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“Homicide?” Hodge paused just a moment longer than necessary. “I was under the impression that Miss Bennett committed suicide.” He pushed through the paperwork on his desk, taking his time finding what he was looking for. “Yes, here’s your preliminary report. Suicide.” He held out the paper. “Is that your signature, Officer?”
“Detective.” Landry snatched the report out of his hand. “It’s what you said, preliminary.” He wadded the paper into a ball and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll give you the final report later.”
“So, the case is still open? You believe Lucy Bennett was murdered?”
Landry glanced back at Amanda. “I need more time.”
“Take all the time you need, Detective.” Hodge held out his hands as if he was placing the world at Landry’s feet. When the man did not leave, he asked, “Is there anything else?”
Landry glowered at Amanda before making his exit. He slammed the door behind him. Hodge looked at the closed door, then back at Amanda.
She asked, “Why did Hank Bennett come here last Monday?”
“That sounds like a very good question.”
“Why did he want you to send us to Kitty’s apartment?”
“Another good question.”
“You didn’t give us a name, just an address.”
“That’s correct.” He picked up his pen. “You can skip roll call.”
Amanda remained seated. She didn’t understand.
“I said you can skip roll call, Miss Wagner.” He went back to his paperwork. When Amanda didn’t leave, he glanced up at her. “Don’t you have a case to work?”
She stood, using the arm of the chair to leverage herself up. The door was stuck. She had to jerk it open. Amanda kept her gaze ahead as she walked through the squad room and out the door. Her resolve almost broke when she was pulling the Plymouth out of the parking lot. She could see the squad through the broken pane of glass in the storefront. A few of the patrolmen watched her leave.
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?”
