Hodge was looking down at his desk. There was a meekness to the slump in his shoulders as his mouth moved. “Yassuh,” the first cop supplied. “I’s’a gone look into it fo ya, suh. Yes indeedy-do.”
Treadwell jabbed a finger at Hodge. The second cop grumbled, “This city is a mess, I say. What’s the world coming to? The monkeys are running the zoo!”
Hodge nodded, his eyes still trained downward. The first cop offered, “Yassuh, it sho do be a mess. Cain’t even eat my cone-bread without hearing ’bout thems po’ white women what’s gettin’ harassed by Negro men.”
Amanda chewed her bottom lip. There were a few nervous titters.
Treadwell’s hand dropped. The second cop said, “I say, you damn niggers act like you own the place!”
No one laughed at that, not even the black officers. The joke had gone too far.
When Treadwell threw open the office door and stormed out, the room remained stiflingly silent.
Luther Hodge was a study in contained fury as he walked to the open door. He pointed at Evelyn. “You.” His finger jabbed in Amanda and Vanessa’s general direction. “And you. In my office.”
Vanessa stiffened in her chair. Amanda put her hand to her chest. “Me or—”
“Do you women understand orders? In my office.” He told Butch, “Continue roll call, Detective Bonnie. I shouldn’t have to tell you twice.”
Evelyn clutched her purse to her chest as she stood. The back of Amanda’s legs felt cool as she rose to follow. She turned to Vanessa, who looked both guilty and enormously relieved. Evelyn was standing in front of Hodge’s desk when Amanda joined her. He sat in his chair and started writing on a piece of paper.
Amanda turned to shut the door, but Hodge said, “Leave it open.”
If Amanda thought she’d been sweating before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. Evelyn was obviously feeling it, too. She nervously pulled at the back of her hair. The thin silver of her wedding ring caught the light from the overhead fluorescents. Butch Bonnie’s dull monotone called out team assignments in the other room. Amanda knew that even with the door closed, Luther Hodge had heard the black officers making fun of him.
Hodge put down his pen. He sat back in his chair and looked at first Evelyn, then Amanda. “You two are on the sex crimes unit.”
They both nodded, though he hadn’t asked a question.
“There’s been a signal forty-nine reported at this address.” A rape. Hodge held out the sheet of paper. There was a moment’s hesitation before Evelyn took it.
She looked down at the page. “This is in Techwood.” The ghetto.
“That’s correct,” Hodge answered. “Take statements. Determine whether or not a crime has been committed. Make an arrest if necessary.”
Evelyn glanced at Amanda. They were obviously wondering the same thing: what did this have to do with the lawyer who’d just been in here?
“Do you need directions?” Hodge asked, though, again, it wasn’t really a question. “I assume you ladies know your way around the city? Should I have one of the squad cars provide you with an escort? Is that how this works?”
“No,” Evelyn said. Hodge stared at her until she added, “Sir.”
“Dismissed.” He opened a file and began reading it.
Amanda looked to Evelyn, who nodded toward the door. They both edged out, not quite sure what had just happened. Roll call was finished. The squad room was empty but for a few stragglers who were waiting for their newly transferred partners to arrive. Vanessa was gone, too. Probably with Peterson. She would certainly enjoy the assignment more than Amanda.
“Can we take your car?” Evelyn asked. “I’m in the station wagon today and it’s packed full.”
“Sure.” Amanda followed her into the parking lot. Evelyn wasn’t lying. Boxes were crammed into every available space in her red Ford Falcon.
“Bill’s mother moved in down the street this weekend. She’s going to help take care of the baby while I’m at work.”
Amanda climbed into her Plymouth. She didn’t want to pry into Evelyn’s private life, but the arrangement struck her as odd.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Evelyn said, settling into the passenger’s seat. “I love Zeke and it was great spending this last year and a half with him, but I swear to God, one more day being stuck at home with a kid, and I’d end up swallowing a bucket of Valium.”
Amanda had been about to put her key in the ignition, but she stopped. She turned to Evelyn. Most everything she knew about the woman had been filtered through her father. She was beautiful, which Duke Wagner didn’t view as an asset for someone in uniform. “Opinionated” was the word that came up most often, with “pushy” serving a close second.
Amanda asked, “Your husband was okay with you working again?”
“He came around to it.” She unzipped her purse and pulled out an Atlanta city map. “Do you know Techwood?”
“No. I’ve been to Grady Homes a few times.” Amanda didn’t mention that she mostly took calls from North Atlanta, where the victims were white and generally had mothers who offered sweet tea and talked about quickly putting this ordeal behind them. “How about you?”
“Somewhat. Your dad sent me there a few times.”
Amanda pumped the gas as she turned the key. The engine caught on the second try. She kept her mouth closed as she backed out of the parking lot. Evelyn had been on patrol for most of her tenure under Duke Wagner. Her plainclothes promotion had been something he didn’t agree with, but the winds were shifting by then and he had lost the battle. Amanda could easily see her father sending Evelyn out to the projects to teach her a lesson.
“Let’s try to figure this out.” Evelyn unfolded the map and spread it out on her lap. She traced her finger down and across to the area near Georgia Tech. The projects of Techwood were incongruous with the setting of one of the state’s top technological universities, but the city was running out of places to house the poor. Clark Howell Homes, University Homes, Bowen Homes, Grady Homes, Perry Homes, Bankhead Courts, Thomasville Heights—they all had long waiting lists, despite the fact that they were effectively slums.
Not that any of them had started out that way. In the 1930s, the city had built the Techwood apartment buildings on the site of a former shantytown called Tanyard Bottom. It was the first public housing of its kind in the United States. All the buildings had electricity and running water. There was a school on site, a library and laundry facilities. President Roosevelt had been at the opening ceremonies. It had taken less than ten years for Techwood to revert back to its original shantytown state. Duke Wagner often said that desegregation was the final nail in Techwood’s coffin. No matter what the case, Georgia Tech spent thousands of dollars a year hiring private security to keep students safe from their neighbors. The area was one of the most dangerous in the city.
“Okeydokey.” Evelyn folded the map, saying, “Get us to Techwood Drive and I can tell you where to go from there.”
“The buildings don’t have numbers.” This was a problem not just limited to the projects. When Amanda was in uniform, the first half hour of most of her calls was wasted searching for the correct address.
“Don’t worry,” Evelyn said. “I’ve figured out their system.”
Amanda made her way up Ponce de Leon Avenue, past old Spiller Field where the Crackers used to play. The stadium had been torn down to build a shopping mall, but the magnolia tree that had been in center field was still there. She cut through a side alley by the Sears building to get to North Avenue. Both Amanda and Evelyn rolled up their windows as they approached Buttermilk Bottom. The shanties had been torn down a decade ago, but no one had bothered to do anything about the sewage problem. A sour smell filled Amanda’s nostrils. She had to breathe through her mouth for the next five blocks. Finally, they were able to roll down the windows again.