Page 130 of What She Saw
“She won’t, will she?”
“No. If she’s telling the truth, not until the second person in that trailer is found. She’s biding her time for that cop to leave the cul-de-sac.”
“And she saw the bodies?”
“That’s what she says.”
“What about sounds? Smells? Textures?”
“She heard breathing during her assault.” I reached back, recalling her words. “The second person was breathing fast.”
He turned his coffee cup handle from the left to the right. It was something he did when he was chewing on a problem. “Hyperventilating or excited?”
“I don’t know.” I used to think memories were concrete, but I realized now that time tended to attach to facts and alter the meaning. I didn’t doubt what Susan had heard, but her interpretation at the time could have been off if she had endured a sexual assault. “She has gaps in her memory, but some moments are very specific.”
“Trauma can blur or sharpen memory.”
“If she’s telling the truth,” I said.
“You don’t think she is?” he asked.
“Look for someone who is the opposite of Colton. Someone who is awkward or nervous. Who would have been too afraid to carry out a crime as the primary assailant. That would explain the breathing.”
“You just described Kevin Pascal, Sheriff Paxton, and Bailey Briggs Jones.”
“Maybe.”
The thought of someone watching Patty suffer in her final moments unsettled me. The glass cracked, allowing frigid anger to rush me. But Grant’s steadiness wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
“When do I see Colton?” I asked.
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
CJ Taggart
Friday, June 3, 1994, 1:00 p.m.
2 Weeks After
Once Taggart presented the evidence he’d found in the barn to the judge, the wheels turned faster. The state forensic lab was called, and within a couple of hours, they’d dispatched a team to Colton’s house. The team had been on-site when Colton pulled into his driveway.
He parked behind a van and rose out of his car. He was confused by the collection of police vehicles, but he made no effort to flee.
Taggart had arrested hundreds, maybe thousands of people during his career. And he’d seen every kind of reaction. Some panicked and ran. And others, like Colton, acted as if he’d made a huge mistake.
Taggart could already write Colton’s defense team’s argument. They’d insist that their client was innocent. Sure, Colton had been a poor festival manager, but he had no ill intent. He hadn’t hurt anyone. They’d also claim Taggart had planted the trinkets.
“Mr. Colton,” Taggart said.
“What’s going on, Sheriff?” Colton’s grin had faded.
“Rafe Colton, you have the right to remain silent.” He rattled off the Miranda rights as he reached for his cuffs.
“I’m not sure what’s going on here.” Colton looked as if he were waiting for the punch line of a joke. “But someone has made a big mistake.”
“No mistake.” The handcuffs rattled in Taggart’s hand. His body braced as he anticipated resistance. The nicest guys could turn violent when faced with cuffs locking around their wrists. As Paxton approached, his hand on his weapon, Taggart reached for Colton’s wrist. He clinked the first cuff and secured the second behind Colton’s back.
