Evelyn smiled back at Amanda as she headed toward the kitchen, leaving her to answer the question.
Kenny suggested, “Skynyrd? Allman Brothers? Clapton?”
Amanda figured she might as well get this out of the way. “I’m sorry to say I’m more Sinatra.”
“Do you know that I saw him at Madison Square Garden last year?” Kenny smiled at her surprise. “I flew up to New York just to see the show. I was three rows back. He came into the ring like a champ and belted on for hours.” Kenny thumbed through the record collection. “Here you go. I let Bill borrow this six months ago. I doubt he’s even looked at it.” Kenny showed her the record sleeve. The Main Event—Live.
Bill called, “Dinner’s getting cold.”
Amanda waited for Kenny to put on the record. The overture played softly through the speakers. Kenny held out his arm and escorted her to the dining room. Evelyn was sitting in her husband’s lap. He patted her bottom. She kissed him before getting up. “Amanda, the wine is lovely.” She took a hefty sip from her glass. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I’m glad it’s palatable. I had a feeling the man at the store was misleading me.”
“I’m sure you’re an excellent sommelier.” Kenny pulled out a chair. Amanda sat down, letting her purse slide to the floor. Kenny’s hand brushed across her shoulder before he sat down opposite his brother.
Amanda held her wineglass to her mouth as she exhaled a breath of air between her lips.
Bill asked, “What were you two gals up to? Should I be worried you’re going to wallpaper the house with construction paper?”
“Maybe.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow as she took another sip of wine. “We’ve got this case that’s probably going to get us both fired.”
“More time with my gal,” Bill exclaimed. He hardly seemed worried as he stabbed a dry-looking piece of roast and put it on her plate. “Have you been mouthing off or making trouble?” He forked another piece of roast for Amanda. “Or both?”
Evelyn said, “We’re likely going to get a black man out of jail.”
Kenny laughed. “Making friends wherever you go.”
“No kidding.” Evelyn finished her glass of wine. “This particular fella is called Juice.”
“Like the football player?” Bill topped off Amanda’s glass, then refilled Evelyn’s. “Rushed for seventeen hundred yards in ’68.”
“Seventeen hundred nine,” Kenny corrected. “Ran 171 against Ohio State in the Rose Bowl.”
“To football.” Bill raised his glass.
“Hear, hear.” Kenny followed suit. They clinked their glasses in a toast. Amanda felt a warmth spread through her body. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until the wine made her relax.
Evelyn said, “The non-football Juice seems to have a crush on Amanda.” She winked across the table. “Says she’s a fine-lookin’ woman.”
“A very astute man.” Kenny winked at Amanda, too. She took a large drink of wine to cover her embarrassment.
“He’s a pimp,” Evelyn said. “We met him at Techwood Homes last week.”
Amanda felt her heart lurch in her chest, but Evelyn kept talking.
“He runs white women.”
“My favorite kind.” Bill refilled Amanda’s glass. She hadn’t realized she’d finished the first one already. Amanda looked down at the food on her plate. The vegetables had obviously been frozen. The meat was overcooked. Even the roll was burned around the edges.
“This prostitute, Jane—” Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Her apartment was not what you’d call tidy. What was it you said, Amanda? ‘I’ll look for back copies of Good Housekeeping’?”
The men laughed, and Evelyn continued the story. “She was an absolute terror to deal with.”
Amanda sipped from her wineglass, which she kept pressed to her chest as she listened to Evelyn talk about the Techwood apartment, the mouthy whore. They all laughed when she mimicked Jane Delray’s trashy accent. There was something about the way Evelyn told the story that made it sound funny instead of frightening. She could be relaying the plot of a television sitcom where two plucky gals stick their noses where they don’t belong and end up escaping through wit and humor.
“Exit, stage left,” Amanda said.
They all laughed, though Evelyn’s smile wasn’t quite as genuine. She tugged at the back of her hair.
Bill reached out and affectionately slapped away her hand. “You’re going to snatch yourself bald.”
Amanda asked, “Was it hard getting your hair cut?”
Evelyn shrugged. Obviously, it had been, but she said, “After Zeke, I didn’t have time for it.”
The wine had made Amanda brazen. She asked Bill, “Did you mind?”
He took Evelyn’s hand. “Anything that makes my girl happy.”
“I cried for at least an hour.” Evelyn laughed, though her heart wasn’t into it.
“I think it was closer to six,” Bill said. “But I like it.”
“It’s very stylish,” Kenny offered. “But long is nice, too.”
Amanda patted the back of her hair. She was worse than Evelyn.
“Why don’t you let it down?” The request came from Kenny. Amanda was both surprised and deeply embarrassed. She was also dangerously close to complete inebriation, which was probably why she complied with the request.
Amanda silently counted out the bobby pins as she pulled them from her hair. Five, six, seven. There were eight total, plus the hair spray, which made her fingers sticky as she ran them through her hair. It draped to the middle of her back. Amanda cut the ends once a year. She only kept it down in the winter, and then only at night when she was alone.
Evelyn sighed. “You’re so pretty.”
Amanda finished her wine. She was already dizzy. She should at least eat a dinner roll to absorb some of the alcohol, but she didn’t want to hear the sound of her own chewing. The room was quiet except for the record playing. Sinatra singing “Autumn in New York.”
Bill picked up the bottle and topped them off again. Amanda thought to cover the glass with her hand, but she couldn’t make herself move.
The phone rang in the kitchen. Evelyn startled. “Gosh, who could be calling this late?”
Amanda couldn’t be alone in the room like this. She followed Evelyn into the kitchen.
“Mitchell residence.”
Amanda pulled back her hair, twisting it around the crown. She stuck the bobby pins back in. Her movements were clumsy. Too much wine. Too much attention.
“Where?” Evelyn asked. She pulled the long telephone cord across the room and got a pen and paper out of the drawer. “Say that again.” She scribbled as she spoke. “And when was this?” She made some noises, encouraging the caller to continue. Finally, she said, “We’ll be right there,” and hung up.
“Right where?” Amanda asked. She kept her hand on the kitchen counter. The wine had pickled her brain. “Who was that?”
“Deena Coolidge.” Evelyn folded the piece of paper in half. “They’ve just found another body.”
Amanda felt her focus snap back. “Who?”
“They don’t know yet. Blonde, thin, pretty.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“They found her at Techwood Homes.” Evelyn pushed open the door to the dining room. “Sorry, boys, we need to step out.”
Bill smiled. “You’re just trying to get out of doing dishes.”
“I’ll do them in the morning.”
They exchanged a look. Amanda realized that Bill Mitchell wasn’t as naïve as she had first imagined. He saw through his wife’s funny stories the same as Amanda.
He raised his glass in a toast. “I’ll wait up for you, my love.”
Evelyn grabbed Amanda’s purse before letting the door swing closed. “I’m drunk as a lord,” she muttered. “I hope I don’t end up driving us into the creek.”
“I’ll drive.” Amanda followed her out the kitchen door.
Instead of heading to the car, Evelyn went to
the shed. The men had finished the job except for the painting. Evelyn ran her hand along the top of the door trim and found the key. She tugged on the chain to turn on the light. There was a safe bolted to the floor. Evelyn had to try the combination three times before she finally got it open. “I think we drank that whole bottle between us.”
“Why did Deena call you?”
“I asked her to let me know if anything else came up.” Evelyn pulled out her revolver. She checked there was ammunition in the cylinder, then snapped it back into place. She took out the speed-loader, then shut the safe door. “Let’s go.”
“Do you think you’ll need that?”
Evelyn tucked the revolver into her purse. “I’m never going anywhere without it again.” She grabbed the shelf as she stood up. Her eyes closed as she oriented herself. “They’re probably going to give us both DUIs.”
“That’ll hardly make us stand out.”
Evelyn pulled off the light and locked the door. Amanda took deep breaths of air as she walked to her car, trying to clear her head.
Evelyn said, “You know this means Juice didn’t do it.”
“Did we ever really think he did?”
“No, but now they’ll know, too.”
Amanda climbed into the car. She threw her purse into the back seat as she waited for Evelyn to get in. The drive to Techwood wasn’t a long one, especially at eight o’clock in the evening. There was no traffic on the road. The only people who stayed in Atlanta after dark were the ones who had no business being there. Which was a good thing considering Amanda’s state of intoxication. If she accidentally hit a pedestrian, no one was likely to care.
The traffic lights were flashing yellow as she traveled up Piedmont Road. Amanda took the steep curve that turned into Fourteenth Street, then slowed for the blinking light before turning left on Peachtree. Another right on North and she was following the same pattern they’d worn last week: past the Varsity, over the interstate, left on Techwood Drive, and straight into the hell of the projects.
Several police cruisers were blocking the path to their usual berm. Amanda parked behind a familiar Plymouth Fury. She glanced inside the car as she passed. Wadded-up packs of cigarettes. A half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker. Crushed cans of beer. She followed Evelyn toward the buildings. Again, Rick Landry was standing in the middle of the courtyard. His hands were on his hips. His face twisted with anger when he saw Amanda and Evelyn.
“Whatta I gotta do, beat it into you broads?” He looked ready to do just that, but Deena Coolidge stopped him.
“Y’all ready?”
Landry glared at her. “Ain’t nobody called for a pickaninny, Sapphire.”
She puffed out her chest. “You need to get your cracker ass out my face before I pimp you up to Reggie.”
Landry tried to stare her down, but Deena, who was at least a foot shorter than him, stood her ground. Landry finally relented, but not without mumbling “Cunts” as he stomped away.
Deena asked, “Y’all wondering what him and Butch are doing here when they’re both on day shift? Because I sure am.”
Amanda looked at Evelyn, who nodded. It did seem strange.
Deena said, “Pete’s around back with the body, but I’ve got somebody for you to talk to first.”
Neither of them spoke as they followed Deena into the building. The hall was packed with women and children dressed in housecoats and pajamas. Their faces were guarded and frightened. They had probably been settled down for the night when the police cars showed up. They’d all left their front doors open. The lights from the cruisers filled the apartments. Amanda was very conscious that hers and Evelyn’s were the only white faces as Deena took them deeper into the building.
Only one apartment door on the floor was closed. Deena knocked on it. They waited for a chain to slide back, deadbolts to turn. The old woman who opened the door was dressed in a black skirt and jacket. Her white blouse was crisply starched. She was wearing a fine black hat with a short veil that hung to the top of her eyebrows.
“Whatchu doin’ dressed up for church, Miss Lula?” Deena asked. “I told you these gals just want to talk. They ain’t gonna drag you down to the jail.”
The old woman stared at the floor. She was cowed by their presence, that much was evident. Even when she stepped back so that they could enter, it was obvious that she was doing so under great duress. Amanda felt deeply ashamed as she walked into the apartment.
Deena suggested, “Why don’t you get us some tea, dear?”
Miss Lula nodded as she headed into the other room. Deena indicated the couch, which was a pale yellow and absolutely spotless. In fact, the living room was remarkably tidy. The one chair that faced the small television had a ruffled skirt and a doily. Magazines were neatly stacked on the table. The rug on the floor was clean. Pictures of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Jack Kennedy faced each other on the wall. There were no cobwebs in the corners. Even the stench of the building had not managed to permeate the space.
Still, neither Evelyn nor Amanda sat down. They were too mindful of the setting. As spotless as this woman’s apartment seemed, it was still surrounded by filth. You might as well drag a clean blanket through a mud puddle and expect it to remain unscathed.
They heard a kettle start to boil in the kitchen.
Deena’s tone was firm. “Y’all best both be sitting your white asses down by the time she comes back in here.”
Deena took the chair by the television. Reluctantly, Evelyn sat on the couch. Amanda joined her, keeping her purse clutched in her lap. Both of them sat on the edge of the cushions—not from fear of contamination, but because they were on duty. Years of wearing utility belts around their waists had made it impossible for them to sit back in their seats.
Amanda asked, “Who called in the body?”
Deena nodded toward the kitchen. “Miss Lula did. She’s been here since they integrated the place. They moved her over from Buttermilk.”
“Why does she think we’re going to arrest her?”
“Because you’re white and you have a badge.”
Evelyn mumbled, “That’s never impressed anybody before.”
Miss Lula was back. She had taken off her hat, revealing a shock of white hair. The china cups and saucers on her silver tray rattled as she brought the set into the living room. Instinctively, Amanda stood to help. The tray was heavy. She lowered it to the coffee table. Deena relinquished her chair to the old woman. It was a neat trick. Deena carefully smoothed down the back of her pants, probably checking for insects. A roach traveled across the wall behind her. Deena shuddered.
“Would you ladies like some cookies?” Miss Lula offered. Her voice was unexpectedly refined. There was almost the tinge of an English accent to it, like Lena Horne’s.
Evelyn answered, “Thank you, no. We’ve just had supper.” She reached toward the teapot. “May I?”
Miss Lula nodded. Amanda watched Evelyn pour four cups of tea. It was the strangest thing she’d ever been a part of. Amanda had never been a guest in a black person’s home. Usually, the point of her visit was to get in and get out as quickly as possible. She felt as if she was in one of those Carol Burnett sketches that was trying for social commentary rather than humor.
Deena said, “Miss Lula used to be a teacher at the Negro school off Benson.”
Amanda offered, “My mother was a teacher. Elementary school.”
“That was my field as well,” Miss Lula answered. She took the cup and saucer Evelyn offered. Her hands were old, the knuckles swollen. There was a slight ash tone. She pursed her lips and blew on the tea to cool it.
Evelyn served Deena next, then Amanda.
“Thank you.” Amanda could feel the heat through the china, but she drank the scalding tea anyway, hoping the caffeine would help chase away the wine.
She looked up at the photos of Kennedy facing King, again taking in the orderly apartment that Miss Lula called home.
When Amanda had worked patrol, some of the m
en made a game of terrorizing these old people. They’d roll their cruisers up behind them in the street and purposefully backfire the car. Grocery bags were dropped. Hands flew into the air. Most of them would fall to the ground. The backfire sounded like a gunshot.
“Now.” Deena had waited until they’d all had some tea. “Miss Lula, if you could tell these women what you told me?”
The old woman cast down her eyes again. She was obviously troubled. “I heard a commotion in the back.”
Amanda realized the woman’s apartment faced the rear of the complex. It was the same area where Jane Delray had been found three days ago.
Miss Lula continued, “I peered out the window and saw the girl just lying there. She had obviously passed.” She shook her head. “Terrible sight. No matter their sins, no one deserves that.”
Evelyn asked, “Was there anyone else back there?”
“Not as far as I could tell.”
“Do you know what the noise was? The one that made you look out the window?”
“Perhaps it was the rear door banging open?” She didn’t seem sure, though she nodded as if that was the only explanation that made sense.
Amanda asked, “Have you noticed anyone strange hanging around?”
“No more so than usual. Most of these girls had evening visitors. They generally came in through the back door.”
That would make sense. None of the men probably wanted to be seen. Amanda asked, “Did you recognize the girl you saw out back?”
“She’s from the top floor. I don’t know her name. But I said from the beginning that they should not have been allowed to live here.”
Deena supplied, “Because they’re prostitutes, not because they’re white.”
Miss Lula said, “They were operating their business out of the apartment. That is contrary to the housing laws.”
Evelyn put down her cup of tea. “Did you see any of their customers?”
“Occasionally. As I said, they mostly used the back door. Especially the white men.”
“They saw both white and black men?”
“Frequently one after the other.”
They were all silent as they considered the statement.
Evelyn asked, “How many women were living up there?”
Criminal Page 31