In the course of her research about the Groom Killer case, Esmée had learned that there was one man who was prepared to speak out in support of Demi Colton, the chief suspect in the murders. Despite his job as a member of the K-9 police team, Brayden Colton was brave enough to declare his belief in his half sister’s innocence.
As she delved deeper, Esmée would need to talk to all three of Demi’s half siblings, but Brayden was the one who fascinated her. He must be going through hell right now. His sister was accused of murder, with most of the town happy to vocalize her guilt, yet Brayden had to turn up for work each day and investigate the crimes. He had to hear the details and listen to the theories about Demi’s guilt. How did that make him feel? How did he balance the two different sides of his life? Colton and cop. Which did he put first?
Brayden’s was the voice Esmée wanted to hear, his was the story she wanted to use as her starting point. If she could only get in touch with him.
“Oh, yes. Chief Finn Colton insists on it. Part of the trust that funds the unit provides for the K-9 team to do outreach work in the community.”
Esmée and Hester had only just met and the circumstances hadn’t exactly been pleasant. Sarah Mull had been happily married to Hester’s older brother until he died in a car crash a few years ago. Now, Hester was helping her sister-in-law recover from another shock death, that of her fiancé, Jack.
Esmée, having met Hester a few times at the hospital when she visited Sarah, had instinctively liked the other woman. Hester was warm, kind and she had offered to show Esmée and Rhys around Red Ridge.
Before Hester had retired, she’d been a police officer herself, so Esmée was confident she knew what she was talking about. “The police dogs take part in demonstration events, and the officers are there to answer any questions members of the public have about the unit.”
Hester turned to wave a hand at Rhys, who was in his safety seat.
“Rhys will enjoy today,” Esmée said. “He loves all animals, but he really likes dogs.”
“Such a pity he can’t talk.” Hester lowered her voice to a whisper as she fastened her seat belt. “Isn’t there anything the doctors can do to cure him?”
“Rhys can talk.” Esmée dealt with this all the time. People meant well, but they didn’t understand. “There’s nothing wrong with him,” she explained to Hester. “He had a very bad experience when he was just twelve months old. Before that, he made the usual babbling noises all babies of his age make. Then he went quiet. Not speaking is his way of dealing with the trauma. It’s called selective mutism.”
“Oh.” Hester cast a sidelong glance at Esmée, obviously wondering what to say next.
“It’s okay.” Esmée placed her hand briefly on the older woman’s knee. “You didn’t know and I don’t mind talking about it.”
It was true...in a way. Of course she minded that Rhys didn’t talk. But she had always been open about it, even if the reason for his emotional distress filled her with guilt. The toxic downturn in her relationship with Gwyn Owen, Rhys’s father, had been gradual. Even so, the deterioration into violence had taken Esmée by surprise. It was only Jack’s intervention that had saved her from serious injury. Her old friend had come to her rescue, removing her from the scene of a vicious attack and helping her deal with the aftermath. But the damage had been done. Rhys had witnessed his mother cowering with her hands over her head as his father punched and kicked her.
“Why don’t we go see some dogs?” Change the subject. Yeah, that always worked. For a while.
Rhys clapped his hands together before holding up both hands with his fingers curved as he imitated a begging dog. Esmée’s heart expanded with pride and love and she clapped her own hands in response. It was important to praise any efforts he made to communicate, even if they weren’t verbal. She wanted to use the dog show to meet Brayden Colton and set up an interview, but the most important thing was for Rhys to have a good time.
Her sweet, silent boy spoke to her in his own way. And one day he would use words. She had to stay positive that it would happen. Every time she looked into his dark eyes, thankfully like her own rather than his father’s, an icy shard of guilt pierced her heart. She should have gotten away sooner, should have known it was never going to have a happy ending...
Hester laughed delightedly. “He’s so clever.” Esmée already liked Hester, but her admiration for Rhys sealed the deal.
She chatted to Rhys as she drove, describing the late-afternoon scene. Hester picked up on what she was doing and joined in. Esmée didn’t need the psychologist and the speech therapist who saw Rhys regularly to tell her that he needed lots of talk to stimulate him. She was his mom—her instincts told her what to do. At the same time, talking to Rhys, singing songs to him and telling him stories were all reminders of her own childhood. Esmée was a talker. It was who she was, and it made Rhys’s silence so much harder to bear.
The dog show was held at the K-9 training center. Located at the far end of Main Street, the center was a large one-story brick building that edged onto the woods. They got out of the car and headed toward a large backyard with a five-foot-high wooden fence all the way around. The gates were open and the event had spilled out onto the surrounding grass with stalls lining the route all the way to the trees.
Hester explained that the major part of the K-9 unit funding came from a trust left by Mayor Fenwick Colton’s late
