While the Savage Sleeps (19 page)

“
No argument there,” he replied, hand around his cup, staring at it, nodding.

“
If it’s any consolation, you’re not the first to get snagged by her claws,” she said, “and I suspect you won’t be the last, either. She pulled the same stunt with me some time ago while I was visiting in Albuquerque … caught me completely off-guard. Seems to be her specialty.”

“
She does it well.”

“
Hardly to her credit. The only way to battle her, I’ve found, is to fight back with equal measure. You just have to know how to push the right buttons to shut her down. In this case, knowledge was power.”

“
More coffee?”

“
Oh, heavens, no,” she said, raising a hand in protest. “I shouldn’t even be having this one. I’ll be up all night … although, with everything going on, I doubt I’d be able to sleep, anyway.”

Cameron had never met the senator before. He’d only seen her on television every now and then. Meeting her in person now, he could see how she’d become such a powerful politician. She was clearly a woman of substance—extremely bright, exquisitely attractive, and brimming with class.

She tipped the empty cup toward herself, staring into it, then looked up and met his eyes. For the first time, Cameron saw her sorrow, could feel it, and the moment felt awkward.

The senator looked down into her lap, then ran a hand across the fabric of her skirt with a smoothing motion. When she raised her head again, she seemed to emerge a different person, reverting back to the strong, confident woman he’d seen earlier at the press conference. “I’m hoping you’ll be as forthright with me as I’m being with you. I need to know you’re doing everything you can to find my daughter’s killer.”

“
I told you in our phone conversation that I plan on keeping you informed throughout this investigation, and I want you to know I meant it. You have every right to know what’s happening.”

“
Thank you,” she said, nodding. “I appreciate that.”

He paused, looking at her appraisingly. “At the same time, I need your reassurance that certain information will remain just between us. It’s crucial if we’re going to find your daughter’s killer.

She nodded once. “Understood.”

He looked down at his hands, rubbing them together, biting his lower lip. Connie looked at him curiously.

It took him several seconds to speak. “I know what you’re going through right now. With your daughter, I mean …”

“
Trust me, nobody knows. Nobody can, until it—”

“
I lost my own son.” Cameron blurted it out.

Connie’s expression instantly turned blank.

“
I lost my son,” Cameron said again, this time much softer, with regret. “It was several years ago.”

“
Oh, no ... my God … I’m
so
sorry.” And she was. Tears began to filling her eyes. Even with the pain of her daughter’s murder fresh in her mind, she was able to consider someone else’s.

Cameron cleared his throat, made an attempt to appear strong. “But I’m not telling you this because I’m looking for sympathy—it’s because I want you to know I understand what you’re feeling right now.
Really
understand. Not many people can say that to you and mean it … I can.” He looked down into his lap and stopped for a moment. His voice softened. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“
Thank you,” Connie said, her voice barely a whisper. She closed her eyes and nodded, trying to hold her composure. “Thank you for telling me. Thank you for this.”

Chapter
Thirty-Seven

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Kyle continued staring at the image in Bethany’s eyes.

The woman was dressed all in white; she was falling, plummeting, and twisting through the air, her body moving into positions one was never meant to go. The farther down she spiraled, the faster and more exaggerated her movements became.

Just for a second, Kyle made eye contact with her—it was a dark, eerie moment. The woman’s expression couldn’t have been clearer; she was begging Kyle to save her, but she couldn’t—she, too, was a prisoner, her body tightly bound by restraints she could feel but not see.

The woman’s body slammed into concrete, producing a resounding, hollow thud. Kyle could hear it … and feel it. The vibration curled through her own body.

Kyle woke herself up screaming. It took her a few minutes to realize she wasn’t in her dream anymore, that she was safe.

Her arms felt like they were on fire. When she looked down, deep red indentations marred them, the exact spots where they’d been bound to her sides.
Just a dream,
she told herself, knowing it was much more than that. The sense of danger, the helpless feelings of vulnerability; they all seemed so real, and the welts on her arms proved it.

It was time, she’d decided, to begin sorting through all the shattered fragments: the locked doors, the empty hallways, the moans, the human stampede, and the woman in white falling to her death. She needed to start making sense of it.

The setting was clearly some sort of hospital, but what kind of facility was it, and where? She thought about the restraints, the tormented moans. Was she inside a sanitarium? If that were the case, then there was still one element missing: The patients. She’d never seen one.

She only heard them.

Her mind kept coming back to that woman falling through the air, her eyes begging for Kyle to help spare her life. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t shake the image. Had she fallen, or had someone pushed her? The sound of her body slamming into the pavement kept playing over and over in Kyle’s head.

That hollow thud
.

And what about the voice she’d heard
pleading
to make it stop. Make what stop? Bethany hadn’t told her—she’d shown her.
Are the patients being restrained in a similar manner? Is that why I can’t see them?

The deceased never crossed the line between life and death unless strongly compelled to do so. In Kyle’s experience, it was always about unfinished business.

Unfinished business indeed
, she thought. Bethany seemed to have plenty of it.

Now all Kyle needed to do was figure out what that was.

Sheriff’s Station

Faith, New Mexico

Connie Champion sat with her hands neatly folded in her lap, listening intently, while Cameron laid out the facts surrounding her daughter’s death.

He took a deep breath. “I have to warn you there are some … aspects … of your daughter’s case that will be hard to hear.”

She nodded. “I only need to know what’s pertinent to catching her killer. I’ll let you decide what that is.”

“
Fair enough,” Cameron said, and told her what he knew. Connie seemed to take it calmly. She listened but didn’t say much. Halfway through, Cameron paused for a moment, as if considering a thought.

“
Something wrong?” she asked.

“
I’m going to step out on a limb a bit here,” he said. “I didn’t want to say this during the press conference, but not because I was being deceitful. It was because I didn’t want to speculate about things I can’t yet prove.”

“
What kinds of things?”

“
I’m sure you’re aware of what Faith’s crime rate was like before all this.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “There was
none.”

He nodded. “Six murders in this short a period of time—that’s enough to raise worries in any small town, but in a place like this, where there’s never been even one—”

“
So what are we talking about here?”

“
What I’m talking about,” he said, “is that Casey Gold may be a nuisance, but she wasn’t that far off. I just didn’t want
her
to know it.”

“
You mean about there being different killers?”

Cameron shrugged. “Can’t prove it, but there seem to be enough variations in each to make me wonder.”

“
And you have no idea what’s going on? No idea at all?”

“
No. At least not yet. I’ve searched the national databases looking for something similar, something that might’ve have happened elsewhere—patterns ...
anything
. No luck. Same thing when I spoke to other agencies.” He drew a deep breath, exhaled heavily. “I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.”

“
I can provide you with any assistance you need,” the senator said. “All you have to do is ask. I hope you know that.”

Cameron nodded. “I do, and I appreciate it. Right now, the media’s my biggest headache. Can’t seem to get them out of my way.”

Connie was still for a moment, thinking. “Maybe I can help you.”

He laughed faintly. “No way to control the media.”

“
True. If I could do that, it would make
both
our jobs
a lot
easier. No, we can’t—but I
can
get them to be a little more cooperative.”

“
I’m all for that. But how?”

“
Every major news organization in the state and beyond has been trying to get me to sit down for an interview the past few days. I’ve turned them all down. Just haven’t seen the need for it. Now I do. But they’re going to have to help
me
before I help them.”

“
Help you how?”

“
As far as I’m concerned, anyone who gets in the way of
any
of these investigations is interfering with finding my daughter’s killer. I can’t have that. I’m going to ask for their full cooperation. If they do that—if they stay out of your way—they get full access, a one-on-one interview. If they don’t, they get nothing. No second chances.”

Cameron grinned.

Connie studied his face with interest. “You know, you should smile more often. You look like a completely different person when you do.”

Cameron hadn’t even realized he’d been smiling; still, he knew she was right. He also knew that
different person
,
the one she was referring to, no longer existed.

He’d been gone for years now.

Chapter
Thirty-Nine

Cameron could remember the exact day he lost his mind—it was the same day he lost his son.

Eight years earlier

Amarillo, Texas

The Texas Panhandle was miles away from Faith, and for Cameron, worlds away from the small town life he’d come to know—a place where the southern plains and desert meet. A place where he and Sarah had decided to start a new life.

Covered in oil and gas fields, meatpacking plants, and flourmills, Amarillo’s landscape was a far cry from the aesthetic beauty of Faith; but for Cameron, it offered something else, something he craved and needed.

Like many
boys
growing up in small towns, he wanted more excitement. Things in Faith moved too slowly, and to him, slow meant dull. There was more waiting for him out there in the rest of the world, and from were Cameron stood, Texas seemed far enough.

Young, ambitious, and a bit naïve, he hungered for a law enforcement career that would provide new excitement, new challenges. Cameron was tired of breaking up bar fights and rounding up teenagers raising hell to relieve boredom. And while hardly a hotbed of criminal activity compared to larger cities like Houston or Dallas, there was enough in Amarillo to keep him busy.

Professionally, the change proved to be a good one. Cameron found himself moving up quickly through the ranks. Two years in and he was promoted to the burglary unit, a year later, homicide. His career was steadily on the rise and so was his income. Soon, he and Sara decided it was the perfect time and place to raise a family.

Autumn had arrived—Texas-style—and suddenly, there was a chill in the air. As the mercury slowly inched its way downward, thoughts of the upcoming holidays were coming more into focus, along with the inclement winter, sure to follow close on its heels.

The morning was crisp and clear as Cameron drove his son to school. For Dylan, entering the first grade was exciting. Kindergarten just seemed like practice. This was the real deal. Now he would be like the big kids.

As they drew closer to the school, Dylan rifled through his backpack, making sure everything was in place; it was the fourth time he’d done so since leaving home.

“
Do you think we’ll study astrology?” the child asked, brimming with excitement. He was talking so fast, Cameron could barely understand him.

“
I think you mean Astronomy, son, the study of the stars,” he corrected.“Astrology is where you get your horoscope.

Dylan looked down at his knees, considered what his dad said, and then popped his head up. “Yeah! Astronomy! I wanna learn about the planets and stuff. What about painting? Will I get to paint, too?”