Delroy added, “It’s good shit, but it’s still shit.”
“Okay.” Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. She waited.
Watson stared at Delroy. Delroy stared at Watson.
Watson said, “Sir She runs old whores off Whitehall.”
Delroy said, “That’s where Don Wesley got shot.”
“Where Lawson’s brother almost got shot, too,” Watson reminded her partner. “She must be looking for a gal saw something, maybe wants to see if she can get her to talk.”
“Girl won’t talk without the pimp’s okay.”
They both continued to stare at each other in silence. Finally, Delroy nodded. Watson nodded, too.
Delroy told Maggie, “Give us until lunchtime. We’ll make sure you got passage into CT after that. Straight to Huff and back. That’s all we can guarantee.”
“Deal.” Maggie didn’t offer her thanks. “What’ve you got for me?”
Watson was obviously prepared. “Black girl got raped two nights ago over in Midtown. All night long. Thirteen years old. Ended up in the Grady ER needing stitches. We think one of yours did it.”
“I’ve got a sister that age.” Maggie bumped Kate’s arm, indicating she should write this down. “You get a description?”
Watson answered, “Better than that. Name’s Lewis Windall Conroy the Third. Twenty-one years old. He’s a student over at Georgia Tech. Originally from Berwyn, Maryland, where my people tell me he’s already got one sexual assault complaint off a fourteen-year-old that his daddy took care of.”
Kate looked up. Maggie’s lips were parted. Kate had never seen her caught surprised.
Maggie asked, “He lose his clothes?”
“Why you ask that?”
Maggie didn’t answer.
Watson pulled a thick brown wallet out of her back pocket and handed it to Maggie. “Cocksucker musta been stoned outta his mind. His clothes were right there on the floor, but he grabbed her granddaddy’s raincoat and bugged out.”
Maggie flipped through to the license. She stared at the photograph. “Shit.”
Kate looked over her shoulder. The man was college-aged with a round face and wispy blond hair.
“I knew something wasn’t right about him.” Maggie told the women, “I had this asshole yesterday morning, but there was nothing I could keep him on.”
“Well, now you got something.”
Maggie checked the rest of the wallet. There was a picture of an older couple, probably his parents. She stopped on a student ID from Georgia Tech.
Watson said, “The girl’s daddy took the money.”
Delroy added, “Ain’t gonna buy her cherry back, but it paid for the pain medication.”
“That’s not what I’m lookin’ for.” Maggie pocketed the student ID and the license. She tried to hand back the wallet. “There’s two credit cards in there.”
Delroy didn’t like that. “He’s not a thief.”
Maggie put the wallet on one of the shelves. “We’ll pick this guy up. The girl willing to testify?”
The women laughed at the very idea.
Maggie said, “What do you want me to do, Del? I can’t arrest him off nothing.”
“Find something,” Delroy ordered. Kate heard the edge in the woman’s voice. “You had to interview that girl in the hospital, explain to her why she can’t get her cooch wet until the stitches come out, you’d be over there right now dragging this baby-raping motherfucker outta calculus.”
“All right,” Maggie agreed. “But his daddy’s obviously connected. Even if I lock him up, he’ll be out in less than twenty-four hours.”
Watson looked at Delroy again. Kate wondered if they were telepathic.
Delroy said, “You get him back on our side of town. We’ll take it from there.”
“Okay.” Maggie didn’t seem concerned with what they’d do to him. “I’ll talk to my guys and put the details in your locker.”
“You do that.” Delroy told Kate, “And you, little Sheep, look where you’re going next time.”
The meeting was concluded. There was no small talk or asking after each other’s parents. Maggie nodded for Kate to open the door. They left the storage room, but instead of going back toward the stairs, Maggie headed down the hall.
Kate almost ran into her when she stopped.
Maggie turned back around and called, “Del, you know a place called Dabbler’s?”
Both women sputtered with laughter. Delroy said, “Dabbler’s? Girl, you crazy.”
They were still laughing as they walked down the stairs.
Kate asked, “Are we going to see Circe?”
Maggie didn’t acknowledge the joke. “Didn’t you hear what they said? After lunchtime. We’ve got at least four hours until we’re cleared.”
“Cleared for—”
Maggie walked down the hall. Kate had no choice but to follow her. She rested her hand on her revolver the same way Maggie did. She tried to keep pace, but her shoes made it hard for her to do more than shuffle along.
“Put away your notebook.” Maggie was back to sounding annoyed.
Kate clicked the pen, closed the notebook, and returned both to her breast pocket.
“Don’t put anything about that guy in your report.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t have a warrant or any evidence.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“It doesn’t bother you that a grown man can rape a thirteen-year-old girl and get away with it?”
Kate didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t a philosophical question around the dinner table. There was a real man out there who had raped a real little girl.
Maggie said, “Get used to putting your notebook in your back pocket. The spiral will burn a hot spot on your chest in the summer.”
Kate didn’t point out that Maggie kept her notebook in her breast pocket. Instead, she tried to lighten things up. “You think I’m still going to be around by summer?”
Maggie didn’t answer.
“Dabbler’s. That’s from the matchbook, right?”
Again, she didn’t answer.
Kate figured she might as well get all of her questions out of the way. “How do you know those two women?”
“Night school.”
“College?” Kate heard the surprise in her voice. “I mean—”
“We all answered that ad in the back of the comic book where you draw the turtle.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Again, Maggie didn’t respond. They’d reached another set of steps. Marble, grander than the back set. Maggie took them two at a time.
Kate gripped the railing as she followed. She couldn’t spend another day acting the part of an ill-trained puppy. She told Maggie, “Stop. Please.”
Maggie waited at the bottom of the stairs. She looked at her watch.
“Have I done something wrong?” Kate knew how stupid the question sounded. “I mean, obviously I’m doing everything wrong, but is there something specific I’ve done to make you mad at me?”
Maggie remained silent.
“Is it because of the Sheep sobriquet?” Kate realized that she might not be the only one humiliated by the episode. “I’m sorry. I should’ve just let my equipment hit me. I’ll know better next time.”
“Sobriquet.” Maggie looked down at Kate’s feet. “What size shoe do you wear?”
“Eight,” Kate lied before she remembered this wasn’t Saks. “I mean nine and a half.”
“You can borrow a pair of Jimmy’s old shoes. They’ll fit better than what you have.” She nodded toward the door. The gesture was turning into a tic. “We’ll go by my house. You can’t come in.”
“Your house?”
“My house. Where my brother and I live.” She talked to Kate like she was a child. “We’ll go by my house to get some shoes that actually fit your feet, and then we’ll go to the diner on Moreland Avenue. We’re supposed to meet Jimmy there in half an hour. We’re go
ing to work on some files with him until around lunchtime. And then we’ll go to CT with Gail in case I need backup and you’re still trying to figure out how to tie your shoes.”
Kate didn’t know which question to ask first. “Files?”
Kate watched Maggie’s back as she walked through the empty lobby toward the glass doors. There were two options here: she could follow Maggie or she could jump on her back and beat her with her fists.
Kate let herself enjoy the fantasy behind curtain number two for just a few moments. It was such a wonderful fantasy. But despite what Philip thought about her purpose in life, Kate knew she wanted children one day.
Yet again, she followed Maggie out the door.
18
Kate had never been to Cabbage Town before, which she gathered was not to be confused with the pejoratively designated CT of Colored Town. The southeastern section of the city was literally on the other side of the railroad tracks. She couldn’t recommend the place. The area was blighted by abandoned houses and factories that had fallen into disrepair. She assumed the usual culprits were to blame: the oil crisis, high unemployment, and the worst stock market crash since the Great Depression. Public services seemed to stop at the tracks. Garbage cans were overflowing. Potholes pocked the streets. This seemed like the sort of tough area where the Lawsons would live. The people of the Southside were on their own.
Through her rolled-down window, Kate took in a large red-brick warehouse with crumbled smokestacks reaching to the sky. The painted letters on the side were faded. She made out the word “National” and wondered if this was the pencil factory where Leo Frank had worked. Sixty years ago, the Jewish industrialist had been wrongfully convicted of murdering a young girl. A lynch mob had kidnapped Frank from prison and strung him from a tree. Photos were taken showing his stretched neck. Pieces of Frank’s clothing were sold as souvenirs. Among the mob were a former governor, a retired superior court judge, and several police officers. They were never tried for his murder, and likely pleased with what followed: roughly three thousand Jews pulled up stakes and fled the state.
Kate had heard about Frank as a child. His story was one of those “this is how they tried to kill us/this is how we survived” lessons they taught at the Temple. Kate couldn’t recall, but Philip Van Zandt was probably in the class, too. He was in all of her classes before he moved away. Until that spin-the-bottle game, she had never given him a second thought. He was just one of those awkward, pimply boys who lurked in corners.
And he could continue to lurk, because Kate hadn’t completely lost her mind. She had to assume that last night was the result of some kind of temporary insanity. She’d been tired. Her ego was bruised. Her defenses were down. Kate was the daughter of a psychiatrist. She had read her share of Freud. There was no better word to describe what she’d allowed to happen in the kitchen than adolescent. She was a grown woman. A widow. Philip had a wife. He was going to give her children. He had made it crystal clear that Kate was only good for one thing.
And as far as Kate was concerned, Philip Van Zandt could go knock on his own damn door.
The car’s tires thrummed against the bridge spanning I-20. Kate looked down at the light traffic on the freeway. Women, mostly. At this time of day they were either heading to the grocery store or going home after having dropped their kids at school.
Maggie spoke for the first time since they’d left the building. “East-west highways get even numbers. North-south ones get odd numbers.”
Kate had no idea what she was talking about, but she nodded anyway.
“Auxiliary interstates get three digits. The first digit is even if it’s circumferential, odd if it’s a spur. If the number is divisible by five, that means it’s a major artery.”
“How fascinating.”
“You need to know this stuff, Kate. What if you’re pursuing a suspect and he gets on the highway?”
Kate stared longingly out the window. The car was going too fast for her to safely jump out.
“Do you know your radio codes?”
Kate sighed as loudly as she could. “Code twenty-four: demented person. Code twenty-eight: drunken person. Code thirty: driving under the influence. Code forty-nine: rape. Fifty: shooting. Fifty-one: stabbing. Sixty-three—”
“Okay.” Maggie turned onto a side street. Kate noticed that the houses had changed. They were grander, or at least they had been at some point in the distant past. A few Victorians, a handful of Queen Annes, and lots of little Craftsman bungalows lined the broad streets.
Kate asked, “What’s this area called?”
“Grant Park.”
Kate had been here once before. She was on a class field trip to visit the Atlanta Zoo, which was one of the most depressing things she had ever seen in her life. The animals lived in filth. There was a gorilla who sat alone in a concrete cage and watched soap operas all day.
Looking out the car window, Kate didn’t see that the neighbors had it any better. The blight from Cabbage Town extended into Grant Park. Windows were boarded over. Yards were overgrown jungles. Cars were up on cinder blocks.
Maggie said, “Just like Buckhead, right?”
Kate didn’t trust her ability to filter sarcasm.
The car slowed. Maggie pulled into the opposite lane, then glided to a stop in front of a rambling Victorian. Kate smiled. The old house reminded her of a dollhouse her father had bought her. The siding was light blue. The trim was crisp white with black edging around the windows. All the scrolls and cupolas were accented in a darker blue. There was a wraparound porch and a Juliet balcony over a grand porte cochere.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Maggie agreed. “Too bad I live in the piece of shit next to it.” She pushed open the door. “Stay in the car.”
Kate was glad to have permission. She watched Maggie walk toward the neighboring house. The most generous thought she had was that the Victorian had good bones. Everything went downhill from there. The large turret bubbled out like a growth. Plastic covered most of the windows. Paint peeled from every piece of wood. Broken stones crumbled from the foundation. An ugly metal carport that belonged on an Airstream spanned the bottom of the driveway.
Kate heard a screen door open and bang close. A lanky man in a tracksuit came out of the nicer house. Kate guessed he was around her age. He wore a headband and white sneakers. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stretched back and forth. She supposed he was a jogger. Kate saw scores of them around the park these days. There was something on a chain around his neck that she couldn’t make out. He kept glancing over his shoulder at the Lawson house. Kate couldn’t tell if he was nervous or looking for someone.
“Hey, asshole!” Jimmy yelled. She assumed he was talking to the neighbor. He limped across the front porch. His injured arm was stiff at his side. “Mind your own goddamn business!”
The neighbor did a very good job of turning a deaf ear. He sprinted up the driveway. His arms were bent at the elbow, which Kate understood was an excellent way to run.
“Murphy!” Jimmy was talking to Kate now. “Help Rick.”
Kate had no idea who Rick was, but she got out of the car. Delroy and Watson would not have approved. Kate had been so distracted by what was going on in front of her that she’d forgotten to look behind. There was another Atlanta Police cruiser parked on the street. A uniformed man was opening the back door. He was tall with a thick mustache and hair as black as the leather gloves on his hands. She saw at least five file boxes inside the car.
“Rick Anderson,” the officer told Kate, and she realized that he was the only cop since Maggie who’d bothered to introduce himself. Even more surprisingly, he shook her hand.
“Kate Murphy. Very nice to meet you, Mr. Anderson.”
He seemed embarrassed. “Everybody calls me Rick.”
“Get the boxes.” Maggie had sneaked up on both of them. She looked as angry as she sounded. “We’re going to do it here.”
Kate didn’t bother to
ask for details that would never come. She held out her arms and took a box. Maggie took two and Rick grabbed the remaining ones, plus two bags marked EVIDENCE.
Rick said, “You’re looking nice today, Maggie.”
Maggie asked, “Is this everything?”
“Everything I could find.”
Maggie told Jimmy, “I thought we were doing this at the diner.”
“We’re here. Why would we go somewhere else?”
Maggie was already on the front porch. She stopped before going in. Kate saw her eyes follow the jogger as he ran up the street.
Jimmy demanded, “What are you looking at?”
“My dick of a brother.” Maggie disappeared inside.
Kate couldn’t begin to decipher the exchange. She stepped gingerly up the stairs. All she needed was to fall through one of the rotten treads. Rick was more trusting. He bounded up two at a time, then stopped in front of the door so that Kate could precede him.
Cigarette smoke wafted out of the house like a genie’s hand beckoning them indoors. Kate looked down at her feet as she tried to acclimate. Her eyes started to water. Her throat was burning. And then she looked up because she’d met her limit today for almost running into things.
The word “depressing” came to mind as Kate took in the interior of the house. Everything was painted dark gray, from the walls to the ceiling to the trim. The wooden floors were in disrepair. The fixtures were little more than bare bulbs. The décor was right out of All in the Family. Yellow and orange flowered couch. Ugly reclining chairs. A cigarette-scarred coffee table.
“Goddamn, lady.” Jimmy was standing in the foyer. His eyes went to Kate’s chest. “Did you have them knockers yesterday?”
Kate lifted the box higher. She blushed, but not for the reason everyone was obviously thinking. She couldn’t look at Jimmy without thinking about the X-ray Philip had shown her.
“In here.” Maggie sat at the dining room table. Even with the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the place had the feeling of a tomb. She stated the obvious. “The light’s shitty and the windows are painted shut.”
Kate tried to think of something positive. “Your anaglypta is in beautiful condition.” They all stared at her. She played back her words in her mind and figured she deserved it. “The wallpaper.” She nodded toward the embossed paper on the walls.
Cop Town: A Novel Page 18
