The Bones She Buried

Fifteen

A quick Google search turned up thousands of results, so Josie clicked on a news report from their local television station, WYEP, which had broadcast several years after Pratt’s disappearance. Back then, Josie’s twin sister Trinity Payne had been a roving reporter for WYEP and in the clip, Trinity stood beside a large television screen in a skin-tight red dress with glossy red lipstick to match. Her long black hair fell halfway down her back in waves that looked as though they had been hair-sprayed into a permanent formation. Josie was astounded by how young Trinity looked. Then again, that had been before the missing girls case and before the Lila Jensen case which had weathered them both.

“In 2006,” Trinity began clearly and firmly, “Assistant District Attorney Drew Pratt took the day off from work and took a drive.”

Drew Pratt’s face appeared on the large screen with the word “MISSING” beneath it. Penetrating brown eyes stared from the photo, and his mouth was set in a grim line. Josie imagined he must have been a formidable opponent in court.

Trinity continued, “He drove from his home in Bellewood to the Susquehanna Craft Fair and Farmers’ Market located in Denton.”

Next to Trinity, images of the craft fair flashed across the screen. Josie recognized it. There were two bridges in Denton which crossed the Susquehanna River: a little-used one to the south and the more popular Eastern bridge. Near that bridge, not far from the shore of the river was an old barn that had been renovated and modernized inside. The owner rented spaces inside of it to locals who wanted to sell crafts or produce. It was only open a few days a week, but it had been a staple in Denton for as long as Josie could remember.

On screen, Trinity continued, “It wasn’t unusual for Drew Pratt to visit the craft fair. As his daughter told us, he liked to support local artists, and most of the artwork hanging in his Bellewood home had been purchased there over the years.”

The camera cut to the inside of the converted building, showing the various booths maintained by local artists selling everything from large wall paintings to holiday decorations.

“Pratt arrived at the craft fair around ten a.m. This much police know from surveillance footage taken from inside the building. Pratt can be seen perusing the various stands and then striking up a conversation with a woman. Police say that the footage was grainy so they’re not able to pull a still of the woman from it. However, they do say she appeared to be about five foot four compared to Pratt’s six foot frame with short, dark hair.”

An older Hispanic man with thinning gray hair, wearing a navy blue suit and red tie appeared on the screen. At the bottom of the screen he was identified as Dom Hernandez, FBI agent. “We don’t know this woman. We don’t know if Pratt knew her or if they had just met. We don’t know what they talked about or if they left together. Unfortunately, when the initial investigation took place, the local police didn’t place much importance on her, so the fact of her existence was never released to the press. I believe if this detail had been known to people immediately after Mr. Pratt’s disappearance, maybe some tips would have come in. Several years have now passed, so who knows who this woman was and where she is now?”

Trinity cut back in. “Police still refuse to release the footage of Pratt and the mystery woman. Pratt’s wife died about ten years before his disappearance following a protracted battle with cancer, and his adult daughter tells us that he wasn’t dating anyone at the time he disappeared. What we do know is that his vehicle was still in the parking lot of the craft fair building twenty-four hours later when his daughter reported him missing. Back in 2006, Beth Pratt had just graduated from Penn State and returned home to live with her father while she looked for a job. She told police it was extremely unusual for him to be out overnight without telling her where he was going to be.”

This time, an Alcott County sheriff’s deputy appeared on screen. In the background, Josie could see the river lazing past as he spoke. “The vehicle was locked. Mr. Pratt’s keys and cell phone were still in the car. When we got the vehicle open, there was a strong smell of cigarette smoke, but the family told us that Mr. Pratt never smoked. We also found cigarette ash on the passenger’s seat so we do believe that at some point before he went missing, another person was in the car with him. Unfortunately, there are no cameras in the parking lot so we don’t know who that person might have been. We did print the car, but there were no fingerprints other than those belonging to Mr. Pratt, his daughter, and a few of his colleagues—all of whom have alibis for the day he went missing.”

Trinity reappeared. “The only evidence ever to be recovered in Drew Pratt’s case is his laptop which washed up on the shore of the Susquehanna River nearly two months later. His daughter says it wasn’t unusual for him to take his laptop with him when he went out for a drive as he liked to stop at coffee shops around the county to escape the noisy District Attorney’s office. Unfortunately, the hard drive was so badly damaged, nothing could be recovered from it. After the discovery, many in law enforcement speculated that perhaps Pratt had taken his own life by jumping off the nearby bridge into the river. But after weeks of searching the river, marine units found no trace of Pratt.”

“It’s like he vanished into thin air,” said a young woman on the screen beside Trinity. Josie estimated her to be in her early twenties. She bore a striking resemblance to Drew Pratt, and when her name flashed on the screen, Josie understood why: Beth Pratt. “But I don’t think my dad walked out on me, and I don’t think he committed suicide. He wasn’t depressed. He had a very full and rewarding life. He loved his work. He was very dedicated. I think this was definitely a case of foul play. Someone knows what happened to him. They need to come forward.”

Trinity’s voice cut back in as the screen showed a montage of police vessels searching the Susquehanna River and still photos of Drew Pratt’s abandoned car sitting alone in the craft fair parking lot. “Theories abound as to what exactly happened to the popular Alcott County prosecutor. Although Drew Pratt’s daughter dismisses the idea that her father committed suicide, Pratt’s nephew can’t help but be shaken by the familiar facts and circumstances surrounding his uncle’s disappearance.”

A young man with thick sandy hair appeared onscreen. He looked a bit older than Beth Pratt. The words along the bottom of the screen announced his name was Mason Pratt. He stood in a hoodie, jeans and boots on the muddy bank of the Susquehanna, hands jammed into his pockets. “It’s just weird, you know? I mean, really strange. My dad drowned in this same river in 1999. It was almost the same exact thing—he wasn’t at home or at work. No one could find him. My mom and I reported him missing when he didn’t come home that night. Police found his car out here.” Mason waved an arm to indicate the bank. “I mean, this is Bellewood, so we’re about forty miles away from where Uncle Drew went missing. Dad’s car was parked right here in the mud. His wallet and keys were in the car. Car was locked, but he was gone. A few days later, his body washed up. They told us he committed suicide. He was bipolar, and always had trouble with depression and stuff. I just never thought he would kill himself.”

Trinity came back on the screen and beside her flashed more photos of Drew Pratt; some at press conferences and a few personal photos of him and his daughter. Drew’s brother’s suicide must not have garnered very much press coverage—if any at all—since WYEP had no photos or video to show related to his death. “Samuel Pratt’s son, Mason, isn’t the only person who didn’t think his father would kill himself. Friends and family members tell us that Drew Pratt always believed foul play was involved in his brother’s death.”

The screen cut to another prosecutor being interviewed outside of the courthouse in Bellewood. “Yeah, Drew never bought it that Sam killed himself. Unfortunately there was just no evidence that someone else killed him. I know it bothered Drew. He asked police to look into it again every couple of years, but they never did find anything suspicious.”

Trinity again: “Two brothers. Seven years and forty miles apart. Both of their vehicles were found near the river with keys locked inside. Samuel Pratt turned up drowned only two days after he was reported missing, but Drew Pratt’s body has never been found, and his disappearance remains one of the most puzzling and enduring mysteries in the history of the state.”

The broadcast ended with Trinity giving a tip line number and urging viewers with any information to contact police. Josie closed her laptop and set it aside. Her body buzzed with energy, making sleep an impossibility. Beside her, Noah snored on.

Josie grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and tapped out a text to Gretchen.

I think we need to look into the Drew Pratt case. Remember the mystery woman with him the day he disappeared? Footage was never released to public. Think you can get it?

Gretchen’s reply came back less than a minute later.

Already got it. Mettner pulled it from the file here in cold case storage. Will show you tomorrow if you have time to stop by. Also Mettner set up a meeting with Beth Pratt in the late afternoon if you want to go with? Trying to track down the nephew now.

This was exactly why Josie had hired Gretchen when she was interim Chief; they were often on the same page. Smiling, Josie tapped back.

Fantastic. Did you get anything from the house? Fingerprints? Fibers? Hairs? DNA?

Not a hell of a lot. No unidentified prints. No DNA on the body.

Of course not, Josie thought. She and Noah had ruined any chance of getting whatever DNA might have been left when they did CPR on Colette. In their efforts to revive her they had contaminated—even destroyed—part of the scene.

Gretchen texted once more.

We did find a footprint in the yard. Male, shoe size 10. That’s about it. What’s Noah’s shoe size?

Josie sighed.

11. That’s something. Thanks, see you tomorrow.