While the Savage Sleeps (18 page)

When Cameron reached the podium, he looked out into the crowd, then down at the thick tangle of microphones and cables shooting from every direction and seemingly, from every news media outlet in the state—all pointed in toward him like an octopus with a hundred arms.

Cameron began by reading a prepared statement, including basic facts about the murders of Bradley Witherspoon, Alma Gutierrez, the Foley family, and Felicity Champion, daughter of Senator Connie Champion. He left out the speculative aspects of the case, as they were still unconfirmed.

Not a second after he finished, Casey Gold shot up from her chair like burnt bread from a toaster. She waved her hand back and forth over her head in large sweeping motions and began talking, even though Cameron had not yet called on her.

“
Is it true you think that all the homicides are unrelated?” she shouted.

Cameron glanced at Frank, who was standing along the wall watching and shaking his head nearly imperceptibly.

“
We can safely assume the Foley and Gutierrez murders were committed by two different people,” Cameron responded. “However, we have no viable suspects in the other cases so far.” It was the truth.

A wave of collective chatter passed through the crowd.

“
We heard you think there may be
four
different killers,” insisted Casey.

“
I believe I’ve already addressed that question. Next, please?”

“
Assistant sheriff,” said a male reporter from the back, “have you been in touch with Senator Champion, and if so, has she made a statement for the public?”

Cameron cleared his throat. “I’ve spoken to the senator personally.”

The crowd mumbled, appearing pleased.

“
I offered her our sincerest condolences and informed her we’re actively working this case and are determined to find her daughter’s killer. I also told her we will keep her appraised during every phase of the investigation.”

“
What was her reaction?” This from another reporter on the opposite side of the room.

Cameron paused and looked to Frank for encouragement. This time, the sheriff nodded his head slowly as if to say:
you’re doing fine
.

Cameron looked back into the sea of faces, pens, and pads. “The senator was extremely gracious, despite her tragic loss. She seemed pleased that I called and thanked me for doing so. It was not a lengthy conversation. She has a lot on her mind, and I think it’s only fair we give her the opportunity to grieve for her daughter. Next question, please.”

A female reporter stood up. “Do you believe the murder might in some way be connected to the senator’s job? Maybe an angry constituent?”

“
We have no evidence to support that—however, we’re certainly looking at all possibilities during the course of our investigation.”

Cameron continued answering reporters’ questions for a while longer, then turned the discussion over to Mayor Robert Redman, who fielded questions from residents. Most wanted to know what was being done to keep them safe. It was a peaceful discussion and for the most part, everyone seemed as satisfied as they could be, considering the circumstances. When it was over, Cameron thanked everyone for coming, relieved to be finished.

But if he’d thought he could just walk away after that, Cameron was sadly mistaken. Immediately, Casey Gold came scurrying toward him, waving her hand, and looking like she was about to miss a train. The same heavyset cameraman was right behind her, waddling along, trying to balance an increasingly cumbersome camera on his shoulder.

“
Just a few more questions, if you don’t mind, deputy,” said Casey, with a wide grin that revealed a lipstick-smudged tooth. She swung the microphone into Cameron’s face, missing him by just inches.

He hadn’t appreciated her behavior before and didn’t now, either.

“
Actually, I
do
mind.” He pushed the microphone away, and spoke stiffly. “The press conference is over, and I believe you already got the chance to ask your question. And it’s
assistant sheriff
, not deputy. You’re a reporter. Get your titles straight.”

He continued walking, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, not bothering to turn around to catch her reaction.

Unfazed by the abrupt dismissal, Casey continued following right behind him. “Okay,
assistant sheriff,”
she said in a deep voice that mocked him.

Cameron stopped, shot her a stony look, and then continued walking.

“
Just one quick question,” she begged, peddling beside him, and trying to keep pace.

Finally, he stopped, sighed deeply, and gave in. Casey Gold, Cameron had decided, was a lot like a bad cough; she wasn’t going to leave quickly or easily. “All right. Let’s get it over-with, then.”

Casey’s eyes lit up with delight, and she signaled for her cameraman to come closer. Immediately, the reporter snapped into action. Gone, suddenly, was the catty, high-pitched voice that had grated on Cameron nerves. Instead, her delivery became smooth, authoritative, and deep.

“
Assistant sheriff, why are you hiding specific details about these cases from the public?” she asked, her voice gradually growing louder, more hostile. “Six people have been murdered
.
Don’t you think they have a right to know what’s going on?”

For a few seconds Cameron said nothing, realizing she’d just set him up.

Casey leaned over and whispered into Cameron’s ear, “payback’s a bitch.” Then she stepped back with an eager smile. “Assistant sheriff? Comment, please?”

Cameron shot her a look that did not hide his annoyance or his anger, but let it fade, reminding himself he was on-camera. “Naturally, in any investigation, there’s going to be evidence that’s sensitive and won’t be released if it will jeopardize the case—”

Casey stepped closer, interrupting him with the stomp of her foot, while at the same time, moving in for the kill. Her cosmetics polluted the air with their thick, sweet smell, a cross between Aqua Net hairspray and pancake syrup.
A
crowd began forming around them. “How much longer do you think you can put off the public by throwing out these canned, over-prepared statements that, in reality, amount to nothing?”

Cameron bit down hard and felt his jaw tighten. His temper flared. He’d had it. “We are not
putting off the public
—that’s absolutely ridiculous—you know it as well as I do,
Ms. Gold.
And we are
not
throwing out any canned phrases. This is a murder investigation—”

“
And being a murder investigation,” she interrupted, nodding her head to make her own point, with a shadow of a smile, “the people of this town have the right to know what’s going on. Are you
even
aware how frightened they’ve become?”

“
What kind of question is
that
?” asked Cameron, outraged. “Of course I’m aware. How could I
not
be aware of—”

“
People bolting their doors at night? Parents afraid to send their children off to school? And this is all you can offer them? This worn-out, hollow statement that
this is a murder investigation
?” Her face suddenly softened, her voice taking on a tone that feigned diplomacy. “Come on, sheriff. Surely, you can do better than this. As one of the chief law enforcement officers in this town, I think you owe them more.”

“
Like I said, before, we’re doing everything—”

“
What? What
are
you doing? Tell me … what? Better yet, tell the good people of Faith what you’re doing. But please … tell them the truth. They deserve
at least
that.”

Everyone around them was staring. Cameron felt the sweat trailing down the side of his face. The bright light from the camera wasn’t helping matters; it felt hot against his skin, like tiny daggers. But before he could speak, he heard another woman’s voice rise from the crowd, slicing cleanly through all the commotion.

“
I have a question for you, Ms. Gold,” the voice said, calm and confident. “When are
you
going to back off and let him do his job?”

The cameraman swung around, taking the spotlight out of Cameron’s face, allowing him to see again. But he could barely believe his own eyes.

The crowd parted as Senator Connie Champion approached, her smile so confident, so icy, it gave even Casey Gold pause. The reporter shifted her head toward her, eyes wide, hands clenched into tight fists like a child caught in the act.

Champion stepped out in front of Cameron. She might as well have had the words: “I mean business”
written across her forehead. She did.

In an attempt to save herself, Casey half-heartedly floated the microphone toward the senator, as if presenting her with a rare opportunity to speak.

Champion, not the least bit impressed, pushed it away with one broad stroke of her hand, then leaned forward so only the reporter could hear. Her voice was unmistakably calm, yet unmistakably stern. “Ms. Gold, perhaps we should talk about Chicago.” She raised an eyebrow, then added, “You remember that, don’t you?”

Casey’s eyes widened with surprise, her once-loud, booming voice now deflating to nearly a whisper. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“
Two years ago in Chicago? Champion said, moving in a step closer. “Where you used to work? That ugly incident with—”

Before the senator could finish, Casey turned to her cameraman. Eyes closed, jaw jutting out, she dragged her index finger across her throat, signaling for him to stop rolling.

The spotlight powered off so fast it looked as if the bulb had blown.

The senator placed her hand on the trembling reporter’s shoulder, leaned over, and whispered into her ear, “Now run along, dear.”

Then she stepped back and smiled, as if admiring her own work.

“
Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she continued, “I need to speak with Sheriff Dawson. In case you hadn’t heard, my daughter was murdered, and he’s trying to find the killer. That is,
if
you’ll let him.”

Cameron fought hard to keep his mouth from falling wide-open.

Connie Champion had arrived in Faith.

Chapter
Thirty-Six

Sheriff’s Station

Faith, New Mexico

The senator was sitting across from Cameron’s desk when he walked in and placed a cup of vending machine coffee in front of her. She looked up at him and smiled her thank you. He nodded and settled into his chair.

A few seconds of silence lingered before she cleared her throat and spoke. “I actually hadn’t planned on coming here. But then I realized that sitting at home and thinking about my daughter wasn’t doing me a bit of good.” She stopped, looked down at her hands, and shook her head, her voice decidedly softer now. “My husband … he’s devastated. They were very close.”

“
It’s rough,” Cameron said, “for both of you.”

The senator grasped her cup but did not lift it, staring at it, nodding. “I understand his grief. I really do. I guess what I’m having trouble with, are his feelings of utter helplessness.”

“
It’s a normal reaction,” Cameron said. He was thinking about his own past, his own helplessness.

“
Don’t get me wrong,” she said, looking up, raising a hand. “It’s not that I don’t feel the same way at times. I do. It’s just that he and I, well … I suppose we just handle our emotions differently.”

“
The death of a child,” Cameron said, “something like that—it can cause stress on even the strongest marriages.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “You say that almost as if you’ve seen it happen. But I suppose in your line of work, you probably have.”

Cameron nodded and smiled noncommittally.

“
As for me, well, I guess I just prefer to stay active. Seems to help, keeps me from wandering into those dangerous corners of my mind.”

“
Dangerous?”

“
Oh, you know: Should I have done this? What if I’d done that? Second-guessing myself … the way a mother often does.” She shrugged and shook her head. “All that self-doubt—it does no good, just leaves you feeling empty inside… and then devastated. It’s a vicious game we all play with ourselves at one time or another, I suppose, but rarely does it serve any purpose: In the end, you end up losing.
Stinking thinking
, I call it, you know what I mean?”

Boy, did he.

“
Anyway… I knew if I stayed at home, that’s just where I was headed. Then I heard about the news conference and I figured: what the hell? Maybe I could help out in some way. I suppose my timing was good.”

Cameron didn’t say anything, his run-in with Casey Gold still leaving a nasty aftertaste.

“
I wouldn’t let that incident with Gold get you down, by the way,” said the senator as if reading Cameron’s mind, in a soft, reassuring manner, one clearly intended to offer him solace. “She’s a shark, and a dirty one at that.”