The Crucifix Killer Part 17

'The other giveaway is that UCLA Medical School is just around the corner,' he said with a new tilt of the head.

Isabella hesitated for a second. 'Wow, you are are good. I have been wearing gloves all morning.' good. I have been wearing gloves all morning.'

'As I've said, just observation, really.' Hunter smiled, secretly glad that he'd impressed her.

'You said you teach? You don't look like the professor type.'

'I said I could could be a professor, but now I'm curious. What does the professor type look like?' she asked with a chuckle. be a professor, but now I'm curious. What does the professor type look like?' she asked with a chuckle.

'Well, you know . . .' he chose his words carefully. 'Older, balder, thick gla.s.ses . . .'

Isabella laughed and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it to one side but letting her fringe fall partially over her left eye. 'Here at UCLA you'll find even the surfer-type professor. Long hair, tattoos, piercings. Some even come to cla.s.s wearing flip-flops and shorts.'

Hunter laughed.

The waiter came back to check on their orders.

'Sig.na Isabella, come sta?'

'Va bene, grazie, Luigi.'

'What can I get for you today?' he asked in a very strong Italian accent.

Isabella didn't need to look at the menu to decide, she knew exactly what she wanted.

'What do you recommend?' Hunter asked, struggling to make a selection of his own.

'Do you like olives, pepperoni and pine nuts?'

'Yeah, very much.'

'OK, then have the penne Pazze, it's gorgeous,' she said, pointing down at her menu.

Hunter accepted her suggestion and complemented it with a small rucola and parmesan salad. He thought about having some garlic bread, but decided against it not the best of dishes when you're out on a date. They both opted for no wine as they still had to go back to work after lunch.

'How about you? How's work going?' she asked.

'Same old, same old, just a different day,' he said playing with his bread knife.

'I bet being a detective in a city like LA isn't easy?'

Hunter looked up and stared at Isabella, intrigued. 'How do you know I'm a detective?'

It was Isabella's turn to fix him down with a stare. 'Huh?' She paused and worked her fingers through her fringe. 'Are you kidding?'

His expression told her he wasn't.

'This past weekend? In my apartment?'

She got no reaction from him.

'Do you remember anything about that night? We went back to my place from the bar, you took off your jacket and the first thing I saw was a gun. I freaked out and you showed me your badge saying that everything was OK, you were a detective for the city of Los Angeles.'

Hunter looked down in embarra.s.sment. 'I'm sorry . . . I actually don't remember much about that night . . . little memory flashes, but that's all. How much did I have to drink?'

'Quite a lot,' she said giggling to herself.

'Was I on Scotch?'

'Yep,' she nodded. 'So you don't remember much about that night at all?'

'Very little.'

'Do you remember sleeping with me?'

The embarra.s.sment was now complete. A slight shake of the head was all he could muster.

'Oh G.o.d! So I wasn't memorable?'

'Oh no, it's not like that. I'm sure you're incredible in bed . . .' Hunter realized he'd said those words louder than he intended. Their conversation had suddenly attracted the attention of some of the neighboring tables. 'Wow, that sentence came out all wrong,' he said in a much lower tone of voice.

Isabella smiled. 'Your brain working faster than your lips again?' she teased.

Luigi came back with a bottle of still mineral water and poured it into the wine gla.s.s in front of her. Hunter declined signaling that he was alright with his Diet c.o.ke.

'Grazie, Luigi,' she said softly.

'Si figuri, sig.na,' he replied with a jovial smile.

Isabella waited until Luigi was gone. 'I must admit that your phone call yesterday came as a surprise.'

'Surprising people is one of the things I do best,' Hunter replied, sitting back on his chair.

'I was unsure of what to make of it. I didn't know if you really wanted to see me or just get into my pants again.'

Hunter smiled. He admired her forwardness. 'And that's why you opted for a quick lunch. Dinner dates are easier to escalate into something else.'

'Lunch dates are safer,' Isabella confirmed.

'Plus you wanted to check me out.'

'What do you mean?' She played dumb.

'We both had a few more drinks than we intended on the night we met. Our perceptions probably got somewhat . . . distorted. You were probably unsure of what I look like and if I was worth going on a second date with. A quick lunch date would clear all that up.'

Isabella bit her lip.

Hunter knew he was right.

'I'm sure I remember more than you do,' she said, playing with her hair again.

'True,' Hunter admitted. 'But that night was atypical. I usually don't drink to the point of pa.s.sing out and not remembering what happened.' He had a sip of his Diet c.o.ke. 'So, did I pa.s.s the lunch-date test?'

Isabella nodded. 'With flying colors. Did I?'

Hunter frowned.

'C'mon. You were checking me out just as much as I was checking you out. You said it yourself. You don't remember much.'

Hunter enjoyed her company. She was certainly different from most women he'd met. He liked her sense of humor, her sharp answers and her irreverent way. They both stared at each other for a little while. Hunter felt just as comfortable being silent with her as he did in conversation.

Luigi arrived with their pasta and Hunter watched as Isabella placed her serviette around the collar of her blouse like a true Italian. He did the same.

'Wow, this is absolutely beautiful,' he said after his first mouthful.

'I told you, this is authentic Italian food, that's why they are always busy.'

'I bet you eat in here all the time. I would.'

'Not as much as I'd like. I have to keep an eye on my figure you know.' She looked down at her waist.

'Well, whatever you are doing, it's working out fine for you,' he said with a smile.

Before she was able to thank him for his compliment Hunter's phone rang. He knew it was impolite to leave his phone on inside a restaurant, but he had no choice.

'Sorry about this,' he said semi-embarra.s.sed, bringing his phone to his ear. Isabella didn't seem to mind.

'Detective Hunter speaking.' He heard a faint click.

'Go down Camp Road in Griffith Park. Before you get to the end of it you'll reach a sharp right elbow turn, don't go right, take the tiny dirt road on the south end of it and follow it all the way around until you reach the high trees. There you'll find an M-Cla.s.s Mercedes-Benz. I left the result of yesterday's gamble inside it.' Before Hunter had a chance to say anything the robotic voice hung up.

Hunter looked up at Isabella's staring eyes. She didn't need to be psychic to know something wasn't right. 'What's wrong?' she asked concerned.

Hunter took a deep breath before answering. 'I gotta go . . . I'm so sorry.'

Isabella watched as Hunter stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

'I'm really sorry for having to run out on you again.'

'It's OK, trust me, I understand.' She stood up, took a step forward and kissed him on both cheeks.

Hunter pulled two twenty-dollar bills out of his wallet and placed the money on the table. 'Is it OK if I call you sometime?'

'Of course.' With an insecure smile Isabella watched as he raced out of the restaurant.

Twenty-Six.

Hunter called Garcia on the way to Griffith Park, asking him to inform the forensics department together with the LAPD Special Tactics Unit. He was sure the killer wouldn't be at the location, but he had to follow protocol, the STU team needed to clear the area first.

Encompa.s.sing over 4,107 acres, Griffith Park is the United States' largest munic.i.p.al park of natural terrain covered with California oak trees, wild sage and manzanita. It is also home to the famous Hollywood sign, which stands on Mount Lee.

It didn't take the STU long to find the abandoned Mercedes-Benz. The area was hidden away from any members of the public that might've been strolling around the park. High and bushy white oak trees surrounded the car, blocking most of the two o'clock sunlight. The air felt uncomfortably humid and hot, soaking everyone's s.h.i.+rt in sweat. It could be worse, it could be raining, Hunter thought. Garcia was already busy faxing the vehicle details through.

The car seemed intact, the heat making its rooftop s.h.i.+mmer like water, but its dark-green tinted windows prevented anyone from seeing inside properly. A perimeter had been rapidly delimited around the car. After deliberating over their plan of action, four STU agents approached the car in two by two formation, with their MP5 sub-machine guns at eye level; the powerful flashlights attached to the bottom part of their barrels cast light circles over the abandoned car. With every cautious step dried leaves and sticks crunched under their feet.

They carefully checked the immediate area. Gradually inching their way towards the vehicle. Searching for any trip wires or b.o.o.by traps.

'We've got someone in the driver's seat,' the agent at the front announced in a firm voice.

Suddenly all the light circles illuminated a figure slumped in the front seat. His head was tilted back resting against the headrest with his eyes shut. His mouth was semi-open and his lips looked a dark shade of purple. Droplets of blood had run down his cheeks from his eyes like blood tears. He'd been stripped of his s.h.i.+rt and his body was covered in hematomas.

'Backseat, what have I got?' Tim Thornton, the STU leader, called out. His voice demanding.

One of the agents broke off from the four-strong group and approached the right-side back window, his powerful flashlight illuminating the car's interior. Nothing on the backseat, nothing on the floor. 'Backseat is clear.'

'Show me your hands,' Tim shouted, his machine gun pointed directly at the driver's head.

No movement.

Tim tried again, his words coming out slower this time. 'Can you hear me? Show me your hands.'

No movement.

'He looks dead, Tim,' another agent offered.

Tim approached the driver's door while the other agents kept their aim locked on the man at the wheel. Tim cautiously dropped down to his knees and checked underneath the car no explosives, no wires. It all looked clear. He got up and slowly reached for the handle.

Still no movement from the driver.

Tim could feel the sweat rolling down his forehead. He took a deep breath to steady his hands. He knew what he needed to do. In one clean movement he pulled the door open. A split second later he had his MP5 aimed back at the driver's head.

'Jesus Christ!' he gasped, turning his face away from the car before taking a step back and quickly lifting his left hand to protect his nose.

'Talk to me, Tim, what's wrong?' Troy, the second in command, shouted, approaching the pa.s.senger's door.

'The smell G.o.ddammit, it's like putrid meat.' Tim paused for a moment fighting nausea, coughing violently. The warm, fetid breath that shot out of the car quickly intoxicated the air. It took Tim several seconds to collect himself. He needed to check for the victim's vital signs.

Hunter, Garcia, Captain Bolter and Doctor Winston were avidly observing the action from the perimeter mark. Their standard-issue headset allowed them to listen in as the STU communicated with each other. Standing just behind them were an ambulance and a paramedic team.

Tim had another look at the victim. His hands had been tied to the steering wheel and the only piece of clothing he had on was a pair of pin-striped boxer shorts saturated in blood. His entire body was covered in large, dark, boil-like blisters and a sunburn-type rash. Some of the blisters had burst open, secreting thick, yellow mucus.

'Is that pus?' Troy asked, standing by the pa.s.senger's door. The comment brought a worried look to Doctor Winston's face.