Hide (Detective Harriet Foster #1)(23)

She knew a part of him was still stuck at twelve, his trembling hands gripping the back of her shirt as they descended dusty stairs to find the unthinkable at the bottom. She could swear she’d seen the old Bodie, the sweet Bodie, die and a new one, a wrecked one, take his place at the sight of blood and the stranger’s dismembered hands and feet. It had broken him, but it hadn’t broken her. Amelia had found a way to survive.

“As a matter of fact, right now, I’m doing laundry and cleaning up my place,” Bodie said. “Ironing is relaxing when you get into it. Did you know that?”

“I did know, actually.” She leaned against the railing, easing into the relief. “And I do know you’re good, Bod. I just . . . I know you’re good.”

“What’s all that noise in the background?”

“There’s a helicopter flying away. I’m downtown . . . doing some shopping. Something happened on the Riverwalk.”

“Something big by the sound of it.”

“Big enough to make the news already,” she said. “Few details, though.”

“I’ll turn on the set. It’s got to be big if it’s chopper worthy.”

She turned her back to the river. “Hey, I thought we could do dinner or something, huh? Catch up?”

“Sure. When?”

“Tonight. You pick the time. Meanwhile, have fun ironing.”

“I will,” he said. “Didn’t think you were much of a shopper, though. You and your boho chic.”

She smiled. “You don’t know everything about me, Bodie Morgan.”

“Oh yeah? What don’t I know?”

She paused. “Tonight then, huh?”

“I’ll be there.”

Amelia ended the call, then turned and took one last look below before moving along.





CHAPTER 11


Bodie dropped his phone into his messenger bag and watched from behind the tour-boat kiosk across the street as Am walked south along the bridge and then across Wacker to disappear in the crowd of pedestrians. What a game they played, he thought. How close they were and yet so very different. He crossed the street, skirting the cops trying to push people along. For a moment, he stood at the railing where Am had stood and looked down at the Riverwalk, up at the choppers. A body had been found, and he wanted to see for himself.

Had he expected to find Am here? Maybe a part of him had. They both seemed to be drawn in by the same things. Shopping. That was what Am had said she’d been doing, and he’d lied as well because he didn’t want her to worry about him or feel as though she had to direct him in any way. What a pair they made. Still lying. Still ignoring the elephant in the room, the damage done. He was stronger than Am gave him credit for. He loved her, but if he was honest, he had to admit that a part of him loathed her self-assuredness. Why had Am gotten everything? Why had he gotten so little?

When he’d seen enough, he left the bridge and walked north, head down, the sounds of the city assaulting his ears, welcome music after the unnerving hush of Westhaven. He could right himself. Tom Morgan didn’t have to be a yoke around his neck. He hoped the man was dead and dust. He hoped he burned. Maybe there’d come a time when he didn’t see him in every face he passed in the street. Evil men couldn’t last forever, could they?





CHAPTER 12


Foster stared out the window as Lonergan drove them north, watching the city pass by, noting the faces, checking to see that all was as it should be, as though crime were all the city’s streets had to offer. It was what happened when you’d been at the job awhile. Your eyes slid right over the good and locked onto the problematic.

“What’s with the paper clip?” Lonergan said out of the blue. “I noticed you dropped one in your pocket back at the office. It was a deliberate drop, too, not some absentminded thing. You collect ’em or something?”

Lonergan wasn’t as dull a blade as she’d thought, but she wasn’t up for sharing confidences with him. “It’s just a clip, Lonergan.” She said the words but knew the truth. Tomorrow she’d slip another clip into her pocket. The day after that, there’d be another. It was a way of marking time, getting through one day, one clip, at a time. Not his business.

“Hmm. Don’t think so,” he said.

She glanced out the passenger window, unwilling to go a single step further. “Hmm. Well, chew on it then.”

Foster had assured Peggy’s mother with all sincerity that she could survive the loss of her daughter. But there was more to living than surviving. Clocks continued to tick even though they didn’t keep accurate time. Sometimes people walked, talked, breathed, and ate and could still be gone.

It was well into the afternoon, and the news of Peggy Birch’s murder had well and truly broken. Woman’s Body Found along Riverwalk was the startling headline over the radio, on newspaper sites. The news at noon had even had footage of the crime scene, choppers and all.

“It’s out.” Foster read the initial reports on her phone, then angled for Lonergan to take a peek. “Won’t be long before they release her name.”

The report didn’t mention Peggy’s manner of death, thankfully, but when that made the front pages, she could just imagine what the headlines would be. Media wasn’t known for its subtlety. Woman Ripped Apart on Riverwalk . . . Where’s the Riverwalk Slasher? . . . CPD Stumped by Thrill Killer. The city would take notice, and they would get the heat.