Merciless

“That would be great. The cases I’ve been sent to research deal with a broad spectrum of fraud and sexual violation involving minors.”

“Still a pretty broad definition.” Sheldon frowned at his coffee. “How far back?”

“Does that make a difference in which area I’ll start in or end up in?”

“No, just trying to be helpful. I assumed you’d begin with the police case files.”

I drained my coffee. “Between us? This is busywork. So I don’t care where I start. Especially if you, as the expert, believe I’ll have better luck in a different area.”

Sheldon preened a bit at the word expert. “Since I don’t know specifics on what you’re looking for, I suggest sticking to the police case files.” He set his mug on the coffee table and unclipped a key ring from his belt loop. “I’ll get you started in this room.”

Looking at the precisely organized boxes of case files, it was obvious that the tribal PD could take organizational notes from Sheldon.

I’d compiled a list of obituaries I’d found online. Hard not to feel overwhelmed. I took down the first box, dated five years previously, and went to work.

Damn depressing that I found over a dozen instances of unexplained deaths of young women, including suspicious car accidents, assumed domestic violence, and drug overdoses. But for nearly every single one of the cases, information from the tribal police had been scant, at best, so I kept looking for more.

A loud rap on the door frame startled me, and I glanced up.

Sheldon said, “You have an incredible attention span. You haven’t moved for three hours.”

“Really?” I switched my head from side to side to alleviate the stiffness in my neck. “I attribute that more to stubbornness than anything else.”

“I usually close up at lunchtime for an hour.”

“Oh. I don’t suppose you could let me stay in here?”

“Afraid not. Tribal council rules prohibit anyone besides me being left unattended in the archives.” He smiled. “And I’m betting the break will do you good anyway.”

I shut my notebook and shoved it in my purse. I gestured to the files. “It’s okay if I leave these out? Since I’m coming right back?”

“Sure.”

Once we were out in the entryway, he punched the button for the elevator, and I booked it up the stairs.

I thought about snagging a microwave sandwich at the grocery store, but fresh air would help clear the sad facts from my mind. I drove a couple miles out of town to the casino. I’d heard the tribal cops talking about the lunch specials, and now I had an hour to kill.

I’d been in this casino once before and had ended up tangling with a pickpocket. Glad to see they’d improved security measures since my last visit.

The same kid still worked at the front of the restaurant at the host stand. He grinned. “Hey! I remember you. You’re with the FBI.”

“I remember you. You said the tribal president was your uncle. But I didn’t catch your name.”

He held out his hand. “Hadley DeYoung.”

I shook it. “Special Agent Mercy Gunderson.”

“Table for one, Agent Gunderson?”

“Yes.”

“This way.”

After I’d ordered an Indian taco salad made with ground buffalo, I glanced around the space. The decor was typically Native American themed. The acoustics were such that I could still hear the ding ding of electronic gambling machines even in this enclosed area. There weren’t too many people eating lunch. I’d bet with the nightly steak and crab special the restaurant did the bulk of their business at dinnertime.

Hadley stopped at the end of the table. “You out catching bad guys?”

“Nope. Just on my lunch break.” I leaned back in the booth. “So Hadley, how are you related to tribal president Elk Thunder?”

“My mom was his sister.”

“Ah. You weren’t related to Arlette Shooting Star?”

“Nope.”

“Did you know her?”

He looked down at his hands. “Not really. She hadn’t been here very long.”

“You didn’t see Arlette on holidays or at family get-togethers?”

“What family get-togethers?” he scoffed. “My uncle doesn’t have nothin’ to do with our family anymore. It’s all about Triscell’s family. Since they’ve got money and stuff.” He smirked. “But I sure like telling people he’s my uncle. Makes ’em look at me differently. Know what I mean?”

I nodded. “My dad was sheriff when I was your age. But that backfired on me. Most people thought I’d tattle on them to the law.”

He laughed, and it reminded me of Levi.

“Can I ask you kind of a strange question?” He nodded. “Did it bug you that Arlette got to live with your uncle and you didn’t?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. “Maybe a little. After my mom died, my dad got married again, and then he died a few years later, so I lived with my stepmom until she kicked me out. Never crossed my uncle’s mind to give me a place to crash, even for a little while.” He shrugged tightly. “But in some ways, I felt sorry for Arlette. ’Cause I know Uncle didn’t want her living there any more than he wanted me.”

Hadley had just confirmed Naomi’s observation about the tribal president’s attitude about his wife’s niece. “Did you guys know each other at school?”