“For goodness sakes,” Amanda mumbled, turning the key in the ignition. She pulled out onto the road and followed Evelyn three blocks down Ponce de Leon to the Union Mission. Evelyn took a slow, wide turn into the parking lot so she could back into an empty space. Amanda swung her Plymouth around and was getting out of the car by the time Evelyn turned off the engine.
Amanda said, “You’re going to get yourself killed driving that slowly.”
“You mean driving the speed limit? That truck driver—”
“Almost killed you,” Amanda quipped. “I’m going to take you out to the stadium this weekend and give you a proper lesson.”
“Oh.” Evelyn seemed pleased. “Let’s make a day of it. We can go to lunch and do some shopping.”
Amanda was startled by her eagerness. She changed the subject. “Hodge is back at my station.”
“I thought it was strange that he wasn’t at Model City this morning.” Evelyn closed her car door. “Why did they send him back?”
Amanda debated whether or not to reveal that she’d called her father. She decided against it. “It’s possible the brass transferred in Hoyt Woody to do their dirty work.”
“Why would they send in a white man? Wouldn’t one of Reggie’s boys be better for this sort of thing? Keep it in the family, as it were?”
She had raised a good point, but then, Evelyn didn’t suffer from Duke’s color blindness. Hoyt Woody would do as he was told in hopes of ingratiating himself with the brass. Luther Hodge might not be as malleable.
Amanda said, “I imagine Woody was sent in for the same reason Hodge sent two women out to talk to Jane. We’re expendable. No one really listens to us.”
“That’s true enough.” Evelyn shrugged because there was nothing they could do about it. “So, Hodge was replaced for a few days by someone who would do their dirty work, then he was slotted back in.”
“Exactly.” Amanda said, “Your friend at the Five said she called security on Jane Delray when she tried to cash Lucy’s vouchers. Security is run out of the Five Points precinct. Whoever hauled Jane out of the building would’ve written her up on an incident card.” The cards were part of a larger system used to track petty criminals who weren’t yet worth arresting. “The cards are fed into a daily report that goes up the chain of command. Someone high up would know that Jane was trying to use Lucy’s name.”
Evelyn came to the same conclusion as Amanda had. “We were sent to Techwood to scare Jane into silence.”
“We did a great job, didn’t we?”
Evelyn put her hand to her temple. “I need a drink. This is giving me a migraine.”
“Well, this should make your head hurt even more.” Amanda told her about the phone call with Pam Canale, the dead end she’d hit. Then she relayed the cryptic conversation she’d had with Sergeant Hodge.
“How strange,” was all Evelyn could manage. “Why won’t Hodge answer our questions?”
“I think he wants us to keep working this case, but he can’t appear to be encouraging us.”
“I think you’re right.” Evelyn said, “Maybe Kitty didn’t get that top-floor apartment with sexual favors. Maybe her uncle or daddy pulled some strings.”
“If Kitty is the black sheep of the Treadwell family, I can certainly see Andrew Treadwell trying to keep her from making trouble. He sets her up in an apartment with her own kind. He gets her on the welfare rolls. He makes sure she’s got just enough money to stay out of his hair.”
“There’s no way we can talk to Andrew Treadwell. We wouldn’t make it as far as the lobby.”
Amanda didn’t bother to agree with the obvious.
Evelyn said, “I talked to my gal in undercover. It’s just what I thought: it’d be easier to find a man who doesn’t like choking whores.”
“That’s depressing.”
“It is if you’re a whore.” Evelyn added, “I told her to ask around if anybody likes painting fingernails.”
“Smart thinking.”
“We’ll see if it pans out. I told her to call me at home. I’d hate for any of this to go out on the radio.”
“Did you find out whether or not Juice was in jail when Jane was murdered?”
“He was at Grady getting fitted with a resisting-arrest turban.”
Amanda had heard the terminology before. There were a lot of prisoners who woke up in the Grady ER with no recollection of how they’d gotten there. “That’s hardly an alibi. He could walk in and out of the hospital without anyone noticing.”
“You’re right,” Evelyn agreed.
Amanda blinked at the sweltering sun. “We could stand out here all day talking ourselves into circles.”
“Right again. Let’s get this part over with.” Evelyn indicated the flat, one-story building in front of them. The Union Mission had been a butcher’s shop at one time.
Amanda said, “Acapulco. Where did you get that?”
“I saw a spread in Life magazine. Johnny Weissmuller has a place there. It was gorgeous.”
“You and your magazines.”
Evelyn grinned, then turned serious as she looked up at the building. “How are we going to handle this? As far as anyone knows, Lucy Bennett committed suicide.”
“I think that’s the story we should stick to, don’t you?”
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
Amanda was used to not having a lot of choices, but it had never grated the way it did lately. She walked toward the front entrance. She could hear funk music playing on a radio. There were metal bars across the glass storefront. Rows of empty beds filled the front space, at least twenty deep and four across. The girls weren’t allowed to stay here during the day. Ostensibly, they were supposed to be out looking for jobs. The front door was propped open and the smell of the building airing out was as unpleasant as anything Amanda had smelled in the last week.
“Help you?” a man called over the music. He was dressed like a hippie, wearing sunglasses even though he was indoors. His sandy blond mustache was long and droopy. A brown fedora was pulled low on his head. He was extremely tall and lanky. His walk was more of an amble.
Evelyn mumbled, “He looks like Spike, Snoopy’s brother.”
Amanda didn’t share that she’d been thinking the same thing. She called to the man, “We’re looking for a Mr. Trask?”
He shook his head as he walked over. “No Trask here, ladies. I’m Trey Callahan.”
“Trey,” Evelyn and Amanda said in unison. At least Bennett had been close. There was no telling what he thought Amanda and Evelyn were called. If he gave it any thought at all.
“So.” Callahan flashed a laconic smile, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m guessing one of the girls is in trouble, in which case, I probably can’t help you. I’m neutral, like Switzerland. You dig?”
“Yes,” Evelyn said. Like Amanda, she had to look up at the man. He was at least six feet tall. “Maybe this will change your mind: We’re here about Lucy Bennett.”
His easygoing demeanor dropped. “You’re right. I’ll do anything I can to help. God rest her troubled soul.”
Amanda said, “We were hoping you could tell us about her. Give us an idea of who she was, with whom she associated?”
“Let’s go to my office.” He stood to the side, indicating they should go first. Despite his hippie appearance, someone had managed to teach him manners.
Amanda followed Evelyn into Callahan’s office. The space was small but cheerful. The walls were painted a bright orange. Posters from various funk bands were pinned around the room. She catalogued the items on his desk: a framed photograph of a young woman holding a Doberman puppy. A rusted Slinky. A thick stack of typewriter paper held together by a rubber band. There was a sweet odor in the air. Amanda glanced at the ashtray, which looked recently emptied.