The Twelfth Card

was so easygoing that his urban coworkers sometimes felt a stab of impatience working with him, though Rhyme suspected the reason he sometimes moved slowly wasn’t Southern heritage at all but his meticulous nature, owing to the importance of his job within the NYPD. Bell’s specialty was protecting witnesses and other potential victims. His operation wasn’t an official unit in the NYPD but it still had a name: “SWAT.” This wasn’t the traditional weapons and tactics acronym, though; it was short for “Saving the Witness’s Ass Team.”
    “Roland, this is Geneva Settle.”
    “Hey there, miss,” he drawled and shook her hand.
    “I don’t need a bodyguard,” she said firmly.
    “Don’t you worry—I won’t get in your way,” Bell said. “You got my word of honor on that. I’llstay as outa sight as a tick in tall grass.” A glance at Sellitto. “Now what’re we up against here?”
    The heavyset detective ran through the details of the case and what they knew so far. Bell didn’t frown or shake his head but Rhyme could see his eyes go still, which signaled his concern. But when Sellitto was done, Bell put on his down-home face again and asked Geneva a number of questions about herself and her family to give him an idea of how to set up the protection detail. She answered hesitatingly, as if she begrudged the effort.
    Finally Bell was finished and Geneva said impatiently, “I really have to go. Could somebody drive me home? I’ll get Charles’s letters for you. But then I have to go to school.”
    “Detective Bell’ll take you home,” Rhyme said then added with a laugh, “but about school, I thought we’d agreed you’d take the day off. Take a makeup.”
    “No,” she said firmly. “I didn’t agree to that. You said, ‘Let’s just get some questions out of the way and then we’ll see.’ ”
    Not many people quoted Lincoln Rhyme’s words back at him. He grumbled, “Whatever I said, I think you’ll have to stay home, now that we know the perp may still be after you. It’s just not safe.”
    “Mr. Rhyme, I need to take those tests. Makeups at my school—they sometimes don’t get scheduled, test books get lost, you don’t get credit.” Geneva was angrily gripping an empty belt loop on her jeans. She was so skinny. He wondered if her parents were health freaks, keeping her on a diet of organic granola and tofu. It seemed that a lot of professors leaned in that direction.
    “I’ll call the school right now,” Sachs said. “We’ll tell them there’s been an incident and—”
    “I think I really want to go,” Geneva said softly, eyes looking steadily into Rhyme’s. “Now.”
    “Just stay at home for a day or two until we find out more. Or,” Rhyme added with a laugh, “until we nail his ass.”
    It was supposed to be light, to win her over by talking teenage. But he regretted the words instantly. He hadn’t been real with her—solely because she was young. It was like the people who came to visit him and were overly loud and jokey because he was a quad. They pissed him off.
    Just like she was pissed at him now.
    She said, “I’d really appreciate a ride, if you don’t mind. Or I’ll take the train. But I have to leave now, if you want those letters.”
    Irritated to have to be fighting this battle, Rhyme said with finality, “I’ll have to say no.”
    “Can I borrow your phone?”
    “Why’s that?” he asked.
    “There’s a man I want to call.”
    “A man?”
    “He’s the lawyer I mentioned. Wesley Goades. He used to work for the biggest insurance company in the country, and now he runs a legal clinic in Harlem.”
    “And you want to call him?” Sellitto asked. “Why?”
    “Because I want to ask him if you can keep me from going to school.”
    Rhyme scoffed. “It’s for your own good.”
    “That’s sort of for me to decide, isn’t it?”
    “Your parents or your uncle.”
    “They’re not the ones who have to graduate from eleventh grade next spring.”
    Sachs chuckled. Rhyme shot her a dark look.
    “Just for a day or two, miss,” Bell said.
    Geneva ignored him and continued, “Mr. Goades got John David Colson released from Sing-Sing after he’d been in prison for ten years for a murder he didn’t commit. And he’s sued New York, I mean, the state itself, two or three times. He won every trial. And he just did a Supreme Court case. About homeless rights.”
    “Won that one too, did he?” Rhyme asked wryly.
    “He usually wins. In