The Empty Chair (Lincoln Rhyme 3)

Bell laughed. "You got that right. Oh, Henry'd drive a competitor out of business without a blink but he's a deacon in church. Goes three times a week or so. One of the reasons he'd like to send an army out after Garrett is that he's thinking that the boy's probably a heathen."

Rhyme still couldn't figure out the rest of the initials. "I give up. What're the other letters?"

"Stands for 'What Would Jesus Do?' That's what all those good Christians 'round here ask themselves when they're facing a big decision. I myself don't have a clue what He'd do in a case like this. But I'll tell you what I'm doing: calling up Lucy and your friend and gettin' 'em on Garrett's trail."

"Stone Creek?" Jesse Corn said after Sachs had relayed Rhyme's message to the search party. The deputy pointed. "A half mile that way."

He started through the brush, followed by Lucy and Amelia. Ned Spoto was in the rear, his pale eyes scanning the surroundings uneasily.

In five minutes they broke out of the tangle and stepped onto a well-trod path. Jesse motioned them along it, to the right--east.

"This is the path?" Sachs asked Lucy. "The one you thought he'd gone down?"

"That's right," Lucy responded.

"You were right," Sachs said quietly, for her ears only. "But we still had to wait."

"No, you had to show who was in charge," Lucy said brusquely.

That's absolutely right, Sachs thought. Then added: "But now we know there's probably a bomb on the trail. We didn't know that before."

"I would've been looking for traps anyway." Lucy fell silent and she continued along the path, eyes fixed on the ground, proving that she would, in fact, have been looking.

In ten minutes they came to Stone Creek, its water milky and frothing with pollutant suds. On the bank they found two sets of footprints--sneaker prints in a small size, but deep, probably left by a heavyset woman. Lydia, undoubtedly. And a man's bare feet. Garrett had apparently discarded his remaining shoe.

"Let's cross here," Jesse said. "I know the pine woods that Mr. Rhyme mentioned. This's the shortest way to get to them."

Sachs started toward the water.

"Stop!" Jesse called abruptly.

She froze, hand on her pistol, crouching. "What's the matter?" she asked. Lucy and Ned, snickering at her reaction, were sitting on rocks, taking off their shoes and socks.

"You get your socks wet and keep walking," Lucy said, "you'll be standing in need of about a dozen bandages 'fore you go a hundred yards. Blisters."

"Don't know much 'bout hiking, do you?" Ned asked the policewoman.

Jesse Corn gave an exasperated laugh at his fellow deputy. "'Cause she lives in the city, Ned. Just like I don't figure you'd be an expert on subways and skyscrapers."

Sachs ignored both the chide and the gallant defense, and pulled off her short boots and black ankle-length socks. Rolled her jeans cuffs up.

They started through the stream. The water was ice-cold and felt wonderful. She regretted when the short trek through the creek--which Jesse pronounced "crick"--was over.

They waited a few minutes on the other side for their feet to dry then pulled on socks and shoes. Then searched the shore until they found the footprints once more. The party followed the trail into the woods but, as the ground grew drier and more tangled with brush, they lost the tracks.

"The pine trees're that way," Jesse said. He pointed northeast. "Makes the most sense for them to go straight through there."

Following his general guidance, they hiked for another twenty minutes, single file, scanning the ground for trip wires. Then the oak and holly and sedge gave way to juniper and hemlock. Ahead of them, a quarter mile, was a huge line of pine trees. But there was no longer any sign of the kidnapper's or his victim's footprints--no clue as to where they'd entered the forest.

"Too damn big," Lucy muttered. "How're we going to find the trail in there?"

"Let's fan out," Ned suggested. He too looked dismayed at the tangle of flora in front of them. "If he's left a bomb here it'll be the dickens to see it."

They were about to spread out when Sachs lifted her head. "Wait. Stay here," she ordered then started slowly through the brush, eyes on the ground, looking for traps. Only fifty feet away from the deputies, in a grove of some flowering trees, now barren and surrounded by rotting petals, she found Garrett's and Lydia's footprints in the dusty earth. They led to a clear path that headed into the forest.

&n

bsp; "They came this way!" she called. "Follow my footprints. I checked it for traps."