What She Saw - 38

Sloane

Grant and I sat in his truck down the street from the Dance Studio’s back parking lot. He opened the tracking app on his phone that he’d used to keep tabs on me.

An hour after I left the studio, the app showed movement. Susan’s van was soon headed west. We stayed a good distance from her, letting the tracker do the work. We drove to a suburb outside of Leesburg, Virginia.

He parked in the parking lot of the community’s recreation center. “You okay?”

“It’s a lot. I never thought I’d find one of them alive.”

Maybe on some level, I’d hoped that if anyone had made it out alive, it would have been Patty. Even if her living meant she’d abandoned me, I wanted her to be the lone survivor.

“It’s going to take a DNA test to prove it’s her,” Grant said. “And I’d bet she’s not going to give one up.”

“Hair or saliva samples are easy enough to get.”

“You need to do this part by the book, Sloane. Taggart’s search methods were always suspect.”

There had been suggestions that he’d planted the evidence. The defense attorney had argued Taggart could have obtained all the trinkets from searches he’d conducted of the victims’ residences or from the festival site. Taggart had been alone when he’d made his initial discovery. But when state police arrived, he was waiting outside, and he played it all by the book. It had taken fifteen minutes for them to find the evidence.

“Susan’s shocked reaction to her old name was all the proof I need.”

“You sound like Taggart. Got to have more than a feeling. The police will require more.”

“Is she still in the same place?”

He glanced at his phone. “Yes.”

I searched the address on my phone. “She incorporated her business twenty years ago. I would bet her home is owned by the corporation.” Hiding behind a corporation was an effective way to dodge searches for a name or Social Security number.

“Layers of corporate identities are a good way to hide in plain sight.”

“She’s not going to stay in her house long. Her cover has been blown,” I said. “Her legal troubles have just begun.”

“She’s calculating the damage now,” he said.

“Taggart voiced suspicions about Brian Fletcher. He always wondered why the guy was so late filing his daughter’s missing person report.”

“Brian’s reasons were plausible,” Grant said. “Taggart was in the center of a shitstorm, so he never pressed or followed up. Brian Fletcher never attended the trial. His wife had died. They held a funeral for his wife and Tristan at the same time. Tristan’s empty coffin was laid to rest next to her mother’s.”

“If Tristan survived, her father must have known,” I said. “But he deliberately broke several laws and reported her missing.”

“He thought he was protecting her,” Grant said.

“She was fearful for her life,” I said. “Or maybe she knew she could be arrested for helping Colton lure the girls to their deaths?”

“We need to talk to her,” he said.

“First thing in the morning.”

“We’re going to need to find somewhere else to wait. We’ll get noticed here, and someone is going to call the cops.”

“I want to make sure she’s still in her house,” I said. “Do you have a screwdriver?”

He reached behind the seat and opened a small toolbox. He handed me a red-handled screwdriver. “Should I ask?”

I shook my head. “I’ll be right back.”

“Roger.”

Out of his car, I walked down the street, pumping my arms as if I were out for an evening power walk. I walked into Susan’s cul-de-sac and spotted her van in the driveway of the last house. The lights were on in her home, but I strolled by, keeping my head turned. I circled the cul-de-sac and then approached her car. I jammed the screwdriver into the back tire. Air hissed out.

Standing, I returned to Grant’s truck, and he drove. “There’s a strip mall a mile from here. We can wait it out.”

“Right.”

He swung into a drive-through, grabbed a couple of hamburgers, fries, and sodas, and parked in a darkened portion of the lot. I nibbled fries and sipped soda.

“I can take the first shift watching the tracker,” he said.

“No need. I’m a bad sleeper.”

We both sat in silence for most of the night. I dozed once and found myself tripping into a dream. Patty was there, smiling and holding her arms open for me. I stood stock straight, unwilling to let her embrace me. She smiled, accepting that her daughter had never been one to show affection.

The rising sun leaked over the dashboard, and when I opened my eyes, Grant was drinking hot coffee. There was a fresh soda in the drink container. I sipped. He was a good guy. Generous. “Time to visit Susan.”

“Want me to come?”

“No. Better it’s just me.” I smiled, hoping it looked genuine.

He arched a brow. “I’ll be right here.”

Grant wove through the suburban streets that all looked alike, and he found Susan’s house. In the daylight, I noted her yard was small but maintained. A ballerina flag hung under her mailbox.

He parked behind Susan’s white van, a vehicle no one would notice or remember. But that was the point, right? Don’t let your guard down. Always hide.

I grabbed my purse and walked up the trimmed walkway to the front door. A summer wreath made of fake sunflowers hung from the door.

I rang the bell. When I didn’t hear any movement, I rang it again. “Come on, Susan. We need to rip this Band-Aid off.”

Seconds later, footsteps sounded in the hallway and the door opened. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight dancer’s bun. Her fitted top molded against a thin frame, and a light skirt skimmed over a leotard.

The instant she saw me, she tried to close the door. I put out my hand and blocked it.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” I said.

“Get off my property or I’m calling the cops.”

I pressed hard against the door. “Do you really want to call the cops, Susan? I’ll get arrested for trespassing, but then I’ll start telling the police my story. And it’s going to stir up a lot of questions.”

“Go away!”

“Do you know that Colton is scheduled to be released soon? The powers that be decided thirty-one years was enough. And he’s got cancer. Compassionate release, from what I hear. He’ll be interested to see you, I bet.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My mother was Patty Reed. She was one of Colton’s victims. I’m trying to find her body.”

“I don’t know her name.” She pushed harder.

Irritation snapped. I was tired of reminding people that my mother had existed. “She sold hamburgers at the festival. My grandmother was babysitting me when she vanished.”

“Go away!”

I locked my elbow, turning my arm into a rod. “Come on. I bet you know a lot of details about this case. If you didn’t meet Patty, you could have bought a burger from her.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, leave.”

“I can’t.” I spoke softly but my arm remained rigid. “I must find the missing women. I must find my mother.”

“I can’t help you.”

“Susan, I’m not going away.” I stepped back and she slammed the door.

I sat on the front stoop, reached for my phone, and called Grant. He answered, and our gazes locked. “It’s her. And it’s going to be a while.”

“I have all the time in the world.”

“Good.” I began scrolling. I didn’t pay close attention to what I was seeing, but it gave me something to do with my hands while I waited for Susan to chill.

In the distance I heard a police siren and wondered if Susan had called my bluff. The sound grew closer. I kept scrolling. But then the wail trailed off and stopped.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, it grew warmer. I should have packed a hat. Sunburn was always a drag. But I didn’t budge from my perch. Grant stood in the driveway, and his stance was relaxed, as if he’d done a thousand stakeouts.

Inside, I heard footsteps pacing by the front window. Curtains fluttered. More neighbors left for work. A few glanced in my direction. But I smiled and waved as if my sitting here were the most normal thing in the world. A smile and an attitude went a long way to dissuading anyone’s worries.

Another hour passed.

At 9:30, Susan opened her door. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m very determined.” I didn’t glance up from my phone. “My ass is bonded to your front steps until we talk.”

“I have to go to work.”

“Your studio opens at noon, right?”

“How much do you know about me?”

“As much as a quick internet search could tell me. There’s a lot more I’d like to know about you.”

“How did you find this house?”

I remained relaxed. She was talking to me. Progress. I skipped the part about the tracker on her car. “I started with your studio, which has a good online presence. Finding your home address took more legwork.” The next was a guess. “Hiding your home address behind your incorporated company was a good idea.”

“I like my privacy.”

I looked over my shoulder. Her face was flushed and her eyes red. “I don’t want to invade your life. But Colton is about to be released. And you saw something at that festival that sent you into hiding for thirty-one years.”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“I think you’re Tristan Fletcher. I’m still not sure if you were Colton’s helper or one of his victims.”

Her face paled. “I would never have helped him hurt anyone.”

Ah, an admission of sorts. But I didn’t look at her, fearing she’d lock down again. “So, you did know him?”

She pursed her lips. “The press covered the case extensively.”

“I know. I’ve read all the articles.” I shook my head and closed my phone as I rose. I faced her. “Those women were silenced. I want to give them a voice.”

“Everyone has forgotten them.” The words slipped over her lips like a whispered curse.

“Their families have not. They’re still grieving. They can’t move on because there’s a hole in the middle of their hearts.” The words sounded trite, corny even. But the image summed it up. “I’m not leaving for their sake.”

Silence ticked between us. And then: “Come inside.”

I stepped inside. I didn’t glance over my shoulder toward Grant standing in the driveway. Air-conditioning cooled my hot skin. The house was immaculate. A carpet indented with vacuum cleaner tracks, a mirror so polished it cut the light hitting it in two, and kitchen counters behind her wiped clean. I’d hoped to grab a dirty glass or hair from a comb for a DNA test. But there was nothing.

“Thank you,” I said.

She closed and locked her front door. “You cannot expose me.”

“You’re Tristan Fletcher.”

“I didn’t say that. And if you spread that lie, it won’t matter if it’s true or not.”

“I don’t want to go public. But I will if you don’t talk to me.”

She folded her arms over her chest.

“I don’t bluff, Susan.”

“Don’t you care about me?” Her voiced kicked up an octave. “This is going to destroy my life.”

“At least you’re alive.”

“I can’t undo what happened thirty-one years ago.”

“You can help me find them.”

“Who’s the man in the car in my driveway?”

“Former cop. He’s been working with me. He’s interested in keeping Colton in prison.”

“You’ll end the life I have.” She was a broken record, her fear on constant repeat.

“I don’t want to ruin anything.” That wasn’t true. She’d been hiding for thirty-one years, and her silence had trapped so many innocents in their own prisons. Even her father was ensnared in limbo. “But sometimes you must break a few eggs to make an omelet.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “Can’t you just go away and leave me alone?”

“What happened at the festival?”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head.

“Colton kept a ring that your father identified as yours.”

Her thumb brushed the underside of her ring finger, as if she could still feel the delicate gold encircling her skin.

“You were last seen near the stage about eleven p.m. on Friday night. What happened?”

She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. She drank and then washed the glass with soap and water before setting it in a dish drainer by the sink.

Whatever Susan thought about her life, it was clear she’d been in her own prison. She never made a move without fearing discovery. Even drinking from a glass was too much of a risk for her.

“What happened?” I pressed.

She rested her hands on either side of the sink and stared out the window. “Rafe Colton saw me dancing at the festival and told me I was good. He asked if I wanted to dance on the stage when the next band played their set.”

“I’ve seen pictures of him. He was an attractive man.”

“And so charming.” She shook her head. “I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I was so smart.”

“You were eighteen. I’ve met very few teenagers who know the world.”

She faced me.

“No one saw you leave with him,” I said.

“Colton told me to meet him behind the stage. I had to check in with a stage manager and get a pass. I was so excited. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.”

Her statement didn’t match up with testimony in Colton’s trial. The stage manager testified he’d never issued Tristan a pass. I studied her face, decoding her expressions. She’d had thirty-one years to convince herself that this story was true. I took a small step toward her.

“I met him backstage a half hour later. The next band was setting up, and there were trunks and boxes everywhere. Equipment swaps, yelling, and band members scurrying. I think about that moment often when my studio hosts a recital. The girls are running around, and their parents are chasing after them. Like herding cats, but it somehow gets done.”

“And then you danced at about ten p.m. that Friday night.”

“Yes.”

Her long, lean body had swayed like a siren’s onstage as she’d moved around the lead guitarist. “Was it amazing?”

“Intoxicating.”

“Your performance ended about ten fifteen p.m. From the reports I read, no one noticed you vanish.”

“The rain was pouring. Bands and crew were trying keep their equipment dry. Colton was behind one of the tall trunks. He had water bottles and offered me one. As I drank, he drifted off to deal with a band member’s issue. I didn’t finish the bottle because I was cold and very tired.”

“Was the water drugged?”

“It must have been. I felt woozy. I stumbled away from the stage toward the woods. I leaned against a tree and tried to clear my head. As my knees buckled, someone caught me. When I woke up, I was in a trailer. My pants were gone and there was a man shoving inside me.”

“Was it Colton?”

“Yes. He had his hands around my neck, and he was choking me. As I coughed and grabbed for air, he slammed inside of me harder. My body felt as if it were being split in two. I’d never been with a guy before that night.”

I searched for pity, but all I found were faint hints of annoyance. Why didn’t I believe her?

Susan glanced at her hand, tracing a callus on her palm. “I passed out.”

“And when you woke up?”

She drew in a breath. “It was very dark. I panicked and hyperventilated. But I knew if I screamed, he’d come back. There was a little light leaking through the door cracks, so I found my pants and pulled them on. I could also make out the form of three other bodies. I crawled to each person and felt for any sign of life. They were all dead.” The last few words were nearly inaudible.

“Did you recognize any of them?”

“I didn’t know their names until later, when I saw their pictures in the newspapers along with mine.”

The first trailers had left the festival site at sunrise. And Colton had several witnesses who placed him on the festival grounds until midmorning. “What did you do?”

“I gathered my clothes and then tried the back door latch, and it opened.” Her eyes glistened as if the memory still carried weight. “I got out and closed the door behind me.”

“Where was the trailer when you escaped?”

“A field. There was no one around.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No. I ran into the field and hid in the grass. I dressed lying down and then waited until the truck drove off.”

“Where was the sun?”

“Above the horizon, but it was still cool.”

“What did you see around you?”

“I don’t remember much. I was in shock and terrified. I walked for hours and then found a road.”

“What road?”

“Two-lane.”

“Traffic?”

“No.”

There’d been hundreds of cars leaving the site all morning.

“I walked. Finally, I saw a gas station at the corner of Tanner’s Run and Sherman Road.”

I knew the intersection, but the gas station was gone. “Where was the sun now?”

“It was high in the sky. And it was getting hot. I found a pay phone and called my father.”

The intersection was about ten miles south of the Nelson farm. It was also a few hundred yards from the barn that had fascinated Kevin.

“Did you see the truck and trailer?”

“No.”

Her story was plausible. Or well rehearsed over the last thirty-one years. She was a dancer, accustomed to finding perfection. “Did anyone see you at the gas station?”

“No. After the call, I hid in the woods until Daddy arrived.”

“Whoever opened the trailer must have known you were missing.”

“That’s why I was terrified. I told my father what happened. He wanted to call the police and take me to the hospital. I begged him not to. Mommy was sick, and I was terrified they’d come after me.”

“They?” I asked. “You said Colton raped you.”

“There was another person in the trailer. He was watching.”

“He? You saw him?”

“No. But I heard the breathing.”

“Could this person have driven the trailer off-site?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Colton had always denied the murder charges and insisted he didn’t know where the bodies were buried. “You’re sure there was a second person?”

“Yes. I’m positive.”