‘Are you gonna invite me in or shoot me with that gun you’re holding behind your back?’

Hunter closed the door, undid the security chain and pulled it back open again. He was also wearing faded jeans – though his weren’t torn – but not much else.

It was Myers’ turn to look him up and down. ‘Well, somebody is a gym bunny.’ Her eyes paused at the tight muscles of his abdomen before slowly moving up to his chest, making sure she grabbed a good look of his biceps, and then finally back to his face.

‘Did you get lost on your way to a rock gig or something?’ He stood on the doorway, his gun still in his right hand. ‘What in the world are you doing here . . . and at this time of night?’

As her gaze moved past Hunter and into his apartment, Myers’ expression changed. ‘I’m sorry . . . are you . . . with someone?’

Hunter allowed the embarrassing moment to stretch for a couple of seconds before shaking his head.

‘No.’

He stepped back and fully opened the door, giving her a silent invitation.

Hunter’s front room was oddly shaped, with furniture that looked to have belonged to the Salvation Army. There were four mismatched chairs around a square, wooden table that he used as his computer desk. A laptop, together with a printer and a small table lamp were crammed onto it. A few feet away from the far wall was a beaten-up black sofa. The coffee table in front it was overflowing with pictures and police reports. Across the room Myers saw a glass bar with an impressive collection of single malt Scotch.

‘I can see you’re not a man who cares for extravagant decoration.’

Hunter gathered the pictures and papers from the coffee table into a pile and moved them out of the way. He reached for a white T-shirt that was on the back of one of the chairs and put it on.

Myers looked away, hiding her disappointment. She approached the dark wood sideboard to the right of the glass bar where a few lonely picture frames were arranged. Two of the photographs were black and white and looked to be old. Both were of the same smiling couple. Hunter looked like his father, but he had his mother’s understanding eyes, Myers noted. Most of the other photographs showed Hunter and another man, heavier and about two inches taller. From Myers’ research she knew he was Hunter’s old RHD partner, Scott Wilson, who’d died in a boat accident a few years ago. Two other photographs showed Hunter receiving commendations from the Mayor of Los Angeles and the Governor of California. The last picture, the one hiding right at the back was of a younger-looking Hunter dressed in a graduation gown and holding a university diploma. He looked like he’d just conquered the world. His father was proudly standing by his side. His smile could’ve brightened a dark day.

With his arms folded, Hunter stood by the window, waiting.

Myers’ eyes moved from the pictures to the glass bar and the neatly arranged bottles. ‘Do you mind if I have a drink?’

‘If you promise to tell me why you’re here, sure, go right ahead.’

She poured herself a double dose of Balblair 1997 and dropped a single cube of ice in it.

Hunter’s face remained impartial but he was impressed. ‘Good choice.’

Myers had a sip of her drink. ‘Do you have a CD player?’

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why? Are you suddenly in the mood for some Back in Black?’

She smiled and her gaze moved momentarily down to her shirt. ‘That is my favorite AC/DC album, but we can listen to it later if you like. Right now, you’ve gotta listen to this.’ Myers pulled a CD case from her handbag. ‘’Cause you won’t believe me if I’d told you.’

Seventy-Three

The rain was coming down a little harder now, drumming against the window just behind Hunter. The wind had also picked up.

‘Give me a sec,’ he said before disappearing down a small corridor. Moments later he returned with a portable stereo system.

‘I found this on the Internet, almost by chance,’ Myers said as Hunter cleared the table, placed the stereo on it and plugged it in.

‘What is it?’

‘An interview.’

Hunter paused and looked up. ‘With Katia?’

Myers nodded and handed him the CD. ‘It was first aired by KUSC Radio. It’s a dedicated classical music FM station.’

Hunter nodded. ‘Yeah, I know it. It’s run by the University of Southern California.’

Myers pulled a face. ‘I didn’t know you were into classical music.’

‘I’m not, but I read a lot.’

Myers moved on.

‘The entire interview is about an hour long with a few classical pieces thrown in so the whole thing isn’t just talk. In the first half, Katia is talking to the radio DJ, answering questions he puts to her. In the second half, she’s answering questions that were phoned or emailed in by listeners.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘I’m not that cruel, so I’m not gonna make you listen to the whole thing. I’ve copied only the important bits.’

Hunter slotted the CD in, pressed play, and adjusted the volume.

‘Welcome back. This is KUSC Radio, the best in classical music in Los Angeles and California.’ The DJ’s voice sounded exactly like what most people would expect the voice of a classical music station DJ to sound like – velvety and soothing. ‘We’re back with our special guest this afternoon, someone most of you will need no introduction to. The Los Angeles Philharmonic concertmistress, Katia Kudrov.’

A small section of a violin solo faded in for several seconds and then out again.

‘OK, just before the break we talked about your early beginnings and how much you struggled to dominate your instrument, but now we’re moving onto something a little more personal – love and romance. Is that OK?’

There was a small pause, as if Katia was considering something.

‘Yeah, sure, as long as you don’t make me blush.’ Her voice was delicate but not fragile. There was confidence in her tone.

‘I promise I won’t. OK, you describe yourself as a hopeless romantic. Why?’

A timid chuckle. ‘’Cause I am, really. And here comes the first blush. My favorite movie is Pretty Woman.’ Giggles.

‘Yeah, I’d say that’s reason enough to blush,’ the DJ laughed.

‘I’m like a little girl when it comes to love. I know this might sound naïve, but I’d love for that kind of fairy tale to exist.’

‘The “true love” fairy tale?’

‘Yes. The magical make-you-float-on-air kind of love. Sparks flying the first time you set eyes on someone and you just know you were made for each other.’

‘Have you ever been that much in love?’

Another chuckle. ‘No, not yet. But there’s no rush, and I have my music. That really does make me float on air.’

‘I’d say your music makes us all float on air.’

‘Thank you.’ A short pause. ‘And now I’m really blushing.’

‘So, judging by your comment about sparks flying the first time you set eyes on someone means you believe in love at first sight?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And what would someone have to say or do to grab your attention?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing. I believe that love is a lot more than words, or looks. It’s something that hits you and then just takes over, without any warning. I believe that when you meet the person you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with—’

‘The proverbial “soul mate”?’ the DJ interrupted.

‘Yes, your soul mate. I think that when we meet that person, we just know. Even from a silent moment. Even if he doesn’t say a word at first.’