Criminal (37 page)

“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 years 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?”

“I—” Amanda didn’t know what to say. She glanced down the street. The moon was almost full in the sky. The black wooden cross cast a shadow across the sidewalk in front of the soup kitchen. “We’re staking out a possible suspect.”

“We?”

She let the question go unanswered.

“What evidence do you got?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “Just—” She searched for a better explanation, but could only come up with, “Women’s intuition.”

“Don’t call it that,” he ordered. “Call it a hunch. You feel it in your gut, not between your legs.”

Amanda didn’t know what to say other than, “All right.”

He coughed a few times. “That’s Rick Landry’s case you’re poking around, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wouldn’t trust that idiot to find his asshole in a snowstorm.” His chuckle turned into a sharp cough. “If you’re out late, you’ll need your sleep. I’ll get myself breakfast tomorrow morning.”

The phone clicked in her ear. Amanda stared at the receiver as if the plastic mouthpiece could explain to her what had just happened. She didn’t look up until a pair of headlights flashed for her attention.

Evelyn’s Falcon station wagon smelled of candy and cheap wine. She smiled as Amanda settled into the passenger’s seat. “You okay?”

“Just puzzled.” She told Evelyn about the phone call with her father.

“Well.” Evelyn sounded circumspect. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

“Yes.” Duke was a lot of things, but he was not a liar.

“Then he must be telling the truth.”

Amanda knew that Evelyn would never trust Duke. She could understand why. As far as the other woman was concerned, he was cut from the same cloth as Rick Landry and Butch Bonnie. And maybe he was, but he was still Amanda’s father.

Evelyn stared down the street at the soup kitchen. “Is Ulster even in there?”

“He’s cleaning up.” Amanda had walked by earlier and seen James Ulster lifting a large soup pot off the table. His back was to her, but she’d still quickened her step. “There’s a green van parked behind the building. I called in the license plate—it’s registered to the church. There were some religious tracts in the front seat, a Bible on the dash. It has wooden crates in the back, a bunch of ropes. I guess he uses them to keep the food from spilling.”

“Delivering food to the needy. That sounds like a serial killer to me.”

“Surely you can think of one?”

Evelyn wasn’t up for teasing. “Driving over here, part of me felt like I was going to my own funeral.” She crossed her arms low on her waist. “Our last day on the job, or at least our real job. The job we want to do. I don’t think I can fit into my crossing guard uniform anymore. I thought that thing was retired.”

Amanda didn’t want to talk about it. “Did you call Georgia Baptist?”

“Callahan’s fiancée is named Eileen Sapperson so at least we were told the truth about that. She didn’t show up for work this morning. No home phone number. No address. Another Doug Henning magical disappearance.”

“Another dead end,” Amanda noted. Miss Lula hadn’t been able to find anyone at Techwood who remembered seeing a man fitting Hank Bennett’s description, and while plenty of people knew the hulking Mr. Ulster, none of them had ever seen him cause trouble. It was hard to make enemies of people to whom you were bringing a hot meal.

Evelyn said, “James Ulster is at Techwood every Monday and Friday, the same days the victims were found.”

“He’s in and out so much that no one would notice him,” Amanda added. “He knew Kitty, at least. He knew enough about Mary Halston to say that Trey had a thing for her. He probably knew Lucy Bennett, too.”

“He’s the only one who puts the girls as alive recently. Jane Delray, Hank Bennett, Trey Callahan, Juice—they all say the three girls have been gone at least a year.”

“Maybe Ulster is Butch’s CI. He could’ve said Lucy Bennett was dead so her brother would stop looking for her.”

“Was he really looking for her?” Evelyn asked. “As far as we know, he stopped when he found Kitty. And none of this explains why Hodge sent us out in the first place. Or who transferred us if it wasn’t your father. Any of it.”

Amanda couldn’t bear the thought of spinning it all around again. No matter how many times they talked it through, the construction paper puzzle would likely never be solved. Evelyn had her family to go home to. Amanda had her schoolwork, a major paper to write. They had never really been assigned this case, and tomorrow, their authority would be no greater than that conferred upon them by screaming school-aged adolescents.

Evelyn said, “I was thinking—what would happen if I really did file a sexual discrimination suit?” She rested her hand on the steering wheel. “What would they do? The law is on my side. Butch is right. We can’t keep threatening it without following through. It’s lost its teeth.”

“You’d never get promoted again. They’d stick you at the airport, which is only marginally more humiliating than crossing duty.” Amanda felt the need to tell her, “But I would testify for you. I saw what Rick did. And Butch. They had no right to do that.”

“Oh, Mandy, you’re such a good friend.” She reached out and grabbed Amanda’s hand. “You’ve made this stupid job almost bearable.”

Amanda looked down at their hands. Evelyn’s were so much more elegant than her own. “You’ve never called me Mandy before.”

“You don’t really seem like one.”

Amanda didn’t feel like one anymore. Did a Mandy go into a jailhouse and rattle a pimp? Did a Mandy stand up to bullies and call them nasty names?

Evelyn said, “You know, I was so scared of you when Hodge first sent us on that call.”

Amanda didn’t have to ask why. If this week had taught her anything, it was that the Wagner name was not the asset she once believed.

Evelyn said, “But you turned out to be so swell. If there’s anything good that came out of this, it’s our friendship.”

Amanda had been fighting weepiness all night. She could only nod.

Evelyn squeezed her hand before letting go. “I don’t have many friends. Any friends, really.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, I used to have lots of them.” She twisted her fingers into her hair. “Bill and I would go to parties every weekend. Two or three. Sometimes four.” She let out a long sigh. “Everyone thought it was a gas when I joined the force, but then they saw I wasn’t going to quit and suddenly there was nothing we could talk about. I didn’t want to swap recipes or plan bake sales. They couldn’t understand why I would want to do a man’s job. You should hear my mother-in-law on the subject.” She laughed ruefully. “This job changes you. It changes how you think, how you see the world. I don’t care what the boys say. We
are
cops. We live it and breathe it as much as they do.”

“You don’t see Butch and Landry out here right now.”

“No, they’re probably home with their families.”

Amanda doubted that. “Their mistresses, more likely.”

“Hey, that’s him.” They saw Ulster locking the front door of the building. The darkness did him no favors. He was a hulking man. Amanda could not imagine anyone putting up much of a struggle against such raw power.

He glanced up the street. Both Amanda and Evelyn ducked, but Ulster didn’t seem to notice the red station wagon, or if he did, he didn’t think much of it. In retrospect, the car—with its children’s toys in the back and crayons melted into the carpet—was the perfect cover.

Amanda held her breath as she waited for Ulster to reappear. It felt like hours but was only minutes before Evelyn finally said, “Here he comes.”

The green van turned onto Juniper. They stayed hunched down as it passed. Evelyn cranked the key. The engine sputtered, then caught. She pushed the knob to make sure the headlights were off, then swung the nose out into the street and smoothly entered the opposite lane.

“You’re getting better at this,” Amanda said.

“Last hurrah,” she muttered.

There were no streetlights on Juniper. The moon was enough to drive by, and where she couldn’t see, Evelyn coasted her way through.

Ulster took a left onto Piedmont Avenue. He drove deep into Bedford Pine. The stench of Buttermilk Bottom filled the car, but they kept the windows down.

“Where is he going?” Evelyn asked.

Amanda shook her head. She had no idea.

The van braked at the last minute, taking a sharp turn onto Ralph McGill. Amanda directed, “Cut over to Courtland.”

Evelyn had to reverse to make the turn. “Do you think he spotted us?”

“I don’t know.” Their headlights were still off. The car’s interior was dark. “Maybe he’s just being careful.”

“Why would he be careful?” Evelyn sucked in her breath. The green van was up ahead. “There he is.”

They followed the van up Courtland. The road was a straight shot. Evelyn hung back at least a hundred yards. When the van turned onto Pine, the lights from Crawford Long Hospital illuminated the interior. They saw Ulster’s unmistakable frame. Evelyn slowed, peering down the street before making the turn to follow him. The lights from the expressway made the going more difficult. He turned onto Spring Street.

“Evelyn,” Amanda said.

“I know.” She followed him up North Avenue. Past the Varsity. Over the expressway. He was going to Techwood. “Get my radio.”

Amanda found Evelyn’s purse on the back seat. The revolver was cold in her hands. She passed this to Evelyn, who kept one hand on the wheel as she slid the gun underneath her leg.

Amanda clicked the radio. “Dispatch?”

There was no answer.

“Dispatch, this is unit sixteen. Over?”

The radio clicked. “Unit twenty-three to unit sixteen,” a man’s voice said. “You gals need some help?”

Amanda gripped the radio in her hand. She had called for dispatch, not some hillbilly out on patrol.