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.”