“I’ll drive.” Amanda followed her out the kitchen door.
Instead of heading to the car, Evelyn went to the shed. The men had finished the job except for the painting. Evelyn ran her hand along the top of the door trim and found the key. She tugged on the chain to turn on the light. There was a safe bolted to the floor. Evelyn had to try the combination three times before she finally got it open. “I think we drank that whole bottle between us.”
“Why did Deena call you?”
“I asked her to let me know if anything else came up.” Evelyn pulled out her revolver. She checked there was ammunition in the cylinder, then snapped it back into place. She took out the speed-loader, then shut the safe door. “Let’s go.”
“Do you think you’ll need that?”
Evelyn tucked the revolver into her purse. “I’m never going anywhere without it again.” She grabbed the shelf as she stood up. Her eyes closed as she oriented herself. “They’re probably going to give us both DUIs.”
“That’ll hardly make us stand out.”
Evelyn pulled off the light and locked the door. Amanda took deep breaths of air as she walked to her car, trying to clear her head.
Evelyn said, “You know this means Juice didn’t do it.”
“Did we ever really think he did?”
“No, but now they’ll know, too.”
Amanda climbed into the car. She threw her purse into the back seat as she waited for Evelyn to get in. The drive to Techwood wasn’t a long one, especially at eight o’clock in the evening. There was no traffic on the road. The only people who stayed in Atlanta after dark were the ones who had no business being there. Which was a good thing considering Amanda’s state of intoxication. If she accidentally hit a pedestrian, no one was likely to care.
The traffic lights were flashing yellow as she traveled up Piedmont Road. Amanda took the steep curve that turned into Fourteenth Street, then slowed for the blinking light before turning left on Peachtree. Another right on North and she was following the same pattern they’d worn last week: past the Varsity, over the interstate, left on Techwood Drive, and straight into the hell of the projects.
Several police cruisers were blocking the path to their usual berm. Amanda parked behind a familiar Plymouth Fury. She glanced inside the car as she passed. Wadded-up packs of cigarettes. A half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker. Crushed cans of beer. She followed Evelyn toward the buildings. Again, Rick Landry was standing in the middle of the courtyard. His hands were on his hips. His face twisted with anger when he saw Amanda and Evelyn.
“Whatta I gotta do, beat it into you broads?” He looked ready to do just that, but Deena Coolidge stopped him.
“Y’all ready?”
Landry glared at her. “Ain’t nobody called for a pickaninny, Sapphire.”
She puffed out her chest. “You need to get your cracker ass out my face before I pimp you up to Reggie.”
Landry tried to stare her down, but Deena, who was at least a foot shorter than him, stood her ground. Landry finally relented, but not without mumbling “Cunts” as he stomped away.
Deena asked, “Y’all wondering what him and Butch are doing here when they’re both on day shift? Because I sure am.”
Amanda looked at Evelyn, who nodded. It did seem strange.
Deena said, “Pete’s around back with the body, but I’ve got somebody for you to talk to first.”
Neither of them spoke as they followed Deena into the building. The hall was packed with women and children dressed in housecoats and pajamas. Their faces were guarded and frightened. They had probably been settled down for the night when the police cars showed up. They’d all left their front doors open. The lights from the cruisers filled the apartments. Amanda was very conscious that hers and Evelyn’s were the only white faces as Deena took them deeper into the building.
Only one apartment door on the floor was closed. Deena knocked on it. They waited for a chain to slide back, deadbolts to turn. The old woman who opened the door was dressed in a black skirt and jacket. Her white blouse was crisply starched. She was wearing a fine black hat with a short veil that hung to the top of her eyebrows.
“Whatchu doin’ dressed up for church, Miss Lula?” Deena asked. “I told you these gals just want to talk. They ain’t gonna drag you down to the jail.”
The old woman stared at the floor. She was cowed by their presence, that much was evident. Even when she stepped back so that they could enter, it was obvious that she was doing so under great duress. Amanda felt deeply ashamed as she walked into the apartment.
Deena suggested, “Why don’t you get us some tea, dear?”
Miss Lula nodded as she headed into the other room. Deena indicated the couch, which was a pale yellow and absolutely spotless. In fact, the living room was remarkably tidy. The one chair that faced the small television had a ruffled skirt and a doily. Magazines were neatly stacked on the table. The rug on the floor was clean. Pictures of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Jack Kennedy faced each other on the wall. There were no cobwebs in the corners. Even the stench of the building had not managed to permeate the space.
Still, neither Evelyn nor Amanda sat down. They were too mindful of the setting. As spotless as this woman’s apartment seemed, it was still surrounded by filth. You might as well drag a clean blanket through a mud puddle and expect it to remain unscathed.
They heard a kettle start to boil in the kitchen.
Deena’s tone was firm. “Y’all best both be sitting your white asses down by the time she comes back in here.”
Deena took the chair by the television. Reluctantly, Evelyn sat on the couch. Amanda joined her, keeping her purse clutched in her lap. Both of them sat on the edge of the cushions—not from fear of contamination, but because they were on duty. Years of wearing utility belts around their waists had made it impossible for them to sit back in their seats.
Amanda asked, “Who called in the body?”
Deena nodded toward the kitchen. “Miss Lula did. She’s been here since they integrated the place. They moved her over from Buttermilk.”
“Why does she think we’re going to arrest her?”
“Because you’re white and you have a badge.”
Evelyn mumbled, “That’s never impressed anybody before.”
Miss Lula was back. She had taken off her hat, revealing a shock of white hair. The china cups and saucers on her silver tray rattled as she brought the set into the living room. Instinctively, Amanda stood to help. The tray was heavy. She lowered it to the coffee table. Deena relinquished her chair to the old woman. It was a neat trick. Deena carefully smoothed down the back of her pants, probably checking for insects. A roach traveled across the wall behind her. Deena shuddered.
“Would you ladies like some cookies?” Miss Lula offered. Her voice was unexpectedly refined. There was almost the tinge of an English accent to it, like Lena Horne’s.
Evelyn answered, “Thank you, no. We’ve just had supper.” She reached toward the teapot. “May I?”
Miss Lula nodded. Amanda watched Evelyn pour four cups of tea. It was the strangest thing she’d ever been a part of. Amanda had never been a guest in a black person’s home. Usually, the point of her visit was to get in and get out as quickly as possible. She felt as if she was in one of those Carol Burnett sketches that was trying for social commentary rather than humor.
Deena said, “Miss Lula used to be a teacher at the Negro school off Benson.”
Amanda offered, “My mother was a teacher. Elementary school.”
“That was my field as well,” Miss Lula answered. She took the cup and saucer Evelyn offered. Her hands were old, the knuckles swollen. There was a slight ash tone. She pursed her lips and blew on the tea to cool it.
Evelyn served Deena next, then Amanda.
“Thank you.” Amanda could feel the heat through the china, but she drank the scalding tea anyway, hoping the caffeine would help chase away the wine.
She looked up at the photos of Kenn
edy facing King, again taking in the orderly apartment that Miss Lula called home.
When Amanda had worked patrol, some of the men made a game of terrorizing these old people. They’d roll their cruisers up behind them in the street and purposefully backfire the car. Grocery bags were dropped. Hands flew into the air. Most of them would fall to the ground. The backfire sounded like a gunshot.
“Now.” Deena had waited until they’d all had some tea. “Miss Lula, if you could tell these women what you told me?”
The old woman cast down her eyes again. She was obviously troubled. “I heard a commotion in the back.”
Amanda realized the woman’s apartment faced the rear of the complex. It was the same area where Jane Delray had been found three days ago.
Miss Lula continued, “I peered out the window and saw the girl just lying there. She had obviously passed.” She shook her head. “Terrible sight. No matter their sins, no one deserves that.”
Evelyn asked, “Was there anyone else back there?”
“Not as far as I could tell.”
“Do you know what the noise was? The one that made you look out the window?”
“Perhaps it was the rear door banging open?” She didn’t seem sure, though she nodded as if that was the only explanation that made sense.
Amanda asked, “Have you noticed anyone strange hanging around?”
“No more so than usual. Most of these girls had evening visitors. They generally came in through the back door.”
That would make sense. None of the men probably wanted to be seen. Amanda asked, “Did you recognize the girl you saw out back?”
“She’s from the top floor. I don’t know her name. But I said from the beginning that they should not have been allowed to live here.”
Deena supplied, “Because they’re prostitutes, not because they’re white.”
Miss Lula said, “They were operating their business out of the apartment. That is contrary to the housing laws.”
Evelyn put down her cup of tea. “Did you see any of their customers?”
“Occasionally. As I said, they mostly used the back door. Especially the white men.”
“They saw both white and black men?”
“Frequently one after the other.”
They were all silent as they considered the statement.
Evelyn asked, “How many women were living up there?”
“At first it was the young one. She said her name was Kitty. She seemed nice enough. She gave candy to some of the children, which was allowed until we realized what she was doing up there.”
“And then?” Amanda asked.
“And then another woman moved in. This was at least a year and a half ago, mind you. The second girl was white, too. Looked very similar to Kitty. I never got her name. Her visitors were not as discreet.”
“Is that the woman you saw through your window tonight? Kitty?”
“No, a third one. I’ve not seen Kitty in a while. Nor have I seen the second one in some time. These girls are very transitory.” She paused, then added, “Lord help them. It’s a difficult path they’ve chosen.”
Amanda remembered the licenses she’d tucked into her purse. She unzipped her bag and pulled them out. “Do you recognize any of these girls?”
The old woman took the licenses. Her reading glasses were neatly folded on the side table, resting atop a well-read Bible. They all watched as she unfolded the glasses, slid them onto her face. Carefully, Miss Lula studied each license, giving each girl her undivided attention. “This one,” she said, holding out the license for Kathryn Treadwell. “This is Kitty, but I assume you know that by her name.”
Amanda said, “We’ve been led to believe that Kitty was renting out the space to other girls.”
“Yes, that would make sense.”
“Did you ever talk to her?”
“Once. She seemed to think very highly of herself. Apparently, her father is very politically connected.”
“She said that to you?” Evelyn asked. “Kitty told you who her father was?”
“Not in so many words, but yes. She made it clear she didn’t really belong here. But then, do any of us?”
Amanda couldn’t answer the question. “Do the other girls look familiar?”
The woman scanned the license again. She held up Jane Delray’s. “The quality of men changed quite a bit for this one. She was not as discriminating as—” She held up Mary Halston’s photo. “This one had a lot of repeat customers, though I would not call them gentlemen. She’s the girl out back.” She read the name. “Donna Mary Halston. Such a pretty name considering the things she did.”
Amanda heard Evelyn suck in her breath. They were both thinking of the same question. Amanda asked, “You said Mary had repeat business?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Did you ever see a white man who was about six feet tall, sandy blond hair, long sideburns, wearing a sharply tailored suit, probably in some shade of blue?”
Miss Lula glanced at Deena. When she handed back the licenses to Amanda, her expression was blank. “I’ll have to think on that. Let me get back to you tomorrow.”
Amanda felt her brow furrow. Either the wine was wearing off or the tea was kicking in. Miss Lula’s apartment was at the end of the hallway. It was at least ten yards from the stairwell, even farther from the back door. Unless the old woman spent her days sitting behind the building, there was no way she could note the comings and goings of the girls or their visitors.
Amanda opened her mouth to speak, but Deena interrupted her.
“Miss Lula,” she said. “We appreciate your time. You’ve got my number. Get back to me on that question.” She put her saucer down on the tray. When Evelyn and Amanda didn’t move, she grabbed their teacups and placed them beside hers. “We can let ourselves out.” She did everything but clap her hands to get them moving.
Amanda led the way, clutching her purse to her chest. She was going to turn to say goodbye, but Deena pushed them out the door.
The hallway had emptied. Still Amanda kept her voice low. “How could she—”
“Give her until tomorrow,” Deena said. “She’ll find out whether or not your mystery man was here.”
“But how could she—”
“She’s the queen bee,” Deena told her, leading them up the hallway. She didn’t stop until she reached the exit door. They stood in the same spot where Rick Landry had threatened Evelyn. “What Miss Lula told you isn’t what she’s seen. It’s what she’s heard.”
“But she didn’t—”
“Rule number one of the ghetto: find the oldest biddy been around the longest. She’s the one running the place.”
“Well,” Evelyn said, “I did wonder why she had a shotgun under the couch.”
Amanda asked, “What?”
“That thing was loaded, too.” Deena pushed open the door.
The crime scene was cordoned off with yellow tape. There were no lights back here, or at least no lights that were functioning. The bulbs on the light poles had all been broken, probably with rocks. Six patrolmen took care of the problem. They stood in a ring around the body, the butts of their Kel-Lites resting on their shoulders to illuminate the area.
The grounds behind the building were as desolate as the front. Red Georgia clay was packed hard by the constant pounding of bare feet. There were no flowers back here. No grass. One lone tree stood with its tired branches hanging down. Just below the tree was the body. Pete Hanson blocked the view with his wide frame. Beside him was a young man of about the same height and stature. Like Pete, he was wearing a white lab coat. He tapped Pete on the shoulder and nodded toward the women.
Pete stood up. He had a grim look on his face. “Detectives. I’m glad you’re here, though I say that with reservations given the circumstances.” He indicated the young man. “This is one of my pupils, Dr. Ned Taylor.”
Taylor gave them a stern nod. Even in the low illumination, Amanda could see the green tint to his
skin. He looked as if he might be ill. Evelyn wasn’t much better.
Deena suggested, “Pete, why don’t you run Amanda through this?”
Amanda supposed she should feel proud of her lack of squeamishness, but it was starting to feel like one more secret she would have to keep about herself.
Evelyn volunteered, “I’ll go check the apartment. Maybe Butch and Landry missed something.”
Deena harrumphed. “I’d bet my next paycheck on it.”
“This way, my dear.” Pete cupped his hand beneath Amanda’s elbow as he led her toward the dead woman. The six officers holding flashlights seemed puzzled that Amanda was there, though none of them asked questions, probably in deference to Pete.
“If you would?” Pete got down on one knee, then helped Amanda kneel beside him. She smoothed down her skirt so that her knees would not grind against the dirt. Her heels were going to get scuffed. She hadn’t exactly dressed for this.
Pete said, “Tell me what you see.”
The victim was face down. Her long blonde hair draped down her shoulders and back. She was wearing a black miniskirt and red T-shirt. Her hand rested on the ground a few inches from her face. The nails were polished bright red.
Amanda said, “Same as the other victim. All ten fingernails expertly manicured.”
“Correct.” Pete pulled back the woman’s stringy blonde hair. “Neck’s bruised, though I’m going to guess the hyoid wasn’t broken.”
“She wasn’t strangled to death?”
“I believe there’s something else going on.” He pulled up the red T-shirt. There was a line of injuries down the woman’s side, almost like a dress seam had been ripped open. “These lacerations run the length of her body.”
Amanda saw the pattern duplicated on the girl’s leg. She had mistaken the damage for the seam in a pair of stockings. Likewise, the outside of the victim’s arms showed the marks. It was like a McCall’s pattern, where someone had tried to tear apart the stitches joining the front to the back of her body.
Amanda asked, “What—who—would do that?”
“Two very good questions. Unfortunately, my answer to both is that I have no idea.”
The Will Trent Series 7-Book Bundle Page 236
