“‘Had’?” Rhyme snapped. “Fucking ‘had’?”

“Last week, a fire destroyed the room where it was stored.”

“What’d the arson report say?” Sachs asked.

“Wasn’t considered arson. It looks like a lightbulb broke, ignited some papers. Nobody was hurt.”

“Bullshit it wasn’t arson. Somebody started it. So, does the curator have any other suggestions where we can find -?”

“I was about to continue.”

“Well, continue!”

“The school has a policy of scanning everything in their archives and storing them in Adobe.pdf files.”

“Are we approaching good news, Mel? Or are you just flirting?”

Cooper punched more buttons. He gestured toward the screen. “Voilà – July twenty-third, 1868, Coloreds’ Weekly Illustrated.”

“You don’t say. Well, read to us, Mel. First of all: Did Mr. Singleton drown in the Hudson, or not?”

Cooper typed and a moment later shoved his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, leaned forward and said, “Here we go. The headline is ‘Shame, the Account of a Freedman’s Crime. Charles Singleton, a Veteran of the War Between the States, Betrays the Cause of Our People in a Notorious Incident.’”

Continuing with the text, he read, “‘On Tuesday, July fourteenth, a warrant for the arrest of one Charles Singleton, a freedman who was a veteran of the War of Secession, was issued by the New York criminal court, on charges that he feloniously stole a large sum of gold and other monies from the National Education Trust for Freedmen’s Assistance on Twenty-third Street in Manhattan, New York.

“‘Mr. Singleton eluded a drag-net by officers throughout the City and was thought to have escaped, possibly to Pennsylvania, where his wife’s sister and her family lived.

“‘However, early on the morning of Thursday, the sixteenth, he was noticed by a police constable as he was making his way toward the Hudson river docks.

“‘The constable sounded the alarm and Mr. Singleton took flight. The police officer gave chase.

“‘The pursuit was soon joined by dozens of other law enforcers and Irish rag pickers and workers, doing their civic duty to apprehend the felon (and encouraged by the promise of five dollars in gold to stop the villain). The attempted route of escape was through the warren of disreputable shanties close by the River.

“‘At the Twenty-third Street paint works, Mr. Singleton stumbled. A mounted officer approached and it appeared he would be ensnared. Yet he regained his footing and, rather than own up to his mischief, as a courageous man would do, continued his cowardly flight.

“‘For a time he evaded his pursuers. But his escape was merely temporary. A Negro tradesman on a porch saw the freedman and implored him to stop, in the name of justice, asserting that he had heard of Mr. Singleton’s crime and recriminating him for bringing dishonor upon all colored people throughout the nation. The citizen, one Walker Loakes, thereupon flung a brick at Mr. Singleton with the intent of knocking him down. However, Mr. Singleton avoided the missile and, proclaiming his innocence, continued to flee.

“‘The freedman was strong of body from working an apple orchard, and ran as fast as greased lightning. But Mr. Loakes informed the constabulary of the freedman’s presence and, at the piers near Twenty-eighth Street, near the tow boat office, his path was confounded by another contingent of diligent police. There he paused, exhausted, clinging to the Swiftsure Express Company sign. He was urged to surrender by the man who had led his pursuit for the past two days, Detective Captain William P. Simms, who leveled his pistol at the thief.

“‘Yet, either seeking a desperate means of escape, or convinced that his evil deeds had caught up with him and wishing to end his life, Mr. Singleton, by most accounts, hesitated for but a moment then leapt into the River, calling out words that none could hear.’”

Rhyme interrupted, “That’s as far as Geneva got before she was attacked. Forget the Civil War, Sachs. This is the cliff-hanger. Keep going.”

“‘He disappeared from view under the waves and witnesses were sure he had perished. Three constables commandeered a skiff from a nearby dock and rowed along the piers to ascertain the Negro’s fate.

“‘They at last found him, half conscious from the fall, clutching a piece of driftwood to his breast and, with a pathos that many suggested was calculated, calling for his wife and son.’”

“At least he survived,” Sachs said. “ Geneva ’ll be glad about that.”

“‘He was tended to by a surgeon, taken away and bound over for trial, which was held on Tuesday last. In court it was proven that he stole the unimaginable sum of greenbacks and gold coin worth thirty thousand dollars.’”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Rhyme said. “That the motive here’s missing loot. Value today?”

Cooper minimized the window containing the article about Charles Singleton and did a web search, jotting numbers on a pad. He looked up from his calculations. “It’d be worth close to eight hundred thousand.”

Rhyme grunted. “‘Unimaginable.’ All right. Keep going.”

Cooper continued, “‘A porter across the street from the Freedmen’s Trust saw Mr. Singleton gain entry into the office by the back door and leave twenty minutes later, carrying two large satchels. When the manager of the Trust arrived soon after, summoned by the police, it was discovered that the Trust’s Exeter Strongbow safe had been broken open with a hammer and crowbar, identical to those owned by the defendant, which were later located in proximity to the building.

“‘Further, evidence was presented that Mr. Singleton had ingratiated himself, at a number of meetings in the Gallows Heights neighbor-hood of the city, with such luminaries as the Hons. Charles Sumner, Thaddeus Stevens and Frederick Douglass, and his son Lewis Douglass, on the pretense of assisting those noble men in the furtherance of the rights of our people before Congress.’”

“Ah, the meetings Charles referred to in his letter. They were about civil rights. And those must be the colleagues he mentioned. Pretty heavy hitters, sounds like. What else?”

“‘His motive in assisting these famed personages, according to the able prosecutor, was not, however, to assist the cause of Negroes but to gain knowledge of the Trust and other repositories he might plunder.’”

“Was that the secret?” Sachs wondered.

“‘At his trial Mr. Singleton remained silent regarding these charges, except to make a general disclaimer and to say that he loved his wife and son.

“‘Captain Simms was able to recover most of the ill-gotten gains. It is speculated that the Negro secreted the remaining several thousand in a hiding place and refused to divulge its whereabouts. None of it was ever found, excepting a hundred dollars in gold coin discovered on Mr. Singleton’s person when he was apprehended.’”

“There goes the buried treasure theory,” Rhyme muttered. “Too bad. I liked it.”

“‘The accused was convicted expeditiously. Upon sentencing, the judge exhorted the freedman to return the rest of the purloined funds, whose location he nonetheless refused to disclose, clinging still to his claim of innocence, and asserting the coin found on his person had been placed in his belongings after his apprehesion. Accordingly, the judge in his wisdom ordered that the felon’s possessions be confiscated and sold to make such restitution as could be had, and the criminal himself was sentenced to five years’ imprisonment.’”

Cooper looked up. “That’s it.”

“Why would somebody resort to murder just to keep the story under wraps?” Sachs asked.

“Yep, the big question…” Rhyme gazed at the ceiling. “So what do we know about Charles? He was a teacher and a Civil War veteran. He owned and worked a farm upstate. He was arrested and convicted for theft. He had a secret that would have tragic consequences if it was known. He went to hush-hush meetings in Gallows Heights. He was involved in the civil rights movement and hobnobbed with some of the big politicians and civil rights workers of the day.”