Merciless

I let his doubt bounce off me, but I couldn’t keep the blood from rushing to my face. “Even if solid evidence is ignored? Or dismissed?”

Shenker stared at me thoughtfully. “No offense, Agent Gunderson, but you are new to the bureau. Why haven’t the tribal police picked up on it? If it’s so obvious to you?”

Since I’d started working here five weeks ago, I had mostly observed. I asked questions only when I hadn’t been able to find the answers myself. I wasn’t the timid mouse in the corner, but neither was I the roaring lion. I’d backed down on a couple of occasions. But I would not back down on this. “Maybe due to budgetary and manpower constraints, the tribal cops are conditioned to look for the easiest answer first, in order to get the case resolved and move on to the next one. Those officers see a lot of bad shit. It’d be easy to get jaded. My dad dealt with them when he was Eagle River County sheriff. And yes, he complained about the tribal police not wanting to cooperate with any other law enforcement agencies. Not on any level. Something as simple as the tribal police refusing to fax paperwork meant he had to drive from Eagle Ridge to Eagle River. Half the time they’d have no record of the paperwork he’d requested.

“And now after I’ve been in the tribal police headquarters? I see the same problem. To be perfectly blunt, the place is a disorganized pigsty, with who knows what files spread everywhere. So if there is a connection or pattern to these deaths, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the tribal cops didn’t catch the similarities because they wouldn’t know where the hell to find the information.”

No one looked at me.

Maybe I had gotten a little vehement, maybe it was a shot to my ego they wouldn’t listen. As the highest enlisted rank in my squad, my opinions always commanded attention. I didn’t expect special treatment as an agent, but I sure as hell hadn’t expected my observation to be discounted immediately.

Director Shenker steepled his fingers, just like the FBI honchos on TV. “Tell you what, Special Agent Gunderson. I’ll let you put your money where your mouth is. I don’t know what important case files you think you saw carelessly strewn around the tribal police department, but I have it on good authority the arrest records, case reports, and official police logs are locked up tight in the tribal HQ archives department. Alongside other sensitive matters to members of the tribe, like family lineage, land succession, recorded oral histories, births, deaths, marriages. You know where that department is, right? Since you registered as a member of the tribe, what… eight months ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

He tapped his fingers on his lips a couple of times. “Since we have meetings scheduled Monday, starting Tuesday, you’ll backtrack through all the police files-cases, arrest records, police logs, plus the obituaries, the official death records, media articles, and whatever else you can find to document your theory. Get me proof. Then I’ll listen to your gut.”

I’d just been demoted to flunky.

I’d suck it up, like a soldier, and do my job, because I’d done a lot worse things under orders than paw through musty file folders. I managed a tight smile. “Thank you, sir, for the opportunity to test my theories.”

Director Shenker frowned, unsure if I was being sincere or sarcastic.

I wasn’t quite sure myself. As much as I loathed the idea of being stuck underground like a mole, I’d prefer doing something that might make forward progress on this case, or reopening cold cases, rather than sitting through more courses on FBI procedures.

Turnbull could handle the particulars of the current investigation. He’d be thrilled I wasn’t impeding his lone-wolf investigative prowess anyway. I sent him a sidelong glance, expecting to see his superior smirk.

But he was pissed, as evidenced by the telltale clenching and flexing of his jaw.

Screw him. Nothing I ever did made him happy.

“Now, on to the next order of business,” the director said.

I listened, ignoring Shay’s stealthy interest in the notes I jotted down.

As soon as Shenker announced the break, I booked it to the one place Shay couldn’t follow me: the ladies’ room.

Might make me a chickenshit, especially when I’m normally ready to fire-either a gun or my mouth-but I didn’t slide back into my chair until after the meeting reconvened.

Director Shenker liked to hear himself talk. And he didn’t seem to notice I didn’t participate. He dismissed us-not for lunch, like I’d expected, but for the rest of the day. He stopped my rapid exit with a curt “Gunderson.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll clear you to be at tribal headquarters archive department. You’ll be assigned on this task until further notice. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Turnbull, I’ll need you to stick around for a bit,” Shenker added, allowing me to make a clean getaway.

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