Page 144 of What She Saw
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.
