Sight Unseen(6)
“Trust me, those expressions can turn sour in a hurry. Especially if they think I’m making them look bad. Poole only wanted me to stick around because he knew his superiors wouldn’t have believed that he’d come up with those answers.”
He nodded. “I can imagine there would be problems. But why aren’t you interested in following up? Seems like a pretty interesting case.”
“I already have a job. It’s a lot more positive and fulfilling to me than what those people are doing on that bridge tonight.”
“Music therapy.”
“Yes. I help people. And I conduct research and publish papers that help others help people.” She unlocked the door. “Anyway, thanks for the ride. I’m sure this wasn’t the evening you had in mind.”
“It was better.” He grinned. “Sure beats first-date small talk.”
“Not sure what I can do to top it. You want to quit while we’re ahead?”
“No way.” He stepped closer to her.
She couldn’t deny how likeable she found him. She was happy at that response. She smiled. “Well, you have my number.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m not saying good night until you explain a few things to me. Let’s start with my bike. How did you know about that?”
“You have helmet head.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Impossible. I’ve washed my hair a couple times since the last time I wore a helmet.”
“Not your hair. Your skin. You have a clean tan line around your neck, and an inverted “U” that frames your face. And there’s a slight singe on the inside right leg of those jeans you’re wearing, right about knee level. The Harley Sportster’s rear exhaust pipe would hit you about there every time you have your foot off the pedal at a long stoplight.”
“Just the Sportster?”
“There are others, but that’s probably the most popular one. And the Harley Davidson sunglasses tucked into your shirt clinches it a bit more.”
He laughed and patted the sunglasses dangling from his neckline. “Do you ride?”
“I used to run with a pretty wild crowd, and I sometimes rode with them.” She raised her right pant leg and showed a small burn scar on her inside right calf. “It’s never a good idea to ride a motorcycle in shorts.”
“And here I was thinking you were so brilliant.”
“Well, it only happened once. I’m a fast learner.”
“I have no doubt.”
“And I caught a whiff of Castrol Simple Green on you. That’s how I knew you were doing some degreasing today.”
“Actually, it was yesterday. And I’ve showered since then.”
“Were you wearing those shoes when you were working on it?”
He looked down at his brown walking shoes. “Maybe.”
“And you’d be surprised how long our skin can hold on to odors, shower or no shower. It’s like a big sponge.”
“Okay. And how did you know where I’m from?”
She shrugged. “Your speech. You have a Central Florida dialect, peppered with an adult New England influence.”
He stared at her for a moment. “An adult New England influence?”
“If you’d moved there when you were younger, it would have a different sound. It would have had a different effect on the speech patterns you’ve been practicing since birth. I figured you moved there around college age.”
He nodded. “You’re right. But not quite Ivy League. Boston U. So you’re a linguistics expert, too.”
“Not really. Like you, I’ve met thousands of people in my life. From an early age, I got into the habit of listening and matching what I heard with what I found out about them. When you can’t see, you use what you have.”
He nodded, then paused. “Okay, now tell me what I really want to know.”
“Prison.”
“I’ve taken steps to make sure that period of my life won’t get in the way of my future. I didn’t think anyone in the city was aware of it, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
She tilted her head. “I’ll make you a deal. Tell me what you were in for, and I’ll tell you how I knew.”
“You got it.”
She took his left hand and angled it into the entranceway light. “I’m sure almost no one would notice this, but there’s a very faint tattoo remnant here, between your thumb and forefinger. You obviously tried to have it removed.”
“You’re right. Almost no one notices. And if they do, they see that it’s a box filled with an X. Like a strike on a bowling score sheet. Not like any prison tattoo I’ve ever seen.”