Alien Taste by Wen Spencer Page A

frustrated. Finally he started to skip through the tracks, letting time leap forward in huge bounds. He would watch the disk later, maybe. He hated the gaps in his memory, but he didn’t want to relive the case right now.
    He found the end, his gun flashing again and again, set the recording to play normally. The camera showed only part of Janet’s unmoving foot. There was silence in the foreground except for the hiss of rain. Max’s voice continued in the background.“Ukiah! Ukiah! Kraynak, Ukiah’s down and not responding. The fucking girl got him with the sword. I think he’s hurt bad. I’m coming in.”
    This started a heated argument between Max and Kraynak, which Ukiah tuned out. He considered the angle of Janet Haze’s body and what he remembered of the footprints in the mud. If he were right, then the male watcher would enter in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.
    â€œWhen I went back to the crime scene, his tracks put him right here.” He tapped the screen, and at that moment lightning lit up the woods. “There! Did you see him?”
    â€œUkiah, I’m driving. I didn’t see anything.”
    Ukiah clicked the recording backward frame by frame. For one frame only, a man stood in the brilliant light, facing the camera but starting to turn. “There’s the guy.”
    From the angle, it was hard to tell how tall the man was. He was lean—rangy was what Mom Jo would call it—with shaggy, grizzled hair and dark eyes. The flash of brilliance had drained his face of color, making it all stark angles and shadows. Ukiah guessed at an age range of mid- to late-twenties.
    Max glanced over and shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bell except he wasn’t any of the police running around last night. None of the media either. Here.” He pulled off onto the shoulder again. “Why don’t you drive?”
    They switched places, and Max tried not to wince when Ukiah ground the gears starting out. Max worked at pulling a usable headshot from the recording, muttering, “I’ve got to let you drive more often. It’s the only way you’re going to get any better.”
    â€œI could go to the defensive driving school. The ad looked like fun.”
    Max laughed. “It’s in California. Two days ago your moms might have let you go, but today, I doubt it.”
    â€œSo when do I get to stay an adult all the time and not have to go back to being a kid?”
    Max shrugged. “It’s weird with parents, Ukiah. There’s shit I don’t tell my dad because I don’t want to deal with his fatherly outrage.”
    â€œYeah, but he can’t stop you from doing what you want.”
    â€œNo. He can’t. There! One clean mug shot. Let’s see what we can pull up on our friend the peeping tom.”
    Ukiah got off I-79 at the Evans City exit, whipsawed down 528 to the small town itself. Town, both blocks of it, was quiet as they drove through. They were approaching the long twisting drive back to the farm when Max swore. “Oh hell, this just gets better and better. Pull over and listen to this. Our friend in the park is Rennie Shaw, and he comes with Mr. Uck stickers. ‘Armed and considered dangerous.’ ‘Do not approach.’ ‘Report all contact to the FBI.’ He’s suspected of arson, auto theft, burglary, carjacking, drug dealing, drug smuggling, oh I see—we just go down the alphabet. Homicide. Manslaughter. Murder. Look at all those outstanding warrants for arrests. Wanted for questioning in the death of FBI agents. Wanted for questioning in the disappearance of FBI agents. Wanted for questioning . . .”
    â€œWhat about arrests and convictions?”
    Max scrolled downward. “Looks like they’ve never managed to catch and hold him.” Max suddenly killed the window and started to type. “Let’s hope that I’m consistently