Criminal

into his hand as he stared at the passing cars. They were on Peachtree Road, stuck in the patch of traffic near one of the many strip malls.
    Amanda turned down the volume on the radio. Sinatra’s voice mellowed even more. She put her hand back on the wheel. The other rested in the sling that was strapped around her shoulder and waist.
    She said, “It’s supposed to get cold this weekend.”
    Her throat sounded raw, probably from talking nonstop on her BlackBerry for the last twenty minutes. Hotel security. The Atlanta Police Department. Her own agents at the GBI. No one was going to skate on missing the fact that Ulster’s morning trips to the gym were simply an excuse for him to gain access to the stairs that led to the sub-basement. How many times had he gone down there to hurt her? How many opportunities to stop him had been missed?
    The girl had been held at least a week. She was dehydrated. Starved. Mutilated. God knows what else.
    Amanda said, “Of course, you can’t trust the weatherman. Never could.”
    Will still didn’t answer.
    The car accelerated as they drove past Amanda’s condo. The Regal Park complex was nice, but paled in comparison to its neighbors. They were in the Buckhead fingerbowl. Habersham Road, Andrews Drive, Peachtree Battle—residences on these streets started at two million dollars and jumped sharply north. The area contained the most expensive real estate in the city. The zip code was listed among the top ten wealthiest in the country.
    “We could use some rain.”
    Will looked at the side-view mirror as they approached the heart of Buckhead. An Atlanta PD cruiser was following them. Amanda hadn’t told him why and Will couldn’t bring himself to ask her. His breathing was shallow. His palms were clammy. There was no explanation for his feelings, just that he knew deep in his soul that something bad was about to happen.
    Amanda slowed the car. Horns blared as she took an illegal turn onto West Paces Ferry Road. Her lips parted, but only to take a breath.
    He waited for her to say something more about the weather, but her mouth remained closed, her eyes on the road ahead of them.
    Will stared out the window again. The dread was making him feel sick. She’d already surprised him once today. It was a cruel thing to do. The shock had almost killed him. What else did she have planned?
    Amanda pointed to a sixties-style house with fake Tara columns. The Governor’s Mansion. “A tornado cut straight through here a few months before you were born. Took the roof off, cut through Perry Homes.”
    Will wasn’t going to take the bait. “What will happen to his body?”
    She didn’t ask whom he meant. “No one will claim him. He’ll be buried in a pauper’s grave.”
    “He has money.”
    “Do you want it?”
    “No.” He didn’t want anything from his father. Will would live on the streets again before he took a dime of the man’s blood money.
    Amanda slowed down for another turn. Will finally asked the question. “Where are we going?”
    She signaled for the turn. “Don’t you know?”
    He studied the street sign. The X in the middle gave it away. Tuxedo Road. They were in the wealthiest part of the wealthiest section. Two million dollars would probably be just enough to cover property taxes for one estate.
    “No?” she asked.
    Will shook his head.
    She made the turn. The car traveled several more yards before she said, “Your juvenile records are sealed.”
    “I know.”
    “You don’t have your father’s name.”
    “Or my mother’s.” Will loosened the knot in his tie. He couldn’t get enough air. “That reporter with the AJC . Faith’s ex-boyfriend. He called you—”
    “Because I worked on the original case.” Amanda glanced at him. “I’m the one who put your father in jail the first time.”
    “No, you didn’t. Butch Bonnie and—”
    “Rick Landry.” She braked for a steep curve. “They were the homicide detectives. I was in what was euphemistically called Vagina Crimes. If it went into a vagina or came out of one, that was my case.” She glanced over again, but only so she could enjoy his reaction. “Evelyn and I did all the work. Butch and Landry took all the credit. Don’t be so shocked. It was a common occurrence. I hazard to say it’s still going on.”
    Will couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. It was too much to take on board. Too much information. Instead, he stared at the mansions rolling by. Castles. Mausoleums. Finally, he