Criminal

  “I assumed you’d be eager to help one of your own kind.”

  “That murdering bastard ain’t got nothing to do with me.” She lowered her voice. “I’m eager to keep my head attached to my shoulders, is what I am.”

  “Well, thank you for answering my question.”

  “Wait.”

  Holly’s waving took on an urgency. She was probably afraid Keller would return. Amanda held up her finger, indicating she needed a minute. “What is it?”

  “Be careful. The same people protecting you right now are gonna be the same ones coming after you when they find out what you’re doing.”

  There was a long silence after that. Both of them reflected on the words.

  “Thank you.” Amanda tried not to read anything into Deena’s gruff goodbye. She hung up the phone. Her heart was thumping in her chest. The woman was right. Duke would be furious if he knew what Amanda was doing. So would Keller. So would Butch and Landry and possibly Hodge. Add the whole department to that if they found out she was trying to help a black man get out of jail. A black man who’d already confessed to murder.

  Holly came to the doorway. “Hurry up, Mandy. Phillip’s going to take you down and stay with you.” She lowered her voice. “He’s not so bad.”

  Amanda felt the urge to flee. Her bravado was going up and down like a piston engine. “I’m ready.”

  She stood from the desk. She forced a smile onto her face as Phillip came into the office. He was wearing the dark blue uniform of the prison guards, a set of keys hanging from one side of his belt and a nightstick dangling from the other.

  He was younger than Amanda, but he talked to her as if she was a child. “You sure you wanna be doing this, gal?”

  Amanda swallowed past the lump in her throat. She wished that Evelyn were there to give her strength. Then she felt guilty, because Evelyn had been taking the brunt of the anger lately—not just from Rick Landry, but from Butch and whoever had transferred her into Model City.

  Maybe Evelyn was right. Maybe people were careful with Amanda because they were afraid of Duke. Instead of being afraid of him herself, Amanda should be taking advantage of it. At least for as long as she could.

  “I’m not sure we’ve met.” Amanda walked toward the man, hand extended. “I’m Amanda Wagner. Duke’s daughter.”

  His eyes shifted to Holly, then to Amanda as he shook her hand. “Yeah, I know Duke.”

  “He’s friends with Bubba.” Amanda never called Keller by his first name, but the guard needn’t know that. She took her purse out of the chair and dug around for the new pen and spiral-bound notebook she’d brought from home. She handed her bag to Holly. “Mind holding on to this for me?”

  Holly stared wide-eyed as Amanda walked out of the office. She forced herself to keep a steady pace as she passed through the typing pool. The constant spinning and pecking of the Selectric balls seemed to match the erratic beats of her heart, but Amanda forced herself to keep walking. Going into the men’s jail was likely the same as going into a swimming pool. You either jumped in and experienced that quick shock of cold or you dragged it out, walking in slowly, your skin prickling with goose bumps, your teeth chattering.

  Amanda jumped right in.

  She held on to the railing as she walked down the stairs. She didn’t wait for Phillip to open the door. She pushed it with the palm of her hand. The cells. Holly was right. The men’s side was far worse than the women’s. Large cracks split the walls. Pigeons cooed from the rafters; their droppings littered the concrete floor. She stepped over a passed-out wino leaning against the wall. She ignored the catcalls and the stares. She kept her posture straight, her eyes ahead, until Phillip spoke.

  “It’s on the left.”

  Amanda stopped in front of a door. Someone had used a knife to carve INTERRORGATION into the thick lead paint. There was a square window at eye level, though the glass was nearly opaque with grime.

  Phillip took out a set of keys and searched for the right one. He swayed slightly, obviously from drink. Finally, he found the correct key. He slid it into the lock and pushed open the door. Amanda turned around, preventing him from going in.

  She said, “I’ve got it from here.”

  He laughed, then saw she was serious. “Are you nuts?”

  “I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “That ain’t gonna be enough time.” He indicated the door. “This thing locks when you close it. I can leave it cracked so—”

  “Thank you.” She pulled one of Rick Landry’s moves, closing the space between them, forcing him back without having to touch him. The last thing she saw of Phillip was the shocked expression on his face when she closed the door.

  The clicking of the latch echoed in the room. She caught a glimpse of the guard’s blue hat, just the rim, in the window, but nothing else.

  And then she turned around.

  Dwayne Mathison was sitting at the table. A bloody white bandage was wrapped around his head. One of his eyes was swollen shut. His nose was broken. He had pulled back his chair several feet, so it was almost touching the wall. Amanda recognized his clothes as the same he’d had on last week, though they were stained with blood and dirt now. His legs were wide apart. His arm hung over the back of the chair, fingers nearly touching the floor. She could see the Jesus tattoo on his chest. The mole on his cheek. The hate in his eyes.

  “Whatchu doin’ here, bitch?”

  It was a good question. Amanda had never before interviewed a suspect in a proper interrogation room. She was usually in the suspect’s home. His parents were in the room, sometimes a lawyer. The boys were always contrite, terrified to be talking to a police officer, though relieved it was just a woman. Their fathers assured Amanda that it would never happen again. Their mothers revealed salacious details about the girl who’d made the allegations. Generally, it was over in less than an hour and the boy was left to get on with his life.

  So what was she doing here?

  Amanda hugged her notebook to her chest, then regretted the move. Juice would think she was covering her breasts. He would think she was scared. Both of which were true, but she couldn’t let him know that. She dropped her arms as she walked to the table. The room was small. It was just a few steps. She dragged back the empty chair and sat down. Juice was watching her the way an animal studies prey. Amanda pulled the chair closer to the table, though every muscle in her body was tingling with the desire to flee.

  In seconds, he could lurch across the table and snap her neck. He could punch her. Beat her. Try to rape her again. Amanda had always worried that if something bad happened—a man broke into her apartment in the middle of the night, an attacker cornered her in an alley—she would not be able to scream. She hadn’t screamed before when Juice had threatened her. Could she scream now if he lunged for her? Would Phillip even hear her? If he did, would he be able to find his keys in time to stop the worst of it?

  Amanda couldn’t generate enough saliva in her mouth to swallow. She opened her notebook. “Mr. Mathison, I understand that you’ve confessed to the murder of Lucy Bennett?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Water dripped from a hole in the ceiling. The drops had puddled on the floor. There was a dead rat in the corner, its neck broken by a trap. Cobwebs filled the corners. The air stank of sweat mixed with the distinctive ammonia smell of dried urine.

  She said, “Mr. Math—”

  “Mm-mm.” Juice slowly licked his tongue along his top lip. “You still a fine-lookin’ woman.” He made a tsking noise. “Shoulda took you when I had the chance.”

  Incongruously, Amanda felt a smile wanting to come to her lips. She could hear Evelyn’s voice, the way she’d mimicked Juice when they were at the Varsity.

  Her tone was surprisingly strong when she said, “Well, you lost your chance.” Amanda clicked her pen so she could take notes. “What happened to Jane Delray?”

  He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan. “Why you askin’ after that bitch?” br />
  “I want to know where she is.”

  He held his hand up above his head and whistled like a dive-bombing airplane as he dropped it to the table.

  Amanda looked at his hand. Two of his fingers were taped together with surgical tape. There were no scratches on his hands, his bare arms. “You confessed to killing Lucy Bennett.”

  “I confessed to keepin’ my black ass outta the ’lectric chair.”

  “The death penalty is no longer legal.”

  “They say they gone bring it back for me.”

  Given the circumstances, Amanda didn’t doubt that the state would try. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before Old Sparky was powered back up again.

  She said, “We both know you didn’t kill that woman.”

  “Wished I woulda.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Why you here, bitch? Why you care what happen to a nigger?”

  “I don’t, actually.” Amanda was startled by the truth of her own words. “I care about the girls.”

  “ ’Cause they white.”

  “No.” Again, she told him the truth. “Because they’re girls. Because no one else cares about them.”

  He looked at her. Amanda hadn’t realized until that moment that Juice had been avoiding her eyes. She stared back at him, wondering if she was the first woman who’d had the courage to do so. He must have a mother somewhere. A sister. He couldn’t rape and whore out every woman he met.

  Juice tapped his hand on the table. Amanda didn’t look away, but Juice did. “You’re like her.”

  “Like who?”

  “Lucy.” He kept tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “She strong. Too strong. I break her down. But she always get back up.”

  “Was Kitty like that, too?”

  “Kitty.” He snorted. “That bitch near about broke me, you hear what I’m sayin’? Had to beat her down and keep her down.” He pointed at Amanda. “You run them gals long enough, you see the strongest one’s the one what’s gonna be most loyal. All’s you gotta do is find you way in.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever decide to trick out women.”

  He put his palms flat on the table and leaned toward her. “I trick you out, bitch. Gimme five minutes with that fine white ass.” He started thrusting his hips, banging against the table. “Dig my hands in that juicy white meat. Stick it in ya till ya cryin’.” He banged harder against the table, punctuating each thrust with a deep moan. It was a guttural sound that made her note the dark bruises on his throat.

  She asked, “Would you choke me?”

  “I choke you, bitch.” He pushed one last time against the table. “I choke you till you come so hard you pass out.”

  “Do you like being choked?”

  “Shit.” He crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps were huge. “Ain’t nobody chokin’ this brother.”

  Amanda remembered something Pete had said in the morgue. “Did you urinate on yourself?”

  “I ain’t piss myself.” He tilted up his chin defensively. “Who told you that?”

  Amanda felt a smug smile on her lips. “You just did.”

  He stared at the wall.

  “The apartment at Techwood. That’s Kitty’s, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I can stay here all day,” she told him, and in that moment, Amanda could see herself doing just that. Bubba Keller would have to drag her from this room. She would sit here staring down this disgusting pimp for as long as it took. “The apartment at Techwood belonged to Kitty, did it not?”

  Juice seemed to understand her resolve. “That’s all’a them girls’. She charge it out. Tryin’ to pimp ’em space. I put a stop to that.”

  Amanda couldn’t imagine another woman charging rent to whores, but in the last few days, her worldview had expanded considerably. “Tell me about Hank Bennett.”

  “What he tell you?”

  “You tell me about him.”

  “Fool came onto my corner trying to order me around.” His fist was clenched when he banged it on the table. “Man need to step back.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know, bitch. I ain’t keep a calendar.”

  Amanda made a slash mark on the paper. If she had a dollar for every time a man had called her “bitch” lately, she could retire. “Did Hank Bennett see you before or after Lucy disappeared?”

  His tongue darted out as he thought it over. “Before. Yeah, before. Bitch up and gone a week, two week later. I figure he took her. Lucy talk about him all the time.”

  Amanda’s dictation was rusty, but it came back to her as she scribbled notes across the page. “So, Hank Bennett approached you before Lucy disappeared?” Another lie they’d caught the lawyer in. “What did he want?”

  “Wanted to tell me my bidness. Brother better be glad I didn’t beat down his skinny white ass.”

  “What business?”

  “Told me cut Kitty loose. Said he’d pass me some bills if I stop givin’ her the Boy.”

  Amanda was sure she’d heard wrong. “Kitty? You mean Lucy.”

  “Naw, bitch. It was Kitty he wanted to talk about. Dude had a hard-on for her.”

  “Why would Hank Bennett care about Kitty?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, but still answered, “Her daddy some big-time lawyer. Disowned the bitch when he found out she was sippin’ some Juice.” He gave her a lurid grin, making sure she got his meaning. “She got another sister somewhere. She the good one. Kitty always been bad.”

  “Kitty’s father is Andrew Treadwell.”

  He nodded. “You finally gettin’ it, bitch. Ain’t the mayor tell you this already?”

  Amanda flipped back through her notes. “Hank Bennett offered you money to stop giving Kitty heroin.”

  “Why you keep repeatin’ everything I say?”

  “Because it doesn’t make sense,” Amanda admitted. “Hank Bennett comes to you about Kitty. He doesn’t ask about his sister? Ask to see her?” Juice shook his head. “He’s not worried about Lucy?” Again, Juice shook his head. “And, a week later, Lucy disappeared?”

  “Yeah, an’ about a week after—” He snapped his fingers. “Kitty gone.”

  Amanda remembered Jane’s words. “Just disappeared.”

  “Thass right.”

  “What about Mary?”

  He snorted. “Bitch gone, too. ’Bout two, three months later. Ain’t been a while since I lose that many girls at a go. Usually some other pimp tryin’ to poach me off.”

  “You had three girls disappear in as many months.” Amanda wasn’t asking him a question. She was trying to get her head around what had happened. “Did you ever see Lucy with a letter from her brother?”

  He gave a curt nod. “Had it in her purse.”

  “Can you read?”

  “Bitch, I ain’t ignert.”

  Amanda waited.

  “Some bullshit ’bout how he missed her when I knowed that ain’t the truth. Said he wanted to meet with her.” Juice thumped the table with his fingers. “Shee-it, brother wanna see her, he coulda spent five mo’ minutes on my corner. I tole him she be right there.”

  Amanda scribbled down his words as she tried to think through her next question. “Was there anyone hanging around who was …” “Scary” wasn’t the right word for a man like Juice. “Who wasn’t right? Someone who was dangerous or violent? Someone you wouldn’t trust with your girls?”

  “Bitch, I charge extry for that.” He smiled. One of his front teeth was missing. The gum was raw. “They some weird motherfuckers out there.” He cleared his throat. “ ’Scuse me.”

  Amanda nodded at the apology. “What weird people?”

  “They’s a dude likes to fist ’em.” He pumped his fist in the air. Amanda guessed he meant punching the girls. “They’s one use a knife, but he all right. He never stick nobody. Least not with the blade.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “They’s that tall dude runs the soup kitc
hen.”

  “I’ve heard about him.”

  “He real tight with the dude at the mission.”

  So, Trey Callahan had lied to them, too.

  “Dude always comin’ ’round at night, trying to preach to my gals.”

  “The man from the soup kitchen?” Juice nodded. “Were the girls ever afraid of him?”

  “Shit. They ain’t afraid’a nothin’ when I’m around. That’s my job, bitch.”

  She made yet another slash on the paper. “This man from the church came at night to your street corner and tried to preach to Lucy and Kitty and—”

  “Nah, they gone by then. Mary, too.” He sat up in his chair. “Lookit, that salvation shit okay during the day, but don’t come shootin’ off ’bout Jesus while I’m tryin’ to do my bidness. You feel me?”

  “I do.” Amanda leaned forward. “Tell me who killed Jane Delray.”

  “You get me outta here?”

  Amanda was getting good at this game, but she wasn’t quite there yet. Juice obviously read her expression.

  “Shit.” He slumped back in his chair. “You cain’t do nothin’, bitch.”

  “If I could find someone from City Hall to talk to you, could you tell him who killed Jane?”

  “Another slit?”

  “No, a man. Someone in charge.” Amanda didn’t know anyone downtown except for a bunch of secretaries. Still, she kept her shoulders straight, put some threat into her tone. “But you have to tell him something meaningful. You have to give him a name that can be followed up on. Otherwise, that deal you made with Butch and Landry goes out the window. I promise you, the state will bring back the death penalty. By the time it goes to the Supreme Court, you’ll be dead.”

  There was a tapping sound. His leg had started moving up and down. The heel of his patent leather shoe clicked against the concrete. “I gotta deal. Done made my confession.”

  “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Whatchu mean?”

  “I mean, you confessed to killing Lucy Bennett, not Jane Delray. Once I tell them about the mistake—” She shrugged. “I hope they remember to shave your head before they strap that metal cap on.”

  He was nervous. His breath whistled through his broken nose. “Whatchu mean, bitch?”