Page 23 of What She Saw
“The tent owners insist that they’d pitched the tents for the purpose of sleeping.”
He shook his head. “They weren’t fooling anyone.”
“Several women who filed assault complaints said they’d been pulled in one of those tents.”
“The tents were a pain in the ass. We should have pulled them down as they went up.”
“Did you see Patty?”
“Yeah.”
“What were your impressions of her?”
“I liked Patty. Even considered taking her out.”
“But she had a kid.”
He nodded. “I didn’t need that kind of complication in my life.” His face flushed as if he remembered. “Sorry. You’re Patty Reed’s kid?”
“I am.” A half smile tipped my lips. “And for the record, I’m not sure I’d date anyone with kids. My work is my life.”
He studied my face as if searching for more traces of Patty. “I was totally into my job,” he said finally. “My plan was to work in Dawson a few years and then move on to a bigger department. I dreamed of being a city homicide detective.”
But he’d stayed in Dawson. Big dreams faded, and his life hadn’t changed much. “Why didn’t you?”
“In the end, I couldn’t leave Dawson. More ingrained in me than I’d imagined.”
“You also crossed paths with Laurie Carr,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve seen pictures taken of her. Hot.”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
In a different era or maybe if I were a guy, he could have made a few off-color jokes about hot chicks. But he was careful now to watch his words.
“You said you saw Taggart arguing with Colton at about seven that night.”
“They were standing toe to toe by the stage. Taggart didn’t look happy, but Colton was relaxed and smiling. I guessed they were discussing security.”
“You didn’t approach?”
“No. I walked toward the stage, which already had hundreds of people clustered around. The guitar player grinned at one of the girls standing close to the stage. He said something only she could hear, and she tossed back her head and laughed.”
Thirty-one years ago, Paxton’s comments had been more forthcoming. “Guys in bands get all the pussy,” he’d told a reporter.“I reckon Colton had all he could handle. I should take up guitar again. I was pretty good at it at one point.”
“About that time there was a woman by the tents who was in trouble,” I prompted.
“Which one? That festival walked hand in hand with booze, drugs, and sexual assault.”
“She was young. About seventeen, eighteen.”
“Right. Bailey Briggs.” She’d been lying face down in the grass beyond the tents. Her arms and legs were spread eagle. But her jeans and peasant top appeared intact.
He’d testified that he’d knelt by Bailey and rolled her on her back. Her thick blond hair was swept over her face, and he hadn’t recognized her immediately. She’d breathed in and out slowly, and he’d pressed his fingers to her throat, searching for a heartbeat. He’d studied the silken hair framing the freckled, pale face and realized who she was.
“The mayor’s daughter.”
