The Empty Chair (Lincoln Rhyme 3)

"Quiet!" the boy whispered harshly.

"Can I talk to you?" the criminalist called.

What was the point? she wondered. Still, she said, "Yes."

She walked to the door and said to Garrett, "Open it. I'm going outside."

"No, it's a trick," the boy said. "They'll attack--"

"Open the door, Garrett," she said firmly, her eyes boring into his. He looked around the room. Then bent down and pulled the wedges out from the doorjamb. Sachs opened the door, the cuffs on her stiff wrists jingling like sleigh bells.

"He did it, Rhyme," she said, sitting down on the porch steps in front of him. "He killed Billy.... I got it wrong. Dead wrong."

The criminalist closed his eyes. What horror she must be feeling, he thought. He looked at her carefully, her pale face, her stony eyes. He asked, "Is Mary Beth okay?"

"She's fine. Scared but fine."

"She saw him do it?"

Sachs nodded.

"There wasn't any man in overalls?" he asked.

"No. Garrett made that up. So I'd break him out. He had it all planned from the beginning. Leading us off to the Outer Banks. He had a boat hidden, supplies. He'd planned what to do if the deputies got close. Even had a safe house--that trailer you found. The key, right? That I found in the wasp jar? That's how you tracked us down."

"It was the key," Rhyme confirmed.

"I should've thought of that. We should've stayed someplace else."

He saw she was cuffed and noticed Garrett in the window, peering out angrily, holding a pistol. This was now a hostage situation; Garrett wasn't going to come out willingly. It was time to call the FBI. Rhyme had a friend, Arthur Potter, now retired, but still the best hostage negotiator the bureau ever had. He lived in Washington, D.C., and could be here in a few hours.

He turned back to Sachs. "And Jesse Corn?"

She shook her head. "I didn't know it was him, Rhyme. I thought it was one of Culbeau's friends. A deputy jumped me and my weapon went off. But it was my fault--I acquired an unidentified target with an unsafetied weapon. I broke rule number one."

"I'll get you the best lawyer in the country."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters, Sachs. It matters. We'll get something worked out."

She shook her head. "There's nothing to work out, Rhyme. It's felony murder. Open-and-shut case." Then she was looking up, past him. Frowning. She stood. "What's--?"

Suddenly a woman's voice called, "Hold it right there! Amelia, you're under arrest."

Rhyme tried to turn but couldn't rotate his head far enough. He puffed into the controller and backed up in a semicircle. He saw Lucy and two other deputies, crouching as they ran from the woods. Their weapons were in their hands and they kept their eyes on the windows of the cabin. The two men used trees for cover. But Lucy walked boldly toward Rhyme, Thom and Sachs, her pistol leveled at Sachs's chest.

How had the search party found the cabin? Had they heard the van? Had Lucy picked up Garrett's trail again?

Or had Bell reneged on his deal and told them?

Lucy walked right up to Sachs and without a moment's pause hit her hard in the face, her fist connecting with the policewoman's chin. Sachs gave a faint wheeze at the p

ain and stepped back. She said nothing.

"No!" Rhyme cried. Thom stepped forward but Lucy grabbed Sachs by the arm. "Is Mary Beth in there?"

"Yes." Blood trickled from her chin.