Hodge studied her a moment. He put down his pen. He sat back in his chair, his hands clasped in front of his stomach.
“Her pimp came in. His street name is Juice. He chased Jane out of the apartment. He made suggestive overtures toward me and Evelyn. We arrested him.”
Hodge continued to stare at her. Finally, he nodded.
“Last Friday, this woman was found dead at Techwood Homes. Jane Delray. It was reported as a suicide, but the coroner told me that she was strangled, then thrown from the building.”
Hodge was still looking at her. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not.” Even as Amanda said the words, she questioned herself. Was she certain that the victim was not Lucy Bennett? How was it possible to tell whether or not the corpse at the morgue was truly Jane Delray? Hank Bennett had been equally as certain that he was identifying his sister. But the face, the track marks, the scars on her wrists.
Amanda said, “The victim was not Lucy Bennett. It was Jane Delray.”
Her words floated up into the stale air. Amanda fought the urge to equivocate. This was the hardest lesson they had learned at the academy. It was a woman’s nature to be diminutive, to make peace. They’d spent hours raising their voices, giving orders rather than making requests.
Hodge steepled his fingers. “What’s your next step?”
She let some of the breath out of her lungs. “I’m meeting Evelyn Mitchell at the Union Mission. All the streetwalkers end up there eventually. It’s like their Mexico.” Hodge’s brow furrowed at the analogy. Amanda kept talking. “There has to be someone at the Union Mission who knew the girls.”
He kept studying her. “Did I mishear a plural?”
Amanda bit her lip. She longed for Evelyn’s presence. She was so much better at this. Still, Amanda couldn’t give up now. “The man you spoke to last Monday. The lawyer in the blue suit. His name is Hank Bennett. You thought he was sent by Andrew Treadwell.” Hodge didn’t disagree, so she continued. “I imagine he was here looking for his sister, Lucy Bennett.”
Hodge supplied, “And then, less than a week later, he found her.”
His statement hung between them. Amanda tried to analyze its meaning, but then a more pressing issue presented itself. Rick Landry barreled into the office. He reeked of whiskey. He threw his cigarette on the floor. “Tell this fucking broad to keep her nose out of my case.”
If Hodge was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, he asked in a perfectly reasonable voice, “And you are?”
Landry was visibly taken aback. “Rick Landry. Homicide.” He glared at Hodge. “Where’s Hoyt?”
“I imagine Sergeant Woody is drinking his breakfast downtown.”
Again, Landry was taken off guard. It was commonly held on the force that a man’s drinking problem was his own business. “This is a homicide case. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with her. Or that mouthy bitch she’s been hangin’ around with.”
“Homicide?” Hodge paused just a moment longer than necessary. “I was under the impression that Miss Bennett committed suicide.” He pushed through the paperwork on his desk, taking his time finding what he was looking for. “Yes, here’s your preliminary report. Suicide.” He held out the paper. “Is that your signature, Officer?”
“Detective.” Landry snatched the report out of his hand. “It’s what you said, preliminary.” He wadded the paper into a ball and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll give you the final report later.”
“So, the case is still open? You believe Lucy Bennett was murdered?”
Landry glanced back at Amanda. “I need more time.”
“Take all the time you need, Detective.” Hodge held out his hands as if he was placing the world at Landry’s feet. When the man did not leave, he asked, “Is there anything else?”
Landry glowered at Amanda before making his exit. He slammed the door behind him. Hodge looked at the closed door, then back at Amanda.
She asked, “Why did Hank Bennett come here last Monday?”
“That sounds like a very good question.”
“Why did he want you to send us to Kitty’s apartment?”
“Another good question.”
“You didn’t give us a name, just an address.”
“That’s correct.” He picked up his pen. “You can skip roll call.”
Amanda remained seated. She didn’t understand.
“I said you can skip roll call, Miss Wagner.” He went back to his paperwork. When Amanda didn’t leave, he glanced up at her. “Don’t you have a case to work?”
She stood, using the arm of the chair to leverage herself up. The door was stuck. She had to jerk it open. Amanda kept her gaze ahead as she walked through the squad room and out the door. Her resolve almost broke when she was pulling the Plymouth out of the parking lot. She could see the squad through the broken pane of glass in the storefront. A few of the patrolmen watched her leave.
Amanda pulled out onto Highland. Her breathing didn’t return to normal until she was on Ponce de Leon heading toward the Union Mission. By her watch, she had another ten minutes before Evelyn joined her. Maybe Amanda could use the time to figure out what had just happened. The problem was that she didn’t know where to begin. She needed time to digest it all. She also still needed to make a phone call.
The Trust Company branch on the corner of Ponce and Monroe had a bank of pay phones outside the building. Amanda pulled into the parking lot. She backed her car into a space and sat with her hands still wrapped around the wheel. None of this made sense. Why was Hodge speaking in riddles? He didn’t seem to be afraid of much. Was he trying to help Amanda or trying to discourage her?
She found some coins in her wallet and grabbed her address book. Two of the pay phones were out of order. The last one took her dime. She dialed Pam’s number again and listened to the rings. At twenty, she was about to give up, but Pam finally answered.
“Canale.” She sounded even more harried than before.
“Pam, it’s Amanda Wagner.”
A few seconds passed before Pam seemed to recognize her name. “Mandy. What’s going on? Oh, crap, don’t tell me something’s wrong with Mimi?”
Mimi Mitideri, the niece who’d almost run off with a Navy cadet. “No, nothing like that. I was calling to see if you could do me a favor.”
She seemed relieved, though her day was probably filled with people asking for favors. “What do you need?”
“I was wondering if you could look up a name for me, or an apartment.” Amanda realized she wasn’t being very clear. She hadn’t thought through the conversation. “There’s an apartment at Techwood Homes—apartment C. It’s on the fifth floor in the row of buildings—”
“Whoa, let me stop you there. There’s no C at Techwood Homes. They’re numbered.”
Amanda resisted the temptation to ask her where one might find these numbers. “Could you look up a name, then? A Katherine or Kate or Kitty Treadwell?”
“We don’t go by names. We go by roll numbers.”
Amanda sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.” She felt the uselessness of the situation sitting like an elephant on her chest. “I’m not even sure if I’ve got the right name. There are—were—at least three girls living there. Maybe more.”
“Wait a minute,” Pam said. “Are they related?”
“I doubt it. They’re working girls.”
“All in the same unit?” Pam asked. “That’s not allowed unless they’re related. And even if they are, none of those gals ever want to room together. They lie all the time.” There was a noise on Pam’s end of the line. She covered the mouthpiece for a few seconds and had a muffled conversation with another person. When she came back on the line, her voice was clearer. “Tell me about the apartment. You said it was on the top floor?”
“Yes. Fifth floor.”
“Those are one-bedroom units. A single girl wouldn’t get that housing assignment unless she has a child.”
“There was no child. Just three wo
men. I’m guessing it was three. Maybe there were more.”
Pam groaned. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. “My supervisor can be persuaded sometimes.”
Amanda was going to ask what she meant, but then it hit her.
Pam sounded bitter. “They should put me in charge. I wouldn’t trade a top-floor apartment for a blow job.”
Amanda gave a shocked laugh—as if such a thing was possible. “Well, thank you, Pam. I know you’ve got work to do.”
“Let me know if you get the unit number. Maybe I can track it back from there. Might take me a week or two, but I’ll do it for you.”
“Thank you,” Amanda repeated. She hung up the phone. Her hand stayed on the receiver. Her mind had been working on other things while she was talking to Pam Canale. It was like looking for your keys. The minute you stopped trying to find them, you remembered where you’d left them.
But there was only one way to be certain.
Amanda put another dime in the slot. She dialed a familiar number. Duke Wagner was never one to let a phone ring more than twice. He picked up almost immediately.
“Hey, Daddy,” Amanda managed, but then she didn’t know what else to say.
Duke sounded alarmed. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”
“No, no,” she told him, wondering why she had called her father in the first place. This was sheer lunacy.
“Mandy? What’s going on? Are you at the hospital?”
Amanda rarely heard her father panicked. Nor had she ever considered the fact that he might be worried about the job she was doing, especially since he was no longer there to protect her.
“Mandy?” She heard a chair slide across the kitchen floor. “Talk to me.”
She swallowed back the uneasy realization that for just a moment, she had enjoyed scaring her father. “I’m fine, Daddy. I just had a question about—” She didn’t know what to call it. “About politics.”
He sounded relieved and slightly irritated. “This couldn’t wait until tonight?”
“No.” She looked out at the street. Cars were backing up at the light. Businessmen were going to work. Women were taking their children to school. “We had a new sergeant last week. One of Reggie’s boys.”
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 th
e 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?”
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