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.
“Impressive,” Foster said, “though I don’t know a lot about art.”
No, no, no, no. It was a drumbeat pounding away in Amelia’s head. She wanted the cops away and out, away from her art, away from her. She stepped between Foster and the canvas, the smile back but strained. “It’s not officially art yet, but it’s getting there. If that’s all, I really should get back to it.”
Foster stepped back. “Thanks for your time.”
She and Li turned for the door, but Li stopped, turned back. “Ms. Davies, you have a passport?”
It was a strange question, Amelia thought. Why ask about a passport? “I don’t need one. I hate to travel. Why?”
“Does your brother have one?” Foster asked.
Amelia shook her head. “Nope, and I would know.”
“Thanks, then,” Li said.
Foster took a last look at the painting, smiled, and followed her partner out.
CHAPTER 60
He watched the car pull away with the detectives inside. They walked right by and didn’t notice him. No one ever did. He looked like no one special. A favorite uncle. Your dad. The friendly guy at the hardware store. People trusted him. They let him get close. All it took was a smile and a twinkle, a dip of the head. That tourist hadn’t a clue. He’d been standing in front of the Billy Goat deciding whether to go in when he saw her snap the picture of the sign. He couldn’t say for sure if she’d gotten him, too, but he couldn’t take the chance. He’d meant it to be a simple robbery. It was the photos he needed, but she’d foolishly resisted when his charm wore off.
His eyes followed the car with the cops in it all the way to the corner until it turned off onto the next street. They’d been oh so close yet completely oblivious. He didn’t attract attention. He was normal and unspectacular to everyone in all ways but one. Not being seen until he wanted to be seen was his power, his strength. It was the perfect trap. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the tiny SD card. Such a small thing. It wasn’t like him, the rush job. He was a man who liked to plan and set things up. She’d forced his hand. The best thing to do, he decided, was just to forget about it, wipe his memory clean. With both hands, he snapped the memory card in half, then stepped off the curb and dropped both pieces down the sewer grate. If he knew this city, and he knew this city, no one would ever find it buried in decades of muck and stench and rat waste.
Waiting for a break in the traffic so he could cross, he worried not about the girl but about the police making connections. If they were good, and it looked like they were, the steps they were taking would lead away from Bodie and Am and eventually to him.