While the Savage Sleeps (16 page)

“
This one’s at the other end of the spectrum. Utter chaos. A complete mess,” Cameron said. “Everything scattered, every which-way. Looks like she was strangled and that was it. No toying with the victim like we saw with Bradley and Alma. It was quick.”

“
Mercifully quick,” Frank observed, “compared to the others.”

“
Yep. Killed her then dumped her. Strangulation’s not a speedy process, but she died a hell of a lot faster than the others did, no question about that. The whole thing was about as disorganized as they get.”

“
Then we have the Foleys,” Frank said. “We knew
that
never fit in with any of this.”

“
A textbook case of mass murder.”

Frank leaned back, scratched the side of his head. “The idea of a serial killer was never really a sure thing anyway—just one of the possibilities.”

“
And now we have more crimes to compare it to. I think we can safely rule it out.”

“
Okay, but what about Ryan doing Alma and the last one? Methods were different, but there’s still a common connection, both female.”

Cameron gazed across the desk at Frank, thinking a few seconds before speaking. “It might have worked, ‘cept for one thing. The Champion girl was killed, then taken to another spot and dumped, right?”

“
Okay, I know Ryan wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but not having a license—that never stopped anyone here before,” Frank pointed out. “This is the sticks. Kids get behind the wheel long before they ever reach sixteen.”

“
But not Ryan. I checked with his grandmother, and she confirmed it. Remember, Frank, he has dyslexia. Don’t know if it affects driving, but granny tended to be a little on the overprotective side. He never set foot or ass behind the wheel of a car. She made sure of it.”

Frank shook his head, apprehension spreading across his face like a slow moving shadow. “
Four
separate murderers.”

“
Dollars to doughnuts—I’d be willing to bet on it.”

Frank stared at Cameron, dumbfounded. “Holy…Fucking… Shit.”

“
So the next question—”

“
Is who did this one?” Frank said. “And don’t forget Witherspoon.”

“
Witherspoon’s still the wildcard. But this … this one may give us our break.”

“
A break how?”

“
Well, for one thing, the killer was all
kinds
of sloppy—didn’t bother to cover his tracks. We’ve got a lot to go on here, lots of physical evidence.”

Frank gazed out his window, rubbed his forehead, then frowned as if seeing something he didn’t like.

Cameron noticed. “What?”

“
Dead bodies popping up like damned daisies around here,” he said, shaking his head, “and now a senator’s daughter…”

“
We gotta think fast on our feet here, Frank, gotta find a way to keep the media from crawling up our asses.”

Frank put his glasses on, peered over the tops at him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re
already
climbing up our asses. Motherfuckers get any further, they’ll be poking at my rib cage.”

“
Okay. What, then?”

Frank paused for a moment, deliberating, tapping his pencil on his desktop. “I think it’s time for a news conference, let everyone know
we’re
running this show. Not the citizens, not the media, not the feds.”

Cameron breathed deep, then let the air out while nodding. “Fair enough.”

“
But we need to figure out how much we want to release to the media. That’s always a slippery slope. We want to keep the bastards informed, but we don’t want to let them ruin the investigation. And they’ll not only ruin it— they’ll try to run
away
with it, if we let them.” He lifted his hand, looked down at his calendar. “Let’s say tomorrow … tomorrow night. That’ll give you time to prepare.”

“
Prepare,” Cameron repeated, suddenly realizing Frank had just slapped a bull’s eye on his back.

“
Relax,” Frank reassured, waving a hand, “it’ll be a piece of cake,

“
Easy for you to say.”

“
Better get busy, Cam. We’re changing gears here, shifting into damage control.”

Chapter
Thirty-One

Office of the Medical Investigator

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Felicity Champion’s murder gained instant and national media attention. In the process, it had the same effect on Faith, something nobody there wanted.

More and more, members of the press—both television and print—were spilling into town. They were everywhere, in the grocery store, on the streets, and, much to Cameron’s dismay, parked outside the sheriff’s station, their newly designated command post.

The problem wasn’t just that the press was there, more that they didn’t seem to understand boundaries. Nothing was sacred, not even places of worship. Church members were horrified Sunday morning when they filed out of services only to find a firing squad of television cameras aimed directly at them and recording their every move. Five murders in about a week—along with the constant fear that any one of them could be next—was bad enough. Living under this high-powered microscope only exacerbated the effect.

With the press conference that evening, time was becoming Cameron’s worst enemy. He felt like he was racing against it and losing. In addition, he was tired. Unfortunately, there was no time for that, either.

The latest victim being a senator’s daughter complicated matters further, adding more stress to the mix. All eyes were on him. As a result, he felt he had no choice but to attend Felicity Champion’s autopsy. That meant yet another trip back to Albuquerque. He wasn’t looking forward to that. He’d already seen her animal-ravaged, decomposed corpse once; he didn’t need to see it again.

As it turned out, an overturned semi on the highway forced a sudden change in plans. With the road jammed for several miles, by the time he finally arrived at the medical investigator’s office, Russell Gavin was already wrapping things up.

Cameron entered the autopsy room. Once again, the increasingly familiar smell of decomposing flesh, blood, and nonspecific cleaning agents flooded his senses.

“
We really have to stop meeting this way,” Gavin remarked with a hint of humor.

Cameron returned a thin smile. His exhaustion prevented him from doing better. It had been a long trip. This was no picnic, either.

The doctor got down to business. “We have a few interesting things going on here. You’re going to want to know about them.”

Cameron nodded and crossed his arms, stealing a quick glance at Gavin as they moved toward the autopsy table.

When they got there, Cameron stood and stared—wordlessly—at Felicity Champion’s lifeless, naked corpse. Long incisions, deep and bloody, crisscrossed her torso. One ran across her neck and chest, and another started between her breasts, then moved down, ending at her pubic bone—all stitched back together now, crudely, with what looked to be nothing more than common, household string.

Cameron moved his gaze up toward her face and stopped there. With her mouth slightly ajar, eyes closed and relaxed, she looked so peaceful; all this in spite of being sliced by the medical examiner’s knife, ravaged by animals and by time, and worst of all, put here at the hands of a murderer.

She shouldn’t have to leave the world this way: nobody should.

Gavin was still talking. Cameron struggled for a moment, trying to find his way back to the present.

“
You were right,” the doctor said, nodding toward the body. “Your girl was strangled. That’ll be the cause of death. The broken hyoid bone was enough to confirm it … some pretty severe hemorrhaging of the neck muscles too. But it wasn’t done with a rope or any other device, for that matter. The weapon here was somebody’s bare hands.”

“
The marks on the neck?”

“
Yes,” Gavin replied, “and judging by their severity, death came slowly.”

“
Dead bodies don’t bruise,” Cameron said, his eyes pensively drawn on the corpse.

Gavin glanced up at him. “Exactly. So we know those bruises were inflicted quite some time before she expired.”

“
What about thumb prints on the neck?” Cameron asked. “Able to pull any?”

“
No luck there, I’m afraid. It would have been nice—”

“
But a long shot, I know. Anything else?”

“
Now here’s where it gets interesting,” Gavin said. “We did manage to find some other physical evidence.”

“
You did?” Cameron asked, brightening a bit. “What kind? Where?”

“
A very short fiber, actually two of them—nearly identical. One embedded under a fingernail, the other on the victim’s blouse, sticking through a button hole.”

“
Know anything about them yet?”

“
Not really. I’m afraid a fiber is just a fiber until it’s examined and analyzed under a microscope. We’re sending them off to the lab. But the color
does
appear quite unusual, which could turn out to be a decent break for you.

“
The
color
?”

“
Lime green. Real bright. Almost fluorescent.”

“
Not very common.”

Gavin laughed. “I’m no fashion expert. I haven’t
a clue
what’s in style these days. But even I’d have to agree with you there.”

“
How long before we know something?”

“
Not sure. All depends on their caseload—you know how that goes—but since we’re dealing with such a high-profile case, I’m hoping we can streamline things a bit, maybe get an answer for you sooner rather than later.”

“
Perfect,” Cameron said. “Anything else?”

“
Actually, there is.” Gavin said, an inkling of apprehension creeping into his voice.

Cameron sensed the tension, then waited for what had caused it.

Gavin paused for a moment, cleared his throat. “What’s interesting is that she wasn’t
just
strangled.”

Cameron’s confusion caused him to flinch. “Didn’t see any other signs of trauma—I mean—besides a few cuts on the arm and what the animals did to her. Did I miss something?”

“
Yeah, about that … those weren’t animal bites.”

“
Not animal bites?” Cameron said, confused “What then?”

“
Not what …
who
.”

Cameron shook his head.

Gavin studied Cameron’s face for a moment, thinking before speaking. “Those were caused by another human.”

Chapter
Thirty-Two

University of New Mexico Hospital

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Morning.

It had been a long night. It was going to be an even longer day. A tonsillectomy scheduled for ten, gallbladder removal at one—all in a day’s work for Kyle, but this day wasn’t feeling like one of her best.

Playing hide-and-seek with Bethany into the wee hours of the morning had left her feeling worn-down, empty-handed, and most of all, deeply troubled.

You only have five days.

Until what?
Kyle wondered.

The date didn’t seem to hold any meaning, but she had a feeling she’d soon find out.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot and managed to land a preferred space right up near the front, marked: “Doctors Only.” One fringe benefit, at least, she thought, for suffering through all those years of medical school.

Sierra Conley lay in bed with Kyle at her bedside, her mother seated in a chair right behind them. The elfin six-year-old might have been diminutive in stature, but not in attitude. Her precocious manner was larger than life, as was her loud, penetrating voice. A fringe of slick, black hair cut straight across her forehead, the rest forming a frame around a set of full, round cheeks, which seemed too large for her smallish face. She reminded Kyle of a dwarf-sized clown.

“
When do I get to eat the eyth cream?” the pint-sized youngster queried.

“
Sierra!” her mother scolded sharply.

“
It’s okay,” Kyle said with a patient, polite smile. “Kids always ask me that when I take out their tonsils. Can’t say I blame them—it’s the only thing they have to look forward to. Can you open up
real
wide for me, Sierra, honey?”

The child instantly dropped her jaw and shot her tongue out in a manner that appeared automatic and involuntary. She’d already become familiar with the routine.

“
How long will the surgery take?” her mother asked idly, legs neatly crossed, a flawlessly manicured fingernail tapping against the arm of her chair.

“
Breathe deep, Sierra.” Kyle placed a stethoscope against the child’s chest, listened, moved it again, then pulled the instrument from her ears. “No more than a few hours, probably less, if everything goes well.”