The Twelfth Card (Lincoln Rhyme 6)

The captain looked around the scene. Several ESU cops milled about. None of them was looking at Sellitto. They seemed embarrassed for him. The brass finally said, "No injury, no serious property damage. I'll do a report, but a shooting review board's optional. I won't recommend it."

The relief flooded through Sellitto. An SRB for an accidental discharge was a short step away from an Internal Affairs investigation as far as what it did to your reputation. Even if you were cleared, grime stuck to you for a long, long time. Sometimes forever.

"Want some time off?" the captain asked.

"No, sir," Sellitto said firmly.

The worst thing in the world for him--for any cop--was downtime after a thing like this. He'd brood, he'd eat himself drunk on junk food, he'd be in a shitty mood to everybody around him. And he'd get even more spooked than he was now. (He still recalled with shame how he'd jumped like a schoolgirl at the truck backfire earlier.)

"I don't know." The captain had the power to order a mandatory leave of absence. He wanted to ask Sachs's opinion but that would be out of line. She was a new, junior detective. Still, the captain's hesitation in deciding was meant to give her the chance to pipe up. To say, maybe, Hey, Lon, yeah, it'd be a good idea. Or: It's okay. We'll manage without you.

Instead she said nothing. Which they all knew was a vote in his favor. The captain asked, "I understand some wit got killed right in front of you today, right? That have anything to do with this?"

Fuck yes, fuck no . . .

"Couldn't say."

Another long debate. But say what you will about brass, they don't rise through the ranks in the NYPD without knowing all about life on the street and what it does to cops. "All right, I'll keep you active. But go see a counselor."

His face burned. A shrink. But he said, "Sure. I'll make an appointment right away."

"Good. And keep me in the loop on how it goes."

"Yes, sir. Thanks."

The captain returned his weapon and walked back to the CP with Bo Haumann. Sellitto and Sachs headed for the Crime Scene Unit rapid response vehicle, which had just arrived.

"Amelia . . . "

"Forget it, Lon. It happened. It's over with. Friendly fire happens all the time." Statistically cops had a much higher chance of being shot by their own or fellow cops' bullets than by a perp's.

The heavyset detective shook his head. "I just . . . " He didn't know where to go from there.

Silence for a long moment as they walked to the bus. Finally Sachs said, "One thing, Lon. Word'll go around. You know how that is. But nobody civilian'll hear. Not from me." Not being hooked into the wire--the network of police scuttlebutt--Lincoln Rhyme would only learn about the incident from one of them.

"I wasn't going to ask that."

"I know," she said. "Just telling you how I'm going to handle it." She started unloading crime scene equipment.

"Thanks," he said in a thick voice. And realized that the fingers of his left hand had returned to the stigmata of blood on his cheek.

Tap, tap, tap . . .

*

"It's a lean one, Rhyme."

"Go ahead," he said through the headset.

In her white Tyvek suit, she was walking the grid in the small apartment--a safe house, they knew, because of its sparseness. Most pro killers had a place like this. They kept weapons and supplies there and used it as a staging spot for nearby hits and a hidey-hole if a gig went bad.

"What's inside?" he asked.

"A cot, bare desk and chair. Lamp. A TV hooked up to a security camera mounted in the hall outside. It's a Video-Tect system but he's removed the serial number stickers so we don't know when and where it was bought. I found wires and some relays for the electric charge he rigged on the door. The electrostatics match the Bass walking shoes. I've dusted everywhere and can't find a single print. Wearing gloves inside his hidey-hole--what's up with that?"

Rhyme speculated, "Aside from the fact he's goddamn smart? Probably he wasn't guarding the place very carefully and knew it'd get tossed at some point. I'd just love to get a print. He's definitely on file someplace. Maybe a lot of places."

"I found the rest of the tarot card deck, but there're no store labels on it. And the only card missing is number twelve, the one he left at the scene. Okay, I'm going to keep searching."