The Twelfth Card

take him a present myself. Maybe flowers. Think he’d like some flowers?”
    This reaction, like his earlier behavior, wasn’t typical of Sellitto. Cops got hurt and cops got killed, and everybody on the force accepted that reality in his or her own way. There were plenty of officers who’d say, “Thank God he’s alive,” and bless themselves and trot to the closest church to pray their thanks. But Sellitto’s way was to nod and get on with the job. Not to act like this.
    “No clue,” Rhyme said.
    Flowers?
    Mel Cooper called out, “Lincoln, I’ve got Captain Ned Seely on the line.” The tech had been talking to the Texas Rangers about the killing in Amarillo that VICAP had reported was similar to the incident at the museum.
    “Speaker it.”
    He did and Rhyme asked, “Hello, Captain?”
    “Yes, sir,” came the response, a drawl. “Mr. Rhyme?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Got your associate’s request for information on the Charlie Tucker case. I pulled what he had but it wasn’t much. You think it’s the same fellow causing a stir up your way?”
    “The M.O.’s similar to an incident we had here this morning. His shoes were the same brand—so was the tread wear. And he left some fake evidence to lead us off, the same way he left those candles and occult markings at Tucker’s killing. Oh, and our perp’s got a Southern accent. There was also a similar killing in Ohio a few years later. That one was a contract hit.”
    “So y’all’re thinkin’ somebody hired this fella to kill Tucker?”
    “Maybe. Who was he?”
    “Tucker? Ordinary fellow. Just retired from theDepartment of Justice—that’s our corrections outfit down here. Was happily married, a grandfather. Never in any trouble. Went to church regular.”
    Rhyme frowned. “What’d he do for prisons?”
    “Guard. In our maximum security facility in Amarillo . . . Hmmm, you thinkin’ maybe a prisoner hired somebody to get even for something that happened inside? Prisoner abuse, or some such?”
    “Could be,” Rhyme said. “Did Tucker ever get written up?”
    “Nothing in the file here about it. You might wanta check with the prison.”
    Rhyme got the name of the warden of the facility where Tucker had worked and then said, “Thanks, Captain.”
    “Nothing to it. Y’all have a good day.”
    A few minutes later Rhyme was on the line with Warden J. T. Beauchamp of the Northern Texas Maximum Security Correction Facility in Amarillo. Rhyme identified himself and said he was working with the NYPD. “Now, Warden—”
    “J. T., if you please, sir.”
    “All right, J. T.” Rhyme explained the situation to him.
    “Charlie Tucker? Sure, the guard who was killed. Lynching, or whatever. I wasn’t here then. Tucker retired just before I moved from Houston. I’ll pull his file. Put you on hold.” A moment later the warden returned. “I’ve got it right here. Nope, no formal complaints against him, ’cepting from one prisoner. He said Charlie was ridin’ him pretty hard. When Charlie didn’t stop they got into a little scuffle ’bout it.”
    “That could be our man,” Rhyme pointed out.
    “ ’Cepting the prisoner was executed a week later. And Charlie didn’t get hisself killed for another year.”
    “But maybe Tucker hassled another prisoner, who hired somebody to even the score.”
    “Possible. Only hiring a pro for that? Little sophisticated for our lot down here.”
    Rhyme tended to agree. “Well, maybe the perp was a prisoner himself. He went after Tucker as soon as he got out, then set up the murder to look like some ritual killing. Could you ask some of your guards or other employees? We’d be looking for a white male, forties, medium build, light brown hair. Probably doing time for a violent felony. And probably released or escaped—”
    “No escapes, not from here,” the warden added.
    “Okay then, released not long before Tucker was killed. That’s about all we know. Oh, and he has a knowledge of guns and’s a good shot.”
    “That won’t help. This’s Texas.” A chuckle.
    Rhyme continued, “We have a computer composite of his face. We’ll email a copy to you. Could you have somebody compare it to the pictures of releasees around that time?”
    “Yes, sir, I’ll have my gal do it. She’s got a pretty good eye. But may take a while. We’ve had ourselves a lotta inmates go through here.” He gave them his email address and they hung up.
    Just as the call was disconnected, Geneva, Bell and