Criminal

by Karin Slaughter

  Duke made a sharp comment about this, as if his feelings weren’t already known.

  “He got transferred after just one day. Hoyt Woody was moved into his position.”

  “Hoyt’s a good man.”

  “Well.” Amanda didn’t finish her thought. She found the man unctuous and off-putting, but that was not the point of this conversation. “Anyway, after a few days, Hoyt got transferred back out, and now the old sergeant, Reggie’s boy, got moved back in.”

  “And?”

  “Well,” she repeated. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “Not particularly.” She heard him light a cigarette. “It’s how the system works. You get one guy in to do one thing, then move in another to do something else.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “You gotta star pitcher, right?” Duke always favored baseball metaphors. “Only he can’t swing a bat. You got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you send in a pinch hitter.”

  “Oh.” She nodded, understanding.

  Duke still didn’t think she got it. “There’s something going on in your squad. Reggie’s boy wouldn’t follow orders, so they sent in Hoyt to take care of business.” He laughed. “Typical. Send in a white man when you need the job done right.”

  Amanda held the phone away from her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her sigh. “Thanks, Daddy. I should get back to work.”

  Duke wouldn’t let her off that easy. “You’re not getting mixed up in something you shouldn’t?”

  “No, Daddy.” She tried to think of something else to say. “Be sure to put the chicken back in the refrigerator around ten. It’ll spoil if you leave it out all day.”

  “I heard you when you told me the first six times,” he snapped. Instead of hanging up, he said, “Be careful, Mandy.”

  She rarely heard such compassion in his voice. Unaccountably, tears came into her eyes. Butch Bonnie was right about one thing. It was close to that time of month for Amanda. She was turning into a hormonal mess. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  She heard a click as Duke hung up the phone.

  Amanda returned the receiver to the cradle. Back in her car, she took a handkerchief out of her purse and wiped her hand. Then she patted dry her face. The sun was unrelenting. She felt as if she was melting.

  A honking sound ripped through the quiet of her car. Evelyn Mitchell’s Ford Falcon had stopped for a yellow light. A delivery truck sped around her. The man stuck his hand out in an obscene gesture.

  “For goodness sakes,” Amanda mumbled, turning the key in the ignition. She pulled out onto the road and followed Evelyn three blocks down Ponce de Leon to the Union Mission. Evelyn took a slow, wide turn into the parking lot so she could back into an empty space. Amanda swung her Plymouth around and was getting out of the car by the time Evelyn turned off the engine.

  Amanda said, “You’re going to get yourself killed driving that slowly.”

  “You mean driving the speed limit? That truck driver—”

  “Almost killed you,” Amanda quipped. “I’m going to take you out to the stadium this weekend and give you a proper lesson.”

  “Oh.” Evelyn seemed pleased. “Let’s make a day of it. We can go to lunch and do some shopping.”

  Amanda was startled by her eagerness. She changed the subject. “Hodge is back at my station.”

  “I thought it was strange that he wasn’t at Model City this morning.” Evelyn closed her car door. “Why did they send him back?”

  Amanda debated whether or not to reveal that she’d called her father. She decided against it. “It’s possible the brass transferred in Hoyt Woody to do their dirty work.”

  “Why would they send in a white man? Wouldn’t one of Reggie’s boys be better for this sort of thing? Keep it in the family, as it were?”

  She had raised a good point, but then, Evelyn didn’t suffer from Duke’s color blindness. Hoyt Woody would do as he was told in hopes of ingratiating himself with the brass. Luther Hodge might not be as malleable.

  Amanda said, “I imagine Woody was sent in for the same reason Hodge sent two women out to talk to Jane. We’re expendable. No one really listens to us.”

  “That’s true enough.” Evelyn shrugged because there was nothing they could do about it. “So, Hodge was replaced for a few days by someone who would do their dirty work, then he was slotted back in.”

  “Exactly.” Amanda said, “Your friend at the Five said she called security on Jane Delray when she tried to cash Lucy’s vouchers. Security is run out of the Five Points precinct. Whoever hauled Jane out of the building would’ve written her up on an incident card.” The cards were part of a larger system used to track petty criminals who weren’t yet worth arresting. “The cards are fed into a daily report that goes up the chain of command. Someone high up would know that Jane was trying to use Lucy’s name.”

  Evelyn came to the same conclusion as Amanda had. “We were sent to Techwood to scare Jane into silence.”

  “We did a great job, didn’t we?”

  Evelyn put her hand to her temple. “I need a drink. This is giving me a migraine.”

  “Well, this should make your head hurt even more.” Amanda told her about the phone call with Pam Canale, the dead end she’d hit. Then she relayed the cryptic conversation she’d had with Sergeant Hodge.

  “How strange,” was all Evelyn could manage. “Why won’t Hodge answer our questions?”

  “I think he wants us to keep working this case, but he can’t appear to be encouraging us.”

  “I think you’re right.” Evelyn said, “Maybe Kitty didn’t get that top-floor apartment with sexual favors. Maybe her uncle or daddy pulled some strings.”

  “If Kitty is the black sheep of the Treadwell family, I can certainly see Andrew Treadwell trying to keep her from making trouble. He sets her up in an apartment with her own kind. He gets her on the welfare rolls. He makes sure she’s got just enough money to stay out of his hair.”

  “There’s no way we can talk to Andrew Treadwell. We wouldn’t make it as far as the lobby.”

  Amanda didn’t bother to agree with the obvious.

  Evelyn said, “I talked to my gal in undercover. It’s just what I thought: it’d be easier to find a man who doesn’t like choking whores.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  “It is if you’re a whore.” Evelyn added, “I told her to ask around if anybody likes painting fingernails.”

  “Smart thinking.”

  “We’ll see if it pans out. I told her to call me at home. I’d hate for any of this to go out on the radio.”

  “Did you find out whether or not Juice was in jail when Jane was murdered?”

  “He was at Grady getting fitted with a resisting-arrest turban.”

  Amanda had heard the terminology before. There were a lot of prisoners who woke up in the Grady ER with no recollection of how they’d gotten there. “That’s hardly an alibi. He could walk in and out of the hospital without anyone noticing.”

  “You’re right,” Evelyn agreed.

  Amanda blinked at the sweltering sun. “We could stand out here all day talking ourselves into circles.”

  “Right again. Let’s get this part over with.” Evelyn indicated the flat, one-story building in front of them. The Union Mission had been a butcher’s shop at one time.

  Amanda said, “Acapulco. Where did you get that?”

  “I saw a spread in Life magazine. Johnny Weissmuller has a place there. It was gorgeous.”

  “You and your magazines.”

  Evelyn grinned, then turned serious as she looked up at the building. “How are we going to handle this? As far as anyone knows, Lucy Bennett committed suicide.”

  “I think that’s the story we should stick to, don’t you?”

  “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. Sh
e 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 silently 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?”