Criminal (Will Trent 6)

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“A month ago? Maybe more.”

That didn’t make sense. Amanda laid out Lucy Bennett’s license, then Mary Halston’s. “How about these girls?”

He leaned over the table and studied them one by one. He took his time. Again, his lips moved as he read the names. Amanda listened to his breathing, the steady inhale and exhale. She could see the top of his head. Dandruff dotted his light brown hair.

“Yes.” He looked up. “This girl. She was here a few times, but she favored the mission. I expect because she had a thing with Trey.” He was pointing to Mary Halston, the murder victim from last night. “This girl.” He pointed to Lucy. “I’m not sure about her. They both look very similar. They are both obviously drug addicts. It is the scourge of our generation.”

Evelyn verified, “You recognize Lucy Bennett and Mary Halston as girls who’ve used this soup kitchen?”

“I believe so.”

Evelyn was writing now. “And Mary was a favorite of Trey Callahan’s?”

“That’s correct.”

“When’s the last time you saw either Lucy or Mary?”

“A few weeks ago? Maybe a month?” Again, he studied the photos. “They both look very healthy in these photographs.” He looked back up, first at Evelyn, then Amanda. “You are both police officers, so I assume you are more accustomed to the ravages of drug abuse. These girls. These poor girls.” He sadly shook his head. “Drugs are a poison, and I do not know why our Lord caused it to be, but there is a certain type who succumbs to this temptation. They tremble before the drug when they should be trembling before the Lord.”

His voice resonated in the open room. Amanda could imagine him holding forth from the pulpit. Or the streets. “There’s a pimp whose street name is Juice.”

“I am familiar with that sinner.”

“He says you sometimes preach to the girls when they’re working?”

“I do the Lord’s work, no matter the danger.”

Amanda didn’t imagine he felt much danger, considering no sane person would be happy to run into a man as large as James Ulster in a dark alley. “Have you ever been to Techwood Homes?”

“On many occasions,” he answered. “I deliver soup to the shut-ins. Techwood is Mondays and Fridays. Grady Homes is Tuesdays and Thursdays. There is another kitchen that services Perry Homes, Washington Heights—”

“Thank you,” Evelyn interrupted, “but we’re just concerned with Techwood.”

“I’ve heard that there have been some awful things happening there.” He gripped his hands together. “It tries the soul to see how those people live. But I suppose we all shuffle off the same mortal coil.”

Amanda felt her heart stop mid-beat. “Trey Callahan used that same phrase with us. It’s from Shakespeare.”

“Is it?” he asked. “Perhaps I picked up his manner of speaking. As I said, he was incessant on the topic.”

“Do you remember a working girl named Jane Delray?”

“No. Is she in trouble?”

“How about Hank Bennett? Have you ever met him?” Evelyn waited, but Ulster shook his head. “He’s got hair about your color. Around six feet tall. Very well dressed.”

“No, sister, I’m afraid I do not.”

The radio in Evelyn’s purse clicked. There was a muffled call, followed by a series of clicks. Evelyn reached into the bag to turn down the sound, but then stopped when her name came through the speaker.

“Mitchell?” Amanda recognized Butch Bonnie’s voice.

“Excuse me,” she said, taking out the radio. “Mitchell, ten-four.”

Butch ordered, “Twenty-five me your location. Now.”

There were more clicks on the radio—a collective response of laughter. Butch was telling them both to meet him outside.

Evelyn told Ulster, “Thank you for speaking with us. I hope you won’t mind if we call with any questions?”

“Of course not. Shall I give you my telephone number?”

Her pen nearly disappeared in Ulster’s left hand. He gripped it in his fist, not between his thumb and index finger, as he wrote down the seven digits. Above this, he carefully wrote his name. It was more like a child’s scrawl. The ballpoint tore through the paper on the last letter.

“Thank you,” Evelyn said. She was visibly reluctant to take back the pen. She slid on the cap and closed her notebook. Ulster stood when they did. He offered his hand to each of them. They were all sweating in the heat, but there was something particularly clammy about Ulster’s skin. He held their hands delicately, but for Amanda’s part, it only served to remind her that he could crush the bones if he so chose.

Evelyn’s breathing was shallow as they walked toward the door. “Jesus,” she whispered. As relieved as they both were to be away from Ulster, the sight of Butch Bonnie almost sent Amanda back inside. He was obviously livid.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” He grabbed Evelyn by the arm and dragged her down the cinder-block stairs.

Amanda said, “Don’t you—”

“Shut your face!” He pushed Amanda against the wall. His fist reared back, but stopped short of punching her. “How many times do you have to be told?” he demanded. “Both of you!” He stepped back. His feet scuffed across the sidewalk. “Jesus Christ.”

Amanda pressed her hand to her chest. She could feel her heart punching against her rib cage. And then she saw that Evelyn had fallen. She ran to help her up.

“No.” Evelyn stood up on her own. She slammed both hands into Butch’s chest.

“What the—” He stumbled back.

She slammed him again. Then again, until he was up against the wall. “If you ever touch me like that again, I will shoot you in the face. Do you hear me?”

Butch looked dumbstruck. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Evelyn paced back and forth. She was like a caged animal. “I am so sick of you assholes.”

“Me?” Butch took out his cigarettes. “Whadabout you broads? How many times you gotta be told to leave this be?” He dug his finger into the pack. “I tried to be nice. I tried to warn you easy. And then I hear you’re snooping around my CI. Making trouble. Mr. Nice Guy ain’t workin’. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Who’s your CI?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

Evelyn slapped away the cigarettes. She was so gripped by anger she had trouble speaking. “You know that dead woman is Jane Delray.”

His eyes cut to the side. “I don’t know shit.”

“Who told you to say it was Lucy Bennett?”

“Ain’t nobody tellin’ me to do nothin’.”

Evelyn wouldn’t give up. “Juice didn’t kill Lucy Bennett.”

“You best be careful pining after some nigger in jail.” He gave her a condescending look as he picked up his Marlboros. “Jesus, Ev. Why you comin’ off like some kind of bull dyke?” He looked to Amanda for help. “Come on, Wag. Talk some sense into Annie Oakley here.”

Amanda tasted bile in her throat. She threw out the filthiest thing she could think of. “You motherfucker.”