Free While the Savage Sleeps by Andrew E. Kaufman

remember Ben having any sort of medical condition. I was his Little League coach—all team members had to get physicals in order to play. I would have been told if he did.”
    “ I’ll double-check his medical records, just on the slight chance it got past you, and the lab will take a closer look at those ulcers under a microscope, as well. We should be able to come up with some answers.”

    Answers , Cameron thought as he left the building and headed toward his car—the autopsy hadn’t provided any. It had only raised more questions.
    He was getting used to that.
    Dead men tell no tales . Cameron shook his head. But what about boys? Tell me, Ben—tell me what really happened that night…
    And while you’re at it, tell me… what’s happening to this town?

Chapter Sixteen
    Sheriff’s Station
    Faith, New Mexico

    When it came right down to it, Faith’s top cop, Frank Donato, was a no-nonsense, no-frills sort of guy. That notion seemed obvious, judging by his office decor–or lack thereof. Defying any sense of comfort or style, it lent itself to the bare-bones school of design. No Feng Shui here.
    Back in the day, the walls were probably a cheery mustard color. Not anymore. Years of soot and grime had left their mark, leaving them a shade or two past the tune of dried egg yolk. Adding to the overall mood were tattered metal blinds hanging slightly lopsided in a solitary window, slats bent and buckled, along with a thick coating of dust. On a bright day, the sun poked through them, striping the dusty air with intense light and giving the word filthy completely new meaning.
    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