While the Savage Sleeps

by Kaufman, Andrew E.

  Della’s self-appointed role as informant and confidante extraordinaire was an interesting departure from the uncooperative, cold attitude she’d displayed when Cameron had first encountered her. To him, both extremes were a nuisance. At best, Della’s calls seemed insignificant. At worst, they were just annoying.

  Except, that is, for one.

  Cameron was just about to eat lunch in his office and almost regretted picking up the phone after hearing Della’s grating voice on the other end.

  “Got a hot one for ya,” she said.

  “What’s up, Della?” Cameron replied, trying to curb his irritation.

  She whispered into the phone as if relaying classified information. “This morning … strangers … driving … down the street … very suspicious …”

  Cameron grabbed his pen, tightened his grip on the phone. “Say what, now?”

  Her whispers became softer. “Yeah, and they ain’t from around here, either …I could tell. They was prowling around like they was lookin for something.”

  “Not a plain white van by any chance?”

  She paused, surprised by Cameron’s knowledge. Loudly now, almost shouting: “Ay-ffirmative.”

  “Did you get a chance to see who they were?” he asked.

  “10-4.” She continued her television dialogue. “Two men. Sunglasses. Subjects were observed getting out of the vehicle.”

  “Happen to get a license plate number?”

  “Ay-firm. Was able to secure a vantage point where I could ascertain that information.”

  “Go ahead,” he said, pushing the pen against a notepad, the phone resting between his shoulder and ear.

  “That would be: Horrace, Steven, Jeffrey, FOWER, THUREE, SEVEN, NYE-YEN. I repeat, that’s—”

  “No need to repeat it, Della. Got it. What time was it?”

  “That would be zero, eight fifteen.”

  He tilted his wrist and checked the time. It was five minutes past noon. “See where they went?”

  “Subjects observed traveling southbound,” she replied, matter-of-factly, “onto Jefferson.”

  He visualized the intersection. “They turn onto Melvin or keep going straight?”

  “Kept going straight. On towards the highway.”

  “You said they got out of the vehicle. What were they doing?”

  “Got out to prowl around,” she replied.

  “Where, Della? Where were they looking?”

  “The Foley place.”

  There it was. A connection. “Gotta go, Della. Thanks.”

  “But …how ‘bout…”

  Cameron didn’t wait to listen to the rest of what she had to say. He’d already heard everything he needed.

  Chapter Sixty

  Fulton Street

  Faith, New Mexico

  Cameron sped down the road, talking to Frank on his cell phone. “We’ve got strangers in town.”

  “Strangers? What kind of strangers?”

  Cameron couldn’t tell if his boss was confused, annoyed, or both. “Don’t know, but I’d sure like to find out. Lane Smith saw them first, around eight this morning, driving past his shop in a plain white van. Two males. Della Schumacher saw them, too.”

  “The whack-job that lives next to the Foley place? You sure she wasn’t having one of her psychotic breaks?”

  “She had the same information Lane told me, Frank.”

  “Well, Lane’s solid. So what were they doing here?”

  “Good question. Schumacher saw them snooping around the Foley place just after Lane spotted them at Judith’s shop.”

  “Now that is interesting. Anybody happen to get a license number?”

  “Lane tried but couldn’t see it well enough. All he could tell was New Mexico plates. Schumacher, though, she nailed it.”

  “Well what do ya know? The old nag proved herself useful. Run the numbers yet?”

  “Yeah. Last owner came back to Rent-n-Ride, in Albuquerque.”

  “Call ‘em?”

  “Yep. Said none of their vehicles have plates matching those numbers.”

  “Strange.”

  “Put a call in to the DMV—said it could be a dead registration, a vehicle they sold at an auction, and the new owner never completed the process.”

  “No coincidence, I’m sure. Where you at right now?”

  “Just passed Beacham Street,” Cameron said, “headed for the Foley place to see if I can figure out what they were doing there.”

  Cameron heard commotion in the background. “Frank? You still there?”

  “Yeah. Hang on a sec. Somebody’s pounding on my door,” he replied, then shouted out, “I’m on the phone, for God’s—”

  More commotion—and voices. Cameron couldn’t make them out.

  “Holy shit,” Frank finally said after returning to the call. “Something’s going on at Felice’s. We got shots fired.”

  At the same time, Cameron heard the radio chatter. He spun his car around in the middle of the intersection and sped in the other direction, turning on his flashing lights.

  “Already got it, boss. Headed there now.”

  “Following right behind you,” Frank said.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Felice’s Diner

  Faith, New Mexico

  The restaurant’s front window was shattered, shards of glass everywhere, glistening in the hot midday sun. A few deputies stood outside, talking. They stopped to look at Cameron when he pulled up.

  “What do we got?” he asked.

  “A shooting,” Deputy Avello replied, his voice low and solemn. He paused. “It’s one of our own … Banks … he’s dead.”

  Cameron looked at Avello, then inside, then back at him again. He’d heard what the deputy had said, but his mind seemed to reject it. The words Banks and dead—they didn’t seem to fit together.

  “Sir?” Avello finally said.

  Cameron swung back into the minute. “Banks is … dead?”

  “Yessir.”

  “How?”

  “Another deputy did it, sir … he killed him.”

  Cameron was still watching all the commotion inside, but when he heard what Avello had said, quickly turned his head back toward him. “What? Another … who?”

  “Ronnie Geller,” Avello said. “Ronnie Geller shot and killed Shawn Banks,”

  “I don’t get it ...what in the world …Why?”

  “He says Shawn attacked him.”

  “Where’s Ronnie now?”

  “Inside. They’re talking to him out back by the kitchen.”

  Cameron didn’t say anything else. He ran inside.

  A few moments later, an engine roared and tires screeched as Frank pulled up. He got out of his car and surveyed the looks on the deputies’ faces.

  That was all he needed to see.

  * * *

  Beyond the time clock, beyond the signs purporting a safe working environment,

  Geller sat on top of a large, plastic pickle bucket with Cameron kneeling beside him. Face flushed, eyes red-rimmed, the deputy had been sweating so much that his short-cropped hair appeared soaking wet. In addition to all that, his hands were still shaking—so were his legs—and he had a distant look in his eyes.

  Cameron looked up and saw Frank headed straight toward them, his pace rapid and determined. In an attempt to divert the oncoming train wreck, he turned back to Geller, placed a hand on the deputy’s shoulder, then said, “Be back in just a minute.”

  Geller nodded, slowly, absently.

  Cameron stood up and walked toward his boss.

  “What the hell now?” Frank asked, eyes fixed hard on the deputy.

  “Geller killed Shawn Banks.” The conversation felt like an instant replay of the one Cameron had had earlier, except now he was the one giving the bad news.

  “Gellar did what…?” Frank shouted. “What in God’s name for?”

  Cameron looked over toward Geller. “He claims Shawn attacked him.”

  “Oh … shit.” Frank sa
id, realizing the implications. “Anybody call the state troopers yet? They gotta be here.”

  “On the way,” Cameron said.

  “I don’t get it. Now we have deputies offing each other? What the hell’s going on?”

  “It’s not quite that simple, Frank.”

  “You’re damned right it’s not—it’s bullshit,” he said, then began moving toward Geller.

  Cameron grabbed his shoulder. “Just hold on a minute. Calm down. I have this.”

  Frank turned back and stared at him.

  Cameron took a deep breath. “Look. He was just about to spill when you came in. He’s a mess right now, Frank, a complete mess. Wasn’t even saying much ‘til I calmed him down. Now he’s ready to talk. I can do this. I’ll get what we need. But I need a moment … alone.”

  Frank shot Cameron a long, level look, measuring the words, then reluctantly, and very slowly, he nodded.

  * * *

  Geller was sitting with his face in his hands when Cameron came back to talk to him. He placed a palm on the man’s shoulder, and the deputy looked up instantly, seeming not to recognize him.

  “Let’s go outside, Ronnie. You look like you could use the fresh air,” he said, then glanced back at Frank, who was still watching their every move, “and I’m kinda feeling like I could, too.”

  Geller stood up and walked stiffly toward the back door. Cameron followed him.

  Outside, Geller leaned against the brick wall, tilted his head back, and released a drawn-out breath. As he did, Cameron looked down at the deputy’s hands; they were still shaking.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened, Ronnie, from the beginning,” Cameron urged, gently.

  Geller looked at Cameron, his expression void. Then, after a few moments, he spoke with a trembling voice. “I came in to grab some lunch. Shawn was at the counter with his back to me. Figured I’d go over and invite him to join me at a table.”

  Cameron nodded.

  Geller took a long, shaky breath, then said, “Pretty much immediately, I realized something wasn’t right. He had his face buried in his hands, like he was upset or something. I said his name a few times, but he wouldn’t answer, you know? Wouldn’t even look up.” He paused. “I knew him and his girlfriend split up a while back, so I figured maybe it was about that.”

  “You thought he might still be upset,” Cameron confirmed.

  “Yeah. I was worried about him, and I could tell the people around him were, too—they were staring, and everyone was looking at me, like, do something. So I put a hand on his shoulder and asked him if there was anything I could do to help him, if he needed something, you know? But he just sat there, totally unresponsive. I thought maybe he was sick or something, like he needed medical attention, you know? I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew I couldn’t just leave him there like that. I kneeled down at his side, like this.” Gellar knelt next to Cameron. “Then, all of a sudden, he just explodes, knocks me, and I go flying, right onto the floor—totally unexpected—I mean, it came outta nowhere. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe he did it. I know Shawn, a real nice guy, you know?”

  Cameron nodded. This was starting to sound familiar.

  “Knocked the wind right out of me, you know?” He stood up. “When I finally got to my feet and got my bearings, I saw him standing there, looking me right in the eye. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, boss. It was like I barely even recognized him.

  “Why was that?”

  “This is gonna sound strange,” Ronnie paused, trying to find the right words. “He had this wild look in his eyes. I mean, really crazy … and creepy, you know?”

  “Creepy? How?”

  “It’s hard to explain. The eyes—they were, like, dark … and flat, like there was nothin’ behind ‘em. Like they didn’t reflect any light.”

  Cameron looked away from Geller, thought about it for a moment, then back at him. “Dark?”

  “Yeah. Like they were almost black.”

  “Ronnie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shawn’s eyes were blue.”

  Ronnie appeared stunned, said nothing.

  “Blue,” Cameron repeated. He was talking to himself as much as to his deputy.

  “I … I’d never noticed before—to tell you the truth—but take my word for it, boss: They were not blue when I saw them. They were dark—dark as night, as tar.”

  Cameron felt his cheeks getting warm. “So what happened next?”

  “So he was standing there. His face … he looked so … angry. No, it was worse than angry, much worse. I’ve never seen him like that before. Never. You know how Shawn is …” He stopped, shook his head, then spoke quietly. “I mean, was. Easygoing, always seemed so happy. But this was like, something else.”

  “Like what?”

  Ronnie spread his fingers apart on both hands and looked down at them, then up into Cameron’s eyes. “I don’t know, like he wasn’t even human.”

  Cameron swallowed hard, forced his words out. “Then what?”

  “He pulls out his gun and takes aim, right at me. You shoulda seen the look on his face—I’ve seen that look before. I knew what it meant. He was going to kill me. I had to think quick. So I lunged at him. As I do, he squeezes off a round. It missed me by a hair, went right over my shoulder and through the front window. Before he could take another shot, I landed right on top of him and his gun fell out of his hand. I got up and reached for mine but as I did, he reached over for his—it was laying on the floor, just a few inches from his hand. He fired off another round but couldn’t get good enough aim ‘cause of how he was lying there on the floor. But I could … and I did.” Geller threw his hands out, palms up, pleading, tears forming in his eyes. “I had to do it, I had to kill him.”

  “He was going to kill you, Ronnie. You did the right thing.”

  “I killed him,” he said, staring at the ground shaking his head. “I killed Shawn.”

  Cameron stepped back and locked his hands behind his back, watching Geller try to compose himself, before speaking again. “And you have no idea what got into him? What might have caused all this?”

  “Sheriff,” Geller said, “you know him … I know him. To tell you the truth, I don’t have a clue what the hell happened back there. But as sure as I’m sitting here, I do know one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The person I killed back there—that wasn’t Shawn.”

  Cameron tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. “Who was it, then?”

  “That,” he said, “was some kind of monster.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  City Morgue

  Faith, New Mexico

  Faith Community Hospital’s morgue was the holding area for all deceased persons prior to autopsy or burial. Cameron and Frank felt an obligation to go there—one, to pay their respects to a fallen deputy, and two, to see if they could find evidence that might help explain why things went so wrong, so fast.

  Shawn’s body lay on a metal table with the standard white sheet covering him. Not long ago, they’d been standing over Bradley Witherspoon’s corpse in much the same manner. Although the circumstances were a lot different here, it didn’t change the haunting fact: both were deputies. Both were dead.

  A gentle electrical hum buzzed steadily in the background, practically inaudible, though for Cameron, it seemed to blare.

  “You wanna to do the honors, or shall I?” Frank finally asked with a combination of regret and disgust.

  Frank’s sorrow did not evade Cameron, who said nothing, then reached for the corner of the sheet, lifting it. As he did, he could barely feel his fingers or even the sheet in his hand. His body and mind were both numb.

  They both looked down at Shawn’s face.

  Cameron reached to pull the cover back over the body.

  Suddenly, Frank threw out his hand.

  Caught off-guard, and blocked from going any farther, Cameron looked up. “What, Frank? What’s going on?”


  Frank said nothing. He dropped his hand and continued staring at Shawn’s corpse: eyes wide and round, face frozen, breathing and heavy, loud.

  Cameron noticed his boss trembling. “You’re scaring me, Frank. Say something.”

  Slowly, Frank pointed toward the body. His voice was labored and hoarse. “The finger … look at his finger.”

  Cameron gazed at Frank, then at Banks’ hand. As he did, his eyes widened with recognition. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head vehemently, as if begging the truth not to exist. “Oh … no.”

  On Banks’ left finger was a gold ring, the Masonic logo imprinted on its face, and on each side, a trillion-cut, black onyx.

  With a chip missing from one of them.

  Frank slowly raised his gaze toward Cameron. “The fragment you found on Witherspoon … the stone.”

  It was the exact same shape and size. Cameron couldn’t speak; he could barely even breathe.

  “Christ,” Frank said. “Holy … Shawn Banks killed Bradley Witherspoon.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  45687 Monument Path Way

  Albuquerque, New Mexico

  It was late evening and Kyle had finally arrived home. She’d hoped to get there sooner, but one of her patients had forced a change in plans—the boy had fallen and busted his sutures wide open. Kyle had to spend the last few hours cleaning and repairing the damage.

  She plopped down onto her couch and opened a can of grape juice she’d planned to drink earlier. It was warm now, but she didn’t much care—it was still wet, and that was all that mattered.

  Sitting motionless for a few moments, Kyle enjoyed the near-silence surrounding her. The only sound she could hear was the refrigerator as it clicked on and off to the commands of an indecisive thermostat. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Right away, thoughts of Bethany crept into her mind, but she quickly chased them away.

  She reached for the remote on the coffee table and turned on the television. After mindlessly flipping through channels, she settled on the local news. As the opening music started, Kyle realized she hadn’t been keeping up on events lately. Time just hadn’t permitted. Bethany hasn’t permitted, she thought as she propped her feet up, grabbed a copy of Cosmo, and began flipping through the pages.