The Twelfth Card (Lincoln Rhyme 6)

Rhyme read the article and learned that the Sanford Foundation had an extensive archive on Upper West Side history. "Call up the director of the place--William Ashberry. Tell him we need to go through his library."

"Will do." Cooper lifted a phone. He had a brief conversation, then hung up and reported, "They're happy to help. Ashberry'll hook us up with a curator in the archives."

"Somebody's got to go check it out," Rhyme said, looking at Sachs with a raised eyebrow.

" 'Somebody'? I drew the short straw without drawing?"

Who else did she have in mind? Pulaski was in the hospital. Bell and his team were guarding Geneva. Cooper was a lab man. Sellitto was too senior to do grunt work like that. Rhyme chided, "There are no small crime scenes, there are only small crime scene investigators."

"Funny," she said sourly. She pulled on her jacket, grabbed her purse.

"One thing," Rhyme said, serious now.

She lifted an eyebrow.

"We know he'll target us."

Police, he meant.

"Keep that orange paint in mind. Watch out for construction or highway workers . . . . Well, with him, watch out for anybody."

"Got it," she said. Then took the address of the foundation and left.

After she'd gone, Professor Mathers looked though the letters and other documents once more then handed them back to Cooper. He glanced at Geneva. "When I was your age they didn't even have African-American studies in high school. What's the program like nowadays? Do you take two semesters?"

Geneva frowned. "AAS? I'm not taking it."

"Then what's your term paper for?"

"Language arts."

"Ah. So you're taking black studies next year?"

A hesitation. "I'm not taking it at all."

"Really?"

Geneva obviously sensed some criticism in his question. "It's pass/fail. All you have to do is show up. I don't want that kind of grade on my record."

"It can't hurt."

"What's the point?" she asked bluntly. "We've heard it all over and over . . . . Amistad, slavers, John Brown, the Jim Crow laws, Brown versus the Board of Education, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X . . . " She fell silent.

With the detachment of a professional teacher, Mather asked, "Just whining about the past?"

Geneva finally nodded. "I guess that's how I see it, yeah. I mean, this is the twenty-first century. Time to move on. All those battles are over with."

The professor smiled, then he glanced at Rhyme. "Well, good luck. Let me know if I can help some more."

"We'll do that."

The lean man walked to the door. He paused and turned.

"Oh, Geneva?"

"Yes?"

"Just think about one thing--from somebody who's lived a few years longer than you. I sometimes wonder if the battles really aren't over with at all." He nodded toward the evidence chart and Charles's letters. "Maybe it's just harder to recognize the enemy."