‘Can you remember which bar?’ Hunter asked.

A shake of the head.

‘It’s OK. We can come back to it later. What happened next?’

‘We were sitting at the bar and my friend had to go to the ladies’ room.’

‘So you were by yourself?’

‘For a minute or two, yes.’

‘Carry on.’

‘This guy approached me and asked me if he could buy me a drink.’

‘What did he look like, can you remember?’

She looked at the floor for a few seconds. ‘He was very tall, maybe six two, six three. Shaved head, looked quite strong and fit and his eyes…’ She paused for an instant.

‘What about his eyes?’

‘They seemed different.’

‘Different how?’

‘Cold… no emotion… scary even, like he hated me from the moment he saw me.’

‘What color were they?’

‘Green. I remember that very well.’

‘Contact lenses maybe?’

‘No, I don’t think so. They looked natural.’

‘OK, what did you say after he offered to buy you a drink?’

‘I said no thanks, I already had a drink.’

‘How about the symbol?’

‘He leant forward placing both of his arms on the bar and asked me if I was sure. He said something about it being just a friendly drink. Anyway, both of his sleeves hitched up revealing his wrists, and that’s when I saw them, he had it tattooed on both of them.’

‘On both of his wrists?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure it was the same symbol?’ Hunter showed her his rough sketch again.

‘Yeah, it was just like that. I even asked him about it.’

‘What did you ask him?’

‘I asked if the tattoos had something to do with the military. You know, sometimes Marines or army people like to brand themselves with special emblems, as if reaffirming their devotion.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He was very evasive. He quickly pulled his sleeves back down and said they were nothing, just something personal.’

‘Can you remember anything else?’

‘The tattoos didn’t look like they were done by a professional. They looked rough, like the ones you do yourself using a needle and some ink.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘That’s how it looked to me.’

‘Did he say anything else? Did he give you a name or something?’ Hunter knew he wouldn’t have given her his real name, but it could be a start.

‘No. After I asked him about the tattoos he seemed a little irritated. He said “Sorry to have bothered you” or something like that and left.’

‘When you say he left, do you mean he left the bar or he just left you alone?’

‘I’m not sure. I think he left the bar, I don’t really remember.’

‘It’s OK, you’re doing really well. The tattoos, where exactly were they?’

Isabella pointed to the inside of her wrist, just below the base of her palm. ‘Right about here.’

‘And how big were they?’

‘Not that big, maybe just about an inch, in dark ink.’

‘Have you ever seen him again since then?’

‘No.’

‘How about his voice, was there anything particular about it?’

‘Not that I remember.’

‘Let’s go back to the bar, Isabella. Can you try and remember the name?’

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

‘Was there anything specific about the bar, like a neon sign, a wall decoration or maybe its location?’

‘It was a while ago. Just give me a minute and I’ll remember it.’

Hunter sat silently for a few seconds.

‘I’m pretty sure it was by the beach somewhere,’ she said squinting.

‘OK, let’s try this. Instead of trying to think about the bar, try to think about the friend you were out with that evening. Your brain will have a better recollection of your night out with your friend than it will of the bar itself. And one thing will trigger the other,’ Hunter explained.

‘I was out with Pat that night. We haven’t been out together for a while,’ she said staring at the floor. A few seconds later she gave Hunter a warm smile. ‘You’re right. Thinking of Pat made me remember. We were at the Venice Whaler Bar and Grill in Venice Beach.’

‘I know that bar. Been there a few times,’ Hunter said with excitement. ‘Can I ask you one more thing?’

‘Sure,’ she said with an unanimated nod.

‘Do you think you could give our sketch artist a description of what this man looked like? That could really help us.’

‘Yes, I’ll do my best,’ she said with a shy shrug.

Hunter moved closer and kissed her lips. ‘I’m sorry for losing it earlier. You caught me by surprise when you said that you’d seen that symbol before, and this really is the first break we’ve had in this case.’

‘It’s OK,’ she said, kissing him back. Hunter reached for the loose knot she had tied around her waist and the button-less shirt dropped to the floor. They still hadn’t had any breakfast.

Thirty-Eight

It was another hot day in Los Angeles with the temperature getting up to 90 degrees. The streets were full of life with people walking their dogs, strolling, jogging or simply hanging out.

Hunter left Isabella’s apartment around lunchtime, after finally having some breakfast. She was still a little shaken up, but she’d assured him she’d be fine.

‘Jesus, if that’s our guy, she could’ve been a victim,’ Garcia commented after Hunter told him the news.

‘I know and I’ll get the police artist to her apartment this afternoon, right after we’re done talking to this Peterson character from Tale & Josh. By the way, did you get his address?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yep, Via Linda Street in Malibu,’ Garcia replied, checking a note he’d stuck to his computer monitor.

‘Malibu huh?’ Hunter cocked both eyebrows.

Garcia nodded. ‘I guess some lawyers do live the high life.’

‘I guess they do. How about one of D-King’s girls? Any news on that?’

Since his conversation with D-King on Friday, Hunter had worked hard to convince Captain Bolter to have him under twenty-four-hour surveillance.

‘Yes, our tail followed one of them home after the club last night,’ Garcia said, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.

‘Great, we can drop in on her right after Peterson. Let’s go, you drive.’

Malibu is a twenty-seven-mile strip of spectacular coastline northwest of Los Angeles. It’s a retreat for people like Barbra Streisand, Tom Hanks, Dustin Hoffman, Pierce Brosnan and scores of other rich and famous Hollywood stars.

Most of the long drive to Peterson’s house was made in silence. Hunter’s thoughts were divided between the amazing night he’d had with Isabella and the astonishing breakthrough she might’ve brought into the investigation. Had she really stood face to face with the killer? If so, was he wearing no disguise? Had she scared him off by noticing the tattoos on his wrists? Hunter knew this killer never left anything to chance, but there was a minute possibility that his meeting with Isabella had been accidental. Hunter felt his luck was changing.

‘This is his road,’ Garcia said as he turned into Via Linda Street.

‘Number four, that’s his house right over there,’ Hunter said, pointing to a pale-blue-fronted house with three cars parked on the driveway, one of them a brand-new-looking Chevy Explorer van.

By Malibu standards Peterson’s house wasn’t anything spectacular, but by Hunter and Garcia’s standards it was simply huge. The house itself was a three-story modern development and the generous lawn in front of it had been mowed to perfection. A curved cobblestone walkway led from the street to the enormous front door, its landing decorated by beautifully arranged flowers producing a riot of color. Whoever took care of this house was a perfectionist.

Hunter loved the element of surprise. Forewarning gave people the chance to prepare their lies, get them organized in their heads. If he could get away with it, he preferred not to make interview appointments, just show up. A homicide cop with a bag full of questions tended to make the regular citizen nervous.