The Twelfth Card (Lincoln Rhyme 6)

"Tucker? Ordinary fellow. Just retired from the Department of Justice--that's our corrections outfit down here. Was happily married, a grandfather. Never in any trouble. Went to church regular."

Rhyme frowned. "What'd he do for prisons?"

"Guard. In our maximum security facility in Amarillo . . . Hmmm, you thinkin' maybe a prisoner hired somebody to get even for something that happened inside? Prisoner abuse, or some such?"

"Could be," Rhyme said. "Did Tucker ever get written up?"

"Nothing in the file here about it. You might wanta check with the prison."

Rhyme got the name of the warden of the facility where Tucker had worked and then said, "Thanks, Captain."

"Nothing to it. Y'all have a good day."

A few minutes later Rhyme was on the line with Warden J. T. Beauchamp of the Northern Texas Maximum Security Correction Facility in Amarillo. Rhyme identified himself and said he was working with the NYPD. "Now, Warden--"

"J. T., if you please, sir."

"All right, J. T." Rhyme explained the situation to him.

"Charlie Tucker? Sure, the guard who was killed. Lynching, or whatever. I wasn't here then. Tucker retired just before I moved from Houston. I'll pull his file. Put you on hold." A moment later the warden returned. "I've got it right here. Nope, no formal complaints against him, 'cepting from one prisoner. He said Charlie was ridin' him pretty hard. When Charlie didn't stop they got into a little scuffle 'bout it."

"That could be our man," Rhyme pointed out.

" 'Cepting the prisoner was executed a week later. And Charlie didn't get hisself killed for another year."

"But maybe Tucker hassled another prisoner, who hired somebody to even the score."

"Possible. Only hiring a pro for that? Little sophisticated for our lot down here."

Rhyme tended to agree. "Well, maybe the perp was a prisoner himself. He went after Tucker as soon as he got out, then set up the murder to look like some ritual killing. Could you ask some of your guards or other employees? We'd be looking for a white male, forties, medium build, light brown hair. Probably doing time for a violent felony. And probably released or escaped--"

"No escapes, not from here," the warden added.

"Okay then, released not long before Tucker was killed. That's about all we know. Oh, and he has a knowledge of guns and's a good shot."

"That won't help. This's Texas." A chuckle.

Rhyme continued, "We have a computer composite of his face. We'll email a copy to you. Could you have somebody compare it to the pictures of releasees around that time?"

"Yes, sir, I'll have my gal do it. She's got a pretty good eye. But may take a while. We've had ourselves a lotta inmates go through here." He gave them his email address and they hung up.

Just as the call was disconnected, Geneva, Bell and Pulaski arrived.

Bell explained about the accomplice's escape at the school. He added a few details about him, though, and told them that somebody was going to canvass the students and teachers and dig up a security tape if there was one.

"I didn't get to take my last test," Geneva said angrily, as if this were Rhyme's fault. This girl could definitely get on your nerves. Still, he said patiently, "I have some news you might be interested in. Your ancestor survived his swim in the Hudson."

"He did?" Her face brightened and she eagerly read the printout of the 1868 magazine article. Then she frowned. "They make him sound pretty bad. Like he'd planned it all along. He wasn't that way. I know it." She looked up. "And we still don't know what happened to him if he was ever released."

"We're still searching for information. I hope we can find out more."

The tech's computer chimed and he looked it over. "Maybe something here. Email from a professor at Amherst who runs an African-American history website. She's one of the people I emailed about Charles Singleton."

"Read it."

"It's from Frederick Douglass's diary."

"Who was he again?" Pulaski asked. "Sorry, I probably should know. Got a street named after him and all."