While the Savage Sleeps (5 page)

“
What?”

He stared at him for a moment. “According to the M.E., the heart was still pumping when the organs starting coming out.”

Chapter
Nine

Sheriff’s Station

Faith, New Mexico

Cameron sat in his office trying to think his way through all the recent events.

On the floor beside his desk was Bentley, his chocolate lab, who couldn’t have looked more relaxed. The canine let out a lion-sized yawn, smacked his dangling chops, and then dropped his head to the floor, falling asleep instantly.

“
Yeah, easy for you to say,” Cameron remarked.

Bentley’s one ear perked, then an eye opened. He let out an exhaustive
harrumph
and again drifted peaceably, back toward sleep.

Cameron couldn’t help but envy the dog; he had not a care in the world, his only concerns, when to wake up and what was for supper.
Not a bad life,
he thought,
not bad at all.

In his own life, things were far from easy. For a town like Faith, where traffic tickets and an occasional domestic dispute were about as bad as law enforcement got, it was a rude awakening to be thrown into not just one but two homicides. Even worse was that they’d occurred only a few days apart.

Still hounding Cameron, were the similarities between the two cases—there were just too many of them. Like Bradley Witherspoon, Alma Gutierrez had suffered a merciless round of torture before succumbing to death, and, like Witherspoon, was hanged upside-down and put on display in a most disturbing way.

For now, the main focus of his investigation centered on two victims but only one possible suspect: Ryan Churchill. From all accounts, he was a quiet, well-mannered kid. In fact, no matter whom Cameron spoke with, it always seemed to be the same old story, that Ryan adored Alma. But if that were the case, why would he not only turn against her, but do so with such vengeance? It just didn’t add up.

Of course, Ryan killing Witherspoon made even less sense. Other than probably seeing each other around town, the two hadn’t really known each other. Why would the boy want to go after him? Although plausible, there wasn’t nearly enough evidence to support the theory.

Cameron did learn that Ryan’s family background hadn’t been a stellar one. His father disappeared soon after he was born, and his mother dropped out of the picture several years later. After that, Ryan’s grandmother had raised him.

Broken homes often create broken children
, Cameron thought. Speaking with the grandmother might be the first step in finding out where Ryan went wrong, and why.

***

Faith, New Mexico

Bobbi Kimmons rented a one-bedroom apartment near the center of town. The place was actually nothing more than a garage converted to a granny flat off the main house. Whoever changed it into living quarters hadn’t done much to hide that. The structure itself was flat and boxy with a nondescript window hanging off to one side. Nothing fancy, for sure, not even a driveway to park a car. In fact, it looked as though she kept hers in an alley butting up against the neighboring hardware store.

Much like the apartment, Bobbi’s ‘86 Camaro also seemed less-than-adequate. On one side, the rear bumper hung loosely, and on the other, a tattered strand of rope held it in place. The oxidation process had taken its toll on the body, robbing it not only of its original color, but of its smooth finish, giving the texture and appearance of sandpaper.

Cameron parked behind her, then crossed a front yard teaming with crabgrass, along with an assortment of other weeds in various stages of bloom. At the front of the house, rusted hinges dangled off the frame where a screen door had once hung, and the main door itself seemed in need of a refurbish. It appeared someone had made a feeble attempt to paint over the warped, cracked wood, but that was already starting to peel away.
Not the best place to raise a kid,
Cameron thought,
but at least the boy stayed with family.

He pushed the doorbell, then knocked when he didn’t get a response. A few seconds later, the door opened to a narrow crack, revealing a ruby-tinged, twitching nose.

“
Assistant Sheriff Cameron Dawson,” he said to the nose.

The door moved open some more, exposing the face that went with it, which did not welcome, nor did it speak.

“
I need to talk to you about your grandson, Ryan.”

“
One minute.” Bobbi said, in a husky voice that sounded like too many cigarettes. She pushed the door closed, and Cameron heard the security chain disengaging. When it opened again, an odor of stale cigarette smoke emerged almost instantly, as did the hollow-cheeked woman herself.

“
Well, don’t just stand there,” she snarled, her thick voice tempered with a combative undertone. “Come in!”

Ignoring the less-than-warm welcome, Cameron followed her inside.

“
I figured you’d be coming,” she said, ambling toward the kitchen. “I made tea.”

Cameron heard glasses clanging together, combined with the faint sound of sniffling.

Bobbi emerged from the kitchen holding two glasses filled with iced tea, placed one on a TV stand by the couch, and then motioned for Cameron to sit there. She took the other glass to a threadbare Lazy Boy recliner. After lowering herself into it, she reached for a pack of non-filtered Pall Malls and pulled one out, almost as if having one were as much a part of her responsibility as speaking to him. Holding the cigarette to her lips with two fingers, she lit-up, took one long drag, and inhaled every bit of it deep into her lungs. Two thick jets of gray smoke escaped through her nostrils, becoming thinner with each passing second. Looking much more relaxed after a calming dose of nicotine, she looked up at Cameron. “So what can I do ya for?”

“
Tell me,” Cameron said, deciding to delve right in. “What happened with Ryan’s parents?”

“
My daughter?” she said, then snorted. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her in years. Heard she’s living somewhere in Arizona. As for the father, well, we never figured out who
he
even was.”

“
Why did your daughter leave?”

“
She didn’t leave—not really. County took him away.” Bobbi pulled another drag from her cigarette, rolled her eyes, then forced the smoke out through her mouth. Her tone was singsong. “It’s a long story. If ya got a few hours, I’ll tell ya ‘bout it. Otherwise, I’ll just give you the short version and say she wasn’t fit to raise a canary, let alone a child.”

“
Drugs?”

“
Ha!” she said with a deep cackle that morphed into a wet cough. “Drugs, drinking, gambling, men, you name it, she had her hands full of it. A real winner, my daughter.”

“
How old was Ryan?”

Bobbi looked toward the ceiling and moved her lips as if counting. “I wanna say … yeah, when Ryan was ten. She tried to make a go at parenting. Failed miserably, of course.”

“
What happened?”

“
Went out to get stoned one night—or whatever she was into at the time—and left Ryan at home all by himself.” She took another quick drag, then spoke, exhaling simultaneously. “Used to do it all the time. Well,
that
time it was one too many. Ryan got into some kinda trouble—can’t remember what—and a neighbor called the cops. When she finally came home, the boy was gone, and there was a nice little letter from the county stuck to her front door.

“
And then you got him?” Cameron asked.

“
Not right away. There were hearings in front of the judge. Don’t think she even showed up. Pathetic. I was there, of course, just like always. It was the least I could do. Poor kid. Wasn’t
his
fault his mother was such a screw-up. Anyway, surprise, surprise, they deemed her an unfit mother. And guess who they awarded custody to?”

Cameron mindlessly watched the end of her cigarette; it was becoming long, the ash about to fall off. He nodded toward it. She looked down, flicked, sucked twice, and then put it out in a plate that looked like it had once accommodated something with mustard. A thick, creamy puff of smoke jumped from her mouth, then two thinner jets rushed from her nostrils.

“
You didn’t want to take the boy?” he asked.

“
Well, not at first. I hadn’t raised a kid in years.” She looked at him with a deadpan expression. “I wasn’t exactly up for Mother of The Year after my first tour of duty. I sure as hell wasn’t thrilled about having to do it all over again.”

Cameron attempted a sympathetic smile.

She reflected for a few seconds eyeing the pack of cigarettes as if contemplating another. “But Ryan, he was different. Kid’ll grow on ya if ya let him. Cute, too. Real sweet. And smart? Oh, you shoulda seen him. Don’t know where
that
came from. Sure didn’t get it from this side of the family.”

“
Did his learning disability cause him much trouble?”

“
Oh, I knew it hadda be somethin’. He was too smart to be pullin’ the kind of shitty…” she stopped, smiled, then corrected herself, “…
bad
marks he was gettin’. I figgered either he was goofin’ off too much, or there was somethin’ else wrong.”

“
The dyslexia,” Cameron suggested.

She moved her index finger around in circles beside her head. “Head problems. They finally figgered it out … the
geniuses
.”

“
And that’s how he met Alma Gutierrez.”

Bobbi grew quiet all of a sudden, and her eyes began to glisten. She reached for another cigarette, lit it fast—something to comfort herself. “Yeah, that’s when everything went all wrong. He liked her. Talked about her all the time. I just don’t understand how he could—”

“
He never displayed any sort of violent behavior?”

“
Ryan?” She looked at him as if the question were absurd. “Never. He was a pussycat. Wouldn’t think of hurting a soul.”

A pussycat who sliced his teacher in half, pulling her organs out of her body as if it was some kind of carnival grab-bag
.

“
I know what you’re thinking!” she snapped. “But that’s not Ryan.” She looked away, then, “That’s not my grandbaby.”

“
What do you think happened, then?”

She looked down at her cigarette as if she’d forgotten it was there, tapped the ash off onto her plate, then took one long, final drag before snuffing it out. “I don’t know, but as sure as I’m sittin’ here—that boy ain’t the violent kind. He’d never hurt anyone, especially not Alma. He loved that woman.”

“
There’s a history of substance abuse in the family. Any signs Ryan might’ve been using?” Cameron suggested.

She looked back at him, appalled, almost as if he’d just asked her to take off her clothes. “You
must
be joking. Ryan hated that stuff. He saw what it did to his momma. Wouldn’t have no part of it.”

Cameron shifted gears. “Did Ryan ever go hunting?”

“
Hmmm. The
deer
thing.” She said the word as if it smelled like rotten egg. “Heard about that. Kinda figgered
that
was coming. Yeah, Ryan used to go with his grandfather, my husband.”

“
He still around?”

“
No.
My Henry
passed on several years ago.” Bobbi paused to think, as if taking a trip back in time, then shuttled back to the present. Her tone suddenly grew quiet. “Cancer.”

“
I’m sorry,” Cameron said. “How long ago?”

She let out a sigh with sound. “Seven years. It’s been seven years now.”

“
They hunted together? Him and Ryan?”

“
Yeah. Before my daughter lost custody. Henry used to take him out during buck season. He was about five or six. Quality time. You know?”

Cameron nodded.

“
Gives a young man a sense of accomplishment. Teaches him responsibility,” she said, almost as if defending her deceased husband. “Henry was good with Ryan.”

“
So the boy knows how to prepare the animal once it’s killed?”

“
If you’re talking about the
field dressing
, then yes,” she said, “Henry taught him that. Ryan was too young to actually shoot. Used to go along and help, but I’ll tell you what: my husband’s probably turning in his grave right now. He’d kick that boy’s ass from here ‘til next Tuesday if he knew …” She stopped, shaking her head in disgust.

Cameron glanced around the room. “Did Ryan sleep in the bedroom?”

“
No, I do … figger, why not? I pay the rent, I get the bennies, right?” She pointed at the couch where Cameron was sitting. “He slept right there. Folds open to a bed.”

Cameron looked down at the couch, then back up at her. “Where did he keep his personal belongings?”

“
Boy didn’t have a heck of a lot. I could barely afford to keep clothes on his back—thank you
Jesus
for SSI—so he lived pretty simple, but not by choice. Didn’t seem to mind it much, though.” She nodded toward a corner of the room. “Kept his clothes in that dresser over there.”