Merciless

“Let’s say… Junior knew Verline killed Arlette, and he also was starting to suspect that Verline wouldn’t leave Rollie, no matter how much she claimed she wanted to. Junior knows Rollie is an unfit parent. He also knows that if Verline turns up dead, the cops will be looking hard at Rollie for the murder. So he’d frame his father, make sure Verline’s kids are taken care of, and protect her crime.”

After I finished, I had the strangest feeling Turnbull was holding back laughter.

“You done?”

“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I haven’t even mentioned Saro.”

That brought him up short. “What would Saro’s part be in this?”

“Junior works for Saro in some capacity. If Rollie is in jail for Verline’s murder, his business is kaput. Getting rid of a business rival plays into Saro’s hands. Not to mention, Saro is obsessed with finding Verline’s cousin, Cherelle, for her part in his brother Victor’s murder. Maybe Verline took something from Saro, and Saro made an example out of Verline by whacking off her hand as a warning to others on the rez who might think about crossing him.”

“After you left to talk to the Dupris family, we also discovered at the scene that Verline’s tongue had been cut out.”

“Jesus. But that makes sense if Saro is involved. If Verline had talked out of turn, or wouldn’t talk, Saro would remove her tongue as another example.”

“And Saro’s reason for killing Arlette?”

“He’s sadistic. He may’ve done it for kicks. But I heard grumbling in the tribal PD that the new tribal president has demanded tribal cops put the smackdown on drug dealing. They’re not even supposed to let a single prescription pill pass hands. There’s no way the cops can police it. Maybe Saro voiced his displeasure with Latimer Elk Thunder’s edict by killing his niece. There was no way of knowing how little Arlette meant to her uncle.”

No response but a cool stare.

“What?”

“I find it interesting, and maybe a little disturbing, that you didn’t mention Rollie Rondeaux as a possible suspect. Even his own son thinks he’s guilty.”

I said nothing.

“So along those lines… do your job. Don’t discount anything. Don’t discount anyone. Get me some proof to back up either of your theories. Within the confines of the law.”

I stood. “Don’t insult me, Special Agent Turnbull. I’m a team player. I know what team I’m on. Rah-rah! Go FBI! and all that shit.”

“You’re a drumroll short of nailing that punch line, Agent Gunderson.”

Everyone was a comedian. I slipped on my coat, shouldered my purse, and walked out.

• • •

Junior Rondeaux’s twenty-four hours were almost up.

Verline’s sister had told us where Junior lived-a shack on someone’s property. Looking at it now, I doubted the place had running water. Maybe it had electricity. The windows were boarded over.

I parked on the street and backtracked to the door, which wasn’t completely closed. Loud noises-moans and groans-came from inside. Was Junior hurt? I pulled my sidearm, kicked the bottom of the door with my boot, and said, “FBI. I’m coming in.”

First thing I saw? A naked ass. Then a naked back. The girl on the bouncing mattress screamed when she saw me. She shoved Junior so hard he flew out of bed and landed on that naked ass. She yanked the covers up but not before I got a glimpse of her pendulous breasts.

Fucking awesome.

She yelled, “Don’t shoot! It’s not his fault! I told him I was eighteen!”

Jesus. Seriously? She thought the FBI was on underage nookie patrol?

Junior scrambled to his feet and threw his arms in the air. He knew the drill. “Christ, don’t shoot! I’m not armed.”

“I can see that.”

“What are you doin’ here?”

I kept my gun trained on him and did not allow my gaze to drop below his chin. “I heard noises. And since you’re involved in a federal investigation, I suspected you might be in distress. I announced myself before I came in.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t hear you because we were a little busy!”

“A federal investigation?” the girl repeated. “You didn’t tell me you were part of that.”

“But baby, I’m not. Listen to me.”

From the corner of my eye I could see the girl scrambling to get her clothes on.

“So much for mourning your true love, Verline, huh, Junior? She’s been dead, what, a day? And you’re already bumping uglies with someone else?”

Junior shook his hair out of his eyes. “I ain’t got a gun in here, so do you mind putting that thing away?”

“I’ll put mine away if you put yours away.” I lowered my gun but didn’t holster it.

He whispered to the girl, and she pushed back, slipping on a hoodie-but not before I noticed she had hickeys all over her neck. She was on the plump side, as well as the illegal side. I practiced my hard-cop stare as she shuffled past me.

Then I glanced at Junior. He’d pulled on a pair of boxing shorts and a long-sleeved shirt.

“Didja hafta bust in right then? You couldn’t have waited another five minutes?”

“Just be goddamn thankful I’m not having you arrested for statutory rape when I haul your ass into the tribal PD.”

His eyes rounded. “What?”