The Crucifix Killer - Chris Carter [57]
‘Yeah, no problem. It looks like a very nice restaurant,’ he said, looking around.
‘Oh it is, trust me.’ She renewed her smile. ‘The food here is very tasty.’
‘Touché,’ he thought. ‘I’m sorry about that. That sentence came out all wrong yesterday. Sometimes my brain works faster than my lips and words don’t come out quite as I’d like them to.’
‘It’s OK. It made me laugh.’
‘So, you work at the University?’ Hunter changed the subject.
‘Yes.’
‘Medical or biological department?’
Isabella looked baffled for an instant. ‘Biomedical research actually. Wait, how did you know? Oh God! Please tell me I don’t smell of formaldehyde.’ She subtly brought her right wrist to her nose.
Hunter laughed. ‘No, you don’t. You smell terrific to be honest.’
‘Thank you, that’s quite sweet. But tell me, how did you know?’
‘Observation really.’ Hunter played it down.
‘Observation? Please tell me more.’
‘I just pick up on silly things that most people don’t.’
‘Like what?’
‘Just above your wrist line there’s a slight depression,’ he said, tilting his head towards her hands. ‘As if you’ve been wearing tight rubber bands around both of your wrists. The white powder residue around your cuticles is consistent with cornstarch powder, which you know is used in surgical gloves. My guess is that you’ve been wearing gloves all morning.’
‘Wow. That’s quite impressive.’ She looked at her hands for a couple of seconds. ‘But the powder on my fingers could be from chalk. That means that I could be a professor at the University. And I could teach any subject, not just biomedical,’ she challenged Hunter.
‘Different kind of powder,’ he shot back with conviction. ‘Cornstarch is much finer and a lot harder to wash off, that’s why you have it only around your cuticles and not your fingers. Plus you have it on both of your hands. So unless you’re an ambidextrous professor, I’ll stick with my surgical gloves theory.’
She stared at him in silence. A nervous smile played on her lips.
‘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 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 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 glasses . . .’
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 class 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