The Twelfth Card

politically motivated.
    “An affair, yes, though not a diplomatic one,” Rhyme had offered dramatically at the conclusion of his testimony in court. “ Undercover action, yes, though not espionage.”
    “Objection,” the weary defense lawyer had said.
    “Sustained.” Though the judge couldn’t keep from laughing.
    The jury took forty-two minutes to convict the businessman. The lawyers had, of course, appealed—they always do—but, as Sellitto had just revealed, the appellate court upheld the conviction.
    Thom said, “Say, let’s celebrate the victory with a ride to the hospital. You ready?”
    “Don’t push it,” Rhyme grumbled.
    It was at that moment that Sellitto’s pager went off. He looked at the screen, frowned and then pulled his cell phone off his belt and made a call.
    “Sellitto here. What’s up? . . . ” The big man nodded slowly, his hand absently kneading his belly roll. He’d been trying Atkins lately. Eating a lot of steaks and eggs had apparently not had much effect. “She’s all right? . . . And the perp? . . . Yeah . . . That’s not good. Hold on.” He looked up. “A ten twenty-four call just came in. That African-American museum on Five-five? The vic was a young girl. Teenager. Attempted rape.”
    Amelia Sachs winced at this news, exuding sympathy. Rhyme had a different reaction; his mind automatically wondered: How many crime scenes were there? Did the perp chase her and possibly drop evidence? Did they grapple, exchanging trace? Did he take public transportation to and from the scene? Or was a car involved?
    Another thought crossed his mind as well, one that he had no intention of sharing, however.
    “Injuries?” Sachs asked.
    “Scraped hand is all. She got away and found a uniform on patrol nearby. He checked it out but the beast was gone by then . . . So, can you guys run the scene?”
    Sachs looked at Rhyme. “I know what you’re going to say: that we’re busy.”
    The entire NYPD was feeling a crunch. Many officers had been pulled off regular detail and assigned to anti-terrorism duty, which was particularly hectic lately; the FBI had gotten several anonymous reports about possible bombings of Israeli targets in the area. (The reassignments reminded Rhyme of Sachs’s stories her grandfather would tell about life in prewar Germany. Grandpa Sachs’s father-in-law had been a criminal police detective in Berlin and was constantly losing his personnel to the national government whenever a crisis arose.) Because of the diverted resources, Rhyme was busier than he’d been in months. He and Sachs were presently running two white-collar fraud investigations, one armed robbery and a cold-case murder from three years ago.
    “Yep, really busy,” Rhyme summarized.
    “Either rains or it pours,” Sellitto said. He frowned. “I don’t quite get that expression.”
    “Believe that’s ‘Never rains but it pours.’ A statementof irony.” Rhyme cocked his head. “Love to help. I mean it. But we’ve got all those other cases. And, look at the time, I have an appointment now. At the hospital.”
    “Come on, Linc,” Sellitto said. “Nothing else you’re working on’s like this—the vic’s a kid. That’s one bad actor, going after teenagers. Take him off the street and who knows how many girls we’ll save. You know the city—doesn’t matter what else is going on. Some beast starts going after kids, the brass’ll give you whatever you need to nail him.”
    “But that’d make it five cases,” Rhyme said petulantly. He let the silence build up. Then, reluctantly, he asked, “How old is she?”
    “Sixteen, for Christ’s sake. Come on, Linc.”
    A sigh. He finally said, “Oh, all right. I’ll do it.”
    “You will?” Sellitto asked, surprised.
    “Everybody thinks I’m disagreeable,” Rhyme scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Everybody thinks I’m the wet blanket—there’s another cliché for you, Lon. I was just pointing out that we have to consider priorities. But I think you’re right. This’s more important.”
    It was the aide who asked, “Your helpful nature have anything to do with the fact you’ll have to postpone your hospital visit?”
    “Of course not. I didn’t even think about that . But now you mention it, I guess we better cancel. Good idea, Thom.”
    “It isn’t my idea—you engineered it.”
    True, he was thinking. But he now asked indignantly, “Me? You make it sound like I’ve been attacking people in