That would make sense. None of the men probably wanted to be seen. Amanda asked, “Did you recognize the girl you saw out back?”
“She’s from the top floor. I don’t know her name. But I said from the beginning that they should not have been allowed to live here.”
Deena supplied, “Because they’re prostitutes, not because they’re white.”
Miss Lula said, “They were operating their business out of the apartment. That is contrary to the housing laws.”
Evelyn put down her cup of tea. “Did you see any of their customers?”
“Occasionally. As I said, they mostly used the back door. Especially the white men.”
“They saw both white and black men?”
“Frequently one after the other.”
They were all silent as they considered the statement.
Evelyn asked, “How many women were living up there?”
“At first it was the young one. She said her name was Kitty. She seemed nice enough. She gave candy to some of the children, which was allowed until we realized what she was doing up there.”
“And then?” Amanda asked.
“And then another woman moved in. This was at least a year and a half ago, mind you. The second girl was white, too. Looked very similar to Kitty. I never got her name. Her visitors were not as discreet.”
“Is that the woman you saw through your window tonight? Kitty?”
“No, a third one. I’ve not seen Kitty in a while. Nor have I seen the second one in some time. These girls are very transitory.” She paused, then added, “Lord help them. It’s a difficult path they’ve chosen.”
Amanda remembered the licenses she’d tucked into her purse. She unzipped her bag and pulled them out. “Do you recognize any of these girls?”
The old woman took the licenses. Her reading glasses were neatly folded on the side table, resting atop a well-read Bible. They all watched as she unfolded the glasses, slid them onto her face. Carefully, Miss Lula studied each license, giving each girl her undivided attention. “This one,” she said, holding out the license for Kathryn Treadwell. “This is Kitty, but I assume you know that by her name.”
Amanda said, “We’ve been led to believe that Kitty was renting out the space to other girls.”
“Yes, that would make sense.”
“Did you ever talk to her?”
“Once. She seemed to think very highly of herself. Apparently, her father is very politically connected.”
“She said that to you?” Evelyn asked. “Kitty told you who her father was?”
“Not in so many words, but yes. She made it clear she didn’t really belong here. But then, do any of us?”
Amanda couldn’t answer the question. “Do the other girls look familiar?”
The woman scanned the license again. She held up Jane Delray’s. “The quality of men changed quite a bit for this one. She was not as discriminating as—” She held up Mary Halston’s photo. “This one had a lot of repeat customers, though I would not call them gentlemen. She’s the girl out back.” She read the name. “Donna Mary Halston. Such a pretty name considering the things she did.”
Amanda heard Evelyn suck in her breath. They were both thinking of the same question. Amanda asked, “You said Mary had repeat business?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Did you ever see a white man who was about six feet tall, sandy blond hair, long sideburns, wearing a sharply tailored suit, probably in some shade of blue?”
Miss Lula glanced at Deena. When she handed back the licenses to Amanda, her expression was blank. “I’ll have to think on that. Let me get back to you tomorrow.”
Amanda felt her brow furrow. Either the wine was wearing off or the tea was kicking in. Miss Lula’s apartment was at the end of the hallway. It was at least ten yards from the stairwell, even farther from the back door. Unless the old woman spent her days sitting behind the building, there was no way she could note the comings and goings of the girls or their visitors.
Amanda opened her mouth to speak, but Deena interrupted her.
“Miss Lula,” she said. “We appreciate your time. You’ve got my number. Get back to me on that question.” She put her saucer down on the tray. When Evelyn and Amanda didn’t move, she grabbed their teacups and placed them beside hers. “We can let ourselves out.” She did everything but clap her hands to get them moving.
Amanda led the way, clutching her purse to her chest. She was going to turn to say goodbye, but Deena pushed them out the door.
The hallway had emptied. Still Amanda kept her voice low. “How could she—”
“Give her until tomorrow,” Deena said. “She’ll find out whether or not your mystery man was here.”
“But how could she—”
“She’s the queen bee,” Deena told her, leading them up the hallway. She didn’t stop until she reached the exit door. They stood in the same spot where Rick Landry had threatened Evelyn. “What Miss Lula told you isn’t what she’s seen. It’s what she’s heard.”
“But she didn’t—”
“Rule number one of the ghetto: find the oldest biddy been around the longest. She’s the one running the place.”
“Well,” Evelyn said, “I did wonder why she had a shotgun under the couch.”
Amanda asked, “What?”
“That thing was loaded, too.” Deena pushed open the door.
The crime scene was cordoned off with yellow tape. There were no lights back here, or at least no lights that were functioning. The bulbs on the light poles had all been broken, probably with rocks. Six patrolmen took care of the problem. They stood in a ring around the body, the butts of their Kel-Lites resting on their shoulders to illuminate the area.
The grounds behind the building were as desolate as the front. Red Georgia clay was packed hard by the constant pounding of bare feet. There were no flowers back here. No grass. One lone tree stood with its tired branches hanging down. Just below the tree was the body. Pete Hanson blocked the view with his wide frame. Beside him was a young man of about the same height and stature. Like Pete, he was wearing a white lab coat. He tapped Pete on the shoulder and nodded toward the women.
Pete stood up. He had a grim look on his face. “Detectives. I’m glad you’re here, though I say that with reservations given the circumstances.” He indicated the young man. “This is one of my pupils, Dr. Ned Taylor.”
Taylor gave them a stern nod. Even in the low illumination, Amanda could see the green tint to his skin. He looked as if he might be ill. Evelyn wasn’t much better.
Deena suggested, “Pete, why don’t you run Amanda through this?”
Amanda supposed she should feel proud of her lack of squeamishness, but it was starting to feel like one more secret she would have to keep about herself.
Evelyn volunteered, “I’ll go check the apartment. Maybe Butch and Landry missed something.”
Deena harrumphed. “I’d bet my next paycheck on it.”
“This way, my dear.” Pete cupped his hand beneath Amanda’s elbow as he led her toward the dead woman. The six officers holding flashlights seemed puzzled that Amanda was there, though none of them asked questions, probably in deference to Pete.