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“Well, we narrowed it down to highly skilled plastic surgeons who, um, were good with ears.” She took a gulp of water and watched him over the rim of her glass.
She winced inwardly when he reached up to touch his earlobe. “Because the surgeon left exactly what was necessary to create a new ear,” he said in a flat statement of fact.
“Yes.” She hurried on to less fraught parameters. “Confirmable location at the time was important. As was any money trail, although that was less important since surgeons make a fair amount of income from various sources. And finally, which ones had less than sterling reputations for integrity. All of that required many hours of research.”
“Which you guided.” Gabriel picked up a black olive.
“That’s why Mikel hired me.” She understood the criminal mind. From personal experience, unfortunately.
“And only three doctors fit your parameters.”
“More than three did, but I used other factors to eliminate them.” Ones that were too tedious to explain.
“You are very good at your job.” Gabriel pushed his plate aside, the tapas barely touched. “Show me the doctors.”
Quinn took another swig of water to hide her gratification at his compliment. Then she woke up her laptop. “All I’m going to show you are their hands. I’ve removed backgrounds, clothing, audio, and anything else that might evoke a false sense of familiarity. When possible, I’ve included photographs of their hands in surgical gloves. The order of the photos and videos is random.”
She angled her chair so that she could see both her computer screen and Gabriel. She would be observing him for physical reactions that he might not even be aware of. “If you want me to stop at any particular image, just say so, but I won’t speak until we’re finished with the entire presentation. I don’t want to inadvertently bias you in any way.”
She didn’t want him to think, just react.
Gabriel’s gaze rested on her. “You will be watching me too.”
“I may catch something in your body language.”
“I hope you do. I’m not sure I’ll be much help otherwise.” He turned toward the screen. Because she was focused on him, she saw the slight movement as he braced his shoulders.
She touched her laptop screen, and the first pair of hands flashed up. She’d started with still photos. Mixed in with the hands of the three doctors were the hands of two others who were not suspects in the investigation. She’d put video clips at the end of the sequence. The entire slide show would last just over a minute.
He sat with his hands folded on the table while the shifting images reflected as flickers in his eyes. Until he barked, “Stop!” and leaned forward. Gabriel’s knuckles were white with pressure.
Quinn paused the slide show and glanced at the photo. One latex-gloved hand gripped an instrument that Quinn had blurred out so Gabriel wouldn’t be triggered by the implement as opposed to the hand. The way the fingers held the instrument highlighted the distinctive concave shape of the doctor’s first finger joint.
Dr. Paul Ricci, an American who practiced his trade in Switzerland.
She looked back at Gabriel. He sat hunched forward without appearing to breathe.
He could be focused on trying to remember the doctor’s hands. Or he could be feeling the remembered terror of a particular moment.
His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
She gave him a couple of seconds to recover before she restarted the montage. His shoulders relaxed, and he sat back in his chair, although his fingers remained twisted together.
Another photo of Ricci’s hands flashed on the wall, but Gabriel didn’t react to it. The slide show transitioned to the video clips.
“That one!” Gabriel nearly shouted. “Run it again.”
It was Ricci’s hands again, albeit the video was grainy because she’d had to zoom in. No gloves this time. However, he was moving his thumb in a way that showed it was hypermobile, the joint below the knuckle bending inward so that it looked unnatural, yet the surgeon flexed it repeatedly.
“He did that when I asked him what he was going to do to me,” Gabriel said, his usually smooth voice sandpaper-rough. “Like he was anticipating the surgery.”
“I suspect it’s an unconscious tic, possibly when he’s nervous,” Quinn said, trying to remember the context of the video she’d taken the clip from. She thought that Ricci had been standing behind a podium, so he must have been making some sort of presentation. He could have been anxious about it.
“You’re talking to me,” Gabriel said with a sharp glance at her. “Does that mean the slide show is over?”
She nodded, and he slumped back into the chair, his head resting on the high cushion at the top. “Who is it?” he asked.
“I’d prefer to do more research before I reveal his identity,” Quinn said. “The hypermobile thumb is distinctive but not that unusual. Fifteen to twenty percent of men exhibit it.” Although Gabriel’s recognition of both the video and the still photo had her nearly convinced that Ricci had been the surgeon.
