Merciless

“Then we’ll think one-or all-of you have something to hide. We’ll write a warrant for each one of you to appear at FBI headquarters in Rapid City. It’ll drag the process out for months. You’ll be as tired of seeing cops on your doorstep as we’ll be of showing up here, forcing your cooperation so we can prove that we do care, that we intend to lock up whoever murdered Verline. So put a lid on whatever issue you’ve got with law enforcement and trot yourselves down to the tribal police station before three o’clock today. If for no other reason than you owe it to Verline.”

I gave them my back and stomped on the debris littering the ground as I strode toward my truck.

Doubtful that Carsten would’ve approved of that outburst, even if it was a tame response from me.

Officer Ferguson didn’t have anything to add and didn’t speak until we’d returned to the tribal PD parking lot. “Well, that was fun.”

I pocketed my keys and faced her. “I take it that wasn’t the first time you’d landed on Nita’s doorstep.”

She shook her head. “Far from it. We get several calls during the year with reports of domestic disturbances. Usually the neighbors call it in, and we’re obliged to check it out. And even if one of them is beat to hell and bleeding? No one ever presses charges.”

“Who’s involved in the domestics?”

“Nita’s daughters, never the same one. And I have a helluva time keeping them straight.”

“How many kids does she have?”

“Nine. Two boys and seven girls. Ten years ago, her teenage daughter-I think her name was Arlene-died in a hit-and-run, and the family blamed the cops for some reason. Five years ago, her daughter Eileen was killed in a car accident. Both her sons are in the state pen. Now she’s lost another kid.” Fergie shook her head. “It’s sad. No matter how much we wanna help them, nothin’ changes. My understanding is that Nita got smacked around all the time by her kids’ assorted baby daddies. For a while, rather than allowing her kids to get placed in foster care, they were shuffled among family members. But since her first daughter died, Nita has kept most the family together. Including her sons’ kids and most of her grandkids. I’ve been told almost two dozen people live in that trailer.”

And that information, while appreciated, sent off a warning that Officer Ferguson knew way more about the Dupris family than just gossip. She must’ve read my expression because she blushed.

“I only know all that because I busted Nita’s daughter Doreen two years ago for possession. She did ninety days in jail. None of her family came to see her. As soon as she got out, she packed up her two kids and moved to Rapid. So she is trying to break the cycle. I just hope when she comes back here-”

“She doesn’t get sucked in again.”

She nodded.

“Me, too. Let’s see what other shitty tasks the boys have lined up for us.”

The tribal police station was surprisingly quiet. But before I snagged a cup of crappy coffee, Turnbull hailed me.

He waited outside a closed door to a room I’d never been in. “What’s up?”

“The tribal president is here, and he wants an update on where we are on the Shooting Star case.”

I frowned. “You’re the senior agent. Why didn’t you handle it?”

His golden brown eyes held suspicion. “You tell me, Gunderson, because he specifically asked for you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because I assume he’s tired of seeing my ugly mug.”

“Ugly,” I snorted. “Right, pretty boy.”

Shay leaned a fraction closer. “Seriously. No postulating, no wild theories, just the facts we know, okay?”

“Fine. But we’d know a helluva lot more if we’d been allowed to interview him.”

“I think so, too. But watch your step with him.”

I pushed open the door to the office.

Latimer Elk Thunder finished his cell phone conversation and rose, thrusting his hand across the table. “Special Agent Gunderson. Good to see you again.”

I shook his hand. “Likewise, President Elk Thunder.”

“Please. Have a seat,” he said. “Could we get you anything to drink?”

“No. I’m good.” Rather than make small talk about the weather or ask if he regularly took over the tribal police chief’s office, I said, “So I understand from Special Agent Turnbull that you want a status report on your niece’s case?”

“Only in how it relates to the other young woman found murdered this morning.”

I felt Turnbull’s quizzical gaze but didn’t acknowledge it. “To be honest, sir, I’ve barely had time to catch my breath this morning, let alone look at the possible correlations between the cases.”

His eyes narrowed. “I was under the impression there was already a suspect in the Dupris case.”

I didn’t bother to mask my reaction. “Your impression-your information-is wrong. We’ve brought no one in for questioning. And we just informed Verline Dupris’s next of kin of her death. So I’m suggesting you allow us at least a couple of days to proceed with this investigation before we start checking to see if there are similarities.”