What She Saw, page 29
He looked amused. “Is this the moment you ask me where they are?”
“You aren’t listening. I don’t think you know where they are. Whoever helped you knows, but that person never told you.”
He grinned. His teeth weren’t as white as in his old promo pictures, but the smile was still electric. “Then if I’m so worthless, why come here?”
“I wanted to meet you.”
“Why?”
“I’m using every new detail I’ve learned to find those bodies.”
He bunched up his lips as if stifling a laugh. “You’re so sure of yourself, Sloane. Positivity is good, even if it’s misguided.”
“I don’t do false bravado, Mr. Colton. This story isn’t my first rodeo.”
He shook his head. “You remind me of him.”
“Who?”
“Your daddy. You don’t look like him, but you’re as cold as he was. Guy had a lead heart.”
“Ah, dear old Dad. Serving life for a triple murder. When did you meet Larry?”
“I was at the diner. The festival was just an idea, and Patty was pregnant with you. Larry came in.”
His lawyers had told the story of Patty and Colton’s first meeting. According to the defense attorneys, Larry had been harassing Patty, but Colton had come to her aid.
If Patty had been the only missing woman, that tidbit would’ve helped Colton. But Patty wasn’t the lone victim. “Let me guess, he was mean to her.” I’d heard enough war stories from Sara.
“She wanted to make it work with him. But he was too nasty.”
I let him talk. I knew he was manipulating me, but I was curious about Larry. His DNA mattered more now.
“Did you know I helped Patty name you?”
I still didn’t respond.
“I grew up with a kid named Rick Sloane. I liked the guy. But he was a hell-raiser. Anyway, I must have been thinking about him when your mother was asking everyone in the diner for name suggestions. I tossed out Sloane. To my surprise, she grabbed it.”
“Good for her.”
“Rick died when we were about sixteen. He drove too fast and took too many chances. Took a curve too fast. Hit a tree and died on impact. There wasn’t much left of him to bury.”
“Burned to ashes.”
“That’s about right.”
The room was warm, but my skin was chilled. I searched for sadness or remorse but couldn’t find either. I wasn’t so different from my old man. Was I on track to screw up the next generation? Or was there enough of Patty in me to make a go with a kid?
“I watched Patty tell Larry she was pregnant with his child. He showed no feelings. He did not care. His callousness hurt her. She was crying and ran to the back room. He tried to follow her, but I stopped him.”
“Hero to the rescue.”
“I’m like you. I don’t like bullies, Sloane.”
Was the emphasis on my name supposed to be a bonding moment? “All the girls were similar. Young. Attractive. Vibrant. You have a type.”
“We all do.” He sat back. “Let me guess. You go for guys that are sensitive and in touch with their emotions. Makes you feel like you’ve got a connection. But after a few weeks, you realize that you’re incapable. So you lose interest and move on.”
The arrow hit the bull’s-eye. He was right. I reached for long-term implications but couldn’t grasp them.
The woman sitting next to me chuckled softly and raised her hands to the thick, smudged glass. The man on the other side did the same. Their grins were sloppy, but in this moment they felt genuine.
“I love all women,” he said.
“You love them so much you hide them and keep them all to yourself forever.”
“You just told me I don’t know where they are. Which is it?”
“The point is no one else can have them. And one day you believe you’ll stand over their remains.”
“You mean their naked, stripped bones? I imagine all the flesh is gone and the bones are discolored.”
The truth always leaked out. “When you drift off to sleep at night, do you dream about their bones?”
Dark eyes glistened with amusement. “Dancing like marionettes on a clear day in the mountains?”
“I bet it’s a rush. To know their flesh and bones are nearly dust.”
He chuckled. “You’re clever.”
“Not really. I tend to be very direct.”
“I’m sure you’ll have lots of good theories as you hammer out your word count.”
“I don’t want theories. I want the truth.”
Colton leaned forward, closed his eyes, and sniffed. “God, but I wish I could smell you. I love the scent of a woman. Especially after she’s had sex. When’s the last time you got some?”
Three decades hadn’t softened him. He was enjoying my attention. “Do you ever dream about Tristan Fletcher or Cassidy Rogers?”
His eyes brightened. “Cassidy is a bitch. Tristan is dead. I like my women willing and alive.”
“You liked Cassidy at one time?”
“Sure. She was hot.”
In the reflection on the glass barrier, I caught the deputy’s tight-lipped expression. I think the officer’s outrage was as much for himself as it was me. Not everyone was charmed by Rafe Colton.
“And you don’t dream about Tristan even though she’s dead.”
He grinned. “Give me a picture of her at the festival and I will.”
I reached in my bag and pulled out a picture of Tristan at the festival. “Like this?”
His eyes darkened and he leaned closer. “Yeah.”
“She had a thing for you, didn’t she?”
“A lot of chicks did.”
“But she hung out with you in the weeks leading up to the concert, didn’t she?”
“Sure. No law against that.”
I laid the picture face down in front of me. “I forgot to tell you. Tristan is still alive.” I smiled. “I’m not going to lie. Finding her alive and well threw me for a loop. Who would have thought that one of the Festival Four was alive?”
“Is that the best you got?”
“Tristan remembers the inside of a container and seeing the other bodies. She remembers the second person in the trailer.”
“Nice try, Sloane.”
I could not name the feeling unfurling inside me. It was acrid and angry. “She said all the girls around her were dead when she startled awake. I guess you didn’t strangle her well enough. Oh well. Either way, she’s going to testify that she saw the bodies.” I smiled. “No release for you.”
His grin vanished. But surprise darkened his gaze. “Good story.”
Did he not know about Tristan’s escape? “All these years the cops were searching for bones. And little did they know that a living witness was right under their noses.”
He shook his head. “For a girl who doesn’t like games, you’re good at it.”
The deputy’s slight surprise told me he was paying close attention. “I thought seeing you would be interesting. But I’m bored. I don’t need the bodies anymore. I have Tristan.”
His face hardened. “Why did you come here if you don’t need me?”
“To see your face when I told you.”
“If I did have a little helper, and I’m not saying I did, but if I did, doesn’t that worry you? That person has everything to lose and will be freaking out.”
He was right. Coming here could very well have put a target on my back.
“Then I’ll have to be extra careful, won’t I?”
Chapter Forty-One
CJ Taggart
Monday, December 8, 2014
Twenty Years After
The community breathed a sigh of relief when Taggart announced Colton’s arrest in early June. After Colton’s arrest, the commonwealth’s attorney had quickly filed charges. At trial, he’d fashioned the portrait of a complicated, dangerous man who should never be free again.
More sexual assault accounts like Cassidy Rogers’s came to light. Women told Taggart in graphic detail how Colton enjoyed their suffering as he sexually and physically abused them. Some admitted Colton liked threesomes and got off when one of the partners sat by the bed and watched.
Several town leaders from the region testified that Colton’s other festivals were just as poorly organized, and many were plagued by assaults and robberies. An FBI agent searched missing person reports in all the areas where Colton had held festivals. He came up with three missing women. None of them had been found, but there was never enough evidence to link any of it to Colton.
Taggart was more convinced than ever that he’d made the right move.
A few questioned Taggart’s luck. Finding those trinkets had been one hell of a Hail Mary. Almost a little too good to be true. There was talk the evidence had been planted, but it was a small sin compared to Colton’s greater depravities. Taggart’s cobbled-together puzzle pieces created a good enough picture of a murderer.
Bottom line was, the killer had been caught. It was as happy an ending as there could be.
In many jurisdictions, the case would have been thrown out. But there was an unspoken consensus in the Dawson community that Colton deserved prison. His lawyers lobbied for a change of venue, but the judge had refused. The town of Dawson, especially the mayor, wanted a pound of Colton’s flesh.
And the town of Dawson got its justice. Eleven months after the music festival, Colton was convicted on four counts of murder.
Despite all the congratulations, Taggart didn’t feel the full weight of the win. He’d never found the women, and for that he felt as if he’d failed.
Taggart had thought Colton would eventually break and tell him—or someone—where he’d buried the women. But as hard as Taggart had pressed Colton in the interrogations, the man had never wavered. He insisted he was innocent, and that Taggart was framing him.
Five years after the trial, Taggart had taken the case file records and made copies of them all. He’d swapped the copies for the real files and hidden the originals in his cabin. He’d hoped time and a new perspective would help him see the case in a new light. But the facts refused to lead to the bodies. In his gut, he knew he had the right man behind bars. But the specter of missing remains taunted him more as he got older.
He’d kept tabs on Sloane Grayson, Patty’s kid. Sara had moved her to Charlottesville and raised her there. He’d never seen her as an infant, and the first time he’d laid eyes on her, she was six. He’d spent an all-nighter reading the Mountain Music Festival files and the profile on Patty Reed. On a whim, he’d gone looking for her kid.
He’d found her on the playground of her elementary school. Her mother’s black hair and angled face made her easy to spot. The kid had been watching a couple of boys teasing another girl. She’d held back, and he’d thought for a moment she was just afraid to confront the older boys. Then she’d picked up a rock, marched toward the boys, and smacked the biggest one. He’d fallen forward. Blood stained the rock, Sloane, and the kid’s shirt when the teachers came running. Sloane, who showed no signs of remorse, had been pulled away. Teachers gathered around the crying boy.
Taggart followed Sloane through her time in school. She was arrested several times for breaking and entering as a minor, and she would’ve ended up in juvenile detention if he’d not spoken privately to the judge. Social workers determined she had sociopathic tendencies. But she wasn’t like her father. Though she didn’t take pleasure from violence, she wasn’t afraid to bend rules to the point of snapping. In his mind, she was a perfect blend of her parents.
It made sense to give her his files. He wasn’t sure if she’d tackle the story, but if he’d had to bet, he’d have put his money on her.
In thick black ink, he scrawled the only note to her: “I couldn’t find the missing women.” Maybe Sloane could.
Chapter Forty-Two
Sloane
Friday, August 22, 2025, 9:30 p.m.
By the time Grant parked in front of the cabin, it was pitch-black on the mountain. The air had cooled, and the wind blew in quick gusts, twisting the leaves and straining branches. A storm was coming. I hoisted my backpack on my shoulder and then slipped on Cody’s leash before we got out of the car. Grant followed.
“I’ll go to the convenience store and grab a couple of pizzas,” he said.
“That would be great. Thank you.” I’d spent the drive processing Colton’s visit and a possible pregnancy. The two thoughts competed for brain space. The pressure in my head was building, and it was hard to concentrate.
Cody peed, sniffed the wind. His tail wagged.
“You okay?” Grant asked.
“I’m fine. Just processing the day.” I met his gaze, feeling I owed him an explanation. “I’m a little overwhelmed.”
“I get that.” He came toward me and wrapped his arms around me.
I wasn’t sure how to react, but some of the stress tightening my body eased. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know. You’re tough.” He kissed me on top of the head. “See you in an hour.”
“Right.”
“Cody, hop in the car, buddy,” Grant said. The old dog was happy to follow Grant, with whom he seemed to have already bonded. Me he liked, but Grant he adored.
When Grant pulled down the driveway, I was glad no one was at the cabin. I needed a little quiet to decompress. Lightning streaked across a dark, starless sky.
I pushed through the front door, locked it. My body ached and my head pounded. My stomach grumbled. I lowered my backpack on the kitchen table.
Outside, thunder rumbled.
I stripped and turned on the hot spray of the shower. Stepping under the water, I imagined Colton’s grin, the sounds of prison doors slamming shut, memories of Patty, and worries of a baby. They all washed off my body and down the drain. The hot water petered out, so I shut off the tap and grabbed a towel. I dried off and combed out my damp hair. I padded into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was a carton of eggs, a few apples, and bread. I grabbed the bread and fished a couple of slices out of the sleeve. I took a bite.
I glanced at my phone. No Wi-Fi. And data was stretched too thin for a signal.
There was no way of knowing if Susan was still in Northern Virginia. She’d spent thirty-one years hiding and building a lifetime of habits to protect her identity. And now she was on the move? Would she come to Dawson, or vanish into the wind?
I pushed my thumb into the softened bread. Using the landline, I called Grant, knowing he had service at the bottom of the mountain. “Did the medical examiner inspect Brian Fletcher’s body?”
My abruptness had never thrown him. “He will first thing in the morning. Fletcher’s youngest daughter, Lannie, arrived in town today.”
“Where’s she staying?”
“Local hotel.”
“Which one?”
“You can’t talk to her.”
“Why not? She was in on the lie with her father. They both knew that Tristan was alive and changed her name to Susan.”
“The cops are still interviewing her. They don’t need you complicating the process.”
“Susan hid from everyone for almost thirty-one years. She knows how to get around unnoticed. If she were going to run again, she’d be smart. She’d change her appearance and ditch her car for another one. I bet she had a go-bag with cash in the house.”
“There’s a BOLO out for her and her second vehicle, which is a gray four-door sedan.”
“The kind of car no one pays attention to.”
“They are now.”
“Colton turned white when I told him Tristan was alive.”
“Good. Let him chew on that for a while.”
Susan had said that Colton had had an accomplice. My mind had jumped to Kevin. Was that simply because I didn’t like the guy? “Susan didn’t tell the entire truth.”
“What’s she holding back?”
“I keep thinking back to Taggart’s impression of Tristan. She was seductive, combative, and high. I wonder if Colton dragged her in that trailer or she went willingly.”
“Not a rape?”
“She wouldn’t be the first girl to make a bad decision and then turn the tables on the story.”
“What about what she saw in the trailer?”
“That was too on point not to be real. That’s the moment she realized she’d chosen the wrong guy.”
Thunder clapped and lightning lit up the sky. Cody whimpered.
“Cody doesn’t like the thunder,” I said.
“No, he does not. For such a big dog, he’s a baby.”
“Maybe he’s just wise to the dangers of storms.”
Grant chuckled. “You could be right. We have the pizza in hand. We’ll be back at the cabin in a half hour.”
I walked toward the window, straining the limits of the phone cord. My reflection in the glass obscured what could be out there.
A shifting in the shadows caught my attention. Gaze narrowing, I searched the tree line.
“Did you hear what I said?” Grant asked.
“Sorry, I’m staring at the woods. I thought I saw something out there.”
“Are you sure? No one goes up there.”
“I know.” I moved toward my bedroom to grab my gun, but the phone cord stopped me.
“Can you see anything?”
I shut off the lights and returned to the window. The trees swayed. Bushes rustled in the wind. Through the darkness, I didn’t see anything that resembled a person. “No. Must have been an animal.”
“We’re on the way. And I’m staying on the line.”
“You’ll lose the signal in about two minutes.”
“We’ll keep talking as long as we can.”
“It could be the wind.”
“Since when did you embrace wishful thinking?”
“Never.”
I turned from the window and moved toward the dining room. My fingers tightened around the phone’s bulky receiver. “I must be a little jumpy after the prison visit.”
