lecherous and bombastic, two things he didn’t bother to hide from Amanda, despite being close friends with Duke.
She often wondered what would happen if she told her father that Keller had grabbed her breast on more than one occasion, or about the time he’d pushed her up against the wall and whispered filthy things in her ear. Amanda wanted to think that Duke would be angry. That he would end the friendship. That he would pop Keller in the nose. The possibility that he might not do any of these things was likely what kept her from telling him.
True to form, she could hear Keller’s raised voice over the hum of typewriters. His office faced the typing pool, which was large and open. Sixty women sat behind rows of desks, diligently typing, pretending that they couldn’t hear what was going on a few yards away. Holly Scott, Keller’s secretary, stood in his open doorway. She was wise not to go in. Keller’s face was bright red. He waved his arms in the air, then swooped down his hand and pushed all the papers onto the floor.
“You goddamn do that!” he yelled. Holly mumbled something back, and he picked up his telephone and threw it against the wall. The plaster cracked, sending down a rain of white powder. “Clean up this mess!” Keller ordered, grabbing his hat and stomping out of his office. He stopped when he saw Amanda. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The lie came without much thought. “Butch Bonnie asked me to check—”
“I don’t care,” he interrupted. “Just don’t be here when I get back.”
Amanda watched him push his way toward the exit. He was the very definition of a bull in a china shop. Desks were shoved out of the way. Stacks of paper were knocked onto the floor. There were sixty women seated at sixty desks, working on sixty typewriters and trying their darndest not to be singled out.
And then finally, there was an audible, collective sigh of relief as Keller left the room. The typewriters were momentarily silenced. Someone screamed back in the cells.
Holly said, “Good night, Irene.”
Titters of laughter went around the room. The typewriters whirred back into motion. Holly waved Amanda back into Keller’s office.
“Goodness,” Amanda said. “What was that about?”
Holly bent over, picking up a broken bottle of Old Grand-Dad bourbon. “I just lost it.”
Amanda knelt down to help her pick up the scattered papers. “Lost it how?”
“We’re all trying to get Reggie’s new handbook typed for the printer.” Holly tossed the broken glass into the trashcan. “We’re on deadline. The brass is breathing down our necks. Breathing down Keller’s.”
“And?”
“And so Keller thinks that’s the perfect time to call me into his office and tell me to show him my tits.”
Amanda sighed. She was familiar with the request. It was usually followed by a disturbing laugh and a groping hand. “And?”
“And, I told him I was going to file a complaint against him.”
Amanda picked up the telephone. The plastic was cracked, but it still had a dial tone. “Would you really do it?”
“Probably not,” Holly admitted. “My husband told me if he does it again, to just get my purse and leave.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because that asshole’s one more tantrum away from a heart attack. I’m going to outlive him if it kills me.” She scooped up the last of the papers. There was a smile on her face. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”
“I need to talk to an inmate.”
“White or black?”
“Black.”
“Good. There’s an awful case of lice being passed around.” Everyone knew the coloreds didn’t get lice. “Keller’s going to have to set off a can of DDT back there. It’s the third time this year. The smell is just awful.” Holly took a pen off the desk and held it over a sheet of paper. “Who’s the girl?”
Amanda felt a thickness in her throat. “Male.”
Holly dropped the pen. “You want to go back there and talk to a black man?”
“Dwayne Mathison.”
“My God, Mandy. Are you crazy? He killed a white woman. He already confessed.”
“I just need a few minutes.”
“No.” She vehemently shook her head. “Keller would have my scalp. And rightfully so. I’ve never heard anything so crazy. Why on earth would you want to talk to him?”
Not for the first time, Amanda realized that she would be better served to plan out her explanations in advance. “It’s for one of my cases.”
“What case?” Holly sat down at the desk to organize the papers. There were two more bottles of bourbon on the blotter, one of them almost empty. The cut-crystal glass between them showed a permanent ring from Keller’s constantly replenishing his drink throughout the day. Crude renderings of a penis and a pair of breasts were carved into the soft wood of the desk.
Holly looked up at her. “What is it?”
Amanda pulled around another chair, just as Trey Callahan had this morning at the Union Mission. She sat across from Holly. Their knees were almost touching. “There are some missing girls.”
Holly stopped collating. “You think the pimp killed them, too?”
Amanda didn’t outright lie. “Maybe.”
“You should tell Butch and Rick. It’s their case. And you know they’re going to hear about this.” She put one hand on her heart and held up the other, as if swearing allegiance. “They won’t hear about it from me or my girls, but you know it’ll get around.”
“I know.” There was nothing more prevalent in any police force than gossip. “But I want to do it.”
“Mandy.” Holly shook her head, as if she couldn’t understand what had happened to her friend. “Why are you inviting trouble?”
Amanda stared at her. Holly Scott had a dancer’s lean body. She ironed her long red hair straight. Her makeup was expertly applied. Her skin was perfect. Even in this miserable heat, she could be photographed for a magazine ad. That she took near-perfect dictation and could type 110 words a minute were probably factors Keller had not even considered when he’d hired her.
Amanda reached back and closed the door. The typewriters were just as loud, but it engendered a feeling of confidentiality.
She told Holly, “Rick Landry threatened me.” She didn’t feel right bringing Evelyn’s name into this, but Amanda was telling the truth when she said, “He called me a slit in front of my boss. He cursed at me. He told me I should stay the … the F away from his case.”
Holly’s lips pressed together in a straight line. “Aren’t you going to listen to him?”
“No,” Amanda said. “I’m not. I’m tired of listening to them. I’m tired of being scared of them and doing all their bidding when I know better than they do.”
The words were said quietly, but there was an air of revolution about them.
Holly nervously glanced over Amanda’s shoulder. She was afraid of being heard. She was afraid of being any part of this. Still, she asked, “Have you ever been into men’s holding?”
“No.”
“It’s awful down there. Worse than the women’s side.”
“I assumed it would be.”
“Rats. Feces. Blood.”
“Don’t oversell it.”
“Keller will be furious.”
Amanda forced up her shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe this will give him that heart attack you’ve been waiting for.”
Holly stared at her for a good long while. Her blue eyes glistened with tears that did not fall. She was visibly afraid. Amanda knew she had a kid and a husband who worked two jobs so they could live in the suburbs. Holly went to school at night. She helped out at church on Sundays. She volunteered at the library. And she came here five days a week and put up with Keller’s advances and innuendo because the city was the only employer around that followed the federal law mandating women be paid the same salary as men.
