While the Savage Sleeps (31 page)

Cameron directed his focus on the shelf again. “Been selling a lot of ‘em lately?”

“
I can look in the back and see if I have more. You got a case of the flu, sheriff?”

“
No, Blake,” he replied. “I have something worse.”

Chapter
Sixty-Eight

Sheriff’s Station

Faith, New Mexico

Cameron went back to his office.

All the pressure, the strain, they were playing tricks on his intellect, causing his imagination to work overtime, something he didn’t need right now. If he worried about every cough, sniffle, or sneeze, he’d drive himself crazy, and that, he decided, would only drive him back instead of forward.

I need to stay on track … stay with the facts.

He thought about his two deputies, one dead, the other his killer.

Shawn Banks had managed to fly under the radar, where he’d remained throughout the other murders. Nobody saw him acting any differently, and even if they had, most would have attributed it to the breakup with his girlfriend.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to offer much.

Shannon Westerly hadn’t seen anything unusual in her ex-boyfriend’s behavior prior to the breakup—at least nothing that she was willing to admit; in fact, when asked why she’d ended the relationship, her answer was simple: he bored her—both in bed and out.

Not the answer Cameron had hoped to hear. For one, he wasn’t interested in his deputy’s sexual prowess, or lack thereof, but most importantly, it led him straight into yet another dead end. He didn’t need any more of those; in fact, he was sick of them.

In effect, all it proved was that Shawn’s inclination toward violence had started post-breakup. That meant there was nobody around to see his personality take such a drastic turn, and that meant Cameron was stuck exactly where he’d started.

Another brick wall.

Someone pounded on the door.

Grabbing a handful of paperwork, Cameron shuffled through it, trying to appear busy, then shouted, “Come in!”

Frank stuck his head in. “What’s with the closed door?”

“
Needed to clear my head,” Cameron replied. “A few moments of solitude.”

Frank entered, stared at him for a moment, thinking it over. “You look like shit.”

“
Thanks.” Cameron said, before going back to his work.

Frank settled into the chair opposite the desk, locked his fingers behind his head, and then leaned back, appraising Cameron with interest.

Cameron stopped what he was doing, but did not look up for a few seconds. When he finally did, he met his boss’s gaze, coupled with a shit-eating grin. Cameron folded his hands, rested them on his desktop, then returned a sarcastic smile. “Yes?”

“
Just got done talking to the M.E. in Albuquerque.”

“
Did you?” Cameron replied, shuffling more papers.

“
Yeah. Just finished Shawn Banks’ autopsy.”

Cameron didn’t say anything. The words
Shawn Banks
and
autopsy
still didn’t seem to fit together. They never would.

Frank held up a folder. “Got something for you
right here.”

Cameron looked up at him, drumming his fingers on his desktop. “If you know something, Frank, now’s the time to let it out.”

“
I do.” He paused for dramatic effect, then spoke around a widening smile. “Stomach ulcers.”

”
What about ‘em?”

“
Shawn Banks had them.” Frank slapped the folder on top of what Cameron was doing. “How do you like me now?”

“
I like you a lot more,” Cameron said, grabbing the folder, opening it, while warming to the idea. “You mean ulcers as in,
Ben Foley
ulcers?”

“
I mean
just
like Ben Foley’s. And something else. They were able to get a better fix on them this time because they were far more advanced.”

Cameron clicked his pen several times as he glanced over the folder’s contents.

“
And these weren’t your everyday, run-of-the-mill ulcers,” Frank continued. “There was a shitload of them, and very close together. The stomach lining looked like it was literally being eaten away.”

“
Eaten away?”

“
Yeah. Perforated all to hell.” Frank stopped himself, working through his own thoughts. “Say … were you ever able to find out if Ben was taking any meds that would’ve caused the ulcers, or if he had any medical history?”

“
I did. Negative. On both counts.”

Frank nodded as if agreeing with himself, then gazed out the window.

“
What?” Cameron said.

“
That request you made with Gavin? The one to check Banks for the flu virus? Smart move—very smart, indeed.”

With everything going on, Cameron had forgotten all about it. “Yeah? And?”

Frank raised his eyebrows. “Had it.”

“
No shit?”

“
No shit.”

Cameron looked up as if watching an idea fly past him, then back at Frank. “Ryan Churchill still across the street in holding right now?”

“
Yeah, sure.”

His grin began to widen. “Wonder how his tummy’s feeling?”

Frank nodded. “
Ulcers.”

“
And if
he
does,” Cameron said, “I’m willing to bet Judith had the same symptoms as well.”

“
If we can just find her.”

Cameron stood up and walked to the window, gazing sightlessly through it. “First they come down with flu symptoms, then the stomach ulcers … and then they kill. After that—after it’s all done—they have no memory of any of it.”

“
The
hell’s
causing it?” Frank asked.

Cameron grabbed the phone, started dialing, then spoke into the receiver. “It’s Dawson. I need Rainey.” He paused and listened. “
Find him
. Right away … tell him to call me. Tell him it’s an emergency, that I need to send Ryan over to the hospital for tests.
ASAP.
”

A knock on the door interrupted them.

Betty poked her head in. “Have a message for you,” she said, handing Cameron a card.

He read it, then looked up at her, shaking his head.

“
She came by while you were at lunch,” Betty said with a shrug. “Says she has information that might help you figure out what all’s been going on around here.”

“
Doctor Kyle Bancroft,” he read aloud, trying to place the name. Then he looked over at Frank. “From Albuquerque?”

Frank shrugged.

Cameron flipped the card over, then read the handwriting on the back.

Call me A.S.A.P. I think I can help.

Staying at the Graybill Motel -- Room 167

Cell Phone: 505-555-3434

He picked up the telephone and dialed the number.

Chapter
Sixty-Nine

Felice’s Diner

Faith, New Mexico

The lunch counter at Felice’s was the last place anyone had seen Shawn Banks alive. Cameron set his gaze on the exact spot where the deputy had been sitting and kept it there: a reminder of that day, he thought, doubting he’d ever be able to see it as anything else.

Just that morning, Cameron had attended Banks’ funeral. Standing over the casket, he wondered how many more of these he’d have to see before long.

Moving his eyes away from the lunch counter and across the room, everything looked like business as usual. The shattered window had been replaced, the blood cleaned up, even the bullet hole in the wall—gone—filled in and covered up by a fresh coat of paint.

Nothing left, he thought, nothing except the memories, and no amount of paint, plaster, or soap could cover up those.

As expected, an upper endoscopy had revealed that Ryan Churchill, in fact, did have stomach ulcers. Solid evidence, Cameron thought, showing a common connection between several suspects, evidence that could move him closer to the truth. Now he just needed to figure out what had caused them.

Cameron looked at the door and then his watch. He’d done it about five times, maybe even more, since first arriving. He and Bancroft were supposed to meet at four o’clock. It was four-fifteen. She was late, and he was annoyed.

He checked his watch, then the door again. As he did, a tall, slender woman with strawberry-blond hair falling just below her shoulders walked through. She wore faded blue jeans and a bright green polo shirt.

Cameron stood up to make it easier for her to find him. She smiled as she joined him and sat down.

“
I apologize for being so late,” she said right away, scooting her chair forward. “It’s not my style at all, but a water main broke just outside my motel, of all things. Had to go up the street and check into another place just to take a shower …
such
a mess.”

He knew about the main and forgave her lateness instantly. “Not a very nice way to welcome guests into our town, now, is it?”

Kyle dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand while glancing around the restaurant. “No big deal. These things happen. I have to admit, I actually hadn’t expected Faith to be this nice. It really is quite lovely.”

“
Funny, people always seem to say that when they come here.” Cameron paused, then added, “Not sure why.”

“
I think it’s because we tend to overlook small towns,” Kyle said, smiling a thank you to the young waitress as she placed a glass of ice water before her.

“
You may be right about that,” Cameron replied.

Before Kyle could say another word, a strange sensation overcame her. Waves—or something like them—moved on the air, glowing and expanding as they traveled. She began feeling disoriented and lost her sense of balance. It took a moment to realize that the powerful aura was coming from Cameron. Kyle watched wordlessly as the beam of energy expanded around him. Before long, it saturated the entire room with its white-hot glow.

Trying to regain her composure, Kyle glanced away for a moment, hoping she didn’t look as dazed as she felt. Initially, Cameron had appeared gentle, quiet, and soft-spoken, but the force flowing out of him now was a study in contrasts; he was a powerhouse of continuous, blinding energy.

“
It’s a good life, though,” she struggled to say, her voice overshadowed by uncertainty.

“
I’m sorry?” Cameron asked, confused.

“
Living in a small town … I mean … there’s nothing like it.”

Cameron gave a quick, single nod as if suddenly catching her drift.

But Kyle couldn’t stop watching the aura stirring around him. Within the powerful strokes of light was a palpable energy mixed with emotions:

Anguish, guilt, intense heartache
. She not only saw the energy; now she could feel it, too.

“
You okay?” Cameron asked.

Kyle reached for the glass of water, took a quick gulp, nodded. “Fine. Just feeling dehydrated. This heat you’re having is unbearable. Think it just caught up with me, is all.”

Cameron nodded back, remembering where the conversation had let off. “You grow up in one? A small town?”

Depression, deep and endless.

“
I did.” Kyle replied, battling to maintain her perceptual stability in the storm of raging emotions. Increasingly, she was feeling more disoriented, more dazed.

Cameron noticed. He leaned in toward her, studying her eyes, unaware that
he
was the cause of the problem.

For Kyle, this experience was different from the ones she’d had earlier. Gone was the flurry of images ticking through her mind; now there were
feelings
bombarding her, pure, raw emotion.

Agonizing misery. Self-loathing
.

The sensations were becoming intolerable. Kyle threw her hands over her face and shook her head, as if trying to hide from them, but it didn’t work. She looked up, rolled her eyes into the back of her head, and began falling from her chair.

Just that instant, Cameron reached across the table and grabbed onto both her wrists, but to his surprise, felt a burning, stinging sensation—she was hot to the touch. Instinctively, he loosened his grip, releasing her, causing her to lean and fall—slowly at first, then more quickly—out of her chair.

Cameron raced around the table just in time to catch Kyle before she hit the floor. Other people in the restaurant saw the commotion and began to stir, realizing something was wrong.

“
Call an ambulance!” Cameron shouted out, lowering Kyle gently onto her back, her limp body hugging the floor. Within seconds, her skin had gone from scorching hot to icy cold. He reached over and felt for a pulse. To his relief, she still had one, although rapidly pounding.