Several police cruisers were blocking the path to their usual berm. Amanda parked behind a familiar Plymouth Fury. She glanced inside the car as she passed. Wadded-up packs of cigarettes. A half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker. Crushed cans of beer. She followed Evelyn toward the buildings. Again, Rick Landry was standing in the middle of the courtyard. His hands were on his hips. His face twisted with anger when he saw Amanda and Evelyn.
“Whatta I gotta do, beat it into you broads?” He looked ready to do just that, but Deena Coolidge stopped him.
“Y’all ready?”
Landry glared at her. “Ain’t nobody called for a pickaninny, Sapphire.”
She puffed out her chest. “You need to get your cracker ass out my face before I pimp you up to Reggie.”
Landry tried to stare her down, but Deena, who was at least a foot shorter than him, stood her ground. Landry finally relented, but not without mumbling “Cunts” as he stomped away.
Deena asked, “Y’all wondering what him and Butch are doing here when they’re both on day shift? Because I sure am.”
Amanda looked at Evelyn, who nodded. It did seem strange.
Deena said, “Pete’s around back with the body, but I’ve got somebody for you to talk to first.”
Neither of them spoke as they followed Deena into the building. The hall was packed with women and children dressed in housecoats and pajamas. Their faces were guarded and frightened. They had probably been settled down for the night when the police cars showed up. They’d all left their front doors open. The lights from the cruisers filled the apartments. Amanda was very conscious that hers and Evelyn’s were the only white faces as Deena took them deeper into the building.
Only one apartment door on the floor was closed. Deena knocked on it. They waited for a chain to slide back, deadbolts to turn. The old woman who opened the door was dressed in a black skirt and jacket. Her white blouse was crisply starched. She was wearing a fine black hat with a short veil that hung to the top of her eyebrows.
“Whatchu doin’ dressed up for church, Miss Lula?” Deena asked. “I told you these gals just want to talk. They ain’t gonna drag you down to the jail.”
The old woman stared at the floor. She was cowed by their presence, that much was evident. Even when she stepped back so that they could enter, it was obvious that she was doing so under great duress. Amanda felt deeply ashamed as she walked into the apartment.
Deena suggested, “Why don’t you get us some tea, dear?”
Miss Lula nodded as she headed into the other room. Deena indicated the couch, which was a pale yellow and absolutely spotless. In fact, the living room was remarkably tidy. The one chair that faced the small television had a ruffled skirt and a doily. Magazines were neatly stacked on the table. The rug on the floor was clean. Pictures of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Jack Kennedy faced each other on the wall. There were no cobwebs in the corners. Even the stench of the building had not managed to permeate the space.
Still, neither Evelyn nor Amanda sat down. They were too mindful of the setting. As spotless as this woman’s apartment seemed, it was still surrounded by filth. You might as well drag a clean blanket through a mud puddle and expect it to remain unscathed.
They heard a kettle start to boil in the kitchen.
Deena’s tone was firm. “Y’all best both be sitting your white asses down by the time she comes back in here.”
Deena took the chair by the television. Reluctantly, Evelyn sat on the couch. Amanda joined her, keeping her purse clutched in her lap. Both of them sat on the edge of the cushions—not from fear of contamination, but because they were on duty. Years of wearing utility belts around their waists had made it impossible for them to sit back in their seats.
Amanda asked, “Who called in the body?”
Deena nodded toward the kitchen. “Miss Lula did. She’s been here since they integrated the place. They moved her over from Buttermilk.”
“Why does she think we’re going to arrest her?”
“Because you’re white and you have a badge.”
Evelyn mumbled, “That’s never impressed anybody before.”
Miss Lula was back. She had taken off her hat, revealing a shock of white hair. The china cups and saucers on her silver tray rattled as she brought the set into the living room. Instinctively, Amanda stood to help. The tray was heavy. She lowered it to the coffee table. Deena relinquished her chair to the old woman. It was a neat trick. Deena carefully smoothed down the back of her pants, probably checking for insects. A roach traveled across the wall behind her. Deena shuddered.
“Would you ladies like some cookies?” Miss Lula offered. Her voice was unexpectedly refined. There was almost the tinge of an English accent to it, like Lena Horne’s.
Evelyn answered, “Thank you, no. We’ve just had supper.” She reached toward the teapot. “May I?”
Miss Lula nodded. Amanda watched Evelyn pour four cups of tea. It was the strangest thing she’d ever been a part of. Amanda had never been a guest in a black person’s home. Usually, the point of her visit was to get in and get out as quickly as possible. She felt as if she was in one of those Carol Burnett sketches that was trying for social commentary rather than humor.
Deena said, “Miss Lula used to be a teacher at the Negro school off Benson.”
Amanda offered, “My mother was a teacher. Elementary school.”
“That was my field as well,” Miss Lula answered. She took the cup and saucer Evelyn offered. Her hands were old, the knuckles swollen. There was a slight ash tone. She pursed her lips and blew on the tea to cool it.
Evelyn served Deena next, then Amanda.
“Thank you.” Amanda could feel the heat through the china, but she drank the scalding tea anyway, hoping the caffeine would help chase away the wine.
She looked up at the photos of Kennedy facing King, again taking in the orderly apartment that Miss Lula called home.
When Amanda had worked patrol, some of the men made a game of terrorizing these old people. They’d roll their cruisers up behind them in the street and purposefully backfire the car. Grocery bags were dropped. Hands flew into the air. Most of them would fall to the ground. The backfire sounded like a gunshot.
“Now.” Deena had waited until they’d all had some tea. “Miss Lula, if you could tell these women what you told me?”
The old woman cast down her eyes again. She was obviously troubled. “I heard a commotion in the back.”
Amanda realized the woman’s apartment faced the rear of the complex. It was the same area where Jane Delray had been found three days ago.
Miss Lula continued, “I peered out the window and saw the girl just lying there. She had obviously passed.” She shook her head. “Terrible sight. No matter their sins, no one deserves that.”
Evelyn asked, “Was there anyone else back there?”
“Not as far as I could tell.”
“Do you know what the noise was? The one that made you look out the window?”
“Perhaps it was the rear door banging open?” She didn’t seem sure, though she nodded as if that was the only explanation that made sense.
Amanda asked, “Have you noticed anyone strange hanging around?”
“No more so than usual. Most of these girls had evening visitors. They generally came in through the back door.”