While the Savage Sleeps

by Kaufman, Andrew E.

  Bethany, she thought. Pretty name. Kyle wondered where the girl had been living when she died. Albuquerque? Perhaps somewhere even farther away, maybe even another country? Not only did she not know where Bethany had lived, she also had no idea when she lived—or died. Without a time of death, checking state records by first name seemed futile. Things would have been so much easier if she could just find two pieces of information that connected in some way.

  Kyle sat up in bed and yawned. Then she heard something.

  You’re exhausted, Kyle. Your mind’s shot … now it’s getting the best of you.

  But the sounds were just loud enough to convince her otherwise.

  Barely audible, yet enough to get her attention, the volume began to climb; once it did, Kyle knew the sounds were real.

  She could hear people talking, several of them, the low, rumbling hum of voices whirling through the air. Kyle tried to focus so she could hear the conversations. Within a few seconds, the sound increased even more, and the words became clear.

  A man’s voice: “Let’s get moving, everyone. We only have a few minutes left before it wears off. Let’s get this right.”

  Then a female voice: “Too late, doctor, he’s beginning to come to.”

  “Already? Shit. Sedate him. Do we have another?”

  “I think we have Lewison, just up the hall. He’s been parked for a week now. Not sure how responsive he’ll be.”

  “Lewison? I thought he died already.”

  “Nope. Almost, last week, but he recovered. Don’t ask me how. Looks like that cat’s got ten lives.”

  Laughter all around.

  “The timing’ll be right if we grab him fast. But he’ll only be good for one more round,” the female voice said, then added, “It won’t be long before he expires.”

  “Okay. Sedate this one, and park him up the hall. Bring Lewison back in. And let’s be quick about it. This is a time-specific procedure. We don’t have all day.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  The sound of people stirring about, metal clanging against glass, and the low rumbling of more voices.

  Then, another voice, one Kyle had grown accustomed to hearing: Bethany’s.

  “Time is running out,” she whispered “You only have three more days.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Sheriff’s Station

  Faith, New Mexico

  “Some kid’s in your office,” Cameron said to Frank while they stood in the hallway.

  “Look again,” Frank replied, nodding toward the door, “It’s no kid.”

  Cameron did and realized Frank was right. The person sitting behind the desk, acting as if she owned it, was a woman, barely four-foot-ten, wearing jeans and sneakers, with mousy brown pageboy-styled hair.

  When the two walked in, she glanced up from the folder, almost as if they’d interrupted her, then quickly went back to her reading.

  “Meet Special Agent Margaret Kazlowsky,” Frank said. Then he leaned in closer toward Cameron and mumbled, “Fed.”

  “FBI,” she corrected, raising her hand while turning a page. “Here for the party.”

  “Party?” Cameron asked. “Didn’t know we were having one.”

  “Judging by what’s been going on around here, I’d have to agree with you.” She dropped the folder onto the desk, stood up, then walked toward them. “What you have—excused my Polish—is a bona fide cluster-fuck.”

  “That one of those fancy technical terms they teach you back at Quantico?” Frank asked.

  “Nope,” she replied. “That’s an opinion. “Take it for what it’s worth.”

  “Well, you know what they say about opinions,” Frank replied. “They’re kinda like assholes. Everyone’s got one—everyone thinks everyone else’s stinks.”

  Margaret swallowed her words, then flashed a smile, the kind a person gives when they think they know something that someone else doesn’t. “Look, fellas, just between you and me, as far as the bureau’s concerned, I’m only here to investigate the Champion murder. That’s it. You know how that goes. The folks up in D.C., Quantico—all of them—well, let’s just say they’ve got their panties pulled into a tight little wad over this. They want answers, and they want ‘em quick. Of course,” she added, “there’s no rule saying we couldn’t help each other out.”

  “And how would that work?” Frank asked.

  “It’s easy,” she said with a shrug. “A little bit of give and take. You know … two agencies lending a hand, like neighbors helping neighbors. Know what I mean?”

  They knew exactly what she meant.

  Frank walked back around to his desk, sat down. “Look, I appreciate your offer, Ms. Kazlowsky, but I think we’ve got things under control on our end.”

  “Beg your pardon?” she said, stifling a laugh. “From where I stand, things are far from under control. No offense meant, of course.”

  “None taken, of course,” Frank said. “Think you can do better?”

  Not saying that,” she cautioned.

  “Then what exactly are you saying?”

  “Like I mentioned earlier, I’m here strictly to look at the Champion girl. But at the same time, if I just happened to stumble across information, information you could somehow use …”

  “And visa versa,” Cameron said.

  “Visa versa. Absolutely,” she replied with a solemn nod.

  “All right,” Cameron said after giving it a moment’s thought. “I’ll bite. You’ve looked over the cases. Give us your take.”

  Recognizing the challenge, Margaret said, “Here’s how I see it. You got different murders, and when I say different, I mean different. Not a snowball’s chance in hell any of them were committed by the same person. I’m just not feeling it.”

  “You’re not telling us anything we didn’t already know,” Frank said. “We came to the same conclusion—”

  “Not so fast there, cowboy,” she said, hand raised, looking down toward the floor. “Wasn’t done yet. What I was about say, is, I think they still could be related.”

  “Related how?” Frank asked. “Like they were all working together? Because we’ve already floated that theory as well—it sank.”

  “Didn’t say that,” she warned. “Didn’t say that at all.”

  “Then what are you saying?” Frank asked.

  “What I’m saying—what I think—is there’s a connection. Now, what that connection is, well, it’s hard to say … right now, anyway. But I do feel like there is one—though a conspiracy theory might be pushing things a bit further than I want to go. However, I can say this: You got a peaceful town—or, at least, had one—suddenly going all ape-shit in a hurry … well, it just doesn’t happen. Not like this. Not this fast.”

  “So what do you think’s going on?” Cameron asked.

  Margaret walked back to Frank’s desk, flipped the folder open, twisting her head sideways to read it. “This first murder, the one with your deputy. Anything new there?”

  Cameron shook his head.

  Margaret looked at the wall, thought for a moment, then alternated her gaze between the two men. “Something sorta odd about it.”

  “What is?” Frank asked.

  “You’ve got a seasoned deputy, been on your force a decent amount of time, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “In good physical shape too, tall, athletic. To get at him, it had to come as a complete surprise—either that or he knew the suspect … or maybe both.”

  “And knowing the suspect could create a possible motive,” Cameron said.

  “Yeah. There’s that,” she said, nodding. “And then there’s something else, too. My guess is it’s a male, a pretty strong one too—had to be in order to overcome your deputy, even if he did take him by surprise, even if he knew him. Once that first hook landed on his neck, the adrenaline would be pumping. He’d put up a hell of a fight, and it would have taken a lot of strength to control him.”

  “Okay,” Cameron said, “What else?”

  She fl
ipped through a few more pages. “Profile-wise, I’d say he’s probably in his mid-to-late twenties, probably unmarried, and probably local.”

  Cameron looked at Frank, slowly nodding. Both knew what the other was thinking.

  “Okay,” Cameron said, “So you’ve made your point—rather well, in fact. What would you need from us?”

  The smile grew more confident. “Exactly what I just gave you: your insight, information—anything—pertaining to the Champion murder.”

  “I can do that,” Cameron said. “The senator and I have been in close contact.”

  “Yeah. I know that…” She stopped herself. “I mean, I’ve heard something to the effect.”

  “Bet you have,” Cameron said.

  She shrugged. “It’s my job to know these sorts of things.”

  “So where do we go from here?” Frank asked.

  “Let me get busy on this,” she said. “Let me poke around town a little, start putting some things together, speak to my people up in Quantico, too. I may be able to work up a better profile on your cop killer.”

  “Okay,” Cameron said, “but do me one favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Keep things on the down-low if you can. This town’s up to its ass in alligators. An FBI agent snooping around and asking questions—that’ll just give ‘em more to be nervous about. And we can’t afford that right now.”

  “No worries there. I’m real good at flying under the radar—way under. It’s one of the benefits of being vertically challenged. People hardly ever notice me, that is, unless I open my mouth.” Then she giggled.

  Cameron and Frank laughed too.

  “If you need me, I’m staying over at the Graybill Motel on Third Street.” She reached into her back pocket, pulled out a card, passed it to Cameron. “Cell number’s on there. Meantime—completely unrelated here—can you tell me where a gal can go to get some good Mexican food ‘round here? I’m starving, been craving it ever since I got here. Must be a southwest sorta thing. Hit me as soon as I rolled into town.”

  “Felice’s,” Cameron said, “over on Main. Doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “All righty then. Once I get some fuel, I’ll be ready to roll.” She gathered her things, looked at Frank, looked at Cameron, gave a single nod.

  Then she was out the door.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Roses Are Red florist shop

  Faith, New Mexico

  Judith Hedrick always opened her store at precisely nine o’clock each morning and had been doing so for more than fifteen years. In a world filled with inconsistencies, it was one thing that always remained the same. You could set your watch to it.

  Until today.

  By ten o’ clock, the doors were still locked tight, lights still off, and Judith was nowhere to be found. Concern quickly turned to worry for employees and friends; it just wasn’t like her.

  Judith was a perfectionist. Along with her impeccable punctuality, she was also meticulous about her shop, paying close attention to the smallest details. All one had to do was set a foot inside to see first-hand why her talent and creativity translated into great business success. Her name had appeared in two national magazines, both of which highlighted her stunning arrangements.

  In addition to her extraordinary talent, however, Judith was also extraordinarily generous. She made a comfortable living from her business and was a firm believer in sharing her good fortune. Through the years, she had given a lot to back the community.

  When Faith held its Distinguished-Ten Dinner, an award ceremony honoring citizens who contributed most to their town, not only was she honored, she designed and donated all the floral displays and table centerpieces for the event.

  Her contributions didn’t end there. When Faith’s library burned down a week before the first day of school, Judith stepped in. She committed thousands of dollars of her own money, and donated a percentage of her proceeds for one week toward the creation of a new library and learning center.

  All this made Judith’s disappearance even more disturbing.

  * * *

  7586 Chrysanthemum Way

  Faith, New Mexico

  Jim Avello decided to run by Judith’s house to check on her. When he did, he noticed all the outside lights were still on, and her car, usually parked in front of her garage, was nowhere in sight.

  He approached the front door, hand resting over his holstered gun, and knocked twice. No answer. He rang the doorbell. Still no answer. Finally, he cupped his hands against the stained glass and peered inside. Almost instantly, he saw a rocking chair lying on its side.

  Avello reached for the handle. The door was unlocked. He stepped inside. Furniture lay overturned, and there were broken bits and pieces of cherished objects everywhere.

  The living room was the crime scene.

  It looked like a madman had gone through it. Worst of all, there was no sign of Judith anywhere. Avello radioed for help, and soon, Judith Hedrick’s house was buzzing with activity as deputies searched for a body that wasn’t there.

  * * *

  Avello met Cameron on the front steps outside the house. At almost the same time, an Albuquerque news van pulled up across the street. A lone cameraman fumbled with his gear for a few minutes, then moved toward the house, camera propped on his shoulder. No sign of Casey Gold anywhere.

  Cameron knew Judith well. He and her son Jason were the same age and had been good friends growing up. Jason’s father had passed away when the boy was only ten, and Judith did everything possible to make her son’s life a good one despite the loss.

  Peanut-butter-and-jelly-and-potato-chip sandwiches on Saturday afternoons—that was what came to Cameron’s mind when he remembered Judith. He and Jason used to attend a basketball clinic together, and Judith always had lunch waiting for them afterward. The potato chips were the boys’ own addition—they liked the way they made the sandwiches crunch when they bit into them.

  Cameron shook the memory off and entered the house. The disarray struck him first: much like her floral shop, Judith had always kept her home immaculate, everything in its place. Despite the chaos everywhere, he didn’t see any physical signs Judith had been injured—no blood, no clumps of hair on the floor, nothing. It looked like someone had just thrown things around. Books lay scattered about, far from their shelves, and it appeared as if someone had hurled dishes against the living-room wall, pieces scattered everywhere.

  Cameron scratched his head. Perhaps it was a good sign that Judith wasn’t there. Maybe this was nothing more than vandalism. Maybe she hadn’t even been home when all this happened. But if that were the case, where was Judith?

  “Sheriff,” yelled Avello from the doorway, radio pressed against his ear. “We got something.”

  “What?”

  “Hedrick’s car. Blue Toyota Camry. Plates match and everything.”

  Cameron felt something heavy turn in the pit of his stomach. “What about Judith? Was she—?”

  “Negative, boss,” he said, shaking his head. “Still missing.”

  Cameron sighed with relief. “Location on the car?” he asked.

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “Nothing surprises me anymore. Try me.”

  Not far from where the Champion girl’s car turned up. Looks like it was driven into a creek.”

  Cameron was already halfway out the door and on his way to his car.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  45687 Monument Path Way

  Albuquerque, New Mexico

  The voices were gone, and so was Bethany.

  But it was hardly over.

  Images started to come, at first unclear—shape shifting, silvery forms twisting through the air. Then the scene came into focus. Kyle looked closer and recognized a group of medical personnel, dressed in white, and gathered around some kind of operating table. A man reached above his head and pulled down a large domed fixture. He flipped the switch, and the whole room exploded with light, making the
white lab coats appear electric.

  Pictures that matched the sounds Kyle had just heard.

  Over to the right, she saw the doctor and nurse talking. Although she couldn’t see anyone on the table itself—too many people blocked her view—she had a feeling she knew who was lying on it. Beyond that group of medical staff lay the patient whom they would later replace with someone named Lewison.

  The images disappeared into a bright flash of light.

  Kyle’s whole body stiffened. What were they going to do with him?

  But something about the equipment didn’t seem right; it seemed old. She’d been in many operating rooms, and none of them looked anything like this. Besides that, the walls, the floor, even the people looked peculiar.

  Worst of all, the nurse standing next to the doctor looked hauntingly familiar.

  She was the same one Kyle had watched fall to her death.

  The visions were coming together, forming a coherent story. One nurse plunged to her death, another died while being trampled upon during some sort of riot—all at some odd medical facility, a place where patients were heard but not seen, a place where patients were “parked,” then left to “expire.”

  Kyle kept ending up there too.

  But where was Bethany, and how did she fit into all this?

  Kyle looked up toward the ceiling as if speaking to the girl, her voice barely a whisper. “Tell me, Bethany—in God’s name, please—tell me what they did to you.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Old Highway 80

  Faith, New Mexico

  “I’m a little confused here,” said Frank.

  He and Cameron were gazing down into the steep canyon where Judith Hedrick’s car lay upside-down. “Help me understand how we managed to miss an entire car just a few miles from an established crime scene.”

  The deputies were now at the bottom, processing the vehicle, and combing it for evidence.