Amanda sat in a back booth at the Majestic Diner on Ponce de Leon. She stifled a yawn. After leaving Techwood last night, she was too wired to asleep. Even Mary Wollstonecraft couldn’t send her off. She’d tossed and turned, images of the construction paper puzzle seemingly burned into her retinas. She’d added the new details in her mind: Hank Bennett—liar. Trey Callahan—liar.
And Ophelia. What to make of Ophelia?
The waitress refilled Amanda’s cup. She looked at her watch. Evelyn was fifteen minutes late, which was troubling. Amanda had never known her to be tardy. She’d used the pay phone in the back to call the Model City precinct, but no one had answered the phone. Amanda’s own roll call had ended almost half an hour ago. She was assigned to Vanessa today, which suited them both. The other woman had decided to treat herself to a day of shopping. That new credit card was burning a hole in her pocketbook.
The door opened and Evelyn rushed in. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I had the strangest call from Hodge.”
“My Hodge?”
Evelyn waved away the waitress who came to take her order. “He had dispatch send me to Zone One.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No, the station was empty. It was just me and Hodge and his open door.” She sat back against the booth. She was obviously flustered. “He wanted me to tell him everything we’ve been doing.”
Amanda felt panic start to build.
“It’s okay. He wasn’t mad. At least, I don’t think he was mad. Who knows with that man? You’re absolutely right about his inscrutability. It’s unnerving.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Nothing. No criticisms. No comments. He just nodded and then told me to go do my job.”
“That’s the same thing he told me yesterday. To do my job.” Amanda asked, “Do you think he was comparing our stories?”
“Could be.”
“You didn’t hold anything back?”
“Well, I kept Deena’s name out of it. And Miss Lula’s. I didn’t want either of them getting into trouble.”
“You told him about Ophelia?”
“No,” she admitted. “I told him we were going to circle back on Trey Callahan, but I didn’t tell him why. Luther Hodge doesn’t strike me as a devotee of William Shakespeare.”
“I don’t know about that myself, Evelyn. Maybe we’re leaping to conclusions. Trey Callahan quotes a line from Hamlet and then you and I see the victim last night and fill in the blanks. It smacks of too much coincidence.”
“Is there really such a thing as coincidence in police work?”
Amanda couldn’t answer her. “Do you think Hodge will make trouble for us?”
“Who the hell knows?” She threw her hands into the air. “We should get to the mission. Going over it with Hodge again made me think of some things.”
Amanda slid out of the booth. She left two quarters on the table for the coffee and a generous tip. “Like what?”
“Like, everything.” Evelyn waited until they were outside to speak. “This Hank Bennett situation. I think you’re right. I think he’s a snake in the grass, and he used the information he had about Kitty Treadwell to get a job with her father.”
They got into Amanda’s car. She asked, “How would Bennett know there was a relation?”
“Her name was on the apartment door,” Evelyn reminded her. “Even without that, Kitty had a big mouth about her father. Miss Lula knew she was politically connected. Juice knew, too—he even mentioned another sister who was the golden child. It was an open secret on the street.”
“But not higher up the social ladder,” Amanda assumed. “Andrew Treadwell’s a Georgia graduate. I remember reading that in the newspaper.”
Evelyn smiled. “Hank Bennett was wearing a UGA class ring.”
“Georgia Bulldogs, class of 1974.” Once again, Amanda pulled out onto Ponce de Leon Avenue. “They could’ve met at a mixer or a social. All those frat boys are thick as thieves.” She’d interviewed her share for the sex crimes unit. They lied like carpets.
“What’s going on there?” Evelyn pointed at the Union Mission. An APD squad car blocked the entrance.
“I have no idea.” Amanda pulled onto the sidewalk and got out of the car. She recognized the patrolman walking out of the building, though she didn’t know his name. He obviously knew both Amanda and Evelyn. His pace quickened as he headed toward his car.
“Excuse me—” Amanda tried, but it was too late. The man got into his cruiser. Rubber squealed against asphalt as he peeled off.
“And the beat goes on,” Evelyn said. She didn’t seem too daunted as she headed toward the mission entrance. Instead of finding Trey Callahan, they saw a pudgy older man wearing a priest’s collar. He was sweeping broken glass off the floor. The front window had been broken. A brick was among the shards.
“Yes?” he asked.
Evelyn took the lead. “We’re with the Atlanta Police Department. We’re looking for Trey Callahan.”
The man seemed confused. “So am I.”
Amanda gathered they’d missed something. “Callahan isn’t here?”
“Who do you think caused this mess?” He indicated the broken glass. “Trey was supposed to open the shelter last night. He didn’t show up, so one of the girls threw a brick through the window.” He leaned against the broom. “I’m sorry, I’ve never dealt with the police before. Are you gals secretaries? The officer who just left said he would need a typed statement.”
Amanda suppressed a groan. The officer had been giving him the runaround. “We’re not secretaries. We’re plainclothes—”
“Detectives,” Evelyn interrupted, sounding very sure of herself. “And we don’t type statements. What’s your name, sir?”
“Father Bailey. I work at the soup kitchen down the street.”
He didn’t match the descriptions they’d been given. The priest was only a few inches taller than Amanda. “Are you the only one who works at the kitchen?”
“No, my associate does the cooking. Sometimes, I help with the cleaning, but my main duties are to provide spiritual support.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m actually late, so if you girls—”
Evelyn interrupted, “If you work at the soup kitchen, why are you here?”
“I was supposed to meet with Trey this morning. We coordinate once a month, talk about the girls, who might be in trouble, who to look out for.”
“And you pulled in and saw the broken window?”
“And a room full of girls sleeping away the morning when they should’ve been locked out of the building.” He indicated the back of the room. “Trey’s office has been rifled. Probably one of the girls.”
“Did any of them see anything?”
“I hate to be uncharitable, but none of them are particularly helpful unless it directly benefits themselves.”
Amanda remembered, “What about Callahan’s girlfriend? She’s training to be a nurse at Georgia Baptist.”
He studied her for a moment. “Yes, I called over there looking for her. Eileen Sapperson. They say she missed her shift last night, too.”
“Did the hospital have a home number for her?”
“She doesn’t have a home line.”
“Do you mind if we—” Amanda indicated Callahan’s office. The priest shrugged. He resumed sweeping as they walked to the back of the room.
The office had clearly been tossed, but Amanda wasn’t sure whether the perpetrator was a junkie looking for money or a man trying to quickly leave town. Callahan’s desk was cleared of all his personal items. No framed photo of his dog and girlfriend. No Slinky. No funk posters. No transistor radio. There were a few joints smoked down to the last centimeter in the ashtray. The drawers hung open. Most important, the stack of typewriter pages was gone.
Evelyn noticed it, too. “Where’s his manuscript?”
