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 passing out and not remembering what happened.’ He had a sip of his Diet Coke. ‘So, did I pass 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-embarrassed, bringing his phone to his ear. Isabella didn’t seem to mind.
‘Detective Hunter speaking.’ He heard a faint click.
‘
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.
Encompassing over 4,107 acres, Griffith Park is the United States’ largest municipal 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 shirt 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 shimmer 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 booby 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 shirt 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 passenger’s
