The Empty Chair (Lincoln Rhyme 3)

Nor did she tell the deputy that Rhyme had deflected the subject of children every time it came up and she was left to speculate why he was so reluctant to consider the matter. It could have been any number of reasons, of course: his fear that having a family might interfere with his practice of criminalistics, which he needed to keep his sanity. Or his knowledge that quadriplegics, statistically at least, have a shorter life span than the nondisabled. Or maybe he wanted to have the freedom to wake up one day and decide that he'd had enough and that he didn't want to live any longer. Perhaps it was all of these, coupled with the belief that he and Sachs would hardly be the most normal of parents (though she would have countered: And what exactly is normal nowadays?).

Lucy mused, "I always wondered if I had kids would I keep working? How 'bout you?"

"I carry a weapon but I'm mostly crime scene. I'd cut out the risky stuff. Have to drive slower too. I've got a Camaro that'll churn three hundred sixty horses sitting in my garage in Brooklyn right now. Can't really see having one of those baby seats in it." A laugh. "I guess I'd have to learn how to drive a Volvo station wagon with an automatic. Maybe I could take lessons."

"I can see you laying rubber pulling out of the Food Lion parking lot."

Silence fell between them, that odd silence of strangers who've shared complicated secrets and realize they can go no further with them.

Lucy looked at her watch. "I should get back to the station house. Help Jim make calls about the Outer Banks." She tossed the empty bottle into the trash. Shook her head. "I keep thinking about Mary Beth. Wondering where she is, if she's okay, if she's scared."

As she said this, though, Amelia Sachs was thinking not about the girl but about Garrett Hanlon. Because they'd been talking about children Sachs was imagining how she'd feel if she had a son who was accused of murder and kidnapping. Who was looking at the prospect of spending the night in jail. Maybe a hundred nights, maybe thousands.

Lucy paused. "You headed back?"

"In a minute or two."

"Hope to see you 'fore you leave." The deputy disappeared up the street.

A few minutes later the door to the lockup opened and Mason Germain walked out. She'd never once seen him smile and he wasn't smiling now. He looked around the street but didn't notice her. He strode over the broken sidewalk and disappeared into one of the buildings--a store or bar--on the way to the County Building.

Then a car pulled up across the street and two men got out. Garrett's lawyer, Cal Fredericks, was one and the other was a heavyset man in his forties. He was in a shirt and tie--the top button undone and the sloppy knot of his striped tie pulled down a few inches from his throat. His sleeves were rolled up and his navy sports jacket was draped over his arm. His tan slacks were savagely wrinkled. His face had the kindness of a grade-school teacher. They walked inside.

Sachs tossed the cup in an oil drum outside the deli. She crossed the empty street and followed them into the lockup.

... chapter twenty

Cal Fredericks introduced Sachs to Doctor Elliott Penny.

"Oh, you're working with Lincoln Rhyme?" the doctor asked, surprising Sachs.

"That's right."

"Cal told me it was mostly because of you two they caught Garrett. Is he here? Lincoln?"

"He's at the County Building right now. Probably won't be there long."

"We have a friend in common. I'd like to say hi. I'll stop by if I get a chance."

Sachs said, "He should be there for another hour or so." She turned to Cal Fredericks. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes'm," the defense lawyer said cautiously; Sachs was, in theory, working for the enemy.

"Mason Germain was talking to Garrett in the lockup earlier. He mentioned Lancaster. What's that?"

"The

Violent Felony Detention Center. He'll be transferred there after the arraignment. Held there until the trial."

"It's juvenile?"

"No, no. Adult."

"But he's sixteen," Sachs said.

"Oh, McGuire'll try him as an adult--if we can't work out a plea."

"How bad is it?"