into the nail salon. The glitzy car seemed completely out of place in the small town. There was no one else on the street. Sachs noticed a half-dozen businesses had gone under. One of them had been a toy store. A mannequin of a baby wearing a sun-bleached jumper lay in the window. Where, she thought again, were all the children?
    Then she looked across the street and saw a face watching her from the dim recesses of Eddie’s bar. She squinted. “Those three guys?” she said, nodding.
    Bell looked. “Culbeau and his buddies?”
    “Uh-huh. They’re trouble. They got my weapon away from me,” Sachs said. “One of them did. O’Sarian.”
    The sheriff frowned. “What happened?”
    “I got it back,” she answered shortly.
    “You want me to bring him in?”
    “No. Just thought you should know: they’re upset about losing out on the reward. If you ask me, though, it’s more than that. They’re gunning for that boy.”
    “Them and the rest of the town.”
    Sachs said, “But the rest of the town doesn’t carry around loaded weapons.”
    Bell chuckled and said, “Well, not all of ’em, anyway.”
    “I’m also a little curious how they happened to end up at the mill.”
    The sheriff thought about this for a moment. “Mason, you thinking?”
    “Yep,” Sachs said.
    “Wish he’d take his vacation this week. But there’s no chance of that happening. Well, here we are. Not much of a jail. But it works.”
    They walked inside the single-story cinder-block building. The groaning air conditioner kept the rooms mercifully cool. Bell told her to drop her gun in the lockbox. He did the same and they walked into the interrogation room. He closed the door.
    Wearing a blue jumpsuit, courtesy of the county, Garrett Hanlon sat at a fiberboard table, across from Jesse Corn. The deputy smiled at Sachs and she gave him a smaller smile in return. She then looked at the boy and was struck again at how sad and desperate he seemed.
    I’m scared. Make him stop!
    On his face and arms were welts that hadn’t been there earlier. She asked, “What happened to your skin?”
    He looked down at his arm and rubbed self-consciously. “Poison oak,” he muttered.
    In a kind voice Bell said, “You heard your rights, didn’t you? Did Deputy Kerr read them to you?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And you understand them?”
    “I guess.”
    “There’s a lawyer on his way. Mr. Fredericks. He’s coming from a meeting in Elizabeth City and he’ll be here pretty soon. You don’t have to say anything until he gets here. You understand that?”
    He nodded.
    Sachs glanced at the one-way mirror. Wondered who was on the other side, manning the video camera.
    “But we hope you’ll talk to us, Garrett,” Bell continued. “We have some real important things to ask you about. First of all, it’s true? Mary Beth’s alive?”
    “Sure she is.”
    “Did you rape her?”
    “Like, I’d never do that,” he said, and the pathos momentarily gave way to indignation.
    “But you kidnapped her,” Bell said.
    “Not really.”
    “Not really ?”
    “She, like, didn’t get it that Blackwater Landing’s dangerous. I had to get her away or she wouldn’t be safe. That’s all. I saved her. Like, sometimes you gotta make somebody do things they don’t want to. For their own good. And, you know, then they catch on.”
    “She’s near the beach somewhere, isn’t she? The Outer Banks, right?”
    He blinked at this, red eyes narrowing. He’d be realizing that they’d found the map and talked to Lydia. He looked down at the fiberboard table.