As soon as the front door closed, Amanda cut to the chase. “What?”

Mrs. Levy pulled the photograph from under her apron.

“Evelyn had a frequent visitor,” Will explained. Mrs. Levy had a good memory: The man was bald. His jeans were baggy. His shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up. She’d failed to mention a more important detail, which was that he was Hispanic. The tattoo on his arm was blurry, but Will easily recognized the symbol on his forearm that identified him as Los Texicanos.

Amanda folded the picture in half before sticking it into the pocket of her suit jacket. She asked Mrs. Levy, “Have the uniforms talked to you yet?”

“I’m sure they’ll get around to the little old ladies eventually.”

“I assume you’ll be as cooperative as usual.”

She smiled. “I’m not sure what I can tell them, but I’ll go ahead and lay out some fresh cookies in case they come calling.”

Amanda chuckled. “Careful, Roz.” She motioned for Will to follow her as she left the room.

Will reached into his wallet and pulled out one of his cards for Mrs. Levy. “This has all my numbers. Call me if you remember anything or if you need help with the baby.”

“Thank you, sonny.” Her voice had lost some of its old lady kindness, but she tucked the card into her apron anyway.

Amanda was halfway up the hall by the time Will joined her. She didn’t say anything about the photograph, or Faith’s condition, or the pissing contest she’d had with Geary. Instead, she started giving him orders. “I need you to review all of your case files from the investigation.” She didn’t have to tell him which investigation she meant. “Comb through every witness statement, every CI report, every jail-house snitch’s last hurrah. I don’t care how small it is. I want to know about it.” Amanda stopped. He knew she was thinking about his reading issues.

He kept his voice steady. “It’s not a problem.”

She wouldn’t let him off that easy. “Pull up your panties, Will. If you need help, speak up now so I can deal with it.”

“Do you want me to start now? The boxes are at my house.”

“No. We’ve got an errand to run first.” She stood in the foyer, her hands on her hips. She was a trim woman, and Will often forgot how short she was until he saw her straining her neck to look up at him. “I managed to pry some information loose while Geary was throwing his tantrum. The Texicano in the backyard has helpfully identified himself as Ricardo vis-à-vis the large tattoo on his back. We don’t have a full ID on him yet. He’s mid-twenties, approximately five-nine, and one hundred seventy pounds. The Asian in the bedroom is around forty years of age, slightly shorter and thinner than his Hispanic friend. I would guess he’s not from this part of town. He might’ve been brought in just for this.”

Will remembered, “Faith said he had a southern drawl.”

“That should help narrow things down.”

“He was also wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt. That’s not very gangsterish.”

“We’ll add that to his list of crimes.” She glanced down the hallway, then looked back at Will. “Now, the Asian in the laundry room is an odd story, too, which we know courtesy of the wallet he carried in his back pocket. Hironobu Kwon, age nineteen. He’s a freshman at Georgia State. He’s also the son of a local schoolteacher, Miriam Kwon.”

“He’s not affiliated?”

“Not that we can find. APD swooped up Mama Kwon before we could get to her. We’ll have to find her tomorrow morning to see what she knows.” She pointed her finger at Will. “Softly, softly. We’re still not officially on the case. It’s just you and me until I can find a way in.”

He said, “Faith seems to think the Texicanos were looking for something.” Will tried to gauge Amanda’s expression. Usually it hovered somewhere between amused and annoyed, but now it was completely blank. “Ricardo was beaten to a pulp. He had a gun pointed at his head. He wasn’t looking for anything except to save his life. It’s the Asians we should be talking to first.”

“That seems entirely logical.”

“It points to a larger problem,” he continued. “The Texicanos I can understand, but what would the Asians want with Evelyn? What’s their play?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

He put a finer point on it. “Evelyn headed the drug squad. Los Texicanos control the drug trade in Atlanta. They have for the last twenty years.”

“They certainly have.”

Will felt the familiar sting of his head hitting a brick wall. This was the same run-around Amanda always gave him when she had information that she wasn’t going to share. Somehow, this time was worse, because she wasn’t just screwing with his head, she was covering for her old friend.

He tried, “You said that the guy in the Hawaiian shirt was probably brought in for ‘this.’ What’s ‘this’? Kidnapping? Finding whatever Evelyn had hidden in her house?”

“I don’t think anyone is finding what they’re looking for today.” She paused to let her meaning sink in. “Charlie’s helping out the locals with the crime scene, but they’re not as weak to his charms as I’d like. His access has been very limited and closely supervised. They say they’ll share lab results. I’m iffy on their ME.”

The Fulton County medical examiner. “Has he shown up?”

“He’s still combing through that apartment fire in People’s Town.” Budget cuts had left the medical examiner’s office devastated. If there was more than one serious crime happening within the city limits, that usually meant the detectives were in for a long wait. “I’d love to get Pete on this.”

She was referring to the GBI’s medical examiner. Will asked, “Can’t he make some phone calls?”

“Unlikely,” she admitted. “Pete’s not exactly covered up in friends. You know how strange he is. He makes you look normal. What about Sara?”

“She’ll keep her mouth shut.”

“I’m aware of that, Will. I saw your do-si-do in the street. I meant do you think she knows anyone in the ME’s office?”

Will shrugged.

“Ask her,” Amanda ordered.

Will doubted Sara would welcome the call, but he nodded his agreement anyway. “What about Evelyn’s credit card statements, phone records?”

“I’ve ordered them pulled.”

“Does she have GPS in her car? On her phones?”

She didn’t really answer him. “We’re going through some backdoor channels. As I said, this isn’t exactly aboveboard.”

“But what you told Geary is right. We’ve got original jurisdiction over drug cases.”

“Just because Evelyn was in charge of the narcotics division doesn’t mean this is drug-related. From what I’ve gathered, they’ve found no indication of drugs in the house or on any of the dead men.”

“And Ricardo, the dead Texicano, of the drug-related Texicanos?”

“Odd coincidence.”

“How about the living, breathing, drug-related Texicano who drives a black Cadillac that Evelyn Mitchell has no qualms about getting into and going for a ride?”