Criminal

seven

July 11, 1975

FRIDAY

Amanda scanned through her women’s studies textbook, marking the paragraphs she needed to know for her evening class. She was sitting in the passenger’s seat of Kyle Peterson’s Plymouth Fury. The police radio was turned down low, but her ear had been trained long ago to tune out anything but the pertinent calls. She turned the page and started to read the next section.To understand the far-reaching effects of the sex/gender system, one must first deconstruct the phallic hypothesis in relation to the unconscious.

“Brother.” Amanda sighed. Whatever the hell that meant.

The car shook as Peterson turned over in the back seat. Amanda studied his reflection in the visor mirror, willing him not to wake. She’d already wasted nearly an hour this morning slapping away his hands, then another half hour had been consumed with apologies so that he would stop sulking. Thank God the flask in his pocket had been full enough to knock him out or Amanda would’ve never found time to read her assignment.

Not that she understood a word of it. Some of the passages were downright obscene. If these women were so eager to find out how their vaginas worked, they should start shaving their legs and find themselves husbands.

The radio clicked. Amanda heard the in-and-out of a man’s voice. There were pockets all over the city where the radios had little or no reception, but that wasn’t the problem. A black officer was calling for backup, which meant the white officers were blocking the transmission by clicking the buttons on their mics. In the next hour, a white officer would call for help and the blacks would do the same.

And then someone with the Atlanta Journal or Constitution would write an article wondering why there had been a recent spike in crime.

Amanda checked on Peterson again. He’d started snoring. His mouth gaped open beneath his shaggy, untrimmed mustache.

She read the next paragraph, then promptly forgot everything it said. Her eyes blurred from exhaustion. Or maybe it was irritation. If she never read the words “gynecocratic” and “patriarchy” again, it would be too soon. Send Gloria Steinem into Techwood Homes and see if she still thought women could run the world.

Techwood.

Amanda felt the panic rising up like bile. The pimp’s hand around her throat. The feel of his erection pressing against her. The scrape of his fingernails as he tried to pull down her hose.

She gritted her teeth, willing her heart to settle. Deep breaths. In and out. Slow. “One … two … three …” She whispered off the seconds. Minutes passed before she was able to unclench her jaw and breathe normally again.

Amanda had not seen Evelyn Mitchell in the four days since the awful ordeal. The other woman hadn’t shown up for roll call. Her name wasn’t on the roster. Even Vanessa couldn’t find her. Amanda found herself hoping that Evelyn had come to her senses and gone back home to take care of her family. It was hard enough for Amanda to force herself out of bed every morning. She couldn’t imagine the dread she’d feel leaving her family, knowing the sort of world into which she was thrusting herself.

But then, Evelyn wasn’t the only officer who’d disappeared. The new sergeant, Luther Hodge, had been summarily transferred. His replacement was a white man named Hoyt Woody. He was from North Georgia, and his thick hill accent was made all the more unintelligible by the toothpick he kept in his mouth at all times. The tensions around the squad were still there, but they were the usual kind. Everyone was more comfortable with a known entity.

At least Hodge’s disappearance wasn’t into thin air. Vanessa had made more phone calls, which revealed the sergeant had been transferred to one of the Model City precincts. Not only was it a downward move, it took him out of Amanda’s circle. Unfortunately, she hadn’t the nerve to go to Hodge’s new station and ask him why they’d been sent to Techwood Homes on such a fool’s errand.

Not that Amanda wasn’t capable of other useless errands. The last few days had been a test of her two warring sides. She longed to put the whole Techwood ordeal behind her, but her curiosity would not let it go. Her sleepless nights were not just filled with fear. They were filled with questions.

Amanda wanted to think that her cop’s curiosity had been piqued, but the honest truth was that she was coasting on nothing more than woman’s intuition. The whore who was living in Kitty Treadwell’s apartment had put the bug in Amanda’s ear. Something wasn’t right there. She could feel it in her bones.

Which is why Amanda had done some poking around that had exacerbated her already frayed nerves. Stupid poking around that would probably get back to her father and land her in hot water not just with Duke, but with the higher-ups in the police force.

Amanda closed her textbook. And she especially hadn’t the stomach to read Phyllis Schlafly’s rebuttal to the Equal Rights Amendment. Amanda was sick and tired of being told how to live her life by women who never had to write their own rent checks.

“What’s the skinny?”

Amanda jumped so hard she nearly slammed her book into her face. She shushed Evelyn Mitchell, then turned around to check on Peterson.

“Sorry,” Evelyn whispered. She put her hand on the door handle, but Amanda slammed down the lock. Evelyn stood outside the car, unmoved. “You know the window is down, right?”

Behind her, Vanessa Livingston giggled.

Reluctantly, Amanda unlocked the door and got out of the car. She whispered, “What do you want?”

Evelyn whispered back, “We’re trading. You for Nessa.”

“No way.” The brass wouldn’t care, but Amanda had no intention of ever partnering with Evelyn Mitchell again. She started to get back into the car. Evelyn caught her arm, and Vanessa squeezed past, slipping into the seat and carefully latching the door.

Amanda stood in the empty parking lot, wanting to slap them both.

Evelyn told Vanessa, “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Take your time.” Vanessa checked Peterson. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

Evelyn used her finger to swipe the side of her nose, à la Robert Redford in The Sting. Vanessa did the same.

“This is ridiculous,” Amanda muttered, reaching into the car to retrieve her purse and textbook.

“Oh, cheer up,” Evelyn said. “Maybe we’ll find some mud for you to stick in.”

Evelyn drove her Ford Falcon up North Avenue. The station wagon was now devoid of moving boxes and filled with various baby items. Except for the radio on the seat between them, there was nothing that would indicate a police officer drove this car. The vinyl seat felt sticky under Amanda’s legs. As an only child with no cousins, she was seldom around children. Amanda could not help but think that Zeke Mitchell had secreted a vile substance onto the vinyl.

“Pretty day,” Evelyn said.

She had to be joking. The noontime sun was so intense that Amanda’s eyes were watering. She shielded her eyes from the glare.

Evelyn reached into her purse and slipped on a pair of Foster Grants. “I think I have another pair.” She dug around in her bag.

“No, thank you.” Amanda had seen the same glasses at Richway. They cost at least five dollars.

“Suit yourself.” Evelyn zipped closed her purse. She drove like an old woman, slowing for yellow lights, letting anyone pass who showed the slightest desire. She kept one foot on the gas and one on the brake. By the time they pulled into the Varsity drive-in, Amanda was ready to grab the wheel and push her out of the car.

Evelyn mumbled, “Steady, Freddy.” With great concentration, she angled the Falcon into a parking spot close to the North Avenue entrance. The brakes squealed as she pumped the pedal, inching up slowly until she felt the tires bump against the barrier. Finally, Evelyn shifted the gear into park. The engine knocked when she turned off the ignition. The car shook.

Evelyn turned in her seat, facing Amanda. “Well?”

“Why did you bring me here? I couldn’t possibly eat.”

“I think I prefer when you’re not speaking to me.”

“Your wish is my command,” Amanda snapped back. But then she couldn’t help herself. “You almost got me raped.”

Evelyn leaned back against the door. “In my defense, both of us were going to be raped.”

Amanda shook her head. The woman was incapable of taking anything seriously.

Evelyn said, “We made it through okay.”

“Spare me your positive energy.”

Evelyn was silent. She turned back around. She kept her hands in her lap. Amanda stared straight ahead at the menu board. The words jumbled around senselessly. In her head, Amanda listed again all the things she had to do before she could go to sleep tonight. The more she thought about it, the harder the tasks seemed. She was too tired to do any of it. She was too tired to even be here.

“Damn, gal.” Evelyn’s voice was deep, an approximation of the pimp’s baritone. “You a fine-lookin’ woman.”

Amanda gripped the textbook in her lap. “Stop it.”

Evelyn, as usual, was oblivious. “You is fi-ine.”

Amanda turned her head away, leaning her chin on her hand. “Please, be quiet.”

“Gone get me some’a that hog tush.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes,” Amanda sputtered. “He didn’t say that!” Her lips were trembling, but for the first time in four days it wasn’t because she was forcing back tears.

“Mmm-hmm,” Evelyn goaded, moving her hips obscenely in the seat. “Fine-lookin’ woman.”

Amanda couldn’t stop her lips from curving upward. And then, she was laughing. There was no controlling it, even if she tried. Her mouth opened wide. She felt a lessening of pressure not just from the sound, but from the release of air that had been trapped in her lungs like a poison. Evelyn was laughing, too, which seemed the funniest part of all. Before long, they were both doubled over in their seats, tears streaming down their faces.

“Afternoon, ladies.” The carhop was at Evelyn’s window. His hat was rakishly tilted to the side. He slapped a number card on their windshield and smiled at them both as if he was in on the joke. “What’ll ya have?”

Amanda wiped tears from her eyes. For the first time in days, she was hungry. “Bring me a Glorified Steak and some strings. And a P.C.”

Evelyn said, “I’ll have the same. Add a fried pie.”

“Wait,” Amanda called him back. “I’ll have a fried pie, too.”

Evelyn was still chuckling when he left. “Oh, Lord.” She sighed. She tilted the mirror and used the tip of her pinky finger to fix her eyeliner. “Lord,” she repeated. “I haven’t been able to even think about eating since …” She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Neither of them would have to finish that sentence ever again.

Amanda asked, “What did your husband say?”

“There are some things I don’t share with Bill. He likes to think I’m Agent 99, hiding safely behind the scenes while Max Smart does all the real work.” She gave a short laugh. “It’s not too off the mark. You know, they never even say her name on that dumb show. She’s just a number.”

Amanda didn’t respond. It sounded like a chapter in her women’s studies book.

Evelyn waited a beat. “What did your father say?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I’d told him.” Amanda picked at the edge of her book. “Hodge got transferred to Model City.”

“Where do you think I’ve been?”

Amanda felt her jaw drop. “They assigned you to Model City?”

“Hodge won’t even talk to me. Every morning, first thing, I go into his office and I ask him what happened, who we ticked off, why he sent us to Techwood in the first place, and every day, he tells me to get the hell out of his office.”

Amanda couldn’t help but be impressed by the other woman’s brashness. “You think you’re being punished?” she asked. “That can’t be true. The brass didn’t move me. I was there, same as you.”

Evelyn seemed to have an opinion on the matter, but she kept it to herself. “The boys took care of that pimp for us.”

Amanda felt her heart go into her throat. “You didn’t tell anyone?”

“No, of course not, but you don’t have to be Columbo to figure it out—a pimp bleeding on the floor with his winky hanging out and both of us looking like we’re about to have heart attacks.”

She was right. At least Evelyn had saved them some face by managing to knock him out before the cavalry arrived.

“They let him out of jail long enough to get picked up again. Apparently, he resisted arrest. Up and down Ashby Street. Ended up in the hospital.”

“Good. Maybe he learned his lesson.”

“Maybe,” Evelyn said, sounding doubtful. “He thought I’d just stand there while he raped you, waiting for my turn.”

“He’s probably done it hundreds of times before. You saw how Jane was with him. She was terrified.”

Evelyn nodded slowly. “Dwayne Mathison. That’s his name. He’s been jammed up a couple of times for roughing up his girls. He runs mostly white women—tall blondes who used to be pretty. Goes by the name Juice.”

“Like the football player?”

“Except one’s a Heisman winner and the other likes to beat on women.” Evelyn tapped her finger against the textbook in Amanda’s lap. “This is surprising.”

She covered the book with her hands, embarrassed. “It’s a required course.”

“Still, it’s not a bad thing to know what’s going on in other places.”

Amanda shrugged. “It won’t change anything.”

“Don’t you think it’s kind of inevitable? Look at what happened to the coloreds.” She indicated the restaurant. “Nipsey Russell used to be a curb man here, and now you can’t turn on the TV without seeing his face.”

This was true enough. Amanda didn’t know which infuriated her father more, seeing Russell on every game show or finding Monica Kaufman, the new black anchor, on the Channel 2 news every evening.

Evelyn said, “Mayor Jackson’s not doing such a bad job. Say what you will about Reggie, but the city hasn’t burned down. Yet.”

The carhop was back with their food. He hooked the tray through Evelyn’s window. Amanda reached for her purse.

Evelyn said, “I’ve got this.”

“I don’t need you to—”

“Consider it buying your forgiveness.”

“It’s going to take more than that.”

Evelyn counted out the dollar bills and left what seemed like a very generous tip. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

If her Saturday was like any other, Amanda would spend the day cleaning her father’s house, then cleaning her own apartment, then while away the evening with Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, and Carol Burnett. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

Evelyn handed over her food. “Why don’t you come to my house? We’re having a barbecue.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Amanda managed, though she didn’t think her father would approve. She was actually worried that he’d heard something. Without prompting, he’d seen fit to warn her off Evelyn Mitchell every morning this week. “Thank you for the invitation, though.”

Evelyn said, “Well, let me know. I’d love for you to meet Bill. He’s just—” Her voice took on a dreamy quality. “He’s just the best. I know you’d like him.”

Amanda nodded, unsure of what to say.

“You date much?”

“All the time,” she joked. “Men just love it when they find out you’re a cop.” They loved it as they ran screaming for the door. “I’m too busy to date right now, anyway. I’m trying to finish my degree. There’s just a lot going on.”

Evelyn obviously saw right through her. “Working around jerks like Peterson all day, you forget what a nice, normal guy is like.” She paused. “There are some good ones out there. Don’t let the Neanderthals get you down.”

“Mm-hm.” Amanda put a french fry in her mouth, then another, until Evelyn did the same.

They both ate in silence, sticking their cups on the dashboard, balancing the paper containers in their laps. For Amanda’s part, the greasy french fries and hamburger were exactly what she needed. The iced chocolate milk was as sweet as a dessert, but she ate the fried pie anyway. By the time she was through, she felt slightly nauseated again, but this time it was overindulgence rather than fear turning her stomach.

Evelyn transferred their empty containers back to the window tray. She put her hand to her stomach and groaned. “Mamma mia, that’s a spicy meatball.”

“I put a new bottle of Alka-Seltzer in my purse this morning.”

Evelyn waved over the carhop and ordered two cups of water. “I’m beginning to think you and I are a bad influence on each other.”

Amanda’s eyelids dipped into a lengthy blink. “This is the first time I’ve ever wanted to be in the car with Peterson so I could lay down and go to sleep.”

“You’d wake up with him on top of you.” Evelyn tugged at the back of her hair. She was silent a few seconds, then asked, “Say, why do you think Hodge sent us to Techwood?”

Not for the first time, Amanda felt the danger behind her question. It was clear that someone very high up was pulling strings. Both Evelyn and Hodge had been transferred. There was no telling what would happen to Amanda, especially if anyone found out what she’d been doing.

Evelyn prodded, “Come on, girl. I know you’ve been thinking about it.”

“Well.” Amanda tried to make herself stop there, but she continued, “The guy in the blue suit bothers me. And not just because he’s a lawyer.”

“I know what you mean,” Evelyn agreed. “He walked into the station like he owned it. He yelled at Hodge. You don’t get to do that to a cop, even if you’re white and in a fancy blue suit.”

“Hodge called him by name. That’s what he said during roll call: ‘Mr. Treadwell, we can talk in my office.’ ”

“And then they went into the office, and Treadwell started ordering him around right off the bat.”

“Evelyn, you’re missing the point. Think about what you told me before. Andrew Treadwell, Sr., has friends in high places. He had his picture in the paper with Mayor Jackson. He worked on the campaign. Why would he reach out to a lowly sergeant with no pull who’s only been in charge for less than an hour?”

She nodded. “Okay. You’re right. Keep going.”

“Treadwell-Price specializes in construction law. Andrew Senior is negotiating all those contracts for the new subway system nobody wants.”

“How’d you hear that?”

“I went down to the newspaper and looked through some of the back issues.”

“They let you do that?”

Amanda shrugged. “My dad worked on that kidnapping case last year.” An editor from the paper had been held for a million-dollar ransom. One of Duke’s last official duties was transporting the money from the C&S vault to the drop location. “I told them who I was and they let me look through the archives.”

“Your father doesn’t know you were there?”

“Of course not.” Duke would’ve been livid that Amanda hadn’t cleared it with him first. “He’d ask me what I was up to. I didn’t want to open that can of worms.”

“Phew.” Evelyn leaned her head back against the seat. “What you found out is certainly interesting. Anything else?”

Amanda hesitated again.

“Come on, darlin’. You can’t be a little pregnant.”

Amanda sighed to make her reluctance known. She had a sneaking suspicion she was just stirring up trouble. “The man who was talking to Hodge isn’t Treadwell Junior. According to the newspaper, Treadwell Senior has one child, a daughter.”

Evelyn sat up again. “Named Kitty? Or Katherine? Kate?”

“Eugenia Louise, and she’s at some girls’ school in Switzerland.”

“So, not shooting up Boy at Techwood.”

“Boy?”

“It’s what Negroes call heroin. Thank you.” The carhop was back with their water. Amanda unscrewed the cap from the bottle of Alka-Seltzer and dropped two tablets into each cup. The fizzing was a welcome sound.

Evelyn said, “So, there’s no Treadwell Junior. I wonder who the man in the blue suit was? And why Hodge thought he was Treadwell?” Evelyn smiled. “I’m sure Hodge thinks we all look alike.”

Amanda smiled, too. “Blue Suit has to be a lawyer. Maybe he’s from the firm and Hodge just assumed his name was Treadwell. But that doesn’t make sense, either. We’ve already established Andrew Treadwell wouldn’t send his minion to talk to a brand-new zone captain. He’d go straight to the mayor. The more delicate the situation, the more likely he’d be to let as few people know as possible.”

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 makeup. 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.”

Evelyn was visibly startled, but she tried, “We just—”

“You want me to make you?” He snatched the Kel-Lite out of Evelyn’s hand and jabbed it into her chest. “You like that?” He jabbed her again, then again, until her back was to the wall. “Not so mouthy now, are you?”

Amanda tried, “Rick—”

“Shut up!” There was a flash of white skin as he jammed the flashlight up Evelyn’s skirt and pressed it between her legs. He warned, “Unless you want that for real, you better do as I damn well say. You hear me?”

Evelyn didn’t speak. She could only nod. Her hands shook as they went up in surrender.

“Don’t fuck around with me,” Landry warned. “You got that?”

“She’s sorry,” Amanda said. “We’re both sorry. Rick, please. We’re sorry.”

Slowly, he pulled the flashlight out from under Evelyn’s skirt. With one hand, he flipped it around and held out the handle to Amanda. He told her, “Get her the hell out of here.”

Which is exactly what Amanda did.