Criminal

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.”
    “When’s the last time you saw her?”
    “A month ago? Maybe more.”
    That didn’t make sense. Amanda laid out Lucy Bennett’s license, then Mary Halston’s. “How about these girls?”
    He leaned over the table and studied them one by one. He took his time. Again, his lips moved as he read the names. Amanda listened to his breathing, the steady inhale and exhale. She could see the top of his head. Dandruff dotted his light brown hair.
    “Yes.” He looked up. “This girl. She was here a few times, but she favored the mission. I expect because she had a thing with Trey.” He was pointing to Mary Halston, the murder victim from last night. “This girl.” He pointed to Lucy. “I’m not sure about her. They both look very similar. They are both obviously drug addicts. It is the scourge of our generation.”
    Evelyn verified, “You recognize Lucy Bennett and Mary Halston as girls who’ve used this soup kitchen?”
    “I believe so.”
    Evelyn was writing now. “And Mary was a favorite of Trey Callahan’s?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “When’s the last time you saw either Lucy or Mary?”
    “A few weeks ago? Maybe a month?” Again, he studied the photos. “They both look very healthy in these photographs.” He looked back up, first at Evelyn, then Amanda. “You are both police officers, so I assume you are more accustomed to the ravages of drug abuse. These girls. These poor girls.” He sadly shook his head. “Drugs are a poison, and I do not know why our Lord caused it to be, but there is a certain type who succumbs to this temptation. They tremble before the drug when they should be trembling before the Lord.”
    His voice resonated in the open room. Amanda could imagine him holding forth from the pulpit. Or the streets. “There’s a pimp whose street name is Juice.”
    “I am familiar with that sinner.”
    “He says you sometimes preach to the girls when they’re working?”
    “I do the Lord’s work, no matter the danger.”
    Amanda didn’t imagine he felt much danger, considering no sane person would be happy to run into a man as large as James Ulster in a dark alley. “Have you ever been to Techwood Homes?”
    “On many occasions,” he answered. “I deliver soup to the shut-ins. Techwood is Mondays and Fridays. Grady Homes is Tuesdays and Thursdays. There is another kitchen that services Perry Homes, Washington Heights—”
    “Thank you,” Evelyn interrupted, “but we’re just concerned with Techwood.”
    “I’ve heard that there have been some awful things happening there.” He gripped his hands together. “It tries the soul to see how those people live. But I suppose we all shuffle off the same mortal coil.”
    Amanda felt her heart stop mid-beat. “Trey Callahan used that same phrase with us. It’s from Shakespeare.”
    “Is it?” he asked. “Perhaps I picked up his manner of speaking. As I said, he was incessant on the topic.”
    “Do you remember a working girl named Jane Delray?”
    “No. Is she in trouble?”
    “How about Hank Bennett? Have you ever met him?” Evelyn waited, but Ulster shook his head. “He’s got hair about your color. Around six feet tall. Very well dressed.”
    “No, sister, I’m afraid I do not.”
    The radio in Evelyn’s purse clicked. There was a muffled call, followed by a series of clicks. Evelyn reached into the bag to turn down the sound, but then stopped when her name came through the speaker.
    “Mitchell?” Amanda recognized Butch Bonnie’s voice.
    “Excuse me,” she said, taking out the radio. “Mitchell, ten-four.”
    Butch ordered, “Twenty-five me your location. Now.”
    There were more clicks on the radio—a collective response of