Hide (Detective Harriet Foster #1)(84)

Li rifled through the mess of papers, notes, and files on her desk, finding what she needed. “Neither Bodie nor Amelia—Anika, I guess—are on social media, but I did find a tiny mention of Amelia on the school’s website. On a list of past winners of some art award? Amelia Morgan won it the year she graduated with a BA.” Li sifted through the desk junk again and pulled up a sheet. “Even found a photo, but nothing pops up from a simple name search.”

“They’re fraternal.” Foster turned back to her keyboard and typed in Amelia Morgan, artist, getting nothing. She did the same with Anika Jensen, artist and got the same. The awards angle gave her an idea, though, and she typed in variations of names hitched to awards in the art world. It took a bit, but the return was worth it. “Here,” she said. “The Brinberg Grant, last year, awarded to Amelia Davies.”

Li held the old photo she had from her search up to Foster’s monitor. Years had passed, obviously, from graduation day to last year, but the women in both pictures were the same person. “Bingo. If she changed her name, why’s the name change not showing up?”

“Maybe a glitch? But Anika Jensen is Amelia Morgan, and Amelia Morgan is Amelia Davies.” Foster’s fingers flew along the keyboard. “Found a driver’s license linked to Amelia Davies. We have an address.” The tapping was loud, furious. “She’s got a studio. North Side.” She sat back. “We found her.”

Li was already reaching for her jacket. “Road trip?”

Foster grabbed her stuff. “Yep.”





CHAPTER 59


Amelia’s guard went up the moment she turned to see the two female detectives walk into her studio. It wasn’t a surprise; she’d expected them to eventually connect her to Bodie, and she was ready. She was glad it was now, when Joie and her mangy mutt were out of the studio, and she had the place to herself. She stepped away from her canvas, a paintbrush in her hands, her T-shirt and baggy pants splattered with blues and yellows and reds.

“Hello, can I help you?” she asked brightly.

“Amelia Davies.” The Black cop didn’t pose it as a question. She recognized them both from Bodie’s description. She didn’t need the badges and the intros, but she got them anyway.

“That’s me.” She took them in and kept the friendly smile on her face, ratcheting up the openness in her expression, making sure her eyes matched. Helpful. Interested. These were the things she hoped to convey. “What can I do for you, Detectives?”

Foster eyed the massive painting on the wall. It was intricate, crowded. “We’d like to ask you some questions about your brother,” she said.

Amelia paused for a moment, weighing, then deciding. “What’s Bodie done now?” She padded over to a table with paint-smudged towels and rags and wiped her hands a bit. “Has he been hurt? Arrested?”

“Not that we’re aware,” Foster said. “When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

“A few nights ago. He was fine.” She looked from one to the other. “Or as fine as he gets. I know you think he killed those women. He told me. But he didn’t. Bodie looks, but he doesn’t touch.”

“We didn’t get much from him,” Li said. “At least anything that sounded like the truth.”

Amelia put her brush down and tossed the towel aside. “The truth is what Bodie thinks it is. Look, my brother has issues, I’ll be the first to admit it, but he’s harmless. He’s awkward, a step behind, that’s all. I know he scared those women, but like I said, he looks but doesn’t touch. He’s not your guy. Believe me.”

“How would you know what he does when you’re not with him?” Foster asked.

Amelia sighed. “I know what he’s capable of and what he’s not. You’re right, I can’t be there every minute, but I’m there often enough that I’d know if he went off the rails.”

“Davies,” Li said. “Not Morgan. Is there a Mr. Davies?”

Amelia chuckled. “No husband, past or present. I changed my name. Davies has a better feel. Chalk it up to the artist in me.”

“Any other family who might be keeping tabs on your brother? Parents?” Foster knew the answer but wanted Davies’s response.

She kept smiling. Open, but not at all. “Just me. We lost our mother when we were quite young. Cancer, I think. We have no memory of her. Our father died when we were eighteen and off to college. He was an accountant, good with money, so we were well provided for. It’s not great being orphaned before you’re twenty, but you learn to deal with it. Bodie had a harder time finding his way.”

“You lived here? In the city growing up?” Li asked.

Amelia shook her head. “Portage Park.” The lie was quick, firm, sounding truthful. Foster and Li could check, but they would find no traces of Amelia there. “Does Bodie need a lawyer? Are you going to arrest him? I really have been keeping an eye on him. In fact, I have a witness for the night you’re talking about.”

“Who?” Li asked.

“A date. A hookup. He went out when Bodie came in. It was late—or early. Two a.m. I can’t remember his name, but if it’s important, I’ll try a little harder to recall it. Maybe if you leave your cards?” Amelia read the cards offered, then looked up to see Foster wander over to the canvas behind her for a closer look. The closer she got, the more uncomfortable Amelia became.