The Empty Chair Read Free Page B

with a C4-level trauma."
    "I'm a gambling man," he said quickly. Sachs gave him a troubled glance. Because she'd know that Lincoln Rhyme wasn't a gambling man at all. He was a scientist who lived his life according to quantifiable, documented principles. He added simply, "I want the surgery."
    Dr. Weaver nodded and seemed neither pleased nor displeased about his decision. "You'll need to have several tests that should take several hours. The procedure's scheduled for the day after tomorrow. I have about a thousand forms and questionnaires for you. I'll be right back with the paperwork."
    Sachs rose and followed the doctor out of the room. Rhyme heard her asking, "Doctor, I have a . . ." The door clicked shut.
    "Conspiracy," Rhyme muttered to Thom. "Mutiny in the ranks."
    "She's worried about you."
    "Worried? That woman drives a hundred fifty miles an hour and plays gunslinger in the South Bronx. I'm getting baby-fish cells injected into me."
    "You know what I'm saying."
    Rhyme tossed his head impatiently. His eyes strayed to a corner of Dr. Weaver's office, where a spinal cord – presumably real – rested on a metal stand. It seemed far too fragile to support the complicated human life that had once hung upon it.
    The door opened. Sachs stepped into the office. Someone entered behind her but it wasn't Dr. Weaver. The man was tall, trim except for a slight paunch, and wearing a county sheriff's tan uniform. Unsmiling, Sachs said, "You've got a visitor."
    Seeing Rhyme, the man took off his Smokey the Bear hat and nodded. His eyes darted not to Rhyme's body, as did most people's upon meeting him, but went immediately to the spine on the stand behind the doctor's desk. Back to the criminalist. "Mr. Rhyme. I'm Jim Bell. Roland Bell's cousin? He told me you were going to be in town and I drove over from Tanner's Corner."
    Roland was on the NYPD and had worked with Rhyme on several cases. He was currently a partner of Lon Sellitto, a detective Rhyme had known for years. Roland had given Rhyme the names of some of his relatives to call when he was down in North Carolina for the operation in case he wanted some visitors. Jim Bell was one of them, Rhyme recalled. Looking past the sheriff toward the doorway through which his angel of mercy, Dr. Weaver, had yet to return, the criminalist said absently, "Nice to meet you."
    Bell gave a grim smile. He said, "Matter of fact, sir, I don't know you're going to be feeling that way for too long."

3
    There was a resemblance, Rhyme could see, as he concentrated more acutely on the visitor.
    The same lean physique, long hands and thinning hair, the same easygoing nature as his cousin Roland in New York. This Bell looked tanner and more rugged. Probably fished and hunted a lot. A Stetson would have suited him better than the trooper hat. Bell took a seat in a chair next to Thom.
    "We have ourselves a problem, Mr. Rhyme."
    "Call me Lincoln. Please."
    "Go on," Sachs said to Bell. "Tell him what you told me."
    Rhyme glanced coolly at Sachs. She'd met this man three minutes ago and already they were in cahoots together.
    "I'm sheriff of Paquenoke County. That's about twenty miles east of here. We have this situation and I was thinking 'bout what my cousin told me – he can't speak highly enough of you, sir . . ."
    Rhyme nodded impatiently for him to continue. Thinking: Where the hell's my doctor? How many forms does she have to dig up? Is she in on the conspiracy too?
    "Anyway, this situation . . . I thought I'd come over and ask if you could spare us a little time."
    Rhyme laughed, a sound without a stitch of humor in it. "I'm about to have surgery."
    "Oh, I understand that. I wouldn't interfere with it for the world. I'm just thinking of a few hours . . . We don't need much help, I'm hoping. See, Cousin Rol told me about some of the things you've done in investigations up north. We have basic crime lab stuff but most of the forensics work 'round here goes through Elizabeth City – the nearest