Evelyn made the obvious connection. “Which means either Blue Suit was taking initiative to help the boss or he was looking to make trouble.”
Amanda wasn’t so sure about that, but she said, “Either way, Hodge wasn’t telling him what he wanted to hear. Blue Suit was angry when he left. He yelled at Hodge, then stormed out of the building.”
Evelyn circled back to her earlier theory. “Blue Suit pressured Hodge to send us out to check on Kitty Treadwell. Treadwell isn’t a common name. She has to somehow be related to Andrew Treadwell.”
“I couldn’t find a connection in the newspapers, but they don’t keep all the back issues and they’re a bear to search through.”
“Treadwell-Price is in that new office building off Forsyth Street. We could sit outside during lunch. These guys don’t brown-bag it. Blue Suit will have to come out sooner or later.”
“And then what?”
“We show him our badges and ask him some questions.”
Amanda didn’t see that working. The man would probably laugh in their faces. “What if it gets back to Hodge that you’re snooping around?”
“I don’t think he cares so long as I stay out of his office and stop asking him questions. What about your new sergeant?”
“He’s one of the old guard, but he barely knows my name.”
“Probably drunk before lunchtime,” Evelyn said. She was likely correct. Once the older sergeants got past their morning duties, you were hard-pressed to find one behind his desk. There was a reason half the force could be found napping during shift. “We can get together Monday after roll call. They don’t care what we do so long as we’re on the streets. Nessa’s okay with Peterson.”
Amanda was slightly worried about how good Vanessa was being with Peterson, but she let it slide. “Jane wasn’t the only girl living in that apartment. There were at least two others.”
“How do you get that?”
“There were three toothbrushes in the bathroom. All of them well used.”
“Jane didn’t have that many teeth.”
Amanda stared into the fizzing seltzer. Her stomach was too full to laugh at Evelyn’s jokes. “Half of me thinks I’m crazy for wasting so much time tracking down a story off a junkie prostitute.”
Evelyn sounded apologetic. “You’re not the only one who’s been wasting time.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes at the other woman. “I knew it. What’ve you been up to?”
“I talked with a friend I know at the Five. Cindy Murray. She’s a good girl. I described Jane to her. Cindy says maybe she remembers her coming in last week. Lots of girls try to pick up vouchers that don’t belong to them. They have to show two forms of ID—a license, a blood donor card, electric bill, something with their picture and address on it. If Jane is the girl Cindy was thinking of, she tried to pass herself off with someone else’s license. When Jane saw the jig was up, she went bonkers. Started screaming and making threats. Security had to throw her out into the street.”
“What happened to the license?”
“They toss ’em into a box, wait to see if anyone tries to claim them. Cindy says there’s at least a hundred licenses already. They tear them in half and throw them away at the end of every year.”
“Are the welfare rolls organized by names or by addresses?”
“Numbers, unfortunately. Too many of them have the same last name or live at the same address, so they all get assigned an individual number.”
“Social security number?”
“No such luck.”
“It’s got to be on computers, right?”
“They’re in the process of changing over from punch cards to magnetic tape,” Evelyn answered. “Cindy says it’s a mess. She’s basically working with a hammer and chisel while the boys try to figure it out. Which means even if we had access to the information, which they probably won’t give us, we’d have to do it all by hand: get the welfare roll number first, then cross-reference the number to the name, then verify the name against the address, then match both against the benefits logs that verify whether the girls have collected their vouchers in the last six months, which we could then use to compare to the names on the licenses.” Evelyn stopped for a breath. “Cindy says we’ll need a staff of fifty and about twenty years.”
“How long until the computers are up and running?”
“I don’t think it would matter.” Evelyn shrugged. “They’re computers, not magic beans. We’d still have to do most of it by hand. Assuming they’d give us access. Does your father know anyone down at the Five?”
Duke would’ve taken a blowtorch to the Five if they let him. “It wouldn’t matter. We can’t even start the whole process until we find out Kitty Treadwell’s roll number.” Amanda tried to think this through. “Jane said three women were missing: Kitty Treadwell, Lucy, and Mary.”
“I already checked missing persons in Zones Three and Four,” Evelyn provided. “No Kitty Treadwell. No Jane Delray—which I thought I’d check on while I was there. What I did find were a dozen Lucys and about a hundred Marys. They never clean out their files. Some of these girls have died of old age by now. They’ve been missing since the Depression.” She offered, “I can go to the other zones next week. Do you know Dr. Hanson?”
Amanda shook her head.
“Pete. Runs the morgue.” She saw Amanda’s expression. “No, he’s a good guy. Kind of what you’d expect from a coroner, but very nice. I know a gal works for him, Deena Coolidge. She says he lets her do things sometimes.”
“What things?”
Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Not what you’re thinking. Lab things. Deena’s real into that stuff. Likes chemistry. Pete’s teaching her how to do the tests and some of the lab work on her own. She’s going to Tech at night, too.”
Amanda could guess why Dr. Hanson was letting her do these things, and it probably wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart. “Did you check the DNF?”
“The what?”
The dead Negro file. Duke had told Amanda about the running list of unsolved black homicides. Amanda offered, “I’ll check it.”
“Check what?”
She changed the subject. “Do we know if the apartment is in Kitty’s name?”
“Oh!” Evelyn seemed impressed. “That’s a very good question.” She grabbed one of the napkins off the dashboard and wrote herself a note. “I wonder if the number you get assigned for Section Eight housing is the same as the one they give you for collecting welfare vouchers? Do you know anyone at the Housing Authority?”
“Pam Canale.” Amanda checked the time. “I need to study for my class tonight, but I can call her first thing Monday.”
“You can tell me what you find out when we’re staking out Mr. Blue Suit. Also—” She scribbled something else on the napkin. “Here’s my number at home so you can let me know about tomorrow. The barbecue.”
“Thank you.” Amanda folded the napkin in two and stuck it in her purse. There was no lie she could tell Duke that could explain such a long absence. He was always calling her apartment to make sure she was home. If Amanda didn’t pick up by the second ring, he hung up and drove over.
“You know,” Evelyn began, “I read an article in the paper about this guy out West who’s been killing college students.”
“These girls aren’t college students.”
“Still, we’ve got three missing.”
“This isn’t Hollywood, Evelyn. There aren’t serial killers lurking around Atlanta.” Amanda changed the subject back to something more plausible. “I’ve been thinking about Kitty’s apartment. There were three trash bags full of clothes in the bedroom. No woman can afford that many clothes, especially if she’s living in the projects.” Amanda felt her stomach rumble. She had forgotten about the paper cup in her hand. She downed the seltzer in one swallow and suppressed the resulting belch. “There was a lot of makeup in the bathroom, too. Way too much for one girl. Even a prostitute.”
“Jane wasn’t wearing any ma
keup. There was no smeared mascara under her eyes. I can’t see her cleaning up with cold cream every night.”
“There was cold cream in the bathroom,” Amanda recalled, “but suffice it to say, no one was using it. There were used sanitary napkins in the trashcan, but a box of Tampax was on the shelf. So, obviously, someone was staying there who wasn’t on the game. Maybe a little sister. Maybe even Kitty Treadwell.”
Evelyn put the cup to her lips. “Why do you think that?”
“You can’t wear Tampax if you’re a virgin. So—”
Evelyn choked on the seltzer. The water spurted from her mouth and nose. She grabbed at the napkins on the dashboard, coughing so hard it sounded as if her lungs were trying to come out of her mouth.
Amanda patted her back. “Are you all right?”
She put her hand to her mouth and coughed again. “Sorry. Went down the wrong way.” She coughed a third and fourth time. “What’s that?”
Amanda looked out into the street. An Atlanta Police cruiser zoomed by, lights rolling, no siren. The next cruiser was the opposite: siren blaring, lights off.
“What on earth …,” Amanda began.
Evelyn turned up the police radio. All they could hear was the usual chatter, followed by mics being clicked so that the speakers could not be heard. “Idiots,” Evelyn mumbled, turning the volume back down. Another cruiser screeched by. “What could it be?”
Amanda was sitting up in her seat, straining to see what was happening. Then she realized there was an easier way. She tossed her paper cup out the window and pushed open the door. By the time she reached the sidewalk, another car zoomed past, this one a Plymouth Fury like her own.
Evelyn joined her on the sidewalk. “That was Rick and Butch.” Homicide. “They’re going to Techwood. All of them are going to Techwood.”
Neither woman said what they were thinking. They headed toward the station wagon. Amanda edged Evelyn toward the passenger’s side, saying, “I’ll drive.”
Evelyn didn’t offer protest. She rode shotgun as Amanda backed up the car, then headed up North Avenue. They turned on Techwood Drive. A police cruiser blew past on Amanda’s left as she turned onto Pine.
Evelyn grabbed the dashboard. “My Lord. Why are they in such a hurry?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Amanda pulled up onto the familiar berm. There were already five cruisers and two unmarked Plymouths. Today, no children were playing in the courtyard of Techwood Homes, though their parents had finally made an appearance. Shirtless men in tight jeans stood with cans of beer in their hands. Most of the women were just as scantily clad, but a few looked as if they’d just returned home from office work. Amanda checked her watch. It was past one o’clock. Maybe they’d come home for lunch.
“Amanda.” Evelyn’s tone held a low tremor. She followed the other woman’s gaze to the second apartment block on the left. A group of patrolmen were clustered outside the door. Butch Bonnie pushed past them as he ran out into the courtyard. He fell to his knees and spewed vomit onto the ground.
“Oh, no.” Amanda searched in her bag for a tissue. “We can get some water from—”
Evelyn stopped her with a firm hand. “Stay exactly where you are.”
“But he—”
“I mean it,” she said, her voice taking on a tenor Amanda had not heard before.
Rick Landry exited the building next. He used his handkerchief to wipe his mouth, then tucked it into his back pocket. Had his partner still not been vocally ill, Landry probably would’ve never noticed Amanda and Evelyn. As it was, he walked right over to them.
“What the hell are you broads doing here?”
Amanda opened her mouth, but Evelyn beat her to a response. “We had a case here earlier this week. Top floor. Apartment C. Prostitute named Jane Delray.”
Landry stuck his tongue into his cheek as he stared first at Evelyn, then Amanda. “And?”
“And, obviously something happened here.”
“It’s Techwood, darlin’. Something happens here all the time.”
“Top floor?” Evelyn asked. “Apartment C?”
“Wrong and wrong,” Landry said. “Behind the building. Suicide. Jumped off the roof and went splat.”
“Fuck!” Butch Bonnie gave a heave that rivaled the sound of a pig rutting in the wild. Landry’s gaze faltered. He didn’t quite look back at his partner, but he wouldn’t look at Evelyn or Amanda, either.
“You.” Landry motioned over one of the uniformed patrolmen. “Get all these people outta here. Looks like we’re filming a damn Tarzan movie.” The cop rushed to disperse the group of onlookers. There were yells and protests.
Evelyn said, “Maybe someone saw—”
“Saw what?” Landry interrupted. “They probably didn’t even know her. But, give ’em another minute, they’ll all be wailin’ and howlin’ and flappin’ their gums about what a tragedy it is.” He shot Evelyn a look. “You should know better than that, Mitchell. Never let ’em crowd up. They get too emotional and pretty soon you’re callin’ in SWAT to thin ’em out.”
Evelyn spoke so quietly that Amanda could barely hear her. “We’d like to see the body.”
“We what?” Amanda’s voice trilled around the words.
Landry grinned. “Looks like Ethel ain’t up for this, Lucy.”
Evelyn didn’t back down. She cleared her throat. “We’re working a case, Landry. Same as you.”
“Same as me?” he echoed, incredulous. He glanced back at Butch, who was sitting back on his heels, chest heaving. Amanda could see the glint of the revolver he kept on his ankle. “You girls need to toddle on back and—”
“She’s right.” Amanda heard the words clear as a bell. They were spoken in her own voice. They had come out of her own mouth.
Evelyn seemed just as surprised as Amanda.
“We’re working a case,” Amanda told him. That was exactly what they were doing. They’d just spent the last half hour in the car talking it through. Something was going on with these women—Kitty, Lucy, Mary, and now possibly Jane Delray. Right now, Amanda and Evelyn were the only two officers on the entire force who even knew—or apparently cared—that they were missing.
Landry lit a cigarette. He let out a stream of smoke. “Same as me, huh?” he repeated, but this time he was laughing. “You skirts working homicide now?”
Evelyn shot back, “You just said it was a suicide. What are you doing here?”
He didn’t like that. “You want some balls, Mitchell, you can always suck on mine.”
Amanda looked down at the ground so her expression wouldn’t give her away.
“I’m fine with my husband’s, thank you.” Evelyn reached into her purse and pulled out her Kel-Lite. “We’re ready when you are.”
Landry ignored her, telling Amanda, “Come on, gal. This ain’t no place for you. That body’s a mess. Guts all over the place. Nasty stuff. Too nasty for a lady to handle.” He tilted his chin toward Butch, not stating the obvious. “Go on, get back in your car and scoot off. Nobody’ll think nothin’ about it.”
Amanda felt her stomach start to unclench. He was giving them an out. A graceful exit. No one would know they had asked to see the body. They could leave with their heads held high. Amanda was about to take him up on the offer, but then Landry added, “God knows, I don’t want your old man coming after me with his shotgun for scaring his baby girl.”
There was an odd tingling in Amanda’s spine. She felt as if every vertebra was locking into place. She spoke in a shockingly certain tone. “You said the victim is behind the building?”
Evelyn appeared just as surprised as Landry when Amanda started walking toward the apartment building. She kept pace with Amanda, whispering, “What are you doing?”
“Keep walking,” Amanda begged her. “Please keep walking.”
“Have you ever seen a dead body?”
“Never close up,” Amanda admitted. “Unless you count my grandfather.”
Evelyn muttered a curse.
She spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Whatever you do, don’t get sick. Don’t scream. For God’s sake, don’t cry.”
Amanda was ready to do all three and she hadn’t even seen the body yet. What in the name of God was she thinking? Landry was right. If Butch Bonnie hadn’t been able to handle it, there was no way in hell either of them would be able to.
“Listen to me,” Evelyn ordered. “If you break, they’ll never trust you again. You might as well join the typing pool. You might as well slit your wrists.”
“I’m okay,” she said, then because she knew Evelyn needed to hear it, she told her, “You’re okay, too. You’re absolutely okay.”
Evelyn’s heels kicked up dust as she walked beside Amanda. “I’m okay,” she repeated. “You’re right. I’m okay.”
“We’re both okay.” So much sweat was dripping down Amanda’s back that it was pooling into her underwear. She was glad she was wearing a black skirt. She was glad she had taken that Alka-Seltzer. She was very glad that she wasn’t alone as she walked into the dark building.
The vestibule was cast in more shadow than Amanda remembered. She glanced up the stairwell. One of the panes in the skylight had been broken. A piece of wood was nailed in its place. They both stopped at the metal exit door at the end of the hall, waiting for Landry.
He put his hand on the door but didn’t open it. “Lookit, girls, playtime is over. Go back to taking reports on poor little sluts got mixed up with the wrong fella and cried wolf.”
“We’re working a case,” Evelyn told him. “It might have something to do with—”
“Whore took a long walk off a short plank. You seen this dump. I’m surprised everybody here don’t jump off the roof.”
“We still—”
He said, “Just turn around and walk back. This has gone far enough.”
“I was—”
“Stop!” Landry banged his fist against the door. “Just shut your fucking mouth!” he shouted. “I told you to leave and you’d better goddamn leave.”
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