Finney took a second to regroup. "I'm not denying this man is an asshole, but even assholes have rights."

Amanda gave Simkov an icy smile. "Only if they're United States citizens."

"Unbelievable, Amanda." Finney seemed genuinely disgusted. "This is going to catch up with you one day. You know that, don't you?"

Amanda was having some kind of staring contest with Simkov, blocking out everything else in the room.

Finney turned his attention to Faith. "Are you all right with this, Officer? Are you okay with your partner beating up a witness?"

Faith wasn't at all okay with it, but now was not the time to equivocate. "It's Special Agent, actually. 'Officer' is generally what you call patrolmen."

"This is great. Atlanta's the new Guantanamo Bay." He turned back to Simkov. "Otik, don't let them push you around. You have rights."

Simkov was still staring at Amanda, as if he thought he could break her somehow. His eyes moved back and forth, reading her resistance. Finally, he gave a tight nod. "Okay. I drop my lawsuit. You make this other stuff go away."

Finney didn't want to hear it. "As your lawyer, I am advising you to—"

"You're not his lawyer anymore," Amanda interrupted. "Isn't that right, Mr. Simkov?"

"Correct," he agreed. He crossed his arms, staring straight ahead.

Finney muttered another curse. "This isn't over."

"I think it is," Amanda told him. She picked up the stack of pages detailing the suit against the city.

Finney cursed her again, adding Faith for good measure, then left the room.

Amanda tossed the lawsuit into the trashcan. Faith listened to the noise the pages made as they fluttered through the air. She was glad that Will was not here, because as much as Faith's conscience was bothering her over this, Will's was nearly killing him. Finney was right. Will was getting away with a beat-down thanks to a technicality. If Faith hadn't been in that hallway yesterday, she might be feeling differently right now.

She summoned the image of Balthazar Lindsey lying in the recycling bin a few feet from his mother's penthouse apartment and all that came to mind were excuses for Will's behavior.

"So," Amanda said. "Shall we assume there's honor among criminals, Mr. Simkov?"

Simkov nodded appreciatively. "You are a very hard woman."

Amanda seemed pleased with the assessment, and Faith could see how thrilled she was to be back in an interrogation room again. It probably bored her to death sitting through organizational meetings and looking at budgets and flowcharts all day. No wonder terrorizing Will was her only hobby.

She said, "Tell me about the scam you had going on in the apartments."

He gave an open-handed shrug. "These rich people are always traveling. Sometimes, I rent out the space to someone. They go in. They do a little—" He made a screwing gesture with his hands. "Otik gets a little money. The maid's in the next day. Everyone is happy."

Amanda nodded, as if this was a perfectly understandable arrangement. "What happened with Anna Lindsey's place?"

"I figure, why not cash out? That asshole Mr. Regus in 9A, he knew something was up. He don't smoke. He come back from one of his business trips and there was a cigarette burn on his carpet. I saw it—barely there. No big deal. But, Regus caused some problems."

"And they fired you."

"Two week notice, good referral." He shrugged again. "I already got another job lined up. Bunch of townhouse over near the Phipps Plaza. Twenty-four-hour watch. Very classy place. Me and this other guy, we switch out. He takes days. I take the nights."

"When did you first notice Anna Lindsey was missing?"

"Always at seven o'clock, she comes down with the baby. Then one day, she's not there. I check my message box where the tenants leave me things, mostly complaints—can't get a window open, can't figure out the television, stuff that's not my job, right? Anyway, there's a note from Ms. Lindsey saying she's on vacation for two weeks. I figure she must have left. Usually, they tell me where they go, but maybe she thinks since I won't be here when she's back, it don't matter."

That jibed with what Anna Lindsey said. Amanda asked, "Is that how she usually communicated with you, through notes?"

He nodded. "She don't like me. Says I'm sloppy." His lip curled in disgust. "Made the building buy me a uniform so I look like a monkey. Made me say 'yes, ma'am' and 'no, ma'am' to her like I'm a child."

That sounded like the kind of thing their victim profile trended toward.

Faith asked, "How did you know she was gone?"

"I don't see her come downstairs. Usually, she go to the gym, she go to the store, she take the baby for walks. Wants help getting the stroller in and out of the elevator." He shrugged. "I think, 'she must be gone.' "

Amanda said, "So, you assumed Ms. Lindsey would be gone for two weeks, which coincided nicely with the date your employment would terminate."

"Easy peasy," he agreed.

"Who did you call?"

"This pimp. The dead guy." For the first time, Simkov seemed to lose a bit of his arrogance. "He's not so bad. They call him Freddy. I don't know his real name, but he was always honest with me. Not like some of the others. I tell him two hours, he stay two hours. He pay for the maid. That's it. Some of the others guys, they get a little pushy—try to negotiate, don't leave when they're supposed to. I push back. I don't call them when an apartment's available. Freddy, he film a music video up there once. I watch for it on the TV, but I don't see. Maybe he couldn't find an agent. Music is a hard business."

"The party at Anna Lindsey's got out of hand." Amanda stated the obvious.

"Yeah, out of hand," he agreed. "Freddy's a good guy. I don't go up there to check on them. Every time I'm in the elevator, someone say, 'Oh, Mr. Simkov, could you look at this in my apartment.' 'Could you water my plants?' 'Could you walk my dog?' Not my job, but they trap you like that, what can you say? 'Fuck off ?' No, you can't. So, I stay at my desk, tell them I can't do anything because my job is to watch the desk, not walk their puppy dogs. Right?"

Amanda said, "That apartment was a mess. It's hard to believe it got that bad in just a week."

He shrugged. "These people. They got no respect for nothing. They shit in the corner like dogs. Me, I'm not surprised. They're all fucking animals, do anything to get the drug in their arm."

"What about the baby?" Amanda asked.

"The whore—Lola. I thought she was going up there to do some business. Freddy was there. Lola got a soft spot for him. I didn't know he was dead. Or that they had trashed Ms. Lindsey's place. Obviously."

"How often was Lola going up there?"

"I don't keep up with it. Couple times a day. I figure she get a bump every now and then." He rubbed his hand under his nose, sniffing—the universal sign for snorting coke. "She not so bad. A good woman brought down by bad circumstance."

Simkov didn't seem to realize he was one of the bad circumstances. Faith asked, "Did you see anything unusual in the building over the last two weeks?"