The Twelfth Card

streaks, many of which had small boxes of indecipherable numbers and letters beside them.
    One of the techs said, “Most of these are what you’d expect under a building this age. Boulders, a bed of gravel, pockets of decayed wood. That’s a portion of a sewer here.” Pointing to part of the screen.
    “There’s an easement for a storm drain that feeds into the main drain going to the Hudson,” Yu said. “That must be it.”
    The owner leaned over his shoulder.
    “You mind, sir?” Sachs grumbled. The man grudgingly stepped back.
    The tech nodded. “But here . . . ” He tapped a spot next to the back wall. “We got a ping but no hit.”
    “A—?”
    “When something comes back that the computer’s seen before, it suggests what it might be. But this was negative.”
    Sachs saw only a less dark area on the dark screen.
    “So we ran the ultrasound and got this.”
    His partner typed in a command and a different screen appeared, one much lighter and with a clearer image on it: a rough ring, inside of which was a round, opaque object that seemed to have a strand of something coming off it. Filling the ring, in the space below the smaller object, was what appeared to be apile of sticks or boards—maybe, Sachs speculated, a strongbox that had broken apart over the years.
    One officer said, “The outer ring’s about twenty-four inches across. The inner one’s three-dimensional—a sphere. It’s eight, nine inches in diameter.”
    “Is it close to the surface?”
    “The slab’s about seven inches deep, and this thing’s about six to eight feet below that.”
    “Where exactly?”
    The man looked from the computer screen to the floor and back again. He walked over to a spot right beside the wall in the back of the basement, near the door that led outside. He drew a chalk mark. The object was right against the wall. Whoever had built the wall had missed it by only inches.
    “I’m guessing it was a well or a cistern. Maybe a chimney.”
    “What would it take to get through the concrete?” Sachs asked Yu.
    “My permission,” said the owner. “Which you ain’t getting. You’re not breaking up my floor.”
    “Sir,” Sachs said patiently, “this is police business.”
    “Whatever that thing is, it’s mine.”
    “Ownership isn’t the issue. It may be relevant to a police investigation.”
    “Well, you’ll have to get a court order. I’m a lawyer. You’re not breaking up my floor.”
    “It’s really important we find out what that is.”
    “Important?” the man asked. “Why?”
    “It has to do with a criminal case from a few years ago.”
    “Few years?” the man said, picking up on the weakness of her case immediately. “How ‘few’?” He was probably a really good lawyer.
    You lie to people like this and it comes back to get you. She said, “A hundred and forty. Give or take.”
    He laughed. “This isn’t an investigation. This is the Discovery Channel. No jackhammer. Uh-uh.”
    “A little cooperation here, sir?”
    “Get a court order. I don’t have to cooperate until I’m forced to.”
    “Then it’s not really cooperation, is it?” Sachs snapped back. She called Rhyme.
    “What’s going on?” he asked.
    She briefed him about what they’d found.
    “An old strongbox in a well or cistern inside a burned-down building. Hiding places don’t get much better than that.” Rhyme asked for S and S to send him the images via wireless email. They did so.
    “I’ve got the picture here, Sachs,” he said after a moment. “No clue what it is.”
    She told him about the unconcerned citizen.
    “And I’ll fight it,” the lawyer said, hearing the conversation. “I’ll appear before the magistrate myself. I know ’em all. We’re on a first-name basis.”
    She heard Rhyme discussing the matter with Sellitto. When he came back on the line he wasn’t happy. “Lon’s going to try to get a warrant, but it’ll take time. And he’s not even sure the judge’d issue paper in a case like this.”
    “Can’t I just clock this guy?” she muttered and hung up. She turned to the owner. “We’ll repair your floor. Perfectly.”
    “I have tenants. They’ll complain. And I’ll have to deal with it. You won’t. You’ll be long gone.”
    Sachs waved her hand in disgust, actually thinking about placing him under arrest for—well, for something—and then digging through the damn floor anyway. How long would a warrant take? Probably forever, she imagined, considering that