Merciless (18 page)

Lex bailed out as soon as I pulled up in front of the middle school, before I could
pep him up to have a good day and to study hard. I didn’t leave immediately, wanting
to see if friends would hail him. I remembered from my childhood in this small town
that being the new kid didn’t always translate into instant popularity. Geneva’s kids
exited the bus, and Doug yelled for Lex to wait. Relieved, I whipped a U-turn and
headed to the meeting point.

Turnbull wasn’t standing beside his Blazer when I pulled alongside his
vehicle in Besler’s lot. He was on the phone and motioned for me to wait before he
rolled down the window.

“What’s going on?”

“Follow me, and I’ll explain when we get there.”

Turns out we didn’t have to go far. Just a mile on the other side of the city limits
by the dump.

That’s when my stomach dropped. Picking up a case at the dump couldn’t be good. After
we cleared the gate, a rusted-out scrap of metal with one hinge that hadn’t been closed
in years, I noticed a half-dozen vehicles. Mostly emergency and law enforcement—including
Dawson’s patrol car.

Yippee.

Then I bristled. Had his abrupt departure this morning been related to this case?
He couldn’t have warned me? I huddled in my coat after I slid from my pickup and waited
for Turnbull. He’d parked in a vacant spot up closer to the action. He jogged back
to me.

“I take it you’ve already been here?”

He nodded. “I got the call from the tribal police about this early.”

I squinted over his shoulder but couldn’t see anything beyond the cars besides patches
of dead grass and a hillside dotted with litter. “What’s the sheriff’s office doing
here?”

Shay studied me. “Dawson is pissing circles on the ground, bellowing about jurisdiction.”

“That sounds about right.”

“As soon as I saw the scene, I knew this was connected to our case, and I—”

“Took over.” Connected case meant one thing. “There’s been another murder?”

“Yeah. But before we head that way, you should prepare yourself.”

Another gruesome scene. Good thing I’d had only coffee for breakfast. But something
in his tone keyed me in. “Prepare myself? Why? I know the victim, don’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why Dawson is here, too?”

“No.” Shay moved a fraction closer. “You okay, going head-to-head with him on this?”

“I’ll be fine, Turnbull. You seem to’ve forgotten I’ve spent most of my life in a
male-dominated profession, shielding those closest to me about specifics of my job.
This is no different.”

That placated him, and he relaxed slightly. “Well, this case is gonna hit you from
another side.”

I braced myself. “Who’s the vic?”

“Verline Dupris.”

Shit. “Who reported her missing?” I couldn’t imagine her disappearance would go unnoticed.
I scanned the vehicles for Rollie’s crappy pickup. Why hadn’t Rollie called me when
she’d gone missing?

Maybe because of your reputation as being a bloodhound for the newly departed.
But I hadn’t discovered a dead body in months, so I was hoping my debt to the universe
had been marked
PAID IN FULL.

“That’s the thing. According to both the tribal police and the sheriff’s department,
she hadn’t been reported missing.”

My gaze snapped back to his. “How is that even possible? She has two little kids.
One is a baby.”

Turnbull sighed. “I have no idea.”

“Who found her?”

“A guy who’d decided to dump his refrigerator just before dawn broke. He almost ran
over her.”

It’d been only a week since Verline had been at my house. She’d given off a vibe of
unhappiness, and young, unhappy people sometimes did impulsive, stupid things. If
she hadn’t been reported missing . . . “You sure this wasn’t a suicide?”

“I’ll let you judge for yourself.”

I’ll admit I paused at the edge of the crime scene before I allowed my eyes to focus
fully on the horror in front of me. My brain didn’t want to process the images.

Verline. Naked. Just like Arlette Shooting Star. Her body precisely
arranged, also like Arlette’s body. But unlike Arlette, Verline hadn’t been staked.

I squinted at the object resting on her stomach. It took a second to register that
the object was Verline’s hand. But that hand wasn’t attached to her arm. Her hand
had been cut off at the wrist and placed on her lower belly. The fingers curled into
a claw, as if those bloodied and dirty nails intended to dig into the flesh of her
abdomen.

Definitely not a suicide.

Trying to maintain clinical detachment was hard when faced with such an atrocity.
Huge purple bruises dotted Verline’s body. Rope burns crisscrossed her ankles from
being bound. Her knees were scuffed up, as if she’d been kneeling on a concrete floor.
My gaze skimmed her thighs and quickly moved over the dismembered hand. I glanced
at the other wrist and saw more rope burns dug so deep into her flesh that the wounds
had bled.

Had she been awake when this sick fucker had chopped off her hand?

I fought the surge of anger and forced myself to focus. Verline’s chest was awash
in blood, which had congealed into black goo. That’s when I noticed her throat had
been slit. With the funky angle of her neck, even lying down, I suspected Verline
had been upright, tied to something when the fatal blow had been dealt. I glanced
at Verline’s face. Her eyes were closed. Lines of blood had poured from the corners
of her mouth and over her lips.

What made no sense to me was the neatness of her hair. Not a snarled mess, no hair
sticking up like I’d expect from a woman who’d been tied down and had thrashed about.
Especially since she’d struggled hard enough against her bonds that her wrists and
ankles were bruised and had bled. Her hair was neatly fanned out above her head.

There was little blood on the ground beneath her. She’d been killed someplace else
and dropped here.

Why here?

To reiterate the point Verline was a piece of garbage?

To guarantee she’d be quickly discovered?

I looked at the skiff of snow covering the ground. Perfect timing on the killer’s
part. Dumping the body before the snow fell. No footprints. No tire tracks.

More white flakes drifted from the sky. My gaze connected with Shay’s. “Has Rollie
been told?”

“Not by any official agency.”

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t know. Rollie had the reputation for having his ear to
the ground. But if it’d been only an hour since the discovery of Verline’s body, he
might not be aware.

And I sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to tell him. Part of me hoped that responsibility
would fall to one of Dawson’s officers.

I finally caught my first glimpse of Dawson, bearing down on us like a freight train.

“Agents,” he said brusquely, “an update on jurisdictional status would be appreciated.”

Turnbull said, “You want to claim the case for the county? Go ahead. But I’ll warn
you, you’ll have it less than twenty-four hours and it’ll be right back in our hands.”

Dawson scowled. “So noted.”

I didn’t say anything. Two dogs in a pissing match was enough.

Officer Spotted Bear approached us. “Agent Turnbull?”

“Yes?”

“Rollie Rondeaux just arrived. What should I do with him?”

All three men looked at me.

I shook my head. “
No.
No. Fucking. Way.”

Turnbull spoke first. “We all know it’ll be easier for him to deal with someone he
knows, and doesn’t loathe, and we all know that ain’t me or the sheriff.”

“Nothing about this will be easy, Agent Turnbull.” I looked at the scene. “Where’s
Carsten?”

“On her way. She should be here any time.”

“Then I’ll wait for her.”

Turnbull shook his head. “This should be done now.”

Dammit. “Exactly what will
you
be doing while I’m with Rollie?”

His expression didn’t change.

I looked at Dawson. His face held the same stoicism.

Then I knew. The knot in my belly tightened. “You both intend to watch him for signs
of guilt when he sees the woman he lives with, the mother of his children, carved
up like a pumpkin? That’s your big professional, investigative play? Jesus.” I whirled
around and took several deep
uji
breaths before I tracked down Rollie.

He sat in his pickup with the door open, puffing on a cigarette.

I waited in silence for him to say something.

Rollie dropped to his feet with a soft
uff,
shut the door, and ground out the red ember of his cigarette butt with the heel of
his cowboy boot.

When our eyes met for the first time, it hit me how old he looked. The wrinkles lining
his mouth became more apparent when he frowned. “So’s it true? About Verline?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” I knew I shouldn’t ask the question, but I did anyway.

“Did you find her, Mercy? Since you . . .” He gestured vaguely.

“No. How long had she been missing?”

“She wasn’t missing.” Rollie’s tired eyes darted to the scene just beyond our line
of sight, then back to mine. “I see your confusion, Mercy. Me ’n’ Verline had a fight
a few days ago. She packed up the boys and took them to Nita’s. I ain’t heard from
her since, but that’s the way it goes with her. She gets mad at me and takes off.
Sometimes for as long as a week.”

“Who’s Nita?”

“Verline’s mom. I ain’t surprised Nita didn’t call the police neither. Woman’s got
a serious distrust of tribal cops.”

“More than you?” tumbled out before I could stop it.

“Uh-huh. I doubt Nita would be worried anyway. Even when Verline is staying there,
she bounces from place to place.”

“With the kids?”

Rollie shook his head. “Nope. She leaves ’em with Nita. After a couple days Nita calls
me to bitch about getting stuck takin’ care of ’em
again. She hasn’t called me this time.” He paused for a second. “But I did get a call
about this.”

He wouldn’t reveal his source, so I didn’t ask. “I assume you’re here to identify
her?”

He nodded. Then he asked, “It’s bad, huh?”

“Yeah, Rollie, it is. I’m sorry.”

Any color he’d had in his cheeks drained away. He closed his eyes, bowed his head,
and twisted his gnarled fingers around the beads on his horsehair necklace. His lips
moved, but I couldn’t make out the words. When he looked at me again, the coldness
on his face and in his eyes chilled me to the bone.

“Take me to her.”

Without a word, I led him to the scene.

All forensic activity stopped when we reached Verline’s body. Rollie walked around
her until he reached her head. He stared down at her for the longest time. I suspected
he assessed every body trauma. I wondered why I hadn’t stopped him from seeing this
atrocity, the way I’d stopped Triscell Elk Thunder.

Because I knew Rollie could handle it?

I chanced a look at Turnbull and Dawson. Both men had donned shades.

A yelled warning had my focus zipping back to Rollie.

He’d dropped to his knees. His hand stroked Verline’s arm, and his lips brushed her
forehead. I watched as he pulled out a knife and sliced off a chunk of Verline’s hair.

Officer Spotted Bear jerked Rollie to his feet.

“Let him go,” Carsten said sharply. “And back off.” She strode over to Rollie, ignoring
everyone else. They spoke in low tones. Rollie nodded a lot.

Carsten patted his arm and made her way to us, her eyes flashing fire, her voice low
and clipped. “He is a grieving man. Respect him in this moment.”

Color me impressed. I’d worked with Carsten before, but the petite blonde always struck
me as the observant rather than the active type.

She stood on the tips of her boots and got in Turnbull’s face. “This is your scene;
you’re responsible for all law enforcement agencies. You know protocol in Indian Country.”

“Always happy to have a victim specialist tell me how to do my job.”

“Do your job properly, Agent, and I won’t have to remind you.”

Awkward. But Carsten had a point. There were many superstitions and death traditions
within the Indian community. Turnbull should’ve kept a tight leash on Officer Spotted
Bear—and the Indian officer should’ve known better anyway. It just made me think he
had it in for Rollie as much as Turnbull and Dawson did. It also reminded me of how
little I knew about some of those Sioux death rites and rituals.

Rollie looked at all of us. “You think I could’ve done this to her?” Then he spoke
to Officer Spotted Bear softly in Lakota, guaranteeing few would know what the hell
he said.

Spotted Bear remained stoic after Rollie had said his piece.

“Are you finished so we can process the crime scene?” Turnbull asked Rollie.

I thought Carsten might punch Shay in the mouth. I’d offer to hold her coat.

Rollie’s eyes blazed at Turnbull. “Verline is not a ‘crime scene’ to me. You best
remember that, boy.”

“Mr. Rondeaux, we appreciate your cooperation, and we’re sorry for your loss,” Carsten
said, stepping between the two men.

“But we’ll need you at the tribal police station so we can ask a few questions,” Turnbull
added.

“When?” Rollie asked Carsten.

“As soon as you’re up for it. Today.”

“I’ll be there.” Rollie pointed a shaking finger at Turnbull. “Feel free to tell Verline’s
mother about this
crime scene,
” he said sarcastically. “It ain’t my place to overstep my bounds and let her know
that another one of her daughters is dead.” He turned and shuffled off.

The crime scene techs shooed us away to finish.

Carsten’s phone rang, and she disappeared.

Turnbull, Dawson, and I gathered by Dawson’s patrol car. Dawson rested his hands on
his hips. “I’ll be honest, Turnbull. We all know this body is in my county and not
on the rez. The problem I have right now is lack of manpower. We’re running double
shifts until I get approval of the deputy applicant’s paperwork from the county board.
So I’ll hand off the case to the feds, if you can guarantee that we will not be kept
out of the loop. That if I ask for a progress update on this case and the one tied
to it,
you’ll
give me as much information as you’re able to so I can use that information to protect
the residents in my county.”