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“Well.” Evelyn slipped on her Foster Grants. “Arrested.”
“Arrested,” Amanda echoed. “And confessed.”
They both stood by the cars, stunned silent.
Finally, Amanda said, “What do you make of that?”
“I’m flummoxed,” Evelyn admitted. “I suppose Juice could’ve done it. Might’ve done it.” She contradicted herself. “Then again, it’s not that hard to get a confession, especially for Butch and Landry.”
Amanda nodded. At least once a week, Butch and Landry showed up for roll call with cuts and bruises on their knuckles. “You said it yourself: Juice could’ve slipped out of the hospital, murdered Jane, and climbed back in bed with no one realizing he was gone.” Amanda leaned against her car, then thought better of it when the heat singed through her skirt. “Then again, Trey Callahan just confirmed Juice was pimp to both Lucy Bennett and Jane Delray. He would know the difference between the two girls. Why would he confess to killing one when it was the other?”
“I doubt very seriously Rick Landry is letting him get his story out.” She added, “A black man kills a white woman? That’s a hummy if there ever was one.”
She was right. The case would hum right through City Hall. Juice would be in prison before the year was out—if he lived that long.
Both women were silent again. Amanda couldn’t recall a time she’d been more shocked.
And then Evelyn topped it. “Do you think we could speak to him?”
“Speak to whom?”
“Juice.”
The question was as crazy as it was dangerous. “Rick Landry would string us up alive. I didn’t want to tell you, but he was very angry this morning. He complained to Hodge right in front of me about us interfering in his case.”
“What did Hodge say?”
“Nothing, really. The man speaks in riddles. Every question I asked, he just said, ‘That’s a good question.’ It was maddening.”
“That’s his way of telling you to ignore Rick and to keep moving forward.” Evelyn held up her hands to stop Amanda’s protest. “Think about it: If Hodge wanted you to stop looking into this, he would’ve ordered you to stop. He could’ve assigned you to crossing duty. He could’ve benched you and made you file all day. Instead, he told you to skip roll call and meet up with me.” She smiled appreciatively. “It’s very clever, really. He doesn’t tell you what to do, but he makes you want to do it.”
“It’s annoying, is what it is. Why can’t he just speak directly? What’s wrong with that?”
“He was already transferred to Model City for four days. I imagine he’s making sure he doesn’t get sent back.”
“Meanwhile, it’s my head on the chopping block.”
Evelyn seemed to be gauging her own words. “He’s probably afraid of you, Amanda. You must know that a lot of people are.”
Amanda could’ve been knocked down with a feather. “Whatever for?”
“Your father.”
“That’s just silly. Even if my father cared about such things, I’m not a tattletale.”
“They don’t know that.” Evelyn’s voice was gentle. “Sweetheart, it’s just a matter of time before your father’s back in uniform. He still has a lot of powerful friends. There’s bound to be payback. Do you really think people shouldn’t be afraid?”
Amanda didn’t want to admit that she was right about Duke, even while she was wrong about the rest. “I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation. Juice has been arrested for murder. The case is closed. We’d turn the whole department against us if we made trouble.”
“You’re right.” Evelyn looked out into the street, the cars rushing by. “We’re probably fools to care. Juice was going to rape us. Jane hated us on sight. Lucy Bennett was a junkie and a prostitute whose own brother couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her.” She nodded back at the mission. “No matter how well read Snoopy’s brother says she was.” She took off her sunglasses. “What was with that Ophelia line, anyway?”
“It’s from Hamlet.”
“I’m aware of that.” Evelyn sounded testy. “I do read more than magazines, you know.”
Amanda considered it wiser to hold her tongue.
Evelyn put her sunglasses back on. “Ophelia was a tragic figure. She had an abortion and killed herself by falling from a tree.”
“Where do you get that she had an abortion?”
“She took rue. It’s an herb women used to bring about miscarriages. Shakespeare had her passing out flowers and she—” Evelyn shook her head. “Never mind. The point is, are you going to go to the jail or not?”
“Me?” Amanda’s mind couldn’t handle these sudden shifts. “Alone?”
“I told Cindy I’d go to the Five and check the license box for Lucy’s ID.”
“That’s very convenient.”
“Bubba Keller is one of your father’s poker buddies, right?”
Amanda wondered if she was making an allusion to the Klan. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Keller runs the jail.”
“And?”
“And, if you go to the jail and ask to speak with Juice, it’s no big deal. If you go to the jail with me and ask to speak to Juice, it gets back to your father.”
Amanda didn’t know what to say. She felt caught out, as if Evelyn was suddenly privy to all the lies Amanda had told Duke over the last week.
“It’s all right,” Evelyn said. “We all have to answer to someone.”
Evelyn didn’t seem to have to answer to anybody. Amanda said, “Let me get this straight: you want me to waltz into the jail and ask to speak to a prisoner who’s just been arrested for murder?”
Evelyn shrugged. “Why not?”
fifteen
Present Day
SUZANNA FORD
Zanna woke with a start. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see. Her throat ached. She could barely swallow. She turned her head back and forth. A pillow cupped her head. She was lying down. She was in bed.
She tried to say “help,” but her lips would not move. The word got trapped in her mouth. She tried again.
“Help …”
She coughed. Her throat was bone dry. Her eyes throbbed in her head. Every movement sent pain shooting through her body. She was blindfolded. She didn’t know where she was. All she remembered was the man.
The man.
His weight shifted on the bed as he stood up. They weren’t in the hotel room anymore. The low rumble of traffic weaving through downtown had been replaced by two noises. The first one was a hum, like the white-noise machine they bought her grandmother for Christmas one year. It kept up a steady hushing sound.
Hush, little baby … don’t say a word …
The other noise was harder to place. It was so familiar, but every time she thought she had it pinned down, it would change. A whistling sound. Not like a train. Like air sucking through a tunnel. An underwater tunnel. A pneumatic tube.
There was no regularity to it. It only served to make her feel more out of body. More out of place. She didn’t even know if she was still in Atlanta. Or Georgia. Or America. She had no idea how long she’d been out. She had no sense of time or place. She knew nothing but the fear of anticipation.
