Trail of Blood by Lisa Black

wasn’t.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “I just do.”
    Frank chuckled and hit the gas, and the car shot from the I-90 on-ramp to a precarious position between a tractor-trailer and a school bus in less time than even Ford advertisements predicted.
    Theresa stifled a gasp, then averted her eyes from the how’s my driving? sign nearly touching their front bumper by glancing into the back-seat. “Why did you bring the stalker along?”
    “I’m not a stalker,” Brandon Jablonski said mildly. “What was that you said about your grandfather?”
    “Relax, I’m kidding.” At least she thought she was. He didn’t look at all sinister in the cold light of day; in fact he seemed to be all lean determination and stubbled good looks, notebook at the ready. “It’s just that I’ve never seen my cousin bring a reporter to an interview before.”
    Frank made a face he didn’t bother to hide from the rearview mirror. “The chief—the police chief, not the homicide chief—considered this a good PR opportunity. After the media ran the story of James Miller and his Torso killer–like death, we’ve been deluged with calls, so he figures we should use it to make us look good.”
    “Bringing a reporter along on an investigation.”
    “The chief also figured that since it’s the coldest case Cleveland PD’s ever worked, the killer has to be as dead as his victim, so publicity won’t cause a problem at a trial.”
    “I don’t know. Some people can be pretty hardy.”
    Every time Theresa glanced at the rearview mirror she met Brandon Jablonski’s warm brown eyes, as if they shared some secret joke—probably how he thought of scaring the crap out of her in the parking lot last night. Now he said, “What would you do if you find the guy and he’s ninety-six years old?”
    “Arrest him,” Frank said.
    “Really,” the man said thoughtfully.
    “Yep.”
    Theresa stole another look at Brandon Jablonski. “PR,” she said.
    “Sometimes I swear your chief and Leo must be twins. They never miss a trick.”
    “They could be, since that’s why you’re here as well as Mr. Jablonski.”
    “What?”
    They continued through Lakewood, crossed the Rocky River, and took a right. “The chief likes the cousins angle.”
    Jablonski added, “The combination of police work and forensic science, represented by two members of the same family, tackling Cleveland’s toughest case. You can’t make up stuff better than that.”
    Frank made that face again. “He thinks it’s cute.”
    “Well, we
are
sort of cute,” she admitted.
    “Especially you.” Jablonski grinned. “What was that you said about your grandfather?”
    Theresa hesitated. Speaking of her family out of pride was one thing, speaking of it for possible publication quite another. But she had opened the door, so she said, “Our grandfather and great-grandfather were cops.”
    “Really,” Jablonski said. “Did they teach you about the Torso Murders?”
    “Not really. They occurred before Grandpa Joe’s time, and our great-grandfather was a juvenile probation officer, more of a social worker. He met Eliot Ness, though.”
    “Yeah?” The researcher leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of the front seat like a restless teenager. “The great man himself?”
    “Yeah, when Ness founded the Cleveland Boys’ Town. Great-grandpa didn’t care for him, though. Too dapper.”
    Jablonski frowned. “Dapper?”
    “Something of a ladies’ man.”
    “Oh.” She could feel his breath on her neck. “Am I dapper?”
    “I wouldn’t have any idea. And shouldn’t you be wearing a seat belt?”
    He sat back, lips curved. “Still, that’s intriguing. Can the current generation solve the crime that stumped their forefathers?”
    Frank went on as if neither she nor Jablonski had spoken. “Also, you see bodies cut open every day. We need to figure out who installed a dismemberment chamber in that building, and you’ll probably know what to look for more than