Page 88 of What She Saw

“How do you know that? You said you never saw her.”

“I ran into Kevin that night. He told me she was at the festival.”

The surveillance footage at the dry cleaner’s showed Kevin picking Debra up close to 10:00 p.m. “What time was that?”

“About eleven. It started raining harder soon after.”

“And you never hooked up with Debra at the concert?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t you tell Taggart you walked home? But that wasn’t exactly true.”

“Once I sobered up, I didn’t see the point in leaving. The place was rocking.”

“Did you see Buddy?”

“Yeah. He was at the hamburger tent when I stumbled over there to get a burger.”

“Was Patty there?”

“She was. But right after she served me, she took her break.”

“What time was that?”

“Close to midnight.”

“Did you see a blonde working with Patty?”

“I don’t think so. But who knows.”

Bailey wouldn’t have been the type to notice burger-stand workers. “What about Kevin Pascal?”

“Mr. Security Guard. He was around, puffed chest looking like he was it.” Before I could ask another question, she said, “Do all these little details really matter?”

“They’re filling in pieces of the picture.”

“Be careful you don’t let the case drive you crazy like it did Taggart. The man was obsessed for the rest of his life.”

“How so?”

“He was seen walking in the woods near the farm. He spent a lot of time in the Depot, as if he expected Patty or Debra to return.”

“Why do you think he finally killed himself?”

“Lord only knows.”

I couldn’t decide if Bailey was worthless or lying. “Right. Thanks.” I hung up.

Many cops served their entire career and never worked a massive case like the Mountain Music Festival. And Taggart had won the big prize. He had arrested his man. If life were a state fair, he’d have walked away with the giant blue stuffed Cookie Monster.

But he’d not wrapped up all the loose ends. And I’d seen loose ends and unanswered questions lead to obsession and self-destructive behaviors. I’d read about tough-as-nails officers who’d wrestled under the weight of unsolved cases. The burden was especially heavy in child abduction or murder cases. Some found a way to move forward. Others lost their sanity.

Most thought my obsession with this case was fruitless. More about ego and clicks than justice. In their minds, what difference would it make? Yeah, sure, a dying man wouldn’t go free, but what harm could a guy like that do now? Even if I hit the bull’s-eye, I wasn’t winning a first-place prize. My carnival reward amounted to a cheap plastic key chain, or a rubber bouncy ball soon tossed in a junk drawer or the trash.

But I didn’t care. The critics could eat it. I was here for the dead.

Chapter Twenty-Eight