Page 42 of Killer Clone

Mac’s boyfriend was tall and slim, with a friendly smile and two curtains of dark hair that flopped over his forehead. His jacket was tweed and a long way from being new. Another year, and Werner’d be ready to sew on the elbow patches that the jacket seemed to demand.

As Hagen released his hand, the bartender informed them their table was ready. Stella and Hagen carried their drinks through.

Mac took Werner’s arm as they walked. He touched her hand briefly, the kind of move that happened without thought. Less than a month they’d been together, little more than two weeks, and already they were developing an intimacy that Stella and Hagen had taken months to understand. There was trust there, and openness.

Stella hoped Mac was right to hand over that trust so fast.

They sat and opened the menus. Starters included glazed pig’s ears, foie gras with fresh-baked sourdough, and steak tartare. Stella tried not to grimace as she flipped through the pages, searching for something with a cheese she recognized.

After a minute, Hagen folded his menu and laid it aside. No matter how complex the offers, he could always find something. And assume everyone else could too.

“So, Werner, you’re an anthropology professor.”

Werner cleared his throat. “Hoping to be, with a particular focus on archaeology. Though I’m still finishing my PhD, so I’m not technically a professor yet. I do, however, have the pleasure of boring undergraduates to death with my lectures.”

“You won’t be boring them.” Mac squinted at the menu. “This is weird stuff, isn’t it? Don’t they have a tomato soup? You can just tell everyone about those knives and arrowheads and things they found at Link Farm. I didn’t know anything about it.”

Werner smiled uneasily. Stella had the sense that he’d told people about the knives and arrowheads they found at Link Farm before and seen eyes glaze over.

The server arrived, and they placed their order. Hagen opted for the pig ears to start, and Werner chose the beef tartare. Mac’s careful questioning uncovered the possibility of an off-menu French onion soup, and Stella joined her. She opted for fish for the main course. It looked like the safest choice.

Hagen collected the menus and handed them to the grateful server. “It’s kind of ironic, no? You focus on old cutting technology, Werner, while Mac has to stay on the cutting edge of technology.”

Werner grinned. He had a bright, toothy smile that transformed his face instantly from serious academic to warm student, full of life and fun and playfulness. It took half a decade from his features and brought a glow to Mac’s face too.

“I guess we complement each other. And one day, some archeologist will dig Mac’s phone out of a mound and marvel at the primitiveness of even her workplace’s technology.”

Mac smiled at the server as she placed the soup down. “I marvel at the primitiveness of my workplace’s technology every time I turn on the printer. You’d be amazed at how behind the Bureau can be.”

Stella smiled and examined her own soup. A hunk of bread floated in the middle of the bowl. The cheese on top was decorated with strange blue lines. She prodded the floater with her spoon.

“We owe you thanks, Werner. That expert you found us, Guy Lacross, was really helpful. Just had to contact him again.”

Werner dug into his beef tartare. He looked comfortable eating raw meat.

“Mac mentioned you’d have to do that. That’s remarkable. I imagine seeing cuneiform in a crime scene once is bizarre enough. But twice?”

Hagen nodded. His pig’s ear was hidden in a lettuce wrap so that it looked nothing like an ear. Stella was glad.

“Surprised us too.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about the typography? Are you sure it’s from the same tablet? Or even the same era?”

Hagen glanced at Stella. He shrugged. “No idea.”

“You know, cuneiform was used by different civilizations. Akkadian, Sumerian, even Hittite. It’s really quite remarkable. Hieroglyphs get all the attention. But they were only used by the Egyptians. Cuneiform, which is less well known, spread across entire civilizations.”

Stella thought back to the bloody marks on the walls, something she’d rather not be doing while eating. “Well, without looking at the images side by side, I think they looked the same.”

“Really? In what way?”

Stella wasn’t sure how to describe the patterns of blood on the walls of Otto Walker’s apartment and those they found in Claymore Township. She wasn’t even sure if the comparisons were relevant. The forensic document examiner might tell them someone was bad at copying. Either way, again, it wasn’t the most appetizing dinner conversation.

“It’s hard to say exactly. It’s almost as if it was the same symbols but with different handwriting.” Stella sipped her soup. It was better than she expected. She tried not to think about the blue lines, but they added a welcome sharpness to the onion’s sweetness. “Is this stuff not your field too?”

Werner shook his head. A curtain of hair fell in front of one eye. He flicked it away. “Much too old for me. The stuff I excavate is no more than a thousand years old.”

“Practically yesterday.” Mac pushed her empty soup bowl to the side. Her appetite hadn’t changed since Stella had been away.

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