The Empty Chair

Didn’t say anything else.
    “Where is she exactly, Garrett?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    “Son, you’re in serious trouble. You got a murder conviction staring you in the face.”
    “I didn’t kill Billy.”
    “How’d you know it was Billy I was talking about?”Bell asked quickly. Jesse Corn lifted an eyebrow to Sachs, impressed at his boss’s cleverness.
    Garrett’s fingernails clicked together. “Whole world knows Billy got killed.” His fast eyes circled the room. Resting inevitably on Amelia Sachs. She could endure the imploring look for only a moment then had to look away.
    “We got your fingerprints on the shovel that killed him.”
    “The shovel? That killed him?”
    “Yep.”
    He seemed to think back to what had happened. “I remember seeing it lying there on the ground. I guess maybe I picked it up.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I felt all weird seeing Billy lying there, like, all bloody and everything.”
    “Well, you have any idea who did kill Billy?”
    “This man. Mary Beth told me that she was, like, doing this project for school there, by the river, and Billy stopped to talk to her. And then this man came up. He’d been following Billy and they started arguing and fighting and this guy grabbed the shovel and killed him. Then I came by and he ran off.”
    “You saw him?”
    “Yessir.”
    “What were they arguing about?” Bell asked skeptically.
    “Drugs or something, Mary Beth said. Sounded like Billy was selling drugs to the kids on the football team. Like, those steroid things?”
    “Jeeez,” said Jesse Corn, giving a sour laugh.
    “Garrett,” Bell said. “Billy wasn’t into drugs. I knew him. And we never had any reports about steroids at the high school.”
    “I understand that Billy Stail ragged on you a lot,” Jesse said. “Billy and a couple other boys on the team.”
    Sachs thought this wasn’t right—two big deputies double-teaming him.
    “That they made fun of you. Called you Bug Boy. You took a swing at Billy once and he and his friends beat you up bad.”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “Principal Gilmore told us,” Bell said. “They had to call security.”
    “Maybe. But I didn’t kill him.”
    “Ed Schaeffer died, you know. He got stung to death by those wasps in the blind.”
    “I’m sorry that happened. That wasn’t my fault. I didn’t put the nest there.”
    “It wasn’t a trap?”
    “No, it was just there, in the hunting blind. I went there all the time—even slept there—and they didn’t bother me. Yellow jackets only sting when they’re afraid you’re going to hurt their family.”
    “Well, tell us about this man you say killed Billy,” the sheriff said. “You ever see him around here before?”
    “Yessir. Two or three times the last couple years. Walking through the woods around Blackwater Landing. Then once I saw him near the school.”
    “White, black?”
    “White. And he was tall. Maybe about as old as Mr. Babbage—”
    “His forties?”
    “Yeah, I guess. He had blond hair. And he was wearing overalls. Tan ones. And a white shirt.”
    “But it was just your and Billy’s fingerprints on the shovel,” Bell pointed out. “Nobody else’s.”
    Garrett said, “Like, I think he was wearing gloves.”
    “Why’d he be wearing gloves this time of year?” Jesse said.
    “Probably so he wouldn’t leave fingerprints,” Garrett shot back.
    Sachs thought back to the friction-ridge prints on the shovel. She and Rhyme hadn’t done the printing themselves. Sometimes it’s possible to image grain prints fromleather gloves. Cotton or wool glove prints were much less detectable although fabric fibers could slough off and get caught in the tiny splinters in a wooden surface like a tool handle.
    “Well, what you say could’ve happened, Garrett,” Bell said. “But it just doesn’t seem like the truth to anybody.”
    “Billy was dead! I just picked up the shovel and looked at it. Which I shouldn’t have. But I did. That’s all that happened. I knew Mary Beth was in danger so I took her away to be safe.” He said this to Sachs, gazing at her with imploring eyes.
    “Let’s get back to her,” Bell said. “Why was she in danger?”
    “Because she was in Blackwater Landing.” He snapped his nails again. . . . Different from my habit, Sachs reflected. I dig into my flesh, he clicks nail against nail. Which is worse? she wondered. Mine, she decided; it’s more destructive.
    He turned his