Trial and Terror by ADAM L PENENBERG

was good, which was almost worse than him being bad, since she didn’t trust him. She needed to get him working on something else until she could figure out what he was up to.
    “And”—he stuffed the empty sugar packets into the milk carton, stood up, and tossed it behind the back into the trash, and missed—“I tracked down SK’s medical records.”
    Angrily, Summer flung the carton back at him. “What made you think I wanted SK’s medical history? The law in this state requires me to turn over evidence harmful to my client to the D.A. You know, Discovery works both ways here.”
    Tai grimaced, then shot the container into the trash. “Nothing but net,” he said. “How the hell am I supposed to turn up anything meaningful if I have to turn over the bad stuff too?”
    “The boys who write the laws don’t want the defense turning up anything useful,” she said. “It could mean big trouble if Raines gets wind.”
    Tai shrugged. “Want to know what I found out or not?”
    Summer stood up and leaned over him, placing her hands on the arm supports of his chair, staring him in the eye. “Stop acting like a cop.”
    “It’s pretty juicy.” He was taunting her.
    “I mean it.”
    “SK’s medical records show she was pregnant when she was 17.”
    Summer spun away, rubbing her eyes. “If the D.A. finds out, at the very least they’ll leak it to the press and try to influence the jury pool. An abortion to go with priors for prostitution.”
    “How do you know she had an abortion?” He was so cool, so unflappable. A beach bum with a cop’s brain.
    “She told me she has no family,” Summer said. “Besides, if you were whoring, would you take time off to have a kid?”
    “Good point.”
    “If you don’t promise me right now that you will investigate only what I tell you to investigate, I’m dropping you from the case.”
    Tai eyed the ceiling, then her. “OK, OK. I promise.”
    “All right. Now I need you to check out something for me.”
    She told him about Strickland.
    Afterward, Tai said, “Quite a stretch. A whole lot of coincidence to digest at once, and tough to prove without a way to ID Strickland’s body.”
    “Back then, they didn’t have DNA technology.”
    “You’d need DNA from Strickland to match against his corpse, assuming they’ll let you dig him up.”
    “I’ll take care of that.”
    Tai stared at Summer.
    Summer stared back. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    “I think it’s sexy the way you take charge.” He downed the last of his coffee. “Not going to report me to the PC police, are you?”
    “If I thought it would do any good, I might. Now get out. I have work and so do you. Start collecting background on Strickland.”
    Tai hoisted himself up. “I’m going, I’m going. First stop, Strickland’s hometown. Where was he raised?”
    “Birch Creek, but—”
    “I know it. About six hundred miles north of here. A real hick town. The town used to have a problem with kids hanging out in the 7-11 parking lot, drinking beer and vandalizing cars. So the store started piping muzak outside. Drove them away.”
    “Ingenious, but travel’s not in the budget,” she said. “Jon will never approve it.”
    “I don’t care.”
    Summer was wary of Tai’s eagerness.
    Tai seemed to read her thoughts. “Look, it’s simple,” he said. “To turn up information on someone who’s dead, not only can you go home again, you have to.”

Chapter 11

 
    “This is the brass cup that Winston Taylor, the Vampire of Sedona, used to scoop the blood of victims before drinking it,” Gupta Mahakavi, collector of the macabre, told Summer.
    Summer had struggled with antiquated microfiche at the library before finding an article dated sixteen years ago describing an auction to raise money for Sean Strickland’s victims. Two phone calls and a three-hour drive later, here she was, talking to a retired forensics expert with the world’s most extensive collection of serial killer