The Will Trent Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karin Slaughter

  “I don’t think we have a choice.”

  Amanda was used to not having a lot of choices, but it had never grated the way it did lately. She walked toward the front entrance. She could hear funk music playing on a radio. There were metal bars across the glass storefront. Rows of empty beds filled the front space, at least twenty deep and four across. The girls weren’t allowed to stay here during the day. Ostensibly, they were supposed to be out looking for jobs. The front door was propped open and the smell of the building airing out was as unpleasant as anything Amanda had smelled in the last week.

  “Help you?” a man called over the music. He was dressed like a hippie, wearing sunglasses even though he was indoors. His sandy blond mustache was long and droopy. A brown fedora was pulled low on his head. He was extremely tall and lanky. His walk was more of an amble.

  Evelyn mumbled, “He looks like Spike, Snoopy’s brother.”

  Amanda didn’t share that she’d been thinking the same thing. She called to the man, “We’re looking for a Mr. Trask?”

  He shook his head as he walked over. “No Trask here, ladies. I’m Trey Callahan.”

  “Trey,” Evelyn and Amanda said in unison. At least Bennett had been close. There was no telling what he thought Amanda and Evelyn were called. If he gave it any thought at all.

  “So.” Callahan flashed a laconic smile, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m guessing one of the girls is in trouble, in which case, I probably can’t help you. I’m neutral, like Switzerland. You dig?”

  “Yes,” Evelyn said. Like Amanda, she had to look up at the man. He was at least six feet tall. “Maybe this will change your mind: We’re here about Lucy Bennett.”

  His easygoing demeanor dropped. “You’re right. I’ll do anything I can to help. God rest her troubled soul.”

  Amanda said, “We were hoping you could tell us about her. Give us an idea of who she was, with whom she associated?”

  “Let’s go to my office.” He stood to the side, indicating they should go first. Despite his hippie appearance, someone had managed to teach him manners.

  Amanda followed Evelyn into Callahan’s office. The space was small but cheerful. The walls were painted a bright orange. Posters from various funk bands were pinned around the room. She catalogued the items on his desk: a framed photograph of a young woman holding a Doberman puppy. A rusted Slinky. A thick stack of typewriter paper held together by a rubber band. There was a sweet odor in the air. Amanda glanced at the ashtray, which looked recently emptied.

  Callahan turned off the transistor radio on his desk. He indicated a set of chairs and waited for Evelyn and Amanda to sit before dragging his own chair out from behind the desk and sitting adjacent to them. It was a tactful move, Amanda realized. He’d managed to put them all on the same level.

  Evelyn took a spiral-bound notebook out of her purse. She was very businesslike. “Mr. Callahan, you work here in what capacity?”

  “Director. Janitor. Job counselor. Priest.” He held out his hands, indicating the office. Amanda realized he was bigger than she first thought. His shoulders were broad. His frame filled the chair. “It doesn’t pay much, but it gives me time to work on my book.” He placed his palm on top of the stacked typewriter pages. “I’m doing an Atlanta version of Breakfast of Champions.”

  Amanda knew better than to engage him about the project. Her professors at school could wax on for hours. “Are you the only one who works here?”

  “My fiancée works the night shift. She’s finishing her nursing degree at Georgia Baptist.” He pointed to the framed photo of the woman and the dog, flashing a used-car salesman’s smile. “Trust me, ladies, we’re all aboveboard here.”

  Evelyn wrote this down, though it was hardly germane. “Can you tell us about Lucy Bennett?”

  Callahan seemed troubled. “Lucy was different from the usual clientele. She spoke properly, for one. She was tough, but there was a softness underneath.” He indicated the outer room, all the empty beds. “A lot of these girls come from troubled families. They’ve been injured in some way. In a bad way.” He paused. “You picking up what I’m putting down?”

  “I feel you,” Evelyn offered, as if she spoke jive every day. “You’re saying Lucy wasn’t like the other gals?”

  “Lucy had been hurt. You could tell that about her. All of these girls have been hurt. You don’t end up on the streets because you’re happy.” He leaned back in the chair. His legs were spread wide. Amanda could not help but be fascinated by the way a change of posture turned him from a boy into a man. Initially, she’d assumed he was her age, though looking at him now, he seemed closer to thirty.

  Evelyn asked, “Did Lucy have any friends?”

  “None of these girls are really friends,” Callahan admitted. “Lucy chilled with her group. Their pimp was Dwayne Mathison. Goes by the name Juice. Though I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

  Amanda picked at an invisible piece of lint on her skirt. The ghetto gossip mill was more streamlined than the APD’s. She guessed Callahan knew that Juice had almost assaulted them.

  Evelyn asked, “When’s the last time you saw Lucy?”

  “Over a year ago.”

  “You seem to remember a lot about her.”

  “I had a soft spot for her.” He held up his hand. “Not what you’re thinking. It was nothing like that. Lucy was smart. We talked about literature. She was a voracious reader. Had these dreams about giving up the life and going to college one day. I told her about my book. Let her read some pages, even. She was down with it, you know? Got what I was doing.” He shrugged. “I was trying to help her, but she wasn’t ready for it.”

  “Did she ever have contact with her family?”

  His hands gripped the arms of the chair. “That why y’all are here?”

  Evelyn was better at sounding clueless than Amanda. “I don’t understand.”

  “Lucy’s brother. He send you here to tell me to keep my mouth shut?”

  “We don’t work for Mr. Bennett,” Amanda assured the man. “He told us that he came here looking for his sister. We’re simply following up.”

  Callahan didn’t answer immediately. “Last year. Guy comes in here throwing his weight around. He was dressed real fly. Arrogant as hell.” That sounded like Hank Bennett all right. “Wanted to know did I give Lucy the letter he mailed.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course I did.” His grip loosened. “Poor thing couldn’t bring herself to open it. Her hands were shaking so hard I had to put it in her purse for her. I never found out if she read it. She disappeared a week, maybe two weeks, later.”

  “When was this?”

  “Like I said, about a year ago. August, maybe July? It was still hot as Hades, I remember that.”

  “You haven’t seen Hank Bennett before or since?”

  “I count myself lucky for that.” He shifted in the chair. “Man wouldn’t even shake my hand. I guess he was scared the groovy would rub off.”

  Evelyn asked, “I know it’s been a while, but do you remember the other girls Lucy hung around with?”

  “Uh …” He pushed up his sunglasses and pressed his fingers into his eyes as he thought it out. “Jane Delray, Mary something, and …” He dropped the glasses back down. “Kitty somebody. She wasn’t here much—most nights, she was over at Techwood, but I got the feeling that wasn’t a permanent situation. I never got her last name. She was a lot more like Lucy than the other girls. Not a stranger to the King’s English, if you catch my drift. But they hated each other. Couldn’t stand to be in the same room together.”

  Amanda didn’t let herself look at Evelyn, but she could feel her own excitement reflecting off the other woman. “This place at Techwood—did Kitty have an apartment there?”

  “I dunno. Could be. Kitty’s the type of gal who’s good at getting what she wants.”

  “Did Lucy and Kitty know each other from before?”

  “I don’t think so.” He silentl
y considered the question, then shook his head. “They were just the kind of girls who couldn’t get along with each other. Too much alike, I expect.” He leaned forward. “I’m a student of sociology, you dig? All good writers are. That’s the focus of my work. The streets are my dissertation, if you will.”

  Evelyn seemed to understand exactly what the man was saying. “You have a theory?”

  “The pimps know how to pit these types against each other. They make it clear only one can be their number one girl. Some of the gals are okay with being second string. They’re used to being kicked down, you dig? But then some of them want to fight for the top. They’ll do whatever it takes to be number one. Work harder. Work longer. It’s survival of the fittest. They gotta be on that number one podium. Meanwhile the pimps just sit back and laugh.”

  Sociology be damned. Amanda had figured that out back in high school. “When’s the last time you saw Kitty?”

  “Maybe a year ago?” he guessed. “She wasn’t spending much time here. That’s around the time the church off Juniper opened up a soup kitchen. I think that was more Kitty’s scene. Less competition there, anyway.”

  Evelyn asked, “Do you remember if Kitty stopped coming here before or after Lucy disappeared?”

  “After. Maybe a couple of weeks? Not as long as a month. They might remember her at the church. Like I said, that was more Kitty’s scene. She was fascinated by redemption. I gathered she had a religious upbringing. For all her faults, Kitty’s a prayerful woman.”

  Amanda had a hard time imagining a streetwalker feeling close to the Lord. “Do you know the name of the church?”

  “No idea, but it’s got a big black cross painted on the front. Run by a tall brother, real clean-cut. Well spoken.”

  “Brother,” Evelyn echoed. “You mean he’s Negro?”

  Callahan chuckled. “No, sister. I mean he’s a brother in Christ. At the end of the day, we all shuffle off the same mortal coils.”

  “Hamlet,” Amanda said. She’d studied Shakespeare two quarters ago.

  Callahan lifted up his sunglasses and winked at her. His eyes were bloodshot. The lashes reminded her of the teeth on a Venus flytrap. “ ‘Be all my sins remembered,’ fair Ophelia.”

  Amanda felt a flash of embarrassment.

  Thankfully, Evelyn took over. “This man at the church. Do you know his name?”

  “No idea. Kind of an asshole, if you ask me. Wants to argue about books and shit but you can tell he’s never read one in his life.” Callahan dropped his sunglasses back into place. “You know, I really thought Lucy would tell me goodbye before she left. Like I said, we had a thing. A platonic thing. Maybe she was too ashamed. These girls don’t usually stay put for long. Their pimp gets tired of them not earning enough. He trades them off to the next guy down the line. Sometimes, they just move on. A few go back home, if their families will have them. The rest end up down at the Gradys.”

  “Gradys,” Amanda repeated. It was strange to hear this word coming out of a white man’s mouth. Only the blacks called Grady Hospital the Gradys. The name dated back to when the hospital wards were segregated. Amanda asked, “What about Jane Delray? Have you ever heard of her?”

  Callahan gave a surprised laugh. “That sister is crazy mean. She’d cut you just as soon as look at you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Jane was always fighting with the girls. Always stealing their stuff. I finally had to ban her from the mission, and I don’t like to do that to any of them. This is their last resort. They can’t come here, there’s nowhere else for them to go.”

  “They can’t go to the soup kitchen?”

  “Not if they’re messed up. Brother won’t let them through the door.” Callahan shrugged. “It’s not a bad policy. When these girls come in high, they’re more prone to make trouble. But I can’t just lock the door and leave them on the street.”

  “They can’t get assistance from the Housing Authority?”

  “Not if they’ve got prostitution on their record. The HA screens them out. They don’t want girls setting up their businesses on the public dime.”

  Amanda tried to process the information. She was glad Evelyn was writing this down. “Is there anything else you can remember about Lucy?”

  “Just that she was a good girl. I know it’s hard for you to believe, especially working for the po-lice. But all of them started out good. They made a bad choice somewhere along the line, and then they made another one, and pretty soon their lives were nothing but bad choices. Lucy especially. She didn’t deserve to go out like that.” His hands gripped the chair again. His voice took on a hard edge. “I don’t like to break on a brother, but I hope they fry him for this.”

  Amanda asked, “What do you mean?”

  “It’s already out.” Callahan indicated the radio. “Heard it on the radio before you ladies walked in. Juice was arrested for killing Lucy Bennett. He gave a full confession.” The phone on his desk started ringing. “Excuse me,” he apologized, leaning over to lift the receiver.

  Amanda didn’t trust herself to look at Evelyn.

  Callahan used his hand to cover the mouthpiece on the phone. “I’m sorry, ladies. This is one of our donors calling. Was there anything else you needed from me?”

  “No.” Evelyn stood up. Amanda followed suit. “Thank you for your time.”

  The sun was so bright when they walked out of the building that Amanda’s eyes teared up. She shaded herself with her hand as they walked into the parking lot.

  “Well.” Evelyn slipped on her Foster Grants. “Arrested.”

  “Arrested,” Amanda echoed. “And confessed.”

  They both stood by the cars, stunned silent.

  Finally, Amanda said, “What do you make of that?”

  “I’m flummoxed,” Evelyn admitted. “I suppose Juice could’ve done it. Might’ve done it.” She contradicted herself. “Then again, it’s not that hard to get a confession, especially for Butch and Landry.”

  Amanda nodded. At least once a week, Butch and Landry showed up for roll call with cuts and bruises on their knuckles. “You said it yourself: Juice could’ve slipped out of the hospital, murdered Jane, and climbed back in bed with no one realizing he was gone.” Amanda leaned against her car, then thought better of it when the heat singed through her skirt. “Then again, Trey Callahan just confirmed Juice was pimp to both Lucy Bennett and Jane Delray. He would know the difference between the two girls. Why would he confess to killing one when it was the other?”

  “I doubt very seriously Rick Landry is letting him get his story out.” She added, “A black man kills a white woman? That’s a hummy if there ever was one.”

  She was right. The case would hum right through City Hall. Juice would be in prison before the year was out—if he lived that long.

  Both women were silent again. Amanda couldn’t recall a time she’d been more shocked.

  And then Evelyn topped it. “Do you think we could speak to him?”

  “Speak to whom?”

  “Juice.”

  The question was as crazy as it was dangerous. “Rick Landry would string us up alive. I didn’t want to tell you, but he was very angry this morning. He complained to Hodge right in front of me about us interfering in his case.”

  “What did Hodge say?”

  “Nothing, really. The man speaks in riddles. Every question I asked, he just said, ‘That’s a good question.’ It was maddening.”

  “That’s his way of telling you to ignore Rick and to keep moving forward.” Evelyn held up her hands to stop Amanda’s protest. “Think about it: If Hodge wanted you to stop looking into this, he would’ve ordered you to stop. He could’ve assigned you to crossing duty. He could’ve benched you and made you file all day. Instead, he told you to skip roll call and meet up with me.” She smiled appreciatively. “It’s very clever, really. He doesn’t tell you what to do, but he makes you want to do it.”

  “It’s annoying, is what it is. Why can’t he just
speak directly? What’s wrong with that?”

  “He was already transferred to Model City for four days. I imagine he’s making sure he doesn’t get sent back.”

  “Meanwhile, it’s my head on the chopping block.”

  Evelyn seemed to be gauging her own words. “He’s probably afraid of you, Amanda. You must know that a lot of people are.”

  Amanda could’ve been knocked down with a feather. “Whatever for?”

  “Your father.”

  “That’s just silly. Even if my father cared about such things, I’m not a tattletale.”

  “They don’t know that.” Evelyn’s voice was gentle. “Sweetheart, it’s just a matter of time before your father’s back in uniform. He still has a lot of powerful friends. There’s bound to be payback. Do you really think people shouldn’t be afraid?”

  Amanda didn’t want to admit that she was right about Duke, even while she was wrong about the rest. “I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation. Juice has been arrested for murder. The case is closed. We’d turn the whole department against us if we made trouble.”

  “You’re right.” Evelyn looked out into the street, the cars rushing by. “We’re probably fools to care. Juice was going to rape us. Jane hated us on sight. Lucy Bennett was a junkie and a prostitute whose own brother couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her.” She nodded back at the mission. “No matter how well read Snoopy’s brother says she was.” She took off her sunglasses. “What was with that Ophelia line, anyway?”

  “It’s from Hamlet.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Evelyn sounded testy. “I do read more than magazines, you know.”

  Amanda considered it wiser to hold her tongue.

  Evelyn put her sunglasses back on. “Ophelia was a tragic figure. She had an abortion and killed herself by falling from a tree.”

  “Where do you get that she had an abortion?”

  “She took rue. It’s an herb women used to bring about miscarriages. Shakespeare had her passing out flowers and she—” Evelyn shook her head. “Never mind. The point is, are you going to go to the jail or not?”