"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 apparently--and wisely, Rhyme reflected--thought better of it.
"Let's get to work, Ben," Rhyme said. He wheeled to the 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?"