Chapter Thirty-Six Sloane
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sloane
Grant and I sat in his truck down the street from the Dance Studio’s back parking lot. He opened the tracking app on his phone that he’d used to keep tabs on me.
An hour after I left the studio, the app showed movement. Susan’s van was soon headed west. We stayed a good distance from her, letting the tracker do the work. We drove to a suburb outside of Leesburg, Virginia.
He parked in the parking lot of the community’s recreation center. “You okay?”
“It’s a lot. I never thought I’d find one of them alive.”
Maybe on some level, I’d hoped that if anyone had made it out alive, it would have been Patty. Even if her living meant she’d abandoned me, I wanted her to be the lone survivor.
“It’s going to take a DNA test to prove it’s her,” Grant said. “And I’d bet she’s not going to give one up.”
“Hair or saliva samples are easy enough to get.”
“You need to do this part by the book, Sloane. Taggart’s search methods were always suspect.”
There had been suggestions that he’d planted the evidence.
The defense attorney had argued Taggart could have obtained all the trinkets from searches he’d conducted of the victims’ residences or from the festival site.
Taggart had been alone when he’d made his initial discovery.
But when state police arrived, he was waiting outside, and he played it all by the book.
It had taken fifteen minutes for them to find the evidence.
“Susan’s shocked reaction to her old name was all the proof I need.”
“You sound like Taggart. Got to have more than a feeling. The police will require more.”
“Is she still in the same place?”
He glanced at his phone. “Yes.”
I searched the address on my phone. “She incorporated her business twenty years ago. I would bet her home is owned by the corporation.” Hiding behind a corporation was an effective way to dodge searches for a name or Social Security number.
“Layers of corporate identities are a good way to hide in plain sight.”
“She’s not going to stay in her house long. Her cover has been blown,” I said. “Her legal troubles have just begun.”
“She’s calculating the damage now,” he said.
“Taggart voiced suspicions about Brian Fletcher. He always wondered why the guy was so late filing his daughter’s missing person report.”
“Brian’s reasons were plausible,” Grant said.
“Taggart was in the center of a shitstorm, so he never pressed or followed up. Brian Fletcher never attended the trial. His wife had died. They held a funeral for his wife and Tristan at the same time. Tristan’s empty coffin was laid to rest next to her mother’s. ”
“If Tristan survived, her father must have known,” I said. “But he deliberately broke several laws and reported her missing.”
“He thought he was protecting her,” Grant said.
“She was fearful for her life,” I said. “Or maybe she knew she could be arrested for helping Colton lure the girls to their deaths?”
“We need to talk to her,” he said.
“First thing in the morning.”
“We’re going to need to find somewhere else to wait. We’ll get noticed here, and someone is going to call the cops.”
“I want to make sure she’s still in her house,” I said. “Do you have a screwdriver?”
He reached behind the seat and opened a small toolbox. He handed me a red-handled screwdriver. “Should I ask?”
I shook my head. “I’ll be right back.”
“Roger.”
Out of his car, I walked down the street, pumping my arms as if I were out for an evening power walk.
I walked into Susan’s cul-de-sac and spotted her van in the driveway of the last house.
The lights were on in her home, but I strolled by, keeping my head turned.
I circled the cul-de-sac and then approached her car.
I jammed the screwdriver into the back tire. Air hissed out.
Standing, I returned to Grant’s truck, and he drove. “There’s a strip mall a mile from here. We can wait it out.”
“Right.”
He swung into a drive-through, grabbed a couple of hamburgers, fries, and sodas, and parked in a darkened portion of the lot. I nibbled fries and sipped soda.
“I can take the first shift watching the tracker,” he said.
“No need. I’m a bad sleeper.”
We both sat in silence for most of the night. I dozed once and found myself tripping into a dream. Patty was there, smiling and holding her arms open for me. I stood stock straight, unwilling to let her embrace me. She smiled, accepting that her daughter had never been one to show affection.
The rising sun leaked over the dashboard, and when I opened my eyes, Grant was drinking hot coffee. There was a fresh soda in the drink container. I sipped. He was a good guy. Generous. “Time to visit Susan.”
“Want me to come?”
“No. Better it’s just me.” I smiled, hoping it looked genuine.
He arched a brow. “I’ll be right here.”
Grant wove through the suburban streets that all looked alike, and he found Susan’s house. In the daylight, I noted her yard was small but maintained. A ballerina flag hung under her mailbox.
He parked behind Susan’s white van, a vehicle no one would notice or remember. But that was the point, right? Don’t let your guard down. Always hide.
I grabbed my purse and walked up the trimmed walkway to the front door. A summer wreath made of fake sunflowers hung from the door.
I rang the bell. When I didn’t hear any movement, I rang it again. “Come on, Susan. We need to rip this Band-Aid off.”
Seconds later, footsteps sounded in the hallway and the door opened. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight dancer’s bun. Her fitted top molded against a thin frame, and a light skirt skimmed over a leotard.
The instant she saw me, she tried to close the door. I put out my hand and blocked it.
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” I said.
“Get off my property or I’m calling the cops.”
I pressed hard against the door. “Do you really want to call the cops, Susan? I’ll get arrested for trespassing, but then I’ll start telling the police my story. And it’s going to stir up a lot of questions.”
“Go away!”
“Do you know that Colton is scheduled to be released soon? The powers that be decided thirty-one years was enough. And he’s got cancer. Compassionate release, from what I hear. He’ll be interested to see you, I bet.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My mother was Patty Reed. She was one of Colton’s victims. I’m trying to find her body.”
“I don’t know her name.” She pushed harder.
Irritation snapped. I was tired of reminding people that my mother had existed. “She sold hamburgers at the festival. My grandmother was babysitting me when she vanished.”
“Go away!”
I locked my elbow, turning my arm into a rod. “Come on. I bet you know a lot of details about this case. If you didn’t meet Patty, you could have bought a burger from her.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, leave.”
“I can’t.” I spoke softly but my arm remained rigid. “I must find the missing women. I must find my mother.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Susan, I’m not going away.” I stepped back and she slammed the door.
I sat on the front stoop, reached for my phone, and called Grant. He answered, and our gazes locked. “It’s her. And it’s going to be a while.”
“I have all the time in the world.”
“Good.” I began scrolling. I didn’t pay close attention to what I was seeing, but it gave me something to do with my hands while I waited for Susan to chill.
In the distance I heard a police siren and wondered if Susan had called my bluff. The sound grew closer. I kept scrolling. But then the wail trailed off and stopped.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, it grew warmer. I should have packed a hat. Sunburn was always a drag. But I didn’t budge from my perch. Grant stood in the driveway, and his stance was relaxed, as if he’d done a thousand stakeouts.
Inside, I heard footsteps pacing by the front window. Curtains fluttered. More neighbors left for work. A few glanced in my direction. But I smiled and waved as if my sitting here were the most normal thing in the world. A smile and an attitude went a long way to dissuading anyone’s worries.
Another hour passed.
At 9:30, Susan opened her door. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m very determined.” I didn’t glance up from my phone. “My ass is bonded to your front steps until we talk.”
“I have to go to work.”
“Your studio opens at noon, right?”
“How much do you know about me?”
“As much as a quick internet search could tell me. There’s a lot more I’d like to know about you.”
“How did you find this house?”
I remained relaxed. She was talking to me.
Progress. I skipped the part about the tracker on her car.
“I started with your studio, which has a good online presence. Finding your home address took more legwork.” The next was a guess.
“Hiding your home address behind your incorporated company was a good idea.”
“I like my privacy.”
I looked over my shoulder. Her face was flushed and her eyes red. “I don’t want to invade your life. But Colton is about to be released. And you saw something at that festival that sent you into hiding for thirty-one years.”
“I’m not who you think I am.”
“I think you’re Tristan Fletcher. I’m still not sure if you were Colton’s helper or one of his victims.”
Her face paled. “I would never have helped him hurt anyone.”
Ah, an admission of sorts. But I didn’t look at her, fearing she’d lock down again. “So, you did know him?”
She pursed her lips. “The press covered the case extensively.”
“I know. I’ve read all the articles.” I shook my head and closed my phone as I rose. I faced her. “Those women were silenced. I want to give them a voice.”
“Everyone has forgotten them.” The words slipped over her lips like a whispered curse.
“Their families have not. They’re still grieving. They can’t move on because there’s a hole in the middle of their hearts.” The words sounded trite, corny even. But the image summed it up. “I’m not leaving for their sake.”
Silence ticked between us. And then: “Come inside.”