Free Secrets to the Grave by Tami Hoag Page A

prominence in what was still a male-dominated field—and she made no secret of her desire to go higher up the food chain. She was capable, clever, and ruthless, three traits that would take her far in her chosen profession.
    All these qualities and her gender had landed her the plum role of lead prosecutor in the matter of State of California v. Peter Crane.
    District Attorney Ed Benton, a man who had not prosecuted a case himself in twenty years, had quickly assigned the case to Kathryn Worth, who had an impressive résumé of wins in the courtroom. Appointing a woman to prosecute a heinous crime against a woman had won him praise in the press and in the minds of the broad base of liberal constituents of Oak Knoll.
    Anne had no argument with Benton’s choice. She found Kathryn Worth to be smart and tough, and by no means intimidated by Peter Crane’s big-name defense attorneys.
    She entered Worth’s office on the second floor of the county courts building and settled into the now-familiar ancient leather chair opposite the desk. As were many of Oak Knoll’s prominent buildings, the main county courts building had been constructed in the 1930s and was a gem of Spanish style with a twist of Art Nouveau thrown into the décor. The courtrooms and offices were full of heavy oak furniture in the Stickley mission style. The hallways boasted original Malibu-tile wainscoting and hand-painted borders. It was the kind of solid, substantial place that made a person believe Lady Justice was on his side.
    Kathryn Worth smiled at her as she pulled off her oversize reading glasses. “Anne. How are you?”
    “Fine, I hope,” Anne said. “I guess it depends on what you have to tell me.”
    Worth made a little shrug, trying to minimize the significance of what she was about to say. “They’ve filed a motion to try to exclude some evidence. They’ll lose, of course.”
    Anne sat up a little straighter. Her heart beat a little harder. “What evidence?”
    “The tube of superglue.”
    “On what grounds?” she demanded.
    “They’re claiming it was planted.”
    “He was going to put it in my eyes!” Anne said, the upset quickly building a head of steam inside her.
    She flashed on the image as if it were a scene from a movie: Peter Crane looming over her, holding her down with a knee on her chest, his left hand pressing down on her throat, choking her. He fished for something with his right hand in his jacket pocket and came out with a small tube. The glue.
    All of his victims had had their eyes and mouths glued shut.
    “I saw it!” she exclaimed. “I knocked it out of his hand!”
    “I know. And you’ll testify to that.”
    “Not if they get it thrown out!”
    “Anne, calm down,” the ADA said quietly. “There’s no way they’ll get it thrown out.”
    “There must be some reason they think they can.”
    “Michael Harrison thinks he could part the Red Sea if he needed to. It’s hubris. He’s full of shit. It’s just another tactic to delay the inevitable.”
    “And?”
    “And what?”
    “You’re not telling me everything.”
    Worth scowled. “You would have made a hell of a prosecutor yourself,” she muttered. “There are no useable fingerprints on the tube. I can’t explain why. Because the tube is small. Because one of the CSIs smudged it when they collected it. Who knows? It doesn’t matter.”
    “It matters to me,” Anne said. She was beginning to feel sick to her stomach.
    “Anne, you need to keep your eye on the big picture here. There is not a jury in Southern California that is going to acquit Peter Crane of kidnapping and trying to kill you. There’s no way. The glue isn’t even relevant. It’s not important.”
    “It links him to the murders of Julie Paulson and Lisa Warwick. And to the attempted murder of Karly Vickers.”
    “He’s not going on trial for those murders. He’s going on trial for what he did to you. And there is no way he’s getting out of it.”
    “Then why am I so