What She Saw - 33

Sloane

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. It was quiet in the woods. Only the sounds of wind, an owl, and maybe a bear pawing over the front porch. Through the canopy of trees, stars winked.

I’d been rereading the articles the press had written about the Mountain Music Festival. When Patty went missing, the media did not notice. When Laurie vanished, the world yawned. When Debra disappeared, everyone woke up. Three was a pattern. And stories spun around repetition.

Taggart held his press conference on a Sunday, nine days after the festival ended. One day after Taggart’s press conference, Brian Fletcher arrived at the police station to report his daughter Tristan missing.

Tristan Fletcher. The dancer. Cassidy Rogers had said Colton had been dating a young dancer. Colton had been around a lot of dancers in the music world. Maybe he liked them in general. Long, fit young bodies were hard to resist. Tristan had been at the festival handing out wristbands. She’d been nearby when Taggart had broken up a fight during the festival.

Two days after Taggart’s press conference, Mayor Briggs had insisted to a reporter the women would turn up. “Estimates placed two, maybe three thousand people at the event. People are bound to get lost in the shuffle. Of course, we are searching. And if any of these women hear this, please reach out to the Dawson sheriff’s office. Dawson is a peaceful town, and this festival was a celebration of life.”

The mayor was still spinning his positive story. He was a politician, and his job was to sell the town, but when did a positive outlook become negligence?

Nine days was a lifetime in the world of a missing person. Their golden hour had long tarnished.

My stomach was queasy, and I could feel energy building in me, as if a stopwatch embedded in my brain had sped up. Ticktock. Colton was getting out in twelve days, and I hadn’t found an answer.

After a quick shower, I dressed and drove into town. I picked up aspirin at the local drugstore across from the Depot.

As I approached the diner, I saw Paxton enter. Sheriff Paxton liked his routine. He worked Monday through Friday and ate his breakfast here Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I walked into the diner and took the seat next to Paxton in the back booth. When he glanced at me, he looked more annoyed than curious. “Still working on your article?”

“I am.”

Callie held up a pot of coffee, and I shook my head. “Soda?” she asked.

“That would be great. Thank you.”

“Coming right up.”

“Found out anything new?” Paxton asked.

“Hard to say.” I jostled a couple of aspirin out of the bottle into my palm. I swallowed them. “I stare and stare at my computer screen but don’t see the solution. All I need is the one critical piece, and it will come together.”

Paxton lifted his cup. “What do you want to know?”

“The blue guitar case,” I said. “You found it in the woods.”

“That’s right.”

“Walk me through it.” I had Taggart’s version.

“After the press conference, the case exploded. Taggart and I knew the clock was ticking louder and louder.”

By then the clock had expired. The women were dead. “Where did you find the case?”

“In the woods. It was lying at the base of a tree, half buried under leaves.”

“And no one had seen it?”

“No one had looked yet. We all kept hoping the girls would be found. But after the press conference, we rallied volunteers and hit the woods hard. The minute I saw it, I knew it was important. I called Taggart over right away. He radioed dispatch and told them to get the county forensic team over.”

“Your prints were found on the guitar case.” I let the statement stand.

The fact had been lost over time. “I picked it up and then I put it back down.”

“No gloves.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Understandable,” I said. “There was a lot going on. When did you learn it was Laurie Carr’s guitar case?”

“Right away. Her name was written on the inside.”

“Brian Fletcher was the last to file a missing person report.” I thought about the wall of photos in Mr. Fletcher’s den. The Fletchers’ lives had been condensed to thin paper images trapped in black wooden frames.

“That’s right.”

“Why do you think Mr. Fletcher was so late calling in Tristan’s report?”

“Tristan’s sister had told her parents that Tristan was staying with a friend. The sister saw the press conference and panicked. She told her parents she’d not heard from Tristan.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Mr. Fletcher didn’t realize Tristan was missing for nine days?”

“The wife was sick with cancer. Families under stress miss details.”

Mr. Fletcher’s wall of photos suggested he was obsessed with details. “Cassidy Rogers said Colton was dating a dancer.”

“He dated a lot of women in the entertainment field.”

“Tristan Fletcher was a dancer. Ever wonder if the two hooked up before the festival?”

“No way. Tristan was barely eighteen and going to a fancy dance school in the fall. She was too much of a straight arrow to date a guy like that.”

“I keep coming back to the fact that Brian Fletcher was so late contacting the police. Maybe he knew something. Maybe he worried what the cops would discover if he called.”

“We talked to Brian Fletcher for hours. His story never wavered.”

“How do you think Colton got the bodies off the mountain?”

“There were dozens of trailers on-site near the stage. I think he stowed them in there and drove off with them after the concert ended.”

“Colton was seen at the location the morning after, right?”

“Showered and clean. Looked fresh as a daisy.”

“Does that track with a man who just disposed of four bodies?”

“No one realized there was a problem until three days after the event. Plenty of time to go back and retrieve the bodies.” He shrugged. “That’s what we thought.”

I shook my head. “Did it bother you that no one, and I mean no one, heard any of the four girls screaming or resisting?” I lied.

“It was so crowded. A lot got missed.”

“I think someone lured the women to a place where they could be subdued. And I think that person drove the bodies off the mountain for Colton.”

“Taggart and I believed Colton was the classic Lone Wolf.”

“Colton had a concert to run, but he still had time to subdue and murder four women? That’s a busy guy.”

“Colton wasn’t too worried about the festival logistics. And he was doing cocaine. It can give a man superhuman strength.”

“Toward the end of his life, Taggart began to suspect Colton had help.” Taggart hadn’t shared his theory with anyone other than Mitch. But I wasn’t above passing that bit of news around town. “Did he ever run those theories past you?”

“He never said anything to me about it.” He sipped his coffee. “Believe me, Colton acted alone.”

As I left the diner, I saw Grant leaning against my truck, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes were shielded by Ray-Ban Wayfarer glasses. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans, and hiking boots.

“Your meeting with Colton will be in three days,” he said.

I wasn’t sure I was ready. There was a big missing piece of this puzzle. And I wanted it when I saw Colton. “Terrific.”

He pushed away from the car, straightening to his six-foot-plus frame. “You’re getting around.”

“That’s my job.”

“You’re onto something?”

“Like what?”

His head cocked. “I’m not sure. But you’re getting close to something.”

I met his gaze. “I could’ve stumbled upon a big pile of nothing.”

“Paxton looked tense when you were talking to him.”

“You were watching us?”

“I was.”

I glanced toward my Jeep. “Where’s the tracking device?”

A smile tipped his lips. “Say again?”

“There must be one on my Jeep. You keep showing up.”

He shrugged. “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

I’d search the car when I got back to the cabin. “Okay.”

“When you go to the prison, I’ll be with you.”

“Why?”

“You’ll need the backup.”

“I won’t.”

His smile broadened. “I’ll be in touch with the exact time.”