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He barked a shocked laugh. “You’re motherfuckerin’ me?” He fished in his pocket for his lighter. “You wanna know who’s mother-fucked?” He lit the cigarette. “You’re fucked”—he nodded toward Amanda—“for going to the jail yesterday, and you”—he pointed to Evelyn—“are fucked for putting her up to all this.”
“Putting me up to what?” Amanda demanded. “She’s not my keeper.”
He hissed out a stream of smoke. “You’re both gonna be transferred tomorrow. I hope you still got your white gloves for crossing duty.”
“I hope you’re up for a sex discrimination lawsuit,” Evelyn shot back. “You and Landry both.”
Smoke snorted out from his nostrils. “You ditzy bitches throw that around all the time, but you know what? Ain’t a one’a you done it yet. Keep cryin’ wolf while you’re directing traffic.” He waved to them over his shoulder as he walked away.
Evelyn stood watching him, her fists clenching and unclenching. For just a moment, Amanda thought she might chase after Butch and jump on his back. Amanda wasn’t sure what she would do if this happened. Her fingernails were short but strong. She could probably scratch his eyes. Failing that, she would bite off anything she could get between her teeth.
“I am so sick of this.” Evelyn started pacing again. “I am sick of taking bullshit from them. I am sick of being lied to.” She kicked the Plymouth’s tire. “I’m sick of not getting a car. I’m sick of people thinking I’m some kind of fucking secretary.” She gripped her purse. “Why didn’t I shoot him? God, I wanted to shoot him.”
“We can do it now.” Amanda had never been so ready to do anything in her life. “We’ll go find him and do it right now.”
Evelyn hefted her purse over her shoulder. She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to prison for that—” She stopped. “What did you call him? Motherfucker?” She gave a surprised laugh. “I didn’t know you even knew that word.”
Amanda realized her hands were clenched, too. She stretched out her fingers one by one. “I suppose this is what happens when you hang around pimps and whores.”
“Crossing guard duty.” Evelyn disgustedly huffed out the words. “It’s summer. We’ll be stuck with all the stupid kids who couldn’t hack it during the regular year.”
Amanda opened the car door. “Let’s go to Georgia Baptist and see if we can find Trey Callahan’s fiancée.”
“Are you kidding me? You heard what Butch said.”
“That’s tomorrow. Let’s just worry about today.”
Evelyn walked around to the other side of the car. “And then what, Scarlett O’Hara?”
“And then we go to Techwood and see if Miss Lula found someone who remembered seeing Hank Bennett.” Amanda turned over the ignition. “And then ask her if she’s ever seen a giant weird man delivering soup to shut-ins.”
Evelyn clutched her purse in her lap. “Ulster admitted that he’s in and out of Techwood Homes. Mondays and Fridays. The same days our victims showed up.”
“He lied to us.” Amanda pulled out onto the street. “How could he read Trey Callahan’s manuscript if he can barely read the name on a license?”
“You noticed that, too?” Evelyn said, “He didn’t sound retarded.”
“Maybe he’s just a slow reader.”
“Butch said we were messing with his CI. Do you think that’s Ulster? Father Bailey? I wonder where that weasel scurried off to. Locking those girls in at night. It’s a regular Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. Have you ever?”
“Ulster seemed pretty eager to put Trey Callahan in the frame for all this. The Ophelia line. That bit about his temper.”
“You clocked that, too?” Evelyn rested her elbow on the door. “I know we’re all Christians here, but I don’t like the way Ulster uses it. Like it makes him better than everyone else. Did you pick up on that?”
Amanda was only certain of one thing. “I think James Ulster is the scariest man I’ve ever met in my life. There’s something evil about him.”
“Exactly,” Evelyn agreed. “Did you see how big his hands are?”
Amanda felt a shudder working its way up her spine.
Evelyn said, “Someone higher up is working against us.”
“I know,” Amanda mumbled.
“Butch is connected, but not enough to get us transferred. It has to be somebody who knew you were talking to Juice at the jail yesterday. Who knew we were talking to Ulster today. And Father Bailey. And Trey Callahan. Or, maybe I stirred up something checking the DNFs.” She chewed her lip. “Whatever we did, it pissed off someone enough to get us yanked off the street and tied to crossing duty.”
“I know,” Amanda repeated. She waited for Evelyn to say more, but the woman had probably jumped to the same conclusion as Amanda. Duke Wagner wasn’t officially back in uniform, but he was already pulling strings.
Amanda looked at her watch. Eight-fifteen in the evening. Nighttime brought no relief from the summer heat. If anything, it gave the humidity reason to come out and play. Amanda felt as if her sweat was sweating. Mosquitoes circled her head as she stood in front of the phone booth on the corner of Juniper and Pine. She left the door open so that the light would not come on. The dime felt greasy between her fingers. Amanda dropped the coin into the slot, then slowly dialed her father’s number.
She’d left Duke’s house fifteen minutes ago. Amanda had cooked his supper. She’d listened with half an ear as he’d relayed the day’s news, delivered the latest updates on his case. It was just a matter of time before Duke was back at his old post. Just a matter of time before Amanda was back under his thumb. She had only nodded—nodded as she watched him eat, nodded as she washed the dishes. An overwhelming sadness had taken hold. Every time she opened her mouth to speak, she shut it for fear of crying.
Duke picked up the telephone on the first ring. His voice was gravelly, probably from too many after-dinner cigarettes. “Hello?”
“Daddy, it’s me.”
“You home?”
“No, Daddy.”
He waited, then asked, “Car break down?”
“No, sir.”
She heard his recliner squeak. “What is it? I know something’s bothering you. You were sulking all night.”
Amanda caught her reflection in the chrome of the pay phone. She was twenty-five years old. She had touched a dead person last weekend. She had stared down a pimp yesterday morning. Helped examine a dead girl last night. She had stood up to Butch Bonnie in the street. She should be able to have a frank conversation with her father.
She asked, “Why did you have me transferred to crossing guard duty?”
“What?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “I didn’t transfer you. Who the hell transferred you?” She could hear papers rustling, a pen clicking. “Give me the jackass’s name. I’ll talk to him about a transfer.”
“You didn’t do it?”
“Why would I transfer you out when I’m gonna be back at my old squad in less than a month?”
