Amanda looked down at their hands. Evelyn’s were so much more elegant than her own. “You’ve never called me Mandy before.”

“You don’t really seem like one.”

Amanda didn’t feel like one anymore. Did a Mandy go into a jailhouse and rattle a pimp? Did a Mandy stand up to bullies and call them nasty names?

Evelyn said, “You know, I was so scared of you when Hodge first sent us on that call.”

Amanda didn’t have to ask why. If this week had taught her anything, it was that the Wagner name was not the asset she once believed.

Evelyn said, “But you turned out to be so swell. If there’s anything good that came out of this, it’s our friendship.”

Amanda had been fighting weepiness all night. She could only nod.

Evelyn squeezed her hand before letting go. “I don’t have many friends. Any friends, really.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, I used to have lots of them.” She twisted her fingers into her hair. “Bill and I would go to parties every weekend. Two or three. Sometimes four.” She let out a long sigh. “Everyone thought it was a gas when I joined the force, but then they saw I wasn’t going to quit and suddenly there was nothing we could talk about. I didn’t want to swap recipes or plan bake sales. They couldn’t understand why I would want to do a man’s job. You should hear my mother-in-law on the subject.” She laughed ruefully. “This job changes you. It changes how you think, how you see the world. I don’t care what the boys say. We are cops. We live it and breathe it as much as they do.”

“You don’t see Butch and Landry out here right now.”

“No, they’re probably home with their families.”

Amanda doubted that. “Their mistresses, more likely.”

“Hey, that’s him.” They saw Ulster locking the front door of the building. The darkness did him no favors. He was a hulking man. Amanda could not imagine anyone putting up much of a struggle against such raw power.

He glanced up the street. Both Amanda and Evelyn ducked, but Ulster didn’t seem to notice the red station wagon, or if he did, he didn’t think much of it. In retrospect, the car—with its children’s toys in the back and crayons melted into the carpet—was the perfect cover.

Amanda held her breath as she waited for Ulster to reappear. It felt like hours but was only minutes before Evelyn finally said, “Here he comes.”

The green van turned onto Juniper. They stayed hunched down as it passed. Evelyn cranked the key. The engine sputtered, then caught. She pushed the knob to make sure the headlights were off, then swung the nose out into the street and smoothly entered the opposite lane.

“You’re getting better at this,” Amanda said.

“Last hurrah,” she muttered.

There were no streetlights on Juniper. The moon was enough to drive by, and where she couldn’t see, Evelyn coasted her way through.

Ulster took a left onto Piedmont Avenue. He drove deep into Bedford Pine. The stench of Buttermilk Bottom filled the car, but they kept the windows down.

“Where is he going?” Evelyn asked.

Amanda shook her head. She had no idea.

The van braked at the last minute, taking a sharp turn onto Ralph McGill. Amanda directed, “Cut over to Courtland.”

Evelyn had to reverse to make the turn. “Do you think he spotted us?”

“I don’t know.” Their headlights were still off. The car’s interior was dark. “Maybe he’s just being careful.”

“Why would he be careful?” Evelyn sucked in her breath. The green van was up ahead. “There he is.”

They followed the van up Courtland. The road was a straight shot. Evelyn hung back at least a hundred yards. When the van turned onto Pine, the lights from Crawford Long Hospital illuminated the interior. They saw Ulster’s unmistakable frame. Evelyn slowed, peering down the street before making the turn to follow him. The lights from the expressway made the going more difficult. He turned onto Spring Street.

“Evelyn,” Amanda said.

“I know.” She followed him up North Avenue. Past the Varsity. Over the expressway. He was going to Techwood. “Get my radio.”

Amanda found Evelyn’s purse on the back seat. The revolver was cold in her hands. She passed this to Evelyn, who kept one hand on the wheel as she slid the gun underneath her leg.

Amanda clicked the radio. “Dispatch?”

There was no answer.

“Dispatch, this is unit sixteen. Over?”

The radio clicked. “Unit twenty-three to unit sixteen,” a man’s voice said. “You gals need some help?”

Amanda gripped the radio in her hand. She had called for dispatch, not some hillbilly out on patrol.

“Copy sixteen?” the man asked. “What’s your locale?”

Amanda spoke through gritted teeth. “Techwood Homes.”

“Repeat, please.”

Amanda enunciated the words. “Tech. Wood. Homes.”

“Copy that. Perry Homes.”

“Jesus,” Evelyn hissed. “He thinks this is a joke.”

Amanda clutched the radio as hard as she could, wanting to break it over the man’s head. She put her finger to the button, but couldn’t bring herself to press it.

“Amanda,” Evelyn mumbled. Her voice had a tone of warning.

Up ahead, the green van didn’t slow to turn on Techwood Drive. Instead, it continued straight, going into the heart of the ghetto.

“This isn’t good,” Evelyn said. “There’s no reason for him to be here.”

Amanda didn’t bother to vocalize her agreement. They were in a part of town that no one—black, white, cop, or criminal—willingly entered after dark.

The van turned again. Evelyn slowed, nosing into the turn, making sure they weren’t sitting ducks. Just ahead, they saw the van’s taillights glowing softly. Ulster obviously knew where he was going. His pace was slow and deliberate.

Amanda tried the radio again. “Dispatch, sixteen going north on Cherry.”

The man in unit twenty-three answered. “What’s that, sixteen? You wanna gimme your cherry?”

There was more clicking as the radio was jammed.

Dispatch cut through the chatter. “Ten-thirty-four, all units. Sixteen, repeat your ten-twenty.”

Evelyn said, “That’s Rachel Foster.” The women in dispatch were the only ones who could override the nonsense. Evelyn grabbed the radio. “Sixteen heading north on Cherry. Possible thirty-four on a green Dodge van. Georgia license plate—” She squinted at the van. “Charlie, Victor, William, eight-eight-eight.”

Rachel said, “Verify ten-twenty, unit sixteen?”

Amanda took the radio so Evelyn could return both hands to the wheel. “Verify Cherry Street, Dispatch. Heading north.”

“Are you kidding me?” Rachel’s tone was terse. She knew the streets better than most cops on the road. “Sixteen?”

The car was silent. They both stared at the green van heading deep into the ghetto. Was Ulster leading them into a trap?

“Sixteen?” Rachel repeated.

Amanda said, “Verify heading North on Cherry.”

Static filled the seconds. Rachel said, “Give me five minutes. Hold your location. Repeat, hold.”