The Twelfth Card

on Elizabeth Street.
    Haumann then glanced at Sachs. “You’re going in with us?”
    “Yup,” she replied. “Somebody from Crime Scene’sgot to secure the place. We still don’t know who hired this SOB and we’ve got to find out.”
    “Which team you want to be on?”
    “With whoever’s going through the front door,” she said.
    “That’d be Jenkins’s.”
    “Yes, sir.” She then explained about the residences across the street and reminded them that Boyd might target the civilians living there in an attempt to escape. Haumann nodded. “I need somebody to clear those places, at least get people away from the front windows and keep ’em off the streets.”
    Nobody wanted this job, of course. If ESU cops had been cowboys, Haumann was asking for somebody to volunteer to be cook.
    The silence was broken by a voice. “Hell, I’ll take it.” It was Lon Sellitto. “Perfect for an old guy like me.”
    Sachs glanced at him. The detective had just flunked his knuckle time. His nerve had broken. He gave a carefree grin, maybe the saddest smile Sachs had ever seen in her life.
    Into his mike the ESU head said, “All teams, deploy to holding perimeter. And S and S, let me know the minute there’s a change in the premises, K.”
    “Roger. Out.”
    Sachs said into her microphone, “We’re going in, Rhyme. I’ll let you know what happens.”
    “Got it,” he said tersely.
    Nothing more was said between them. Rhyme didn’t like her going into combat. But he knew how driven she was, how any threat to an innocent infuriated her, how it was important for her to make sure people like Thompson Boyd didn’t get away. This was part of her nature and he’d never suggested she stand down at times like this.
    Didn’t mean he was going to be cheerful about it, though.
    But then thoughts of Lincoln Rhyme faded as they started into position.
    Sachs and Sellitto were walking up the alley, she to join the entry team, he to continue on to the residences across the street and get the people there under cover. The lieutenant’s phony grin was gone. The man’s face looked puffy and was dotted with sweat, despite the cool temperature. He wiped it, scratched the invisible bloodstain and noticed her looking at him. “Fucking body armor. Hot.”
    “Hate it,” Sachs said. They continued steadily down the alley, until they got close to the back of Boyd’s apartment, where the troops were deploying. Suddenly she grabbed Sellitto’s arm and pulled him back. “Somebody’s watching . . . ” But as they stepped close to the building, Sachs tripped over a trash bag and went down hard on her leg. She gasped, wincing and cradling her knee.
    “You okay?”
    “Fine,” she said, climbing to her feet with a grimace. She called into her radio, in a breathless voice, “Five Eight Eight Five, I saw movement in a second-floor window, rear of the building. S and S, can you confirm?”
    “No hostiles. That’s one of our people you’re seeing, K.”
    “Roger. Out.”
    Sachs started forward, limping.
    “Amelia, you’re hurt.”
    “Nothing.”
    “Tell Bo.”
    “It’s not a problem.”
    The fact that she suffered from arthritis was well known to the inner circle—Rhyme, Mel Cooperand Sellitto—but that was about it. She went to great lengths to hide her malady, worried that the brass would sideline her on a medical if they found out. She reached into her slacks pocket and pulled out a packet of painkillers, ripped it open with her teeth and swallowed the pills dry.
    Over the radio they heard Bo Haumann’s voice: “All teams form up, K.”
    Sachs moved forward to the main entry team. The limp was worse.
    Sellitto pulled her aside. “You can’t go in.”
    “It’s not like I’m going to run him to ground, Lon. I’m just going to secure the scene.”
    The detective turned toward the CP truck, hoping he’d find someone to ask about the situation, but Haumann and the others had already deployed.
    “It’s better. It’s fine.” She limped forward.
    One of the officers on Team A called in a whisper to Sachs, “Detective, you ready?”
    “Yeah.”
    “No, she’s not.” Sellitto turned to the officer. “She’s getting the civvies out of the way. I’m going in with you guys.”
    “You?”
    “Yeah, me. There a fucking problem?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Lon,” she whispered, “I’m fine.”
    The big detective responded, “I know enough about crime scenes to secure the place. Rhyme’s been busting my chops