What She Saw - 29

Sloane

Back at the cabin, the afternoon sun had softened. What filtered through the trees didn’t quite reach the cabin’s interior. And the few table lamps and single overhead fixture didn’t brighten the drab room.

I dragged Taggart’s recliner toward the window, hoping to see better as I settled in the chair to reread the digitized police reports detailing his visit to Larry Summers’s garage.

Maybe most would be upset reading a father’s callous words about his daughter. But I wasn’t upset. I cared as much about Larry Summers as he did me. I had no feeling for him. In many ways, I was him.

Brian Fletcher had asked if I had children. Said I should grab the chance if I ever had it. But Larry’s words were proof I would be a disaster as a parent.

At this stage of his investigation, Taggart had three missing women to find. By the time Tristan Fletcher’s report had been filed almost a week later, the case was making headlines in local news. Soon it would go national. Dawson became ground zero for every reporter looking to get an exclusive.

As Larry was quickly cleared, a rush of reports flooded the Dawson sheriff’s office. These claims of missing women created lists of possible victims and offenders who all needed to be interviewed. But Taggart’s attention never wavered far from Rafe Colton, who remained the number one suspect in his mind.

The landline’s ringer echoed in the cabin, cutting the silence. I almost reached for my cell, then realized the phone remained mounted on the wall. This token of the past was irritating. I raised the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”

“This is Bailey from the rental office.”

“Bailey. How are you?”

“That’s my question for you. How are you doing up there? That place has had its issues over the years, and I’d hate it if you were without hot water, or a toilet didn’t flush.”

She’d not called about toilets. “There’s only one.”

“Are you saying it’s an issue?”

“No. Everything flushes just fine.”

“Good. Good.”

“Is that it?”

“How’s your story going?”

“Slow and steady.”

“No new revelations?” she asked.

“I’m piecing it together.”

“What does that mean?”

“Not sure yet.” I turned and the cord twisted around my body. “While I have you, I have a couple of questions about the festival.”

“Why would you want to talk to me?”

“You were there. You saw it all happen.”

Her voice dipped. “I was drunk that night. And don’t put that in any article, please.”

I took a step toward my notes, but the cord stopped me. “Weren’t you friends with Debra? She worked at the dry cleaner’s.”

“Yeah, sure. She was supposed to meet me at the concert. But we never connected.”

“Your dad didn’t approve of her.”

“Daddy could be a real snob. We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”

“Kevin brought Debra to the concert.”

“That’s right.”

“How do you know that? You said you never saw her.”

“I ran into Kevin that night. He told me she was at the festival.”

The surveillance footage at the dry cleaner’s showed Kevin picking Debra up close to 10:00 p.m. “What time was that?”

“About eleven. It started raining harder soon after.”

“And you never hooked up with Debra at the concert?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t you tell Taggart you walked home? But that wasn’t exactly true.”

“Once I sobered up, I didn’t see the point in leaving. The place was rocking.”

“Did you see Buddy?”

“Yeah. He was at the hamburger tent when I stumbled over there to get a burger.”

“Was Patty there?”

“She was. But right after she served me, she took her break.”

“What time was that?”

“Close to midnight.”

“Did you see a blonde working with Patty?”

“I don’t think so. But who knows.”

Bailey wouldn’t have been the type to notice burger-stand workers. “What about Kevin Pascal?”

“Mr. Security Guard. He was around, puffed chest looking like he was it.” Before I could ask another question, she said, “Do all these little details really matter?”

“They’re filling in pieces of the picture.”

“Be careful you don’t let the case drive you crazy like it did Taggart. The man was obsessed for the rest of his life.”

“How so?”

“He was seen walking in the woods near the farm. He spent a lot of time in the Depot, as if he expected Patty or Debra to return.”

“Why do you think he finally killed himself?”

“Lord only knows.”

I couldn’t decide if Bailey was worthless or lying. “Right. Thanks.” I hung up.

Many cops served their entire career and never worked a massive case like the Mountain Music Festival. And Taggart had won the big prize. He had arrested his man. If life were a state fair, he’d have walked away with the giant blue stuffed Cookie Monster.

But he’d not wrapped up all the loose ends. And I’d seen loose ends and unanswered questions lead to obsession and self-destructive behaviors. I’d read about tough-as-nails officers who’d wrestled under the weight of unsolved cases. The burden was especially heavy in child abduction or murder cases. Some found a way to move forward. Others lost their sanity.

Most thought my obsession with this case was fruitless. More about ego and clicks than justice. In their minds, what difference would it make? Yeah, sure, a dying man wouldn’t go free, but what harm could a guy like that do now? Even if I hit the bull’s-eye, I wasn’t winning a first-place prize. My carnival reward amounted to a cheap plastic key chain, or a rubber bouncy ball soon tossed in a junk drawer or the trash.

But I didn’t care. The critics could eat it. I was here for the dead.