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"We know where it is," he snapped into the microphone near his mouth. "An island in the--"
"There's another one."
"A second cemetery?"
"Not a cemetery. It was a tavern. In Gallows Heights."
"A tavern?" Well, this was interesting, he thought.
"I'm looking at the photo, or daguerreotype, whatever it is. A bar named Potters' Field. It was on West Eightieth Street."
So, they'd been wrong, Rhyme reflected. Charles Singleton's fateful meeting may not have been on Hart's Island at all.
"And, it gets better--the place burned down. Suspected arson. Perpetrators and motive unknown."
"Am I right in supposing that it was the same day Charles Singleton went there to--what did he say? To find justice?"
"Yep. July fifteenth."
Forever hidden beneath clay and soil . . .
"Anything else about him? Or the tavern?"
"Not yet."
"Keep digging."
"You bet, Rhyme."
They disconnected the call.
Sachs had been on the speakerphone; Geneva had heard. She asked angrily, "You think Charles burned that place down?"
"Not necessarily. But one of the major reasons for arson is to destroy evidence. Maybe that's what Charles was up to, covering up something about the robbery."
Geneva said, "Look at his letter . . . he's saying that the theft was set up to discredit him. Don't you think he's innocent by now?" The girl's voice was low and firm, her eyes bored into Rhyme's.
The criminalist returned her gaze. "I do, yes."
She nodded. Gave a faint smile at this acknowledgement. Then she looked at her battered Swatch. "I should get home."
Bell was concerned that the unsub had learned where Geneva lived. He'd arranged a safe house for her, but it wouldn't be available until tonight. For the time being, he and the protection team would simply have to remain particularly vigilant.
Geneva gathered up Charles's letters.
"We'll have to keep those for the time being," Rhyme said.
"Keep them? Like, for evidence?"
"Just until we get to the bottom of what's going on."
Geneva was looking at them hesitantly. There seemed to be a longing in her eye.
"We'll keep them in a safe place."
"Okay." She handed them to Mel Cooper.
He looked at her troubled expression. "Would you like copies of his letters?"
