The Will Trent Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karin Slaughter

Her tone was surprisingly strong when she said, “Well, you lost your chance.” Amanda clicked her pen so she could take notes. “What happened to Jane Delray?”

  He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan. “Why you askin’ after that bitch?”

  “I want to know where she is.”

  He held his hand up above his head and whistled like a dive-bombing airplane as he dropped it to the table.

  Amanda looked at his hand. Two of his fingers were taped together with surgical tape. There were no scratches on his hands, his bare arms. “You confessed to killing Lucy Bennett.”

  “I confessed to keepin’ my black ass outta the ’lectric chair.”

  “The death penalty is no longer legal.”

  “They say they gone bring it back for me.”

  Given the circumstances, Amanda didn’t doubt that the state would try. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before Old Sparky was powered back up again.

  She said, “We both know you didn’t kill that woman.”

  “Wished I woulda.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Why you here, bitch? Why you care what happen to a nigger?”

  “I don’t, actually.” Amanda was startled by the truth of her own words. “I care about the girls.”

  “ ’Cause they white.”

  “No.” Again, she told him the truth. “Because they’re girls. Because no one else cares about them.”

  He looked at her. Amanda hadn’t realized until that moment that Juice had been avoiding her eyes. She stared back at him, wondering if she was the first woman who’d had the courage to do so. He must have a mother somewhere. A sister. He couldn’t rape and whore out every woman he met.

  Juice tapped his hand on the table. Amanda didn’t look away, but Juice did. “You’re like her.”

  “Like who?”

  “Lucy.” He kept tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “She strong. Too strong. I break her down. But she always get back up.”

  “Was Kitty like that, too?”

  “Kitty.” He snorted. “That bitch near about broke me, you hear what I’m sayin’? Had to beat her down and keep her down.” He pointed at Amanda. “You run them gals long enough, you see the strongest one’s the one what’s gonna be most loyal. All’s you gotta do is find you way in.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever decide to trick out women.”

  He put his palms flat on the table and leaned toward her. “I trick you out, bitch. Gimme five minutes with that fine white ass.” He started thrusting his hips, banging against the table. “Dig my hands in that juicy white meat. Stick it in ya till ya cryin’.” He banged harder against the table, punctuating each thrust with a deep moan. It was a guttural sound that made her note the dark bruises on his throat.

  She asked, “Would you choke me?”

  “I choke you, bitch.” He pushed one last time against the table. “I choke you till you come so hard you pass out.”

  “Do you like being choked?”

  “Shit.” He crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps were huge. “Ain’t nobody chokin’ this brother.”

  Amanda remembered something Pete had said in the morgue. “Did you urinate on yourself?”

  “I ain’t piss myself.” He tilted up his chin defensively. “Who told you that?”

  Amanda felt a smug smile on her lips. “You just did.”

  He stared at the wall.

  “The apartment at Techwood. That’s Kitty’s, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I can stay here all day,” she told him, and in that moment, Amanda could see herself doing just that. Bubba Keller would have to drag her from this room. She would sit here staring down this disgusting pimp for as long as it took. “The apartment at Techwood belonged to Kitty, did it not?”

  Juice seemed to understand her resolve. “That’s all’a them girls’. She charge it out. Tryin’ to pimp ’em space. I put a stop to that.”

  Amanda couldn’t imagine another woman charging rent to whores, but in the last few days, her worldview had expanded considerably. “Tell me about Hank Bennett.”

  “What he tell you?”

  “You tell me about him.”

  “Fool came onto my corner trying to order me around.” His fist was clenched when he banged it on the table. “Man need to step back.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know, bitch. I ain’t keep a calendar.”

  Amanda made a slash mark on the paper. If she had a dollar for every time a man had called her “bitch” lately, she could retire. “Did Hank Bennett see you before or after Lucy disappeared?”

  His tongue darted out as he thought it over. “Before. Yeah, before. Bitch up and gone a week, two week later. I figure he took her. Lucy talk about him all the time.”

  Amanda’s dictation was rusty, but it came back to her as she scribbled notes across the page. “So, Hank Bennett approached you before Lucy disappeared?” Another lie they’d caught the lawyer in. “What did he want?”

  “Wanted to tell me my bidness. Brother better be glad I didn’t beat down his skinny white ass.”

  “What business?”

  “Told me cut Kitty loose. Said he’d pass me some bills if I stop givin’ her the Boy.”

  Amanda was sure she’d heard wrong. “Kitty? You mean Lucy.”

  “Naw, bitch. It was Kitty he wanted to talk about. Dude had a hard-on for her.”

  “Why would Hank Bennett care about Kitty?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, but still answered, “Her daddy some big-time lawyer. Disowned the bitch when he found out she was sippin’ some Juice.” He gave her a lurid grin, making sure she got his meaning. “She got another sister somewhere. She the good one. Kitty always been bad.”

  “Kitty’s father is Andrew Treadwell.”

  He nodded. “You finally gettin’ it, bitch. Ain’t the mayor tell you this already?”

  Amanda flipped back through her notes. “Hank Bennett offered you money to stop giving Kitty heroin.”

  “Why you keep repeatin’ everything I say?”

  “Because it doesn’t make sense,” Amanda admitted. “Hank Bennett comes to you about Kitty. He doesn’t ask about his sister? Ask to see her?” Juice shook his head. “He’s not worried about Lucy?” Again, Juice shook his head. “And, a week later, Lucy disappeared?”

  “Yeah, an’ about a week after—” He snapped his fingers. “Kitty gone.”

  Amanda remembered Jane’s words. “Just disappeared.”

  “Thass right.”

  “What about Mary?”

  He snorted. “Bitch gone, too. ’Bout two, three months later. Ain’t been a while since I lose that many girls at a go. Usually some other pimp tryin’ to poach me off.”

  “You had three girls disappear in as many months.” Amanda wasn’t asking him a question. She was trying to get her head around what had happened. “Did you ever see Lucy with a letter from her brother?”

  He gave a curt nod. “Had it in her purse.”

  “Can you read?”

  “Bitch, I ain’t ignert.”

  Amanda waited.

  “Some bullshit ’bout how he missed her when I knowed that ain’t the truth. Said he wanted to meet with her.” Juice thumped the table with his fingers. “Shee-it, brother wanna see her, he coulda spent five mo’ minutes on my corner. I tole him she be right there.”

  Amanda scribbled down his words as she tried to think through her next question. “Was there anyone hanging around who was …” “Scary” wasn’t the right word for a man like Juice. “Who wasn’t right? Someone who was dangerous or violent? Someone you wouldn’t trust with your girls?”

  “Bitch, I charge extry for that.” He smiled. One of his front teeth was missing. The gum was raw. “They some weird motherfuckers out there.” He cleared his throat. “ ’Scuse me.”

  Amanda nodded at the apology. “What weird people?”

  “They’s a dude likes to fist ’em
.” He pumped his fist in the air. Amanda guessed he meant punching the girls. “They’s one use a knife, but he all right. He never stick nobody. Least not with the blade.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “They’s that tall dude runs the soup kitchen.”

  “I’ve heard about him.”

  “He real tight with the dude at the mission.”

  So, Trey Callahan had lied to them, too.

  “Dude always comin’ ’round at night, trying to preach to my gals.”

  “The man from the soup kitchen?” Juice nodded. “Were the girls ever afraid of him?”

  “Shit. They ain’t afraid’a nothin’ when I’m around. That’s my job, bitch.”

  She made yet another slash on the paper. “This man from the church came at night to your street corner and tried to preach to Lucy and Kitty and—”

  “Nah, they gone by then. Mary, too.” He sat up in his chair. “Lookit, that salvation shit okay during the day, but don’t come shootin’ off ’bout Jesus while I’m tryin’ to do my bidness. You feel me?”

  “I do.” Amanda leaned forward. “Tell me who killed Jane Delray.”

  “You get me outta here?”

  Amanda was getting good at this game, but she wasn’t quite there yet. Juice obviously read her expression.

  “Shit.” He slumped back in his chair. “You cain’t do nothin’, bitch.”

  “If I could find someone from City Hall to talk to you, could you tell him who killed Jane?”

  “Another slit?”

  “No, a man. Someone in charge.” Amanda didn’t know anyone downtown except for a bunch of secretaries. Still, she kept her shoulders straight, put some threat into her tone. “But you have to tell him something meaningful. You have to give him a name that can be followed up on. Otherwise, that deal you made with Butch and Landry goes out the window. I promise you, the state will bring back the death penalty. By the time it goes to the Supreme Court, you’ll be dead.”

  There was a tapping sound. His leg had started moving up and down. The heel of his patent leather shoe clicked against the concrete. “I gotta deal. Done made my confession.”

  “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Whatchu mean?”

  “I mean, you confessed to killing Lucy Bennett, not Jane Delray. Once I tell them about the mistake—” She shrugged. “I hope they remember to shave your head before they strap that metal cap on.”

  He was nervous. His breath whistled through his broken nose. “Whatchu mean, bitch?”

  “You hear about the last guy they executed? His hair caught on fire. The switch was too hot. They couldn’t turn it off. He burned alive. Flames went as high as the ceiling. He screamed for two whole minutes before they found the junction box and shut it down.”

  Juice’s throat worked. His leg was shaking so hard that his knee bumped the table.

  “Give me a name, Juice. Tell me who killed Jane.”

  His fist clenched and unclenched. The table trembled.

  “Give me a name.”

  He pounded his fist against the table. “I ain’t gotta name!”

  Amanda clicked her pen. She closed her notebook. She hadn’t flinched. She kept perfectly calm, waiting.

  “Got damn.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Got damn them bitches. Gettin’ me on the hook for this shit.”

  “Who would want to kill Jane?”

  “Ever’body,” he said. “She mouth off all the time. Make enemies on the street.”

  “Anyone who would murder her?”

  “Not without gettin’ they throat slit. Bitch kept a knife in her purse. All them do. Girl knew how to use it. Cain’t turn your back on her fo’ a minute. Bitch mean as a snake.”

  “That’s pretty rich coming from her pimp.”

  He didn’t respond. His shoulders rounded. He gripped his hands in his lap. “What’d that other bitch say? ’Bout Kitty knowin’ the mayor? You think he can give a brother a hand? Get me outta this mess?”

  “I told you, if you tell me the truth, maybe I can help you.”

  He stared at her, eyes going back and forth as if he was reading a book.

  “Shee-it,” he mumbled. “You think they gone lissen to you?” He pushed himself up from the table. Amanda’s body tensed, but she stayed seated as he loomed over her. “Look ’round you, bitch.” He held out his hands. “They let a black man run this world ’fore they let a slit do.”

  * * *

  Amanda stood at Evelyn’s front door with a bottle of wine in her hand. It wasn’t the cheap stuff, but she was uncertain whether or not price had anything to do with taste. As with many things, she was out of her element. Especially when Kenny Mitchell opened the door.

  A smile spread across his mouth. His teeth were perfect. His face was perfect. There wasn’t anything about him she would change. Not that Amanda would be given the chance.

  He said, “Amanda. Great to see you again.” He leaned toward her, and without thinking, Amanda pulled back.

  “Oh,” she said, then leaned back in, looking more like a pecking duck than a grown woman. The moment could’ve been made more awkward, but Kenny laughed as he put his hand to her face and kissed her cheek. She could feel the rough texture of his skin, the prickly hairs of his mustache. His other hand rested lightly on her arm. A rush of heat went straight through her.

  “Come in.” He held open the door. Amanda walked into the house, feeling instantly enveloped by the cool air. “It’s nice, right?” Kenny took the bottle of wine from her. Every move he made had a certain kind of grace, like an athlete on the field. “Ev’s in back putting down the kid. I’m afraid that odor you smell is from me and Bill trying to cook supper. May I bring you a glass of wine?” He looked at the bottle and gave a low whistle. “Classy stuff. Maybe I’ll keep it for myself.”

  “That’s fine,” Amanda said, not sure which question she was answering. She looked down at the floor, surprised to see that her feet were still there, that she wasn’t melting into a bubbling pool of adolescent giddiness. “Whatever you like.”

  Kenny seemed not to notice, or maybe he was used to women acting so foolishly around him. He pointed down the hallway. “First door on the right.”

  Amanda felt his eyes on her as she walked down the hallway. Oddly, she thought about Juice, the things he’d said about her bottom. Amanda bit her lip. Why, of all the things the pimp had said, had that particular one stuck in her head? Surely, Kenny wasn’t like that. He wasn’t craven or crude. Neither was Amanda, which didn’t explain the obscene images that were flashing in her mind as she gently knocked on the bedroom door.

  Evelyn whispered, “Come in.”

  Amanda pushed open the door. Evelyn was sitting in a rocking chair. Zeke was in her arms. His head was flopped back. His arm hung down to the side. He was towheaded with pink cheeks and a button nose. It wasn’t surprising that Evelyn had such a beautiful baby. Or that his nursery was so playfully decorated. Fluffy white sheep were painted on the light blue walls. His crib was a glossy white. The yellow in the sheets matched the carpet, which in turn matched the glowing nightlight that provided the only illumination in the room.

  “You look nice,” Evelyn whispered.

  “Thank you.” Amanda self-consciously patted her hair. She’d washed it four times in an attempt to remove the odors from the jail, then dabbed some Charlie on her wrists and neck for other reasons. “Do you want me to help in the kitchen?”

  “No, it’s Bill’s night.” Evelyn groaned as she leveraged herself out of the chair. She cradled Zeke as she carried him to the crib. He flopped onto the mattress like a rag doll. Evelyn pulled up the sheet and tucked it around his narrow shoulders. Her fingers brushed back his hair. She leaned down and kissed his cheek before indicating they should leave.

  Instead of heading toward the kitchen, Evelyn took Amanda into the next room. Her dress was a short blue crinoline that rustled as she walked. She turned on the overhead light, revealing an office. Two desks were on opposite
walls. Both were very tidy. Amanda guessed the black metal desk belonged to Bill Mitchell. She doubted he was using the elegantly curved white rococo desk with pink glass knobs. Evelyn’s spiral notebook was neatly lined up to the edge. A grocery list was beside it. Most remarkably, their earlier project was displayed on the wall. Evelyn had used thumbtacks to pin up the various pieces of construction paper.

  “I thought it would be easier this way.” Evelyn rolled Bill’s chair over for Amanda. She sat down at her desk and opened the top drawer. “I found these at the Five.”

  Amanda took the licenses. Lucy Anne Bennett. Kathryn Elizabeth Treadwell. Mary Louise Eitel. Donna Mary Halston. Mary Abigail Ellis.

  She studied the photos carefully and set aside two of the Marys, leaving Donna Mary Halston. “This one looks like Kitty and Lucy.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “He has a type.” Amanda had never considered such a thing, but of course it made sense. Men always had certain types they were attracted to. Why would murder be any different?

  Evelyn said, “They all look so normal. You’d never guess what they were doing.”

  Amanda stared at the girls’ photographs. They did look normal. There was nothing to suggest that they were prostitutes, nothing to indicate they had sunk to the lowest levels of depravity in order to feed an addiction.

  Most striking was their similarity. Long blonde hair. Blue eyes. Tall and slim. Lush lips. Expressive eyes. They were not just pretty, but beautiful. “They all list the same address,” Amanda noted. “Techwood Homes. I can call back Pam Canale and see if she can trace the apartment to a roll number. I have a feeling it belongs to Kitty, but it wouldn’t kill us to be certain.” An idea occurred to her. “We could take these license photos to Techwood tomorrow. Like you said, it’s ninety percent black there. Three white girls would stick out.”

  “That’s good. You hold on to them.” Evelyn grabbed her notebook off the desk, but didn’t open it. “I checked all the missing persons files at the rest of the precinct. There was nothing for Lucy or Jane, but I found one for Mary Halston. She has a sister who lives in Virginia who’s been looking for her for almost a year.”

  “We could call her.” Amanda tucked the licenses into her purse. “I’m sure she’d talk to us.”