He smiled. His bottom tooth was crooked. His lips were full. “May I help you, Officers?”

Both of them stood frozen for a second. Amanda reached into her purse, found her badge. She showed it to the man, though he already knew they were cops. Amanda just wanted to say the words. “I’m Detective Wagner. This is Detective Mitchell.”

“Please.” He gestured to the table. “Have a seat.”

He waited politely for them to sit, then took the bench across from them. Again, Amanda couldn’t help but make comparisons. The man was almost as wide as both of them put together. Just the sight of his hands gripped together on the table was menacing. He could probably easily wrap his fingers around their necks.

Evelyn took out her notebook. She asked, “What’s your name, sir?”

“James Ulster.”

“Do you know Trey Callahan?”

He sighed. His voice was so deep that it came out as more of a growl. “Is this about the money he stole?”

“He stole money?” Amanda asked, though it was obvious he had.

“Father Bailey is more mindful of public relations than I am,” Ulster explained. “One of the donors on the board noticed that some funds were missing. Trey was to be called to task first thing this morning. I gather he had other plans.”

Amanda remembered the phone call Callahan had gotten yesterday when they were in his office. The man had said a donor was on the line. She asked, “They’re certain it was Trey who was embezzling money?”

“I’m afraid so.” Ulster rested his hands on either side of the bench. He was slumped down, probably out of habit. Such a large man would be accustomed to people feeling intimidated. Though, considering he ran a soup kitchen for Atlanta’s huddled masses, his size was probably more of an advantage than not.

Amanda asked, “Do you have any idea where Callahan might have gone?”

Ulster shook his head. “I believe he has a fiancée.”

They would have to go to Georgia Baptist next, though Amanda was fairly certain that was a dead end. “You’re friends with Mr. Callahan?”

“Did he say that?”

Amanda lied. “He said that you were. Is that wrong?”

“We had theological discussions. We talked about many different things.”

“Shakespeare?” Amanda asked. It was a stab in the dark, but it worked.

“Sometimes,” Ulster admitted. “Many authors of the seventeenth century wrote in a coded language. It was not a time when subversives were rewarded.”

“As in Hamlet?” Evelyn asked.

“That’s not the best example, but—yes.”

“What about Ophelia?”

Ulster’s tone took a sharp edge. “She was a liar and a whore.”

Amanda felt Evelyn stiffen beside her. She said, “You seem sure of that.”

“I’m sorry, but I find the subject matter tiresome. Trey was obsessed with the story. You couldn’t often have a conversation without him quoting some obscure line.”

That seemed true enough. “Do you know why?”

“It’s no secret that he was particularly interested in fallen women. Redemption. Salvation. I’m sure you were treated to one of his lectures on how all of these girls can be saved. He was quite adamant about it, and took it very personally when they failed.” Ulster shook his head. “And of course, they do fail. They continually fail. It’s in their nature.”

Evelyn asked, “Did you ever see Trey acting inappropriately with the girls?”

“I wasn’t often at the mission. My work is here. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he availed himself. He stole money from a charitable organization. Why would he stop at exploiting fallen women?”

“Did you ever see him angry?”

“Not with my own eyes, but I heard that he had quite a temper. Some of the girls mentioned that he could be violent.”

Amanda glanced down at Evelyn’s notebook. She wasn’t writing down any of this. Maybe she was thinking the same thing as Amanda. Trey Callahan was probably stoned out of his mind most of his waking hours. It was hard to imagine him experiencing anger, let alone acting on it. Of course, they hadn’t pegged him for a thief, either.

Evelyn said, “Trey Callahan was writing a book.”

“Yes.” Ulster drew out the sibilant. “His opus. It wasn’t very good.”

“You read it?”

“A few pages. Callahan was more suited for the job he had than the job he wanted.” He smiled at them. “So many people would better know peace if they just accepted the plans the Lord has for them.”

Amanda got the feeling that Ulster was talking to them directly.

Evelyn must’ve felt the same. Her tone was curt when she asked, “What exactly do you do here, Mr. Ulster?”

“Well, we feed people, obviously. Breakfast is at six in the morning. The lunch hour begins at noon. You’ll find the tables start to fill up well before then.”

“Those are your only meals?”

“No, we provide dinner as well. That begins at five and is over promptly at seven.”

“And then they leave?”

“Most do. Some of them stay the evening. There are twenty beds upstairs. A shower, though the hot water is not reliable. Women only, of course.” He made to stand. “Shall I show you?”

“That’s not necessary.” Amanda didn’t want to be trapped upstairs with the man. She asked, “Do you stay here at night?”

“No, there’s no need for that. Father Bailey’s parish is down the street. He comes by at eleven every evening to lock them in, then he lets them out at six every morning.”

Amanda asked, “How long have you worked here?”

He thought it over. “It will be two years come fall.”

“What did you do before that?”

“I was a foreman at the railroad yard.”

Evelyn indicated the building. “You’ll forgive me for saying, but I can’t imagine the pay here is on par.”

“No, it is not, and what little I make I try to give back.”

“You don’t get paid for working here—” Evelyn did the math quickly. “Thirteen hours a day?”

“As I said, I take what I need. But it’s closer to sixteen hours a day. Seven days a week.” He gave an open-handed shrug. “Why would I need earthly riches when my rewards will be in heaven?”

Evelyn shifted on the bench. She seemed as uncomfortable as Amanda felt. “Did you ever meet a working girl named Kitty Treadwell?”

“No.” He stared at them blankly. “Not that I can recall, but we have many prostitutes here.”

Amanda unzipped her purse and found the license. She showed him Kitty’s photograph.

Ulster reached out for the paper. He was careful not to touch her hand. He studied the photograph, then his eyes shifted to the name and address. His lips moved silently, as if he was sounding out the words.

He finally said, “She looks markedly healthier in this photo. I suppose it was taken before she succumbed to the devil of her addiction.”

Evelyn clarified, “So you knew Kitty?”

“Yes, if not by name.”