While the Savage Sleeps by Andrew E. Kaufman Read Free Book Online Page A

once calm and quiet, became a storm of restless activity.
    Blinding halogen lights bathed everything in a strange, icy glow, creating an almost theatrical presence. A twisting labyrinth of yellow crime tape wove in and out of trees and bushes, clinging precariously to anything that could hold it in place, encircling the perimeter like a giant tangle of snarled yarn.
    News vans dotted both sides of the road. Before long, crews were set up, camped out, and ready to go, in time for the early-morning newscasts.
    The Foley murders were big news, not just for Faith but also for the state of New Mexico, and the media delighted in covering them. In industry jargon, this was a “sexy” story, one with every element to quench the public’s insatiable thirst for the proverbial sex, drugs, and rock’n roll—something the stations eagerly sold, charging by the hour, dishing it out like soft-serve ice cream on a hot July day.
    Suddenly, the neighborhood felt like a different place, the confusion driving the intensity to newer and higher levels. The accompanying sounds only added to the effect. A car door creaked open, then slammed. Radio chatter jammed the airwaves. A child cried.
    All of it seemed surreal.
    Closer to the house, a strange, haunting silence lingered thick in the air. The front door hung wide open, so far back on its hinges that it looked almost broken, a yellowy, incandescent light spilling out, bleeding into darkness. Beyond that were the locals—a crowd of them—gathered behind the tape, anxiously waiting and watching, their fearful eyes like mirrors reflecting tragedy.

    * * *
    6623 Hunter’s Run
    Faith, New Mexico

    Three-seventeen a.m.
    Cameron was wrestling his way through a fitful sleep when the phone rang.
    Bentley reacted automatically with a single, sharp bark.
    “ Dawson,” he said with a groan, his voice gritty and tight. Calls at this hour spelled trouble. He’d had his share of that for the past few days. He didn’t need any more.
    “ Avello, here,” said the deputy.
    “ Yeah, Jim.”
    “ We got problems, boss, big ones, over on Old Route 15, at the Foley House.”
    Cameron could now hear commotion in the background.
    “ The Foleys ?”
    “ Yes, sir,” Avery replied.
    Cameron ran his palm over his face, then up toward his forehead where he held it for a moment, still trying to get his bearings. “What’s up at the Foley’s?”
    “ More like, what went down at the Foley’s. Homicide, sheriff, times three.”
    “ You’ve got to be kidding—”
    “ No joke, boss. It’s bad … worst I’ve ever seen.”
    “ Good Lord,” Cameron said. “What the hell’s going on around here?”
    “ Dunno, but you’ll wanna come down here,” Avery said, “… and quick. Place is a madhouse. Crawling with news media … damned near all of ‘em, looks like.”
    Cameron slammed the phone into its cradle and within minutes, was fully dressed, out the door, and on his way.

Chapter Twelve
    Old Route 15
    Faith, New Mexico

    When Cameron arrived at the house, things were already in full swing and moving quickly toward unqualified chaos.
    An on-scene deputy waved him through so he could enter the area. As he pulled up, a few overzealous news crews tried to catch up with him, running alongside the car, shouting, and aiming their cameras directly into his windshield. Cameron had to shield his eyes to see where he was driving.
    Deputy Chip Harkins met the sheriff as he stepped from his car.
    “ It’s a massacre,” he said, looking at Cameron, then at the house, then back at Cameron again. “Bodies everywhere. And blood … lots of blood.”
    Harkins was twenty-four years old and every bit as green as he appeared. A tight crew cut accentuated his boyish appearance, along with high cheekbones, awash in a flush of red—a good-looking kid by most anyone’s standards, in a high-school-football-star-turned-local-cop sort of way. He’d joined the department less than a year before and seemed anxious to