Amanda got the feeling that Ulster was talking to them directly.
Evelyn must’ve felt the same. Her tone was curt when she asked, “What exactly do you do here, Mr. Ulster?”
“Well, we feed people, obviously. Breakfast is at six in the morning. The lunch hour begins at noon. You’ll find the tables start to fill up well before then.”
“Those are your only meals?”
“No, we provide dinner as well. That begins at five and is over promptly at seven.”
“And then they leave?”
“Most do. Some of them stay the evening. There are twenty beds upstairs. A shower, though the hot water is not reliable. Women only, of course.” He made to stand. “Shall I show you?”
“That’s not necessary.” Amanda didn’t want to be trapped upstairs with the man. She asked, “Do you stay here at night?”
“No, there’s no need for that. Father Bailey’s parish is down the street. He comes by at eleven every evening to lock them in, then he lets them out at six every morning.”
Amanda asked, “How long have you worked here?”
He thought it over. “It will be two years come fall.”
“What did you do before that?”
“I was a foreman at the railroad yard.”
Evelyn indicated the building. “You’ll forgive me for saying, but I can’t imagine the pay here is on par.”
“No, it is not, and what little I make I try to give back.”
“You don’t get paid for working here—” Evelyn did the math quickly. “Thirteen hours a day?”
“As I said, I take what I need. But it’s closer to sixteen hours a day. Seven days a week.” He gave an open-handed shrug. “Why would I need earthly riches when my rewards will be in heaven?”
Evelyn shifted on the bench. She seemed as uncomfortable as Amanda felt. “Did you ever meet a working girl named Kitty Treadwell?”
“No.” He stared at them blankly. “Not that I can recall, but we have many prostitutes here.”
Amanda unzipped her purse and found the license. She showed him Kitty’s photograph.
Ulster reached out for the paper. He was careful not to touch her hand. He studied the photograph, then his eyes shifted to the name and address. His lips moved silently, as if he was sounding out the words.
He finally said, “She looks markedly healthier in this photo. I suppose it was taken before she succumbed to the devil of her addiction.”
Evelyn clarified, “So you knew Kitty?”
“Yes, if not by name.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“A month ago? Maybe more.”
That didn’t make sense. Amanda laid out Lucy Bennett’s license, then Mary Halston’s. “How about these girls?”
He leaned over the table and studied them one by one. He took his time. Again, his lips moved as he read the names. Amanda listened to his breathing, the steady inhale and exhale. She could see the top of his head. Dandruff dotted his light brown hair.
“Yes.” He looked up. “This girl. She was here a few times, but she favored the mission. I expect because she had a thing with Trey.” He was pointing to Mary Halston, the murder victim from last night. “This girl.” He pointed to Lucy. “I’m not sure about her. They both look very similar. They are both obviously drug addicts. It is the scourge of our generation.”
Evelyn verified, “You recognize Lucy Bennett and Mary Halston as girls who’ve used this soup kitchen?”
“I believe so.”
Evelyn was writing now. “And Mary was a favorite of Trey Callahan’s?”
“That’s correct.”
“When’s the last time you saw either Lucy or Mary?”
“A few weeks ago? Maybe a month?” Again, he studied the photos. “They both look very healthy in these photographs.” He looked back up, first at Evelyn, then Amanda. “You are both police officers, so I assume you are more accustomed to the ravages of drug abuse. These girls. These poor girls.” He sadly shook his head. “Drugs are a poison, and I do not know why our Lord caused it to be, but there is a certain type who succumbs to this temptation. They tremble before the drug when they should be trembling before the Lord.”
His voice resonated in the open room. Amanda could imagine him holding forth from the pulpit. Or the streets. “There’s a pimp whose street name is Juice.”
“I am familiar with that sinner.”
“He says you sometimes preach to the girls when they’re working?”
“I do the Lord’s work, no matter the danger.”
Amanda didn’t imagine he felt much danger, considering no sane person would be happy to run into a man as large as James Ulster in a dark alley. “Have you ever been to Techwood Homes?”
“On many occasions,” he answered. “I deliver soup to the shut-ins. Techwood is Mondays and Fridays. Grady Homes is Tuesdays and Thursdays. There is another kitchen that services Perry Homes, Washington Heights—”
“Thank you,” Evelyn interrupted, “but we’re just concerned with Techwood.”
“I’ve heard that there have been some awful things happening there.” He gripped his hands together. “It tries the soul to see how those people live. But I suppose we all shuffle off the same mortal coil.”
Amanda felt her heart stop mid-beat. “Trey Callahan used that same phrase with us. It’s from Shakespeare.”
“Is it?” he asked. “Perhaps I picked up his manner of speaking. As I said, he was incessant on the topic.”
“Do you remember a working girl named Jane Delray?”
“No. Is she in trouble?”
“How about Hank Bennett? Have you ever met him?” Evelyn waited, but Ulster shook his head. “He’s got hair about your color. Around six feet tall. Very well dressed.”
“No, sister, I’m afraid I do not.”
The radio in Evelyn’s purse clicked. There was a muffled call, followed by a series of clicks. Evelyn reached into the bag to turn down the sound, but then stopped when her name came through the speaker.
“Mitchell?” Amanda recognized Butch Bonnie’s voice.
“Excuse me,” she said, taking out the radio. “Mitchell, ten-four.”
Butch ordered, “Twenty-five me your location. Now.”
There were more clicks on the radio—a collective response of laughter. Butch was telling them both to meet him outside.
Evelyn told Ulster, “Thank you for speaking with us. I hope you won’t mind if we call with any questions?”
“Of course not. Shall I give you my telephone number?”
Her pen nearly disappeared in Ulster’s left hand. He gripped it in his fist, not between his thumb and index finger, as he wrote down the seven digits. Above this, he carefully wrote his name. It was more like a child’s scrawl. The ballpoint tore through the paper on the last letter.
“Thank you,” Evelyn said. She was visibly reluctant to take back the pen. She slid on the cap and closed her notebook. Ulster stood when they did. He offered his hand to each of them. They were all sweating in the heat, but there was something particularly clammy about Ulster’s skin. He held their hands delicately, but for Amanda’s part, it only served to remind her that he could crush the bones if he so chose.
Evelyn’s breathing was shallow as they walked toward the door. “Jesus,” she whispered. As relieved as they both were to be away from Ulster, the sight of Butch Bonnie almost sent Amanda back inside. He was obviously livid.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” He grabbed Evelyn by the arm and dragged her down the cinder-block stairs.
Amanda said, “Don’t you—”
“Shut your face!” He pushed Amanda against the wall. His fist reared back, but stopped short of punching her. “How many times do you have to be told?” he demanded. “Both of you!” He stepped back. His feet scuffed across the sidewalk. “Jesus Christ.”
Amanda pressed her hand to her chest. She could feel her heart punching against her rib cage. And then she saw that Evelyn had
fallen. She ran to help her up.
“No.” Evelyn stood up on her own. She slammed both hands into Butch’s chest.
“What the—” He stumbled back.
She slammed him again. Then again, until he was up against the wall. “If you ever touch me like that again, I will shoot you in the face. Do you hear me?”
Butch looked dumbstruck. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
Evelyn paced back and forth. She was like a caged animal. “I am so sick of you assholes.”
“Me?” Butch took out his cigarettes. “Whadabout you broads? How many times you gotta be told to leave this be?” He dug his finger into the pack. “I tried to be nice. I tried to warn you easy. And then I hear you’re snooping around my CI. Making trouble. Mr. Nice Guy ain’t workin’. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Who’s your CI?”
“None of your goddamn business.”
Evelyn slapped away the cigarettes. She was so gripped by anger she had trouble speaking. “You know that dead woman is Jane Delray.”
His eyes cut to the side. “I don’t know shit.”
“Who told you to say it was Lucy Bennett?”
“Ain’t nobody tellin’ me to do nothin’.”
Evelyn wouldn’t give up. “Juice didn’t kill Lucy Bennett.”
“You best be careful pining after some nigger in jail.” He gave her a condescending look as he picked up his Marlboros. “Jesus, Ev. Why you comin’ off like some kind of bull dyke?” He looked to Amanda for help. “Come on, Wag. Talk some sense into Annie Oakley here.”
Amanda tasted bile in her throat. She threw out the filthiest thing she could think of. “You motherfucker.”
He barked a shocked laugh. “You’re motherfuckerin’ me?” He fished in his pocket for his lighter. “You wanna know who’s mother-fucked?” He lit the cigarette. “You’re fucked”—he nodded toward Amanda—“for going to the jail yesterday, and you”—he pointed to Evelyn—“are fucked for putting her up to all this.”
“Putting me up to what?” Amanda demanded. “She’s not my keeper.”
He hissed out a stream of smoke. “You’re both gonna be transferred tomorrow. I hope you still got your white gloves for crossing duty.”
“I hope you’re up for a sex discrimination lawsuit,” Evelyn shot back. “You and Landry both.”
Smoke snorted out from his nostrils. “You ditzy bitches throw that around all the time, but you know what? Ain’t a one’a you done it yet. Keep cryin’ wolf while you’re directing traffic.” He waved to them over his shoulder as he walked away.
Evelyn stood watching him, her fists clenching and unclenching. For just a moment, Amanda thought she might chase after Butch and jump on his back. Amanda wasn’t sure what she would do if this happened. Her fingernails were short but strong. She could probably scratch his eyes. Failing that, she would bite off anything she could get between her teeth.
“I am so sick of this.” Evelyn started pacing again. “I am sick of taking bullshit from them. I am sick of being lied to.” She kicked the Plymouth’s tire. “I’m sick of not getting a car. I’m sick of people thinking I’m some kind of fucking secretary.” She gripped her purse. “Why didn’t I shoot him? God, I wanted to shoot him.”
“We can do it now.” Amanda had never been so ready to do anything in her life. “We’ll go find him and do it right now.”
Evelyn hefted her purse over her shoulder. She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to prison for that—” She stopped. “What did you call him? Motherfucker?” She gave a surprised laugh. “I didn’t know you even knew that word.”
Amanda realized her hands were clenched, too. She stretched out her fingers one by one. “I suppose this is what happens when you hang around pimps and whores.”
“Crossing guard duty.” Evelyn disgustedly huffed out the words. “It’s summer. We’ll be stuck with all the stupid kids who couldn’t hack it during the regular year.”
Amanda opened the car door. “Let’s go to Georgia Baptist and see if we can find Trey Callahan’s fiancée.”
“Are you kidding me? You heard what Butch said.”
“That’s tomorrow. Let’s just worry about today.”
Evelyn walked around to the other side of the car. “And then what, Scarlett O’Hara?”
“And then we go to Techwood and see if Miss Lula found someone who remembered seeing Hank Bennett.” Amanda turned over the ignition. “And then ask her if she’s ever seen a giant weird man delivering soup to shut-ins.”
Evelyn clutched her purse in her lap. “Ulster admitted that he’s in and out of Techwood Homes. Mondays and Fridays. The same days our victims showed up.”
“He lied to us.” Amanda pulled out onto the street. “How could he read Trey Callahan’s manuscript if he can barely read the name on a license?”
“You noticed that, too?” Evelyn said, “He didn’t sound retarded.”
“Maybe he’s just a slow reader.”
“Butch said we were messing with his CI. Do you think that’s Ulster? Father Bailey? I wonder where that weasel scurried off to. Locking those girls in at night. It’s a regular Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. Have you ever?”
“Ulster seemed pretty eager to put Trey Callahan in the frame for all this. The Ophelia line. That bit about his temper.”
“You clocked that, too?” Evelyn rested her elbow on the door. “I know we’re all Christians here, but I don’t like the way Ulster uses it. Like it makes him better than everyone else. Did you pick up on that?”
Amanda was only certain of one thing. “I think James Ulster is the scariest man I’ve ever met in my life. There’s something evil about him.”
“Exactly,” Evelyn agreed. “Did you see how big his hands are?”
Amanda felt a shudder working its way up her spine.
Evelyn said, “Someone higher up is working against us.”
“I know,” Amanda mumbled.
“Butch is connected, but not enough to get us transferred. It has to be somebody who knew you were talking to Juice at the jail yesterday. Who knew we were talking to Ulster today. And Father Bailey. And Trey Callahan. Or, maybe I stirred up something checking the DNFs.” She chewed her lip. “Whatever we did, it pissed off someone enough to get us yanked off the street and tied to crossing duty.”
“I know,” Amanda repeated. She waited for Evelyn to say more, but the woman had probably jumped to the same conclusion as Amanda. Duke Wagner wasn’t officially back in uniform, but he was already pulling strings.
Amanda looked at her watch. Eight-fifteen in the evening. Nighttime brought no relief from the summer heat. If anything, it gave the humidity reason to come out and play. Amanda felt as if her sweat was sweating. Mosquitoes circled her head as she stood in front of the phone booth on the corner of Juniper and Pine. She left the door open so that the light would not come on. The dime felt greasy between her fingers. Amanda dropped the coin into the slot, then slowly dialed her father’s number.
She’d left Duke’s house fifteen minutes ago. Amanda had cooked his supper. She’d listened with half an ear as he’d relayed the day’s news, delivered the latest updates on his case. It was just a matter of time before Duke was back at his old post. Just a matter of time before Amanda was back under his thumb. She had only nodded—nodded as she watched him eat, nodded as she washed the dishes. An overwhelming sadness had taken hold. Every time she opened her mouth to speak, she shut it for fear of crying.
Duke picked up the telephone on the first ring. His voice was gravelly, probably from too many after-dinner cigarettes. “Hello?”
“Daddy, it’s me.”
“You home?”
“No, Daddy.”
He waited, then asked, “Car break down?”
“No, sir.”
She heard his recliner squeak. “What is it? I know something’s bothering you. You were sulking all night.”
Amanda caught her reflection in the chrome of the pay phone. She was twenty-five ye
ars old. She had touched a dead person last weekend. She had stared down a pimp yesterday morning. Helped examine a dead girl last night. She had stood up to Butch Bonnie in the street. She should be able to have a frank conversation with her father.
She asked, “Why did you have me transferred to crossing guard duty?”
“What?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “I didn’t transfer you. Who the hell transferred you?” She could hear papers rustling, a pen clicking. “Give me the jackass’s name. I’ll talk to him about a transfer.”
“You didn’t do it?”
“Why would I transfer you out when I’m gonna be back at my old squad in less than a month?”
He was right. What’s more, if Duke was displeased with someone, he generally told them to their face. “I’m on crossing duty, starting tomorrow.” She’d already called dispatch to verify it was true. “Along with Evelyn Mitchell.”
“Mitchell?” His tone changed. “What’re you doing with that pushy broad? I told you to stay away from her.”
“I know you did, but we’re working a case together.”
He grunted. “What kind of case?”
“Two girls have been murdered.” She added, “White girls. They lived at Techwood Homes.”
“Whores, I guess?”
“Yes, they were.”
He was silent, obviously thinking. “This have something to do with that nigger got charged for killing a white girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
She heard the flick of his lighter, a huff of air as he exhaled. “That why you were at the jail yesterday morning?”
Amanda couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat. She saw her life starting to disappear before her eyes. Her apartment. Her job. Her freedom.
Duke said, “Heard you stared that coon down. Locked yourself in a room with him.”
Amanda didn’t answer. Hearing Duke say the words made her realize how crazy she had been. How stupid. She was lucky she’d escaped with her life.
Duke asked, “Were you scared?”
She knew he would see through a lie. “I was terrified.”
“But you didn’t let him see it.”
“No, sir.”
She heard him take another long drag on his cigarette. “I guess you think you’re going to be out late tonight?”
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