Page 97 of What She Saw

He chuckled. “You don’t look troubled.”

“I’m not.”

“Taggart used to say his greatest wish was five minutes inside Colton’s mind.”

“Do you think that’s what got to Taggart?”

“He never uncovered all his answers, and it really bothered him. Maybe the thinking did him in.”

How many times had I wished for deeper insight into a killer’s head? Maybe one day, I’d find that insight and still hold on to my less-than-normal life. “Did he think Colton could have had help with the bodies?”

“He never mentioned that until the very end. A couple of weeks before he died, he thought he might have a lead.”

“Did he say what?”

“No. Said it could be nothing.”

Five years ago, I had Taggart’s case files, but I was ignoring them. Maybe if he’d reached out sooner, Taggart might have talked to me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What do you think the chances of finding those bodies are?”

I wanted to find them, but what I wanted didn’t always jibe with what the universe doled out. “Bad odds have never stopped me before. In fact, I like them.”

“I almost hope you don’t find them.”

“Why?”

“They’re dead. No unearthed bones will change that. And finding the bodies will tear open old wounds in this town. That case just about did us in. Took years for people to forget.”

I had no problem tearing Dawson in two if it meant finding the bodies. “That’s what I keep hearing.”

“Be careful. A lot of money was lost after that festival, and folks are real protective of what they have rebuilt.”

I drove out to where the old furniture factory had been located and found myself staring at PH Puckett Computers, Kevin Pascal’s employer. The building was an island of reflective glass and metal. Surrounded by a mile of asphalt parking, it was a guidepost to Dawson’s future.

The furniture company had failed, but the land remained in a prime location off Interstate 64 between Dawson and Staunton. Made sense it would get reused.

Kevin drove here five days a week. Time had allowed people to forget an old arrest and the festival, making it easier for his return. He’d come full circle.

I was convinced the abductions were a two-person job. For years, Taggart had not second-guessed his investigation. He’d locked on his target, didn’t look left or right, and never considered other scenarios. However, if Lawson was correct, maybe something had changed Taggart’s mind.

Whoever had helped Colton had been an unexpected accomplice. There’d been a report of a scream from the woods. Multiple people had seen Colton at one point or another during the evening. There’d not been long enough gaps for him to abduct four women.

I crossed the lot and walked into the glittering lobby. Finding a smile, I crossed to the reception desk. “Is Kevin Pascal here?”

The woman looked up at me. Brown eyes narrowed behind thick lenses. “Who are you?”

“Sloane Grayson.”

She nodded. “The reporter.”

Writer, but why bother to correct her. “That’s right. Is he here?”

“I’m not sure.”

I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. “His car is in the lot.”

She glared as if the death stare would make me vanish. When I remained intact, she reached for a pen and pad. “I can leave him a message. He’s working now.”