Chapter Twenty-Six CJ Taggart
Chapter Twenty-Six
CJ Taggart
Taggart tracked down Patty’s ex-boyfriend, Larry Summers, to his family-owned business near Staunton, Virginia, about a forty-five-minute drive west of Dawson. Summers had left Dawson, Patty, and his child, but he was close enough to keep tabs on them both.
Summers was in his late twenties and had been paroled after two years for breaking and entering.
When he’d been living with Patty, he’d roughed her up when she was pregnant.
She’d called the cops, and from what Sara said, she’d left him.
He’d cut her off completely after that. She’d sued for child support, and he’d threatened to make her disappear.
And now Patty was missing.
Taggart parked beside a rusted pickup truck.
Out of his vehicle, he settled his hat on his head. A pneumatic drill buzzed. Like Taggart, Larry Summers had been big for his age when he was a kid. Both had worked in their stepfathers’ garages by fifth grade.
In the early days, Taggart handed the old man tools and swept floors.
But by the time he was fourteen, he was changing oil and transmission fluids, plugging tires, or swapping spark plugs.
His stepfather had wanted him to take over the garage, but he’d run off to the marines right before his eighteenth birthday.
And now he was back in Dawson. As the old man used to say, “The farther you run, the closer you get to your past.”
He walked into the garage. Scents of oil and grease took him back to a life he’d abandoned. There were two cars on the racks. A Chevrolet sedan and a Ford pickup truck. A mechanic was under each vehicle.
“I’m looking for Larry Summers,” Taggart said.
The man under the Ford ducked his head down. Curiosity shifted to suspicion. “I’m Summers.”
“Mind if I have a word with you? I’m Sheriff CJ Taggart,” he asked.
Summers grabbed a stained cloth from his back pocket and walked toward him. The second mechanic had stopped working and now paid close attention.
“Is there a problem, Sheriff?” Summers was six foot three and had a muscular build. His short black mustache drew attention to puffy eyes swimming in a full face. This was the guy in the photo Patty kept at her trailer.
“I have a few questions.” He’d bet money that Summers was hungover. A crushing headache might have slowed him down, but Taggart didn’t underestimate the danger. He waited until Summers was clear of the garage and all the wrenches and screwdrivers were no longer within arm’s reach.
“About?” Summers asked.
“Patty Reed.”
Summers drew in an aggravated breath. “Whatever she’s saying about me is a lie. I haven’t seen her in over a year.”
“She’s not saying much,” he said.
“Does she want money for the kid? Because I’m barely getting by here.”
“When’s the last time you saw your daughter?”
“Never have. I told Patty I don’t think the kid is mine. She got around when we were together.”
Taggart had heard similar claims from other men during his career. It still pissed him off but didn’t make him so mad that it clouded his judgment. “You haven’t seen Patty in over a year?”
Summers wiped his hands with the grease-stained rag. “That’s right. Why do you care?”
“According to the police reports, you threatened to kill her if she pressed for child support. She’s also threatened to file a restraining order against you.”
“She never did that.”
“But she did call the cops. You bruised her arms and her face.”
“She fell. She was clumsy.”
“I read the report. The arresting officer said you have a history of drinking and getting into fights.”
“Sure, I like a few beers after work. That’s not against the law.”
“When was the last time you were in Dawson?”
“Six months, maybe. There are good bars there.”
“And you never happened by the diner where Patty works?”
“I don’t give a shit about Patty or her kid. We broke it off over a year ago. Again, why are you here? I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Patty worked at the Mountain Music Festival over the weekend.”
“Okay.”
“Where were you this weekend?”
“Here. Working. A Mustang with a blown transmission. We playing twenty questions? Or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Patty vanished from the music festival. No one has seen her since Saturday morning.”
He shifted. “What does that have to do with me?”
“You’re the guy on record who beat her up.”
Grinning, he shook his head. “You talked to Buddy? He’s not a Boy Scout. He has a thing for Patty.”
Buddy had been at the festival restocking supplies. He’d driven his van up the fire road and parked on the other side of the woods, where Patty had been last seen. “Did anyone see you working here over the weekend?”
“Sure. Seth over there will vouch for me.”
Seth had stepped out from under the car. He was watching them in plain view. Taggart noted Seth was as big as Summers.
“Seth, is that true?” Taggart asked. “Was Summers here all weekend long?”
“That’s right,” Seth said as if the answer had been rehearsed. “We worked side by side all weekend long. Guy was never out of my sight.”
“Even when he went to the john?” Taggart countered.
“You know what I mean,” Seth said. “He didn’t leave the garage.”
For now, there wasn’t much he could do. But he was sure that both men were hiding something. “Can I search the garage?”
“When you get a warrant,” Larry said.
“I’ll call in a request now. My deputy will deliver it.”
Both men glanced at each other. Yeah, there was something in the garage neither wanted him to see.
He moved to his vehicle and slid behind the wheel.
He reached for the radio and called into the office.
“Brenda, I need you to call the judge and get me a search warrant.” He explained where he was and who he was talking to.
When he rose out of the car, both men’s stony features telegraphed their anger.
“We have work to do,” Summers said. “We don’t have time for this.”
“The work will have to wait. I want you boys to stay right where you are.”
Seth pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He fished out a cigarette and a plastic lighter from the packet. “This is bullshit.”
“Boys, I don’t have beef with either of you. But I’m looking for a missing girl.”
“I haven’t seen her!” Summers shouted.
“I’m going to have to be convinced of that,” Taggart said. “And it’s going to take a search of the property before I’m convinced you aren’t part of this.”
“Go ahead and search,” Summers said. “There’s no woman here.”
“I’ll wait for my deputy and the warrant. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding if we end up in court.”
“Look, man,” Seth said. “I got weed and some coke. But no chick. Kidnapping and murder are different levels of trouble.”
“Yes, they are,” Taggart said. “Don’t you agree, Larry?”
“I didn’t hurt Patty,” he said.
“We’ll find out.”
The three of them sat in the warm spring air.
Taggart craved a cigarette. He reached in his pocket and settled a cigarette between his lips.
He lit the tip and inhaled. This morning he’d promised himself this was his last pack, but already he’d decided to pick up a new carton on the way home. This case was going to be a ballbuster.
They waited two hours before Deputy Paxton arrived with the search warrant.
Out of his car, the deputy settled his hat on his head. “Larry, Seth.” Then he looked at Taggart. “I’ve known those boys for years.”
The community in this part of the world was small and tight-knit. Right now, Taggart was the outsider. “Do you have the search warrant?”
Paxton produced the slim piece of paper. Then in a lower voice, he said to Taggart, “Judge doesn’t want you on a fishing expedition. Just anything related to Patty.”
The way the law read, anything Taggart saw in plain sight in the garage was fair game. And if he heard or saw anything related to Patty, then he could open a closet door or look in a locker.
“You stay out here with them. I’ll have a look around.”
“Right.”
Taggart walked into the garage and shut off the radio playing an ’80s rock song.
The space smelled of gasoline and oil. A workbench was covered with all kinds of auto repair equipment.
A poster of a blonde in a blue bikini hung on the wall.
Miss July 1988 was hot enough to stand the test of time.
The sights and sounds brought back memories of thousands of hours working in the old bastard’s garage.
He searched the garage bay, the office, and a storage shed out back. It was unlocked. He opened the door. If he found Patty, dead or alive, he would find a reason to justify why he’d searched inside.
The storage shed was crammed full of extra parts, hoses, old tires, and all kinds of crap that ate up almost the entire space. The chances of anyone storing a body or holding a woman here were slim to none.
After forty-five minutes, he conceded that there was no evidence Patty was on the property. That didn’t let Summers off the hook, but after this fruitless search, he wasn’t getting another warrant unless he had more cause.
Outside, he found Paxton and the boys joking about something. When they saw him, Paxton had the sense to wipe the smile off his face. Seth looked a little contrite. Summers did not.
“Tough coming up empty-handed, isn’t it, Sheriff?” Summers said. “I could’ve told you she’s alive and well. Mark my words: She’s hanging in a hotel room with someone from the festival. She always liked the artistic types.”
The car radio buzzed. Irritated, Taggart grabbed it. “What is it, Brenda?”
“We got another call about a third missing woman.”
His body stilled. “Who?”
“Debra Jackson. She never showed up to work or school yesterday.”
“Who called in the report?”
“Her younger half sister. Marsha Sullivan. She’s sixteen, a minor.”
“Where’s the mother?”
“Miss Sullivan says their mother is out of town with the stepfather. Debra lives alone in a trailer. Moved out of the family home last winter. The high school called looking for Debra, and the sister covered for her. But Marsha got worried and called Debra’s boss.
Debra hasn’t been seen since she left for the concert late Friday evening. ”
He rolled his head as tension wrapped around his neck. “Okay. I’m on my way back.”
“Another thing. Her unit is down the street from Patty Reed’s trailer.”