Amanda pulled out onto Highland. Her breathing didn’t return to normal until she was on Ponce de Leon heading toward the Union Mission. By her watch, she had another ten minutes before Evelyn joined her. Maybe Amanda could use the time to figure out what had just happened. The problem was that she didn’t know where to begin. She needed time to digest it all. She also still needed to make a phone call.
The Trust Company branch on the corner of Ponce and Monroe had a bank of pay phones outside the building. Amanda pulled into the parking lot. She backed her car into a space and sat with her hands still wrapped around the wheel. None of this made sense. Why was Hodge speaking in riddles? He didn’t seem to be afraid of much. Was he trying to help Amanda or trying to discourage her?
She found some coins in her wallet and grabbed her address book. Two of the pay phones were out of order. The last one took her dime. She dialed Pam’s number again and listened to the rings. At twenty, she was about to give up, but Pam finally answered.
“Canale.” She sounded even more harried than before.
“Pam, it’s Amanda Wagner.”
A few seconds passed before Pam seemed to recognize her name. “Mandy. What’s going on? Oh, crap, don’t tell me something’s wrong with Mimi?”
Mimi Mitideri, the niece who’d almost run off with a Navy cadet. “No, nothing like that. I was calling to see if you could do me a favor.”
She seemed relieved, though her day was probably filled with people asking for favors. “What do you need?”
“I was wondering if you could look up a name for me, or an apartment.” Amanda realized she wasn’t being very clear. She hadn’t thought through the conversation. “There’s an apartment at Techwood Homes—apartment C. It’s on the fifth floor in the row of buildings—”
“Whoa, let me stop you there. There’s no C at Techwood Homes. They’re numbered.”
Amanda resisted the temptation to ask her where one might find these numbers. “Could you look up a name, then? A Katherine or Kate or Kitty Treadwell?”
“We don’t go by names. We go by roll numbers.”
Amanda sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.” She felt the uselessness of the situation sitting like an elephant on her chest. “I’m not even sure if I’ve got the right name. There are—were—at least three girls living there. Maybe more.”
“Wait a minute,” Pam said. “Are they related?”
“I doubt it. They’re working girls.”
“All in the same unit?” Pam asked. “That’s not allowed unless they’re related. And even if they are, none of those gals ever want to room together. They lie all the time.” There was a noise on Pam’s end of the line. She covered the mouthpiece for a few seconds and had a muffled conversation with another person. When she came back on the line, her voice was clearer. “Tell me about the apartment. You said it was on the top floor?”
“Yes. Fifth floor.”
“Those are one-bedroom units. A single girl wouldn’t get that housing assignment unless she has a child.”
“There was no child. Just three women. I’m guessing it was three. Maybe there were more.”
Pam groaned. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. “My supervisor can be persuaded sometimes.”
Amanda was going to ask what she meant, but then it hit her.
Pam sounded bitter. “They should put me in charge. I wouldn’t trade a top-floor apartment for a blow job.”
Amanda gave a shocked laugh—as if such a thing was possible. “Well, thank you, Pam. I know you’ve got work to do.”
“Let me know if you get the unit number. Maybe I can track it back from there. Might take me a week or two, but I’ll do it for you.”
“Thank you,” Amanda repeated. She hung up the phone. Her hand stayed on the receiver. Her mind had been working on other things while she was talking to Pam Canale. It was like looking for your keys. The minute you stopped trying to find them, you remembered where you’d left them.
But there was only one way to be certain.
Amanda put another dime in the slot. She dialed a familiar number. Duke Wagner was never one to let a phone ring more than twice. He picked up almost immediately.
“Hey, Daddy,” Amanda managed, but then she didn’t know what else to say.
Duke sounded alarmed. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”
“No, no,” she told him, wondering why she had called her father in the first place. This was sheer lunacy.
“Mandy? What’s going on? Are you at the hospital?”
Amanda rarely heard her father panicked. Nor had she ever considered the fact that he might be worried about the job she was doing, especially since he was no longer there to protect her.
“Mandy?” She heard a chair slide across the kitchen floor. “Talk to me.”
She swallowed back the uneasy realization that for just a moment, she had enjoyed scaring her father. “I’m fine, Daddy. I just had a question about—” She didn’t know what to call it. “About politics.”
He sounded relieved and slightly irritated. “This couldn’t wait until tonight?”
“No.” She looked out at the street. Cars were backing up at the light. Businessmen were going to work. Women were taking their children to school. “We had a new sergeant last week. One of Reggie’s boys.”
Duke made a sharp comment about this, as if his feelings weren’t already known.
“He got transferred after just one day. Hoyt Woody was moved into his position.”
“Hoyt’s a good man.”
“Well.” Amanda didn’t finish her thought. She found the man unctuous and off-putting, but that was not the point of this conversation. “Anyway, after a few days, Hoyt got transferred back out, and now the old sergeant, Reggie’s boy, got moved back in.”
“And?”
“Well,” she repeated. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“Not particularly.” She heard him light a cigarette. “It’s how the system works. You get one guy in to do one thing, then move in another to do something else.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“You gotta star pitcher, right?” Duke always favored baseball metaphors. “Only he can’t swing a bat. You got it?”
“Yes.”
“So you send in a pinch hitter.”
“Oh.” She nodded, understanding.
Duke still didn’t think she got it. “There’s something going on in your squad. Reggie’s boy wouldn’t follow orders, so they sent in Hoyt to take care of business.” He laughed. “Typical. Send in a white man when you need the job done right.”
Amanda held the phone away from her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her sigh. “Thanks, Daddy. I should get back to work.”
Duke wouldn’t let her off that easy. “You’re not getting mixed up in something you shouldn’t?”
“No, Daddy.” She tried to think of something else to say. “Be sure to put the chicken back in the refrigerator around ten. It’ll spoil if you leave it out all day.”
“I heard you when you told me the first six times,” he snapped. Instead of hanging up, he said, “Be careful, Mandy.”
She rarely heard such compassion in his voice. Unaccountably, tears came into her eyes. Butch Bonnie was right about one thing. It was close to that time of month for Amanda. She was turning into a hormonal mess. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She heard a click as Duke hung up the phone.
Amanda returned the receiver to the cradle. Back in her car, she took a handkerchief out of her purse and wiped her hand. Then she patted dry her face. The sun was unrelenting. She felt as if she was melting.
A honking sound ripped through the quiet of her car. Evelyn Mitchell’s Ford Falcon had stopped for a yellow light. A delivery truck sped around her. The man stuck his hand out in an obscene gesture.