Criminal

they could see every corner of the room. Amanda followed her outside. The sidewalk was empty. No one was in the parking lot. They even checked behind the building. “Well, at least he didn’t lie to us.”
    “That we know of.” Amanda walked back toward the Plymouth. The inside of the car was already baking. She turned the key in the ignition. “I’m so sick and tired of being in this car.”
    “You never really see Columbo driving anywhere.”
    “I guess Ironside doesn’t count.”
    “I’d like to see what Techwood Homes would make of a cripple in a bread truck.”
    Amanda pulled out onto the street. “Pepper Anderson just magically appears wherever she needs to be.”
    “One week, she’s a nurse at the hospital. Next week, she’s racing on a speedboat. Then she’s a go-go dancer, then a flight attendant flirting with some dreamy pilot. Hey—”
    “Shut up.”
    Evelyn chuckled as she leaned her arm on the door. They were both quiet as Amanda drove the few blocks up to Juniper Street.
    She asked, “Left? Right?”
    “Pick one.”
    Amanda turned left. She slowed the car, checking each building on the left as Evelyn scanned the right.
    They were almost to Pine Street when Evelyn said, “That must be it.”
    The building was derelict, nothing to indicate it was a church except the large wooden cross stuck in the small patch of yard. It was painted black. Someone had thought to put nails where Jesus’s hands and feet would’ve been. Little red dots of paint indicated His suffering.
    “What a dump,” Evelyn said.
    She was right. The brick façade was crumbling. There were large vertical cracks in the mortar. Graffiti riddled the stoop, which was constructed of dry-stacked cinder blocks. Two of the four downstairs windows were boarded over, but the corresponding windows up top seemed intact.
    They both got out of the car and headed toward the building. Amanda felt a breeze from a car passing in the street. It was an Atlanta Police cruiser. The blue light flashed once in greeting, but the driver didn’t stop.
    The front door to the soup kitchen was open. Amanda smelled herbs and spices as soon as she crossed the threshold. Picnic tables filled the room. Plates and bowls were laid out. Napkins and spoons.
    “No sharp objects,” Evelyn noted.
    “Probably wise.” Amanda raised her voice. “Hello?”
    “Just a minute,” a gruff voice called from the back. They heard pots clattering. Heavy footsteps across the floor. The man came out of the kitchen. Amanda felt gripped by an unexpected fear. They’d learned at the academy that the average door was six feet eight inches high and thirty inches wide. It was a good gauge to estimate a person’s height and weight. The man filled the kitchen doorway. His shoulders were almost as wide as the space between the jambs. His head nearly touched the top of the opening.
    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