Chapter Thirty-Six Sloane #2
I stepped inside. I didn’t glance over my shoulder toward Grant standing in the driveway.
Air-conditioning cooled my hot skin. The house was immaculate.
A carpet indented with vacuum cleaner tracks, a mirror so polished it cut the light hitting it in two, and kitchen counters behind her wiped clean.
I’d hoped to grab a dirty glass or hair from a comb for a DNA test. But there was nothing.
“Thank you,” I said.
She closed and locked her front door. “You cannot expose me.”
“You’re Tristan Fletcher.”
“I didn’t say that. And if you spread that lie, it won’t matter if it’s true or not.”
“I don’t want to go public. But I will if you don’t talk to me.”
She folded her arms over her chest.
“I don’t bluff, Susan.”
“Don’t you care about me?” Her voiced kicked up an octave. “This is going to destroy my life.”
“At least you’re alive.”
“I can’t undo what happened thirty-one years ago.”
“You can help me find them.”
“Who’s the man in the car in my driveway?”
“Former cop. He’s been working with me. He’s interested in keeping Colton in prison.”
“You’ll end the life I have.” She was a broken record, her fear on constant repeat.
“I don’t want to ruin anything.” That wasn’t true. She’d been hiding for thirty-one years, and her silence had trapped so many innocents in their own prisons. Even her father was ensnared in limbo. “But sometimes you must break a few eggs to make an omelet.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Can’t you just go away and leave me alone?”
“What happened at the festival?”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head.
“Colton kept a ring that your father identified as yours.”
Her thumb brushed the underside of her ring finger, as if she could still feel the delicate gold encircling her skin.
“You were last seen near the stage about eleven p.m. on Friday night. What happened?”
She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. She drank and then washed the glass with soap and water before setting it in a dish drainer by the sink.
Whatever Susan thought about her life, it was clear she’d been in her own prison. She never made a move without fearing discovery. Even drinking from a glass was too much of a risk for her.
“What happened?” I pressed.
She rested her hands on either side of the sink and stared out the window. “Rafe Colton saw me dancing at the festival and told me I was good. He asked if I wanted to dance on the stage when the next band played their set.”
“I’ve seen pictures of him. He was an attractive man.”
“And so charming.” She shook her head. “I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I was so smart.”
“You were eighteen. I’ve met very few teenagers who know the world.”
She faced me.
“No one saw you leave with him,” I said.
“Colton told me to meet him behind the stage. I had to check in with a stage manager and get a pass. I was so excited. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.”
Her statement didn’t match up with testimony in Colton’s trial. The stage manager testified he’d never issued Tristan a pass. I studied her face, decoding her expressions. She’d had thirty-one years to convince herself that this story was true. I took a small step toward her.
“I met him backstage a half hour later. The next band was setting up, and there were trunks and boxes everywhere. Equipment swaps, yelling, and band members scurrying. I think about that moment often when my studio hosts a recital. The girls are running around, and their parents are chasing after them. Like herding cats, but it somehow gets done.”
“And then you danced at about ten p.m. that Friday night.”
“Yes.”
Her long, lean body had swayed like a siren’s onstage as she’d moved around the lead guitarist. “Was it amazing?”
“Intoxicating.”
“Your performance ended about ten fifteen p.m. From the reports I read, no one noticed you vanish.”
“The rain was pouring. Bands and crew were trying to keep their equipment dry. Colton was behind one of the tall trunks. He had water bottles and offered me one. As I drank, he drifted off to deal with a band member’s issue. I didn’t finish the bottle because I was cold and very tired.”
“Was the water drugged?”
“It must have been. I felt woozy. I stumbled away from the stage toward the woods. I leaned against a tree and tried to clear my head. As my knees buckled, someone caught me. When I woke up, I was in a trailer. My pants were gone and there was a man shoving inside me.”
“Was it Colton?”
“Yes. He had his hands around my neck, and he was choking me. As I coughed and grabbed for air, he slammed inside of me harder. My body felt as if it were being split in two. I’d never been with a guy before that night.”
I searched for pity, but all I found were faint hints of annoyance. Why didn’t I believe her?
Susan glanced at her hand, tracing a callus on her palm. “I passed out.”
“And when you woke up?”
She drew in a breath. “It was very dark. I panicked and hyperventilated. But I knew if I screamed, he’d come back.
There was a little light leaking through the door cracks, so I found my pants and pulled them on.
I could also make out the form of three other bodies.
I crawled to each person and felt for any sign of life.
They were all dead.” The last few words were nearly inaudible.
“Did you recognize any of them?”
“I didn’t know their names until later, when I saw their pictures in the newspapers along with mine.”
The first trailers had left the festival site at sunrise. And Colton had several witnesses who placed him on the festival grounds until midmorning. “What did you do?”
“I gathered my clothes and then tried the back door latch, and it opened.” Her eyes glistened as if the memory still carried weight. “I got out and closed the door behind me.”
“Where was the trailer when you escaped?”
“A field. There was no one around.”
“Did you see the driver?”
“No. I ran into the field and hid in the grass. I dressed lying down and then waited until the truck drove off.”
“Where was the sun?”
“Above the horizon, but it was still cool.”
“What did you see around you?”
“I don’t remember much. I was in shock and terrified. I walked for hours and then found a road.”
“What road?”
“Two-lane.”
“Traffic?”
“No.”
There’d been hundreds of cars leaving the site all morning.
“I walked. Finally, I saw a gas station at the corner of Tanner’s Run and Sherman Road.”
I knew the intersection, but the gas station was gone. “Where was the sun now?”
“It was high in the sky. And it was getting hot. I found a pay phone and called my father.”
The intersection was about ten miles south of the Nelson farm. It was also a few hundred yards from the barn that had fascinated Kevin.
“Did you see the truck and trailer?”
“No.”
Her story was plausible. Or well rehearsed over the last thirty-one years. She was a dancer, accustomed to finding perfection. “Did anyone see you at the gas station?”
“No. After the call, I hid in the woods until Daddy arrived.”
“Whoever opened the trailer must have known you were missing.”
“That’s why I was terrified. I told my father what happened. He wanted to call the police and take me to the hospital. I begged him not to. Mommy was sick, and I was terrified they’d come after me.”
“They?” I asked. “You said Colton raped you.”
“There was another person in the trailer. He was watching.”
“He? You saw him?”
“No. But I heard the breathing.”
“Could this person have driven the trailer off-site?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Colton had always denied the murder charges and insisted he didn’t know where the bodies were buried. “You’re sure there was a second person?”
“Yes. I’m positive.”