“Trask,” Evelyn remembered. “That was the man he talked with at the Union Mission.”

“He said Trask or Trent,” Amanda corrected. The exchange stuck in her head because her mother’s maiden name was Trent.

“We have to call him something for now,” Evelyn pointed out.

“Trask,” Amanda suggested.

“Okay, Trask told Bennett that he gave the letter to Lucy, which means he must know Lucy. If he works at the Union Mission, he might know all of our girls. Oh, Amanda—” She sounded devastated. “Why didn’t we think to go to the Union Mission in the first place? All the hookers go there when they need a break. It’s their Acapulco.”

“The mission is just up the street,” Amanda reminded her. “We can still talk to Trask, see if he remembers anything about Lucy—or Jane.”

“If we’re lucky, they’ll tell us Lucy’s alive and well and on such-and-such corner, and why are people saying she’s been murdered.” Evelyn looked at her watch. “I have to check in at Model City, but I could meet you there in half an hour.”

“That should give me enough time to call the Housing Authority and figure out what I’m going to do with Peterson.”

“I’m sure Vanessa won’t mind taking him.”

Amanda tucked her pen back in her purse. “I feel that’s a bad situation brewing.”

“Maybe. Listen, I’ll try to question Hodge again, but I doubt that’ll get me anywhere.” She scooped up the pieces of construction paper and stacked them together. “I just have such a bad feeling about all of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think Lucy Bennett’s dead either way.”

“Possibly, but it could be drugs, not malfeasance.”

“Have you read about all those girls in Texas who disappeared around the I-45 corridor?”

“What?”

“A dozen or more,” Evelyn told her. “They’re not even sure where the bodies are.”

“Where do you hear these things?”

There was no shame in her smile. “True Crime magazine.”

Amanda sighed as she watched Evelyn climb into her station wagon. “I’ll see you at the mission.”

“Deal.” Evelyn slowly pulled out of the parking space. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about Vanessa,” she called through the open window. “Who do you think told me about the guy behind the counter at the Plaza Pharmacy?”

“Mandy!” Vanessa called as soon as she walked into the station.

Amanda pushed her way through the crowd. The station was full. Roll call was a few minutes off. Amanda glanced into the sergeant’s office, but it was empty.

“Hurry!” Vanessa was sitting in back again, practically bouncing in her chair. She was wearing slacks and a flowery blouse. Her gun was holstered on her hip. She was dressed in men’s shoes. Amanda was beginning to wonder if she was worried about the wrong sex where Vanessa was concerned. At least she was still wearing a bra.

“Lookit what I got.” Vanessa held up a credit card as if it was a bar of gold. Amanda recognized the logo of the Franklin Simon department store. And then her jaw dropped at the punch-typed gold letters spelling out VANESSA LIVINGSTON underneath.

“How did you …” Amanda sank down in her chair. She was almost afraid to touch the card. Then she did. “Is it real?”

“Yep.” Vanessa beamed.

Amanda could not stop staring at the card. “Is this a joke?” She glanced around to see if anyone was watching. No one seemed to care. “How did you get this?”

“Rachel Foster over in dispatch told me about it. All you have to do is show them six months’ worth of pay stubs.”

“Are you kidding me?” Amanda hadn’t been able to get her apartment without Duke guaranteeing the rent. If not for the city providing her a car, she’d be on foot. “They just gave it to you? Just like that?”

“That’s right.”

“They didn’t ask to speak to your husband or your father or—”

“Nope.”

Amanda was still dubious. She handed back the card. Franklin Simon was all right, but they were doomed to bankruptcy if they were handing out credit so freely. “Listen, can you do me a favor today and ride with Peterson?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

The guttural sound of someone vomiting filled the room. It was joined by other men making similar disgusting noises. Butch Bonnie walked into the station, his fists held up as if he was Muhammad Ali. Amanda had forgotten how ill he’d been at the crime scene last Friday. Obviously, the rest of the squad had not. People clapped and laughed. There were even cheers from the black side of the room. Butch did a sort of victory spin as he made his way toward Amanda.

He leaned on the table. “Hey, gal, you got my stuff for me?”

Amanda reached into her bag for the typed report. She dropped the pages on the table beside him.

“Why you bein’ so cold?” he asked. “You on the rag?”

“It’s what your partner did to Evelyn Mitchell,” Amanda shot back. “He’s an animal.”

Butch scratched the side of his cheek. He looked rough. His clothes were wrinkled. His face was unshaven. There was a distinct odor of alcohol and stale cigarettes sweating from his pores.

Amanda stared straight ahead. “Is there anything else?”

“Jesus, Mandy. Cut him some slack. His wife’s been giving him enough crap at home. He don’t need to come to work and catch lip off another skirt.”

She forced herself not to soften. “Your notes had a factual error.”

Butch tossed a cigarette into his mouth. “Whattaya talkin’ about?”

“You said you ID’d Lucy Bennett off a license in her purse. The evidence receipt didn’t list a license of any type.”

“Shit,” he mumbled, then, “S’cuse the language.” He skimmed his notebook, compared it to her typed report. “Yeah, I see it.”

“How did you ID the victim?”

He lowered his voice. “Off a CI.”

“Who?”

“Never you mind who,” he told her. “Just fix the report.”

“You know they can’t change the evidence receipt. The carbons are in triplicate.”

“Then change the report so it says someone recognized her.” He handed back the typed report. “There was a witness on scene. Call him Jigaboo Jones. I don’t care. Just make it work.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “You’re the one whose signature goes at the bottom.”

He looked nervous, but said, “Yeah, I’m sure. Just do it.”

“Butch—” She stopped him before he could leave. “How did Hank Bennett find out his sister was dead? You usually specify that in your notes, but this time, there’s nothing.” Amanda pressed a bit harder. “Lucy didn’t have a record, so it seems strange that you and Landry were able to locate next of kin so quickly.”

He stared at her, unblinking. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. She didn’t know if Butch was just now asking himself the question or wondering why Amanda had posed it. Finally, he told her, “I don’t know.”