The Twelfth Card

the end of liberty as we know it.”
    “But,” Sachs said, “let’s say he did find that out, and it was invalid. The amendment could simply be reratified, couldn’t it?”
    This time the professor’s laugh was clearly cynical. “Wouldn’t happen. The one thing that all scholars agree on is that the Fourteenth was approved at the only window of time in our history when it could have been passed. No, if the Supreme Court invalidated the amendment, oh, we might reenact a few of the laws, but the main weapon for civil rights and civil liberties would be gone forever.”
    “If that’s the motive,” Rhyme asked, “who’d bebehind the attack on Geneva? Who should we be looking for?”
    Mathers shook his head. “Oh, the list’s endless. Tens of thousands of people want to make sure the amendment stays in force. They’d be politically liberal or radical, a member of a minority group—racially or in sexual orientation—or in favor of social programs, medical services to the poor, abortion rights, gay rights, prisoners’ rights, workers’ rights . . . . We think of extremists being the religious right—mothers who have their children lie down in abortion clinic driveways—or people who bomb federal buildings. But they don’t have a monopoly on killing for their principles. Most European terrorism has been carried out by left-wing radicals.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t even begin to guess who was behind it.”
    “We need to narrow it down somehow,” Sachs said.
    Rhyme nodded slowly, thinking: The main focus of their case had to be catching Unsub 109 and hoping he’d tell them who’d hired him, or finding evidence that would lead to that person. But he instinctively sensed this was an important lead too. If there were no answers in the present as to who was behind the attempts on Geneva Settle’s life, they’d have to look to the past. “Whoever it is obviously knows something more about what happened in 1868 than we do. If we can find that out—about what Charles learned, what he was up to, his secret, about the robbery—it might point us somewhere. I want more information on that time period in New York, Gallows Heights, Potters’ Field, everything we can find.” He frowned as a memory returned. He said to Cooper, “When you looked up GallowsHeights the first time you found an article about that place near here, the Sanford Foundation.”
    “Right.”
    “You still have it?”
    Mel Cooper saved everything. He called up the Times article on his computer. The text popped up on his screen. “Got it here.”
    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