Merciless (20 page)

“Well done, grasshopper.”

“I’ve been dressed down by generals. I know how to placate the brass on the fly, even
if it’s not what they want to hear.”

“Good to know.” He rested one shoulder against the wall. “Anything notable happen
at the Dupris residence?”

“Not really. I told them to come in for questioning today and threatened a warrant
if they didn’t show, so we’ll see if they do.”

“Not a bad morning’s work. Now if you’d only gotten to pull your gun.”

“It ain’t quitting time yet.”

He laughed.

“Glad I amuse you.” I held my hand to my stomach when it growled. I didn’t feel like
eating, but my body didn’t care. “I’m gonna grab some coffee. Do a little research
over at the tribal HQ. Ping me when Rollie and the Dupris family arrives.” I squinted
at him. “I am sitting in on the interviews, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is Carsten?”

He scowled. “Yes.”

“What’s your problem with her?”

“Why would I have a problem with a privileged, know-it-all white girl who landed a
job with the FBI because she wants to right the wrongs inflicted upon Native American
people?”

“She said that?”

“No, but that’s her attitude, and it pisses me the fuck off.”

“With all due respect, sir, I hope you don’t expect me to play referee between you
two.”

Shay bristled. “I can handle Carsten just fine.”

I suspected that might be part of the problem. He’d like to handle the very attractive
VS in a wholly different and unofficial manner.

I headed down the stairs and out the back door. So much for thinking
that cutting behind the buildings was easier than going through the front entrance.
I’d never realized how spread out the buildings were; the angle from the front created
the illusion they were closer together. Plus, being built on top of a hill, entrances
were actually on the second floor, not the first floor.

Since this was the first time I’d been at this vantage point, I’d never noticed the
first level of the tribal HQ had an asphalt driveway running behind it like it’d once
been used as a loading dock.

Steel doors bookended each corner. I wandered closer to the first door. It appeared
to have been painted shut. Dead weeds lined the cracks in the faded blacktop. The
width of the building was more than I’d initially gauged when I reached the second
door. This one had been opened recently. I tried the handle, on the off chance that
it was open and it’d save me a trip around the front of the building.

But it was locked.

I started around the corner and hoofed it up the hill, reminding myself to ask Sheldon
about the back doors and what they were used for.

At the front entrance, I took the stairs down to the first floor and rang the intercom.

“May I help you?”

“It’s Agent Gunderson.”

The buzzer went off, and I opened the door.

Sheldon greeted me. “Mercy, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be here, either, but I’ve got a break, so I figured I might
as well tie up some loose ends. Mind if I have coffee?”

“Help yourself.”

I poured a cup and let it warm my hands as I inhaled the aroma.

“So you’ve been released from your punishment and the drudgery of research?”

“No official word from the higher-ups, but I’ve been involved in fieldwork.”

“That’s what all agents want, right? To be out doing something instead of shuffling
paperwork inside?”

“That’s what I thought I wanted,” I muttered.

Sheldon refilled his cup. “I heard another body was found.”

I lifted a brow. “Bad news travels fast.”

“Yes, the rumors reach into the bowels of the basement.” He blew across his cup. “Are
the rumors true?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t imagine preferring finding dead bodies to sitting behind a desk, Agent Gunderson.”

“It’s worse when you know the victim.”

“I imagine it is. Sounds like your week has already started out on a sour note.”

I exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

“Has the victim’s name been released?”

“Verline Dupris.”

His eyes widened beneath his thick glasses. “I knew Verline. Well, I didn’t know her,
but I knew who she was. Wasn’t that long ago she’d registered her baby with the tribe.”
He sipped his coffee. “Such a shame. She was so young. Do you have any suspects?”

That direct question earned him an abrupt subject change. “Not only was I unprepared
for fieldwork first thing this morning, but I left my notebook with my research notes
at home. I hate to be a pain, but do you have paper and a pen I could borrow?”

“Of course, I’ll set it in the police case files archive room for you.”

I gulped my coffee and poured another cup in his absence. When he returned, I said,
“Thanks, Sheldon.”

“Just doing my job.” He shuffled back to his desk, his gait slow and measured, as
if he was in pain.

I felt like a jerk for being so brusque. For the most part, the man worked by himself
day in, day out. It wouldn’t kill me to visit with him for a bit. I wandered over
to his desk. “Been a rough day all around.”

He seemed surprised I was talking to him. “I can’t imagine dealing with all you do
in the FBI.”

“So far it’s not nearly as bad as what I dealt with in the army.”

“Your dad mentioned you were in the military. The man was awful proud of you.”

“How’d my military service come up in conversation?” I asked suspiciously.

“He saw my military certificates.” He pointed to his desk. “I was full time in the
National Guard.”

“Oh. How long were you in?”

“Twenty. I opted out, figuring they might freeze retirement by the time my next option
came around. I was a little gimped up anyway.”

“So when did you come home to Eagle River?”

“Six years ago. My uncle Harold . . . he’s my only living relative. He’s getting on
in years, took me in after my folks died, so I owe him. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” I thought of Sophie. “I’ve got someone in my life like that, too.”

He smiled and adjusted his glasses. “Luckily, I’d been in office work in the guard
for years, so I was qualified to take over this job, managing the archives. It made
it easier for my uncle to retire, knowing this place was in good hands.”

Would my father have felt relief if he’d known I was on my way back to the ranch as
he lay dying in a rented hospital bed?

“Mercy?”

I glanced up at Sheldon. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said I’m trying to get my uncle to start a hobby.”

“I’m too old to start a hobby now. I can’t imagine trying to tackle one twenty-some
years from now.”

Sheldon cocked his head. “Don’t you have any hobbies?”

I doubted drinking counted as a hobby. “I run. Practice yoga. Hunt. Some people in
my family call me a hobby rancher.” By the expectant look on his face, I guessed he
wanted me to ask him about his hobbies. “How about you?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting. I’m a history buff. Amateur photographer. I told you I
do a little hunting. I’m interested in traditional native herbal remedies. And I’m
an avid ornithologist.”

I frowned. “You’re an orthodontist?”

He laughed. “You are a funny one. I said I’m an ornithologist. A bird-watcher.”

Jesus. Seriously? He was into bird-watching? That’s where I drew the conversational
line. I pushed back from the desk. “I probably better stop yakking and get some work
done.”

“No problem. I’m running behind schedule myself. Let me know if you need anything.”

I did an Internet search for Arlene Dupris. I found a ten-year-old obit—she had died
from injuries sustained in a hit-and-run. My gaze moved to the police case files.
Since the place was über-organized, it didn’t take long to find the right box with
the file. I flipped though it and read it where I stood.

Ten years ago, Arlene Dupris was struck down a mile outside Eagle River. By the time
she was discovered in the ditch, she was already dead. The tribal cops tried to pass
the investigation to the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department, who’d passed it
right back. No investigation at all, just shoved aside by two law enforcement agencies.

No wonder the Dupris family had an issue with cops. I wondered why my dad had just
filed this case. How many other times had he done that? Curiosity got the better of
me, and I started looking through random case files.

My phone rang, and the caller ID read
DAWSON.
“Gunderson.”

“Hey, babe. How’s it going?”

Babe
. So much for professionalism. “It sucks ass,
cupcake
.”

He laughed at my term of endearment.

“I’m wishing you would’ve pushed harder to keep the case within the purview of the
Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department, Sheriff.”

He snorted. “Right. Then Fabio wouldn’t get to play tough FBI mentor to impress you.”

That sounded almost like . . . jealousy.

“The reason I called is because I’m getting off so I’ll pick Lex up today.”

I glanced at the computer clock. Almost two hours had passed. Crap. I probably needed
to get back to the police station. “Good thing. I’ll be in interviews the rest of
the day. Lex mentioned needing to go to Rapid for school supplies.”

“I’ll get him there. Since Sophie won’t be here, you want me to cook supper?”

“Depends on what you plan to cook.”

“How about antelope?”

“Didn’t we decide to turn all that meat into jerky?”

“Nope. I kept the backstraps.”

“Of my antelope meat? Or yours?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does only if you’re bragging to Lex about how studly you are in putting meat on
the table.”

“Smart-ass. You want me to confess to my son you’re a better hunter than me?”

“It’d be the truth, because I am a
much
better hunter than you.”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“But you can process a kill faster.”

“Such a sweet talker, Sergeant Major. I’ll see you at home.”

I returned everything to its proper place. I deleted the history on the computer in
case chatty Sheldon got snoopy. I ripped out the two pages of notes I’d jotted down
and set the notebook on Sheldon’s desk. “I’ve gotta run. Thanks for your help today.”

“Happy to assist. And you’re welcome back here any time, Agent Gunderson.”

I didn’t remember to ask Sheldon about the weird doors I’d seen on the backside of
the building until I was inside the tribal PD.

All hell had broken loose, and I forgot about it entirely.

Y
ells of outrage and flailing arms greeted me when I entered tribal police headquarters.

Verline’s family members were attacking Rollie with their fists and their voices.

Several tribal cops stepped in to stop it, but there were five Dupris women and three
cops. Bad odds.

So I jumped into the fray. I kept my back to Rollie, figuring he wouldn’t take a swing
at me. But someone did land two blows to my head in rapid succession, directly on
my ear. The immediate burst of pain caused me to lose my balance.

That pissed me off.

And it didn’t seem like the officers intended to restrain anyone, so I did.

Grabbing a zip tie from my pocket, I snatched somebody’s arm midblow. I jerked the
wrist; the body attached lurched forward. I saw a surprised look on Maureen Dupris’s
face a split second before I spun her around, immobilized her hands, and shoved her
to her knees.

Another zip tie, another flailing arm, and I put Carline in the same position as her
sister.

Nita glared at me as Officer Orson restrained her. I faced the other women I didn’t
know; I assumed they were more of Nita’s daughters. “You will back off right now,
or I will throw all of you in jail for attempted assault on a federal officer, understand?”

The women aimed defiant looks at me.

Nita sneered, “Try it.”

Without breaking eye contact with Nita, I said, “Officer Orson, cuff her.”

Protests rang out around me, but I ignored them.

Once Nita was cuffed, I stepped back. “Put her in interview room one.”

“What about him?” Officer Ferguson asked of Rollie.

“Put him in interview room two.”

“You can’t just leave us out here like this,” Maureen complained.

“I can put you in a holding cell, if you’d rather,” I offered.

“We need to be with our mother. She’s grieving. She’s . . . not thinking straight.”

I suspected Nita was the one who had sucker punched me. “Her grief hasn’t seemed to
affect her aim, so she stays in cuffs until she calms down.” I looked at each one
of them in turn. “We’ll interview you separately, so make yourselves comfy on that
bench.”

I’d left my purse in my pickup. So much for popping a couple of Excedrin to stave
off a headache. I was rubbing the spot between my eyes when Turnbull blocked my path.

His gaze roamed over my face and stopped at my reddened ear. “You always seem to end
up in the line of fire.”

“Story of my life. I don’t suppose you’ve got any aspirin?”

“I’ll track some down.” Turnbull threw a look over his shoulder. “The tribal police
chief is insisting on sitting in during the interviews.”

I groaned. “More jurisdictional bullshit?”

“Yeah. And without you thinking I’m sexist, I believe the best division of labor is
for you to question the Dupris family and I’ll question Rondeaux.”

There was more to it than that. “And we don’t want anyone questioning whether I was
impartial with Rollie, since I have a personal relationship with him.”

“Exactly. But I want to observe your sessions and I want you present when I talk to
Rollie. Okay?”

“Fine.”

Turnbull opened the door to interview room one.

Nita Dupris stood beside the window. She turned and bestowed another lovely look of
hatred upon me.

Tribal Police Chief Looks Twice entered after us, followed by Officer Ferguson and
Carsten.