“Mason just about begged to be lead investigator on that case we were telling you about—the girl got stung to death in Blackwater. Meg Blanchard. Truth be told, I think the victim had, you know, some connection with Mason. Maybe they were going out. Maybe there was something else—I don’t know. But he wanted to nail Garrett bad. But he just couldn’t make the case against him. When it came time for the old sheriff to retire, the Board of Supervisors held that against him. I got the job and he didn’t—even though he’s older’n me and’d been on the force longer.”

Rhyme shook his head. “We don’t need hotheads in an operation like this. Pick somebody else.”

“Ned Spoto?” Lucy suggested.

Bell shrugged. “He’s a good man. Sure. Can shoot good but he also won’t unless he for sure has to.”

Rhyme said, “Just make sure Mason’s nowhere near the search.”

“He won’t like it.”

“That’s not a consideration,” Rhyme said. “Find something else for him to do. Something that sounds important.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” Bell said uncertainly.

Steve Farr leaned into the doorway. “Just called the hospital,” he announced. “Ed’s still in critical condition.”

“Has he said anything? About the map he saw?”

“Not a word. Still unconscious.”

Rhyme turned to Sachs. “Okay … Get going. Hold up where the trail stops in Blackwater Landing and wait to hear from me.”

Lucy was looking uncertainly at the bags of evidence. “You really think this’s the way to find those girls?”

“I know it is,” Rhyme answered shortly.

She said skeptically, “Seems a little too much like magic to me.”

Rhyme laughed. “Oh, that’s exactly what it is. Sleight of hand, pulling rabbits out of hats. But remember that illusion is based on … on what, Ben?”

The big man cleared his throat, blushed and shook his head. “Uhm, don’t quite know what you mean, sir.”

“Illusion’s based on science. That’s what.” A glance at Sachs. “I’ll call you as soon as I find something.”

The two women and Jesse Corn left the evidence room.

And so, the precious evidence arrayed before him, the familiar equipment warmed up, internal politics disposed of, Lincoln Rhyme eased his head back against the wheelchair headrest and stared at the bags Sachs had delivered to him—willing, or coercing, or perhaps just allowing his mind to roam where his legs could not walk, to touch what his hands could not feel.

… chapter eight

The deputies were talking.

Mason Germain, arms crossed, leaning against the hallway wall beside the door that led to the Sheriff’s Department deputy cubicles, could just hear their voices.

“How come we’re just sitting here not doing anything?”

“No, no, no…. Didn’t you hear? Jim’s sent out a search party.”

“Yeah? No, I didn’t hear that.”