While the Savage Sleeps (9 page)

Frank reached into his drawer and grabbed a roll of antacids. Using his teeth, he pried one loose, then began gnashing on it.

He looked up at Cameron. He wasn’t pleased.

“
So tell me,” he said, still chewing as he spoke. “With human carnage becoming a normal part of the landscape around here, I’m feeling a bit confused—exactly how does Ben Foley fit into all this?”

“
He doesn’t,” Cameron said, lowering himself into a chair across from his boss with an accompanying sigh. “That’s the problem. Nothing does.”

“
I thought we were getting closer to having things figured out.”

“
Not since the Foley murders. They changed everything.”

Frank leaned back, and his chair complained with a loud squeak. He crossed his arms and looked at Cameron. “Okay,
amigo
, now’s the time for some good, old-fashioned detective work. Thoughts?”

“
On the slight chance these could be nothing more than
isolated coincidences—”

“
Hold on," Frank said, with an expression that mixed frustration and sarcasm “Isolated is one thing. But coincidence? Doubt it. This
is
Faith we’re talking about, right? Five murders here would be about as coincidental as a turd in a shithouse.”

Cameron cringed at the parallel, but allowed the theory. “Okay, going with the idea they’re isolated, then, we already have two killers, right? How ‘bout a third?”

“
Ryan kills Alma. Ben kills his family … so who killed Witherspoon?”

“
That’s
the question.”

“
And the answer?”

“
Your turn. You tell me.”

“
Okay,” Frank said, “try this one on for size: what if they
are
all related? What if Ben and Ryan were working together? You hear stories about it … kids going on murder sprees.”

“
Sounds like a bad episode of primetime TV,” Cameron said. “Oh, and while we’re there, the news media’s back in town. In full force.”

“
We can thank Ben Foley for that one. It’s a surefire way to get the talking heads down here flapping their yaks.”

“
The yaks were flapping all right. You’d’ve thought their jaws were on fire.”

Frank shifted in his chair, shifting his thoughts. “How ‘bout Foley’s autopsy? Anything new there?”

“
Preliminary toxicology report came back this morning. Negative for controlled substances.”

“
Interesting ...”

“
Yep. The boy was clean.”

“
So we know he wasn’t high, just garden-variety crazy.”

Cameron wasn’t sure if Frank meant it as a joke or an observation. “There
was
one thing unusual. Ben’s stomach—it was covered with ulcers.”

He caught on right away. “That’s kinda strange. Kids ever get those?”

“
Medical investigator says they can, but not the same way adults do. Usually it’s from a reaction to medications.”

“
Medications? What kind?”

“
Taking a lot of the over-the-counter anti-inflammatory drugs’ll do it.”

“
So the kid maybe had, like, an Excedrin headache?”

“
No, not exactly. He needed to be swallowing a helluva lot of ‘em over a long period of time to cause the kind of damage he had.”

“
But we know that wasn’t the case, since the tox screen came up negative. Right?”

“
Yes and no. The test is preliminary,” Cameron cautioned. “It only screens for the presence of alcohol or drugs, and
only in a general sense. Takes longer for the specifics. But even so, if he took ‘em a long time ago, chances are they wouldn’t show up now, anyway.”

Frank grunted his displeasure, thought for a few seconds. “M.E. got any theories about what else might’ve caused ‘em?”

“
Threw out a few other scenarios. Seemed unlikely.”

“
So, in a word, nothing.”

“
No. Not right now, at least. He
is
checking on Ben’s medical history to see if he had some sort of preexisting condition. That might explain it.”

“
Okay,” Frank said. “So we have a kid who wasn’t high, had no detectable illness other than stomach ulcers—which, by the way, we have no idea where they came from—who suddenly wakes up one night, and decides to off his entire family,
then
himself? I’m not buying it.” He shook his head, put on his glasses, scanned a few pages of the report. Then he looked back at Cameron over the tops of his lenses. “You knew this kid?”

“
Thought I did …”

“
How well?”

“
Enough to know he wasn’t a killer.”

Frank removed the glasses, gazed out his window. The bright sunlight made him squint. “Well, no disrespect to your judgment, but we’ve got three bodies lying across town in a morgue who’d like to tell you otherwise.”

Frank was right. There was no denying that.

“
What about at the house?” he asked. “Anything
at all
there to indicate why he might’ve done it?”

Cameron threw up his hands. “If the kid was hiding a secret, he was doing a damn good job of it.”

“
Okay, so tell me this: how do we get from point A to point C? Something’s missing here, and I don’t like it.”

“
Not exactly thrilled about it myself, Frank. From all accounts, the kid was well-mannered and well-behaved. Never got into a lick of trouble in school
or
back at home, just like Churchill.”

“
Just like Churchill …” Frank said, contemplating the similarities. “Same shit, different shovel, except, that’s really the only connection we have between the two, and it isn’t much of one. How about the family?”

Cameron shrugged. “That’s where the similarities end. Ryan came from a broken home. His grandmother raised him.”

“
Oh yeah? How’d that go?”

“
Not very well. Had a chat with her, a real piece of work, Bobbi Kimmons is. Did her best, but kinda get the feeling she starved the kid where genuine affection was concerned.”

“
And Ben’s family?”

“
Complete opposite. About as normal and nice as they come. Spoke to them several times last summer during Little League.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Get this—they were actually concerned he wasn’t aggressive
enough for contact sports, too shy, too reserved.”

“
He obviously overcame
that
problem,” Frank said, “with flying colors.”

Cameron shook his head. “I know one thing—from where I stand, the kid didn’t have it in him.”

“
So then why’d he do it?”

“
The answer’s out there somewhere,
”
Cameron said, standing up. “I’m gonna go have a talk with his teacher.”

Frank crooked an eyebrow. “Think she knows something?”

“
Not sure. But I do: she was the last person to see him alive—at least the only one who’s still here to talk about it—and that’s gotta count for something.”

Chapter
Seventeen

Eisenhower Middle School

Faith, New Mexico

Susan Swift was grading papers at her desk when Cameron walked into the classroom.

“
Sheriff Dawson, please come in.” She stood up behind her desk and reached across it to shake his hand. Everything about her—although quietly stated—reflected a well-bred quality, something hard to replicate if you weren’t born into it. She wore a navy button-down sweater draped loosely over her shoulders.

Cameron scanned the room for an adult-sized chair, a rare find in those settings, and spotted one in the corner. “Thanks for meeting with me,” he said, grabbing and bringing it to the front of her desk.

“
I’m afraid I don’t know if I can offer you anything useful,” she said, her voice wavering a bit, “but I’m happy to help any way I can.”

Cameron nodded, sat down.

After a moment of silent contemplation, she said, “We’re having a difficult time coping with what’s happened here, teachers, the kids … everyone.”

“
One student dead, another missing … and a teacher … murdered. It’s a lot to take in.”

“
Alma …” Susan said, shivering, as if a cold draft had just blown into the room. She pulled her sweater closer over her shoulders, shook her head with sadness.

Sensing her discomfort, Cameron cleared his throat and slid the pad from his shirt pocket. “I know all this is difficult, but unfortunately, there’s no way to avoid it. I hope you can bear with me.”

“
Of course,” Susan said, nodding and staring vacantly at the stack of papers on her desk.

“
What I need to know is if you saw any significant changes in Ben’s behavior before all this happened. Did he seem bothered by anything? Agitated in any way?”

“
No,” she said. “Not that I could see.”

“
How about signs of violence or aggression? Ever see Ben show any?”

“
Goodness,
no.” She reached for the top button on her blouse and fumbled with it. “Ben wasn’t a confrontational kid at all. I don’t think I
ever
saw him angry … about anything.”

“
What about the day of the murders? Cameron asked. “Observe anything unusual?”

“
No. Same as always. The quiet kid we all knew,” Susan said, her voice trailing off. She paused, then added, “Maybe a little more subdued than usual, but that was because of the flu.”

“
The flu?”

“
Yeah. He was coming down with a case.”

Cameron crossed his leg and started writing. “Can you tell me more about that?”

She shrugged. “Nothing unusual, really. You know how kids are. They’re always catching things.”

He flipped a page and continued taking notes. “Symptoms?”

“
Said he had a sore throat, that he felt achy.” She stopped to think, chin in the palm of her hand, elbow resting on her desk. “His nose was runny too, and he seemed feverish. You know, typical symptoms.”

“
Observe anything else?”

“
No, just a bit quieter than usual, is all,” she said.

“
Something bothering him?”

“
I’m more inclined to think it was because he didn’t feel well. I ended up sending him home.”

Cameron stopped writing and looked up at Susan. “What time was that?”

“
Oh …” she said, gazing at the clock. “I’d say it was around two-ish.”

“
Who came and got him?”

“
His mom. She usually does every …” Susan stopped herself, shook her head. “Sorry. I meant she
did ...
anyway, she picked him up about an hour earlier than usual. It was late when he started feeling ill. I could have just kept him here, but I started getting worried. He was looking pretty awful.”

“
How so?”

“
Pale. And I could tell he was feverish just by looking at him. Perspiring, too, with the chills. Flu symptoms are like that, you know—they tend to come on pretty fast.”

Cameron looked up at her from his notes and nodded. “Any other kids come down with similar symptoms, before or after Ben?”

“
No. I was worried about that. Usually one of them brings a bug into the classroom, and before you know it, everyone has it. I was hoping to dodge that one by sending him home right away.”

“
How ‘bout his home life? He say anything to you during the day, or even previously? Any problems going on there?”

“
I don’t think so. Ben just wasn’t that kind of kid. In fact, I doubt I ever saw him upset about anything. Shy, yes, but he always seemed happy, content. You know?”

Cameron nodded. He did know, first-hand. “What about classmates—problems with any of them at all?”

“
None that I’m aware of,” Susan said. “Ben was pretty quiet most of the time, kept to himself, almost like he tried to make himself invisible.”

“
Invisible?”

“
Perhaps that’s the wrong word. Let me rephrase: he did his best to stay out of everyone’s way, didn’t
want
to be noticed …” she stopped, thoughtful. “Like he was always lingering somewhere off in the background? But no, never any problems with other students, not as far as I could tell, anyway. Seemed most of the time they hardly even noticed he was there.”

“
A loner,” Cameron suggested.

“
Well, yes. Except I hate to use that terminology. Has such negative connotations.”

“
What about friends? Who’d he hang out with? Meet anyone new recently?”

“
No. Like I said, he kept to himself—didn’t seem to have many friends.”

“
Many—or
any
?”

She reconsidered, then shrugged. “I guess
any
, from what I observed. Now, outside of here—that may have been another story. Really, I don’t know what his social life was like once school let out.”