[Georgia 03] Fallen

in a group of thirty that graduated that year.” There was a fond smile on her lips. “We were ready to change the world.”
    Will knew better than to say what he was thinking, which was that Amanda was a hell of a lot older than she looked.
    She obviously guessed his thoughts. “Give me a break, Will. I joined in ’73. The Atlanta you know today was fought for by the women in those classes. Black officers weren’t even authorized to arrest whites until ’62. They didn’t have a precinct building. They had to hang out at the Butler Street YMCA until someone thought to call them. And it was even worse if you were a woman—two strikes, with the third hanging over your head.” Her voice took on a solemn tone. “Every single day was a struggle to do right when everything around you was wrong.”
    “Sounds like you and Evelyn went through a trial by fire.”
    “You have no idea.”
    “Then tell me about it.”
    She laughed again, but this time at his fumble. “Are you trying to interrogate me, Dr. Trent?”
    “I’m wondering why you’re not talking about the fact that Evelyn obviously had a close, personal relationship with an old-school Texicano who ended up murdered in the trunk of her car.”
    She stared ahead at the road. “It does seem odd, doesn’t it?”
    “How can we work this case if we’re not going to at least admit what really happened?” She didn’t respond. “We’ll keep it between us, all right? No one else has to know. She’s your friend. I understand that. I spent a lot of time with her myself. She seems like a very agreeable person, and she obviously loves Faith.”
    “There’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
    “She was taking money like the rest of her team. She must’ve known the Texicanos from—”
    Amanda cut him off. “Speaking of Texicanos, let’s go back to Ricardo.”
    Will clenched his fist, wanting to punch something.
    Amanda let him stew in silence for a while. “I’ve known you an awful long time, Will. I need you to trust me on a few things.”
    “Do I have a choice?”
    “Not really, but I’m giving you an opportunity here to give me a return on all that benefit of the doubt I’ve deposited into your account over the years.”
    His inclination was to tell her exactly where she could put her benefit, but Will had never been the type of man to say the first thing that came into his head. “You’re treating me like a dog on a leash.”
    “That’s one interpretation.” She paused for a moment. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be protecting you?”
    He scratched the side of his jaw again, feeling the scar that had been ripped into his skin years ago. Will generally shied away from introspection, but a blind man could see that he had strangely dysfunctional relationships with all of the women in his life. Faith was like a bossy older sister. Amanda was the worst mother he’d never had. Angie was a combination of both, which was unsettling for obvious reasons. They could be mean and controlling and Angie especially could be cruel, but Will had never once thought that any of them truly wished him harm. And Amanda was right about at least one thing: she had always protected Will, even on the rare occasion when it put her job at risk.
    He said, “We need to call all the Cadillac dealerships in the metro area. The gentleman wasn’t driving a Honda. That’s an expensive ride. There are probably only a handful of those Cadillacs on the road. I think it has a manual transmission. That’s rare in a four-door.”
    To his surprise, she said, “Good idea. Set it up.”
    Will reached into his pocket, remembering too late that he didn’t have his phone. Or his gun and badge. Or his car for that matter.
    Amanda tossed him her phone as she took the exit without so much as tapping the brake. “What’s going on with you and Sara Linton?”
    He flipped open her phone. “We’re friends.”
    “I worked a case with her husband a few years ago.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “Those are some mighty big shoes to fill, friend.”
    Will dialed information and asked for the number of the closest Cadillac dealership to Atlanta.
    AS HE FOLLOWED AMANDA PAST THE CORRIDOR THAT LED TO the death chamber, Will had to admit, if only to himself, that he hated visiting prisons—not just the D&C, but any prison. He could handle the constant threat of violence that made every inmate facility feel like a simmering pot that had been left too long on the stove. He could