The Bakken Blade

by Jeff Siebold

  “You said the body was found near the railroad tracks next to some silos,” Zeke said. “How do we know about the trailer? How do we know Jenny Lakota went to Lakeside?” asked Zeke.

  Cord shook his head. “The bartender heard her mention it earlier, when she was flirting with a guy. And one of the bar patrons confirmed it, said he’d heard it, too. Seems that it’s a local…well, like a brothel,” said Cord. “‘A place to party,’ is what he said.”

  Zeke nodded.

  “Jenny Lakota was gone when the cops arrived. Sam was bent over, sleeping on a table, they said. The tribal police told Sam to go home when they showed up to break up the fight. Bartender says he did. At least he left the Salty Dog.”

  “And went looking for Jenny?” asked Zeke.

  “That is possible,” said Cord.

  “Alright, let’s go talk with the tribal officers,” said Zeke.

  “Suits me,” said Cord. “They’re next door.”

  Chapter 3

  “Actually, we report to the BIA,” said Lieutenant Mankato in a slow, heavy voice. “Bureau of Indian Affairs. They oversee our police force here on the reservation.”

  Zeke had the impression that very little would cause the man to change his pace.

  “Are most of the tribal officers Native American?” asked Zeke.

  “Mostly, yes,” said Mankato. “The tribe has some input on our hiring, and for many it’s been a pretty good job. Pays pretty well.”

  “Until the oil was discovered,” said Cord.

  Mankato nodded slowly.

  Cord had made a phone call and arranged for them to meet with the tribal officers who had responded to the police call at the bar, and also the tribal officers who later found the dead body of Jenny Lakota. They were sitting at a conference table in the tribal police offices in New Town, waiting for the officers to return. Lieutenant Mankato had called them in from patrol.

  The station was a part of the new Tribal Court building and next to the Fort Berthold Police Department. The monument sign at the entrance said, MHA Nation Public Safety and Judicial Center.

  “Who are we chatting with?” asked Zeke.

  “Well, actually, there are three tribal officers you’ll want to talk with. Officer Tom Running Bear and Officer Bruce Doekiller responded to the bar fight at the Salty Dog…”

  “Does that happen often?” asked Zeke.

  “Bar fights? Yeah, sure,” said the stoic Mankato in his slow voice. “More since the oil.”

  Zeke nodded.

  “Officer George Redmoon is the third officer. He and Officer Doekiller responded to the call about the dead girl.”

  “Don’t your officers partner up?” asked Zeke.

  “Yes, they tend to stay with one partner. Doekiller was working a double shift, though. He worked four to midnight, then he went back out from midnight to eight in the morning.”

  Mind if I record the interviews?” asked Cord.

  Mankato nodded his approval.

  Just then the conference room door opened and three Native American men wearing police uniforms stepped into the room. Each nodded to Lieutenant Mankato; he nodded back and then at the chairs. They eased themselves into chairs across from Zeke and Cord and waited.

  “These men, Tillman Cord and Zeke Traynor, are from the FBI. They're here investigating Jenny Lakota’s death,” Mankato said.

  “How can we help?” asked the youngest of the three, looking over at Zeke. He was thick with black hair that touched his collar and Zeke guessed he’d played college ball at some point. His nametag read “Redmoon.”

  Zeke smiled at the officers.

  “I know you’ve been through this a hundred times,” he started, “but it will help us a lot to hear what happened that night directly from you.”

  The officers became sober, apparently thinking back on their experience of finding the girl’s body that morning.

  “I’ve read your reports. What I’m interested in is anything that may have happened, anything you noticed that might not have been important enough to include in the report. Feelings, an observation, something someone said…” Zeke added.

  The three officers looked at each other.

  “For example, when and how did you find out that Jenny Lakota had gone to the mobile home where she was raped?”

  “That was later,” said Bruce Doekiller. “We didn’t find that out until we were interviewing witnesses who had been at the bar that night. The Salty Dog.”

  “You found them from their credit card receipts?” asked Zeke.

  “Sure, and the bartender remembered most of who was there. It’s a small town,” said Redmoon.

  Tom Running Bear spoke for the first time. “Actually, everyone knows about the mobile home. It belongs to the old man who owns the park. Sometimes they use it to turn tricks, the girls who came up here following the oilmen. Rest of the time it’s pretty much vacant, unless someone’s in there sleeping it off.”

  Zeke nodded encouragingly. Cord slipped his jacket off and, still seated, folded it over the back of a chair.

  “Let’s step through it, then,” said Mankato. “Tom and Bruce were called out for the bar fight. You guys go first.”

  “Sure,” said Running Bear. “We were patrolling when we got a call from dispatch. She said that she’d received a 911 call from the Salty Dog, a report of a fight.”

  Cord, in shirtsleeves and bolo tie was making notes on a legal pad. His recorder, on the table, blinked a small red light.

  “That was at 10:37 according to the report.”

  “That’s correct. We were going off at midnight, except on Saturday nights we tend to stay out on the streets a little later, in case of trouble. Like this,” said Running Bear, holding his hand palm up, indicating the present situation.

  “Sure,” said Zeke. “What did you find when you got to the bar?”

  “It was pretty much over when we arrived,” said Running Bear. “The bartender, Sandy Henderson, said that there’d been a fight. Well, she said it was a scrum, really, between a few guys that were throwing axes and a few guys that were at the bar. But the guys were gone and no one else would admit they saw anything.”

  “Throwing axes,” repeated Cord. “That’s not dangerous?”

  “The latest competitive sport,” said Running Bear, sarcastically.

  “How did you know who was involved? The police report names names,” said Cord.

  “The bartender knew several of them. They frequent the Salty Dog.”

  “And Jenny Lakota wasn’t there when you arrived?”

  “No,” said Doekiller, “but apparently the men were fighting about her. She’s a recurring problem. Drunk and obnoxious. Does drugs. We’re pretty sure that sometimes she turns tricks…”

  “She was drunk and coming on to some of the oil guys, trying to get a rise out of her boyfriend, I guess,” said Running Bear. “When we got there, he’d fallen asleep on a table. Sam Bearcat is his name. Oh, sorry, you saw that in the file. The bartender said Jenny left without him.”

  * * *

  “The fight was pretty routine, you know?” said George Redmoon. “We get called out to the bars about four nights a week.”

  Zeke nodded encouragingly.

  “But the thing in the morning was way different,” he continued. “Finding the body.”

  “That was a 911 call also?” asked Zeke.

  Redmoon nodded. “A citizen was driving home from work and saw her sitting on the railroad tracks. Sort of slumped over and naked. He called it in.”

  “Where did he work?” asked Cord.

  “At the casino, late shift,” said Redmoon. “He’s a dealer. A card dealer.”

  “The Four Bears Casino?” asked Zeke.

  “Yeah, across the river. The guy’s name is Randy Cunningham.”

  “His shift was over at seven AM, right before sunrise,” said Doekiller. “He’s lived in New Town his whole life. Lives alone, he’s divorced. He’s about forty-five and doesn’t have a record
.”

  Zeke nodded. “Then what happened?”

  “Well, we were out on patrol when the call came in. We headed for the silos and found the body on the tracks. Cunningham was standing not far away and he’d vomited all over the ground,” said Redmoon.

  Doekiller added, “From a distance it looked like the girl was painted off-colors of red and gray, but as we got closer we saw that, well, she didn’t have any skin.” He blanched a bit at the thought.

  “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t get it out of my head,” said Redmoon.

  “I did a tour in Afghanistan, but I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Doekiller, shaking his head.

  “I went to the trunk of the patrol car and got a tarp and covered her up. It was obvious she was dead, but we confirmed it. No pulse.” Redmoon wiped his right hand on his pant leg absently, as if wiping off the girl’s blood again.

  “Was there anyone else around?” asked Zeke.

  “No, it was 7:48 when we got there and the railroad workers hadn’t gotten in yet. The shift changed at 8:00, and the whole thing became a circus.”

  Cord made another note on his pad. “You stayed with the body until the M.E. arrived?”

  Both men nodded. “We don’t have a medical examiner in Mountrail County,” said Doekiller. “So we have to wait for Dr. Adams to come down from Stanley.”

  “The body was on the reservation when it was found,” said Zeke.

  “Yes. But the closest M.E. is up in Stanley. We all cooperate out here. Tribal officers, Fort Berthold police, state police. And we share the resources,” Doekiller added.

  “Let’s go back to Sam Bearcat for a minute,” said Zeke. “The bartender, Sandy, said that he was in the middle of the fight?”

  “Yeah, she said the fight was between Sam and some other guy. Said Jenny had been egging Sam on, flirting and such. Said Sam was drunk and out of control.”

  “It was over when you arrived?” asked Cord.

  “Yep. But we didn’t have anyone to arrest. They’d all pretty much cleared out after Sandy called it in,” said Redmoon. “Sam was there, but he’d passed out by then. We sent him home.”

  “And the mobile home was specified by one of the witnesses?” asked Zeke.

  “Right, a guy by the name of Chip Wellers. He was in the bar when we showed up that night. About the fight. He said he heard Jenny tell someone to meet her there later on,” said Doekiller, taking over the conversation. “At the mobile home. She gave the guy directions to get there.”

  “Who was she talking to?” asked Zeke.

  “Chip said he didn’t know the guy’s name,” Doekiller continued. “Said he was sitting next to him at the bar and overheard the conversation between this guy and Jenny. The guy said he’d just got to town, and that he drives a big rig for the oil company. Chip said that all he could think about was how Sam better not find out or there’d be hell to pay.”

  * * *

  “Tell me more about Sam Bearcat,” said Zeke.

  “Not much to tell. He’s a local, was born and raised on the reservation here,” said Doekiller. “He’s a drunk and he likes to fight.”

  “Does he have a record?” asked Cord.

  “Just misdemeanors, fighting and such. D and D,” said Mankato.

  “Does he work for big oil?” asked Zeke.

  “No. I think he’s on disability or something. Lives in one of those subsidized apartments over past the casino. Like I said, he likes to fight,” said Mankato.

  “Anything else?” asked Zeke.

  Mankato said, “Now you know what we know.”

  “I think I’d like to visit the scenes,” said Zeke. “Then Agent Cord and I will talk with the M.E.”

  “Head to the railroad tracks, then?” asked Cord.

  “The bar. The trailer. The tracks. Sure, all of it.”

  “You want one of my guys to go with you?” asked Mankato.

  “Sure. Could we borrow Officer Doekiller?” asked Zeke.

  “Because he was military?” asked Mankato.

  “Because he was at both scenes,” said Zeke.

  Mankato nodded slowly.

  * * *

  They climbed into a well-worn Ford Crown Victoria with black-wall tires and dirty windows. Bruce Doekiller got behind the wheel. “Where to first?” he asked.

  “Let’s follow the time line,” said Zeke. “It’s late afternoon. The bar’s probably open by now.”

  “It is,” said Doekiller. “They do a lunch business and stay open from there.” He slowed and at the third street took a right turn. The Salty Dog was directly in front of them, a long block away.

  “Looks like some of the boys are starting early,” said Cord. There were four Harleys parked outside the bar in the street, backed into the curb, their front tires pointing out. The gravel parking lot across the side street from the bar was a quarter full.

  Doekiller pulled up to one of several empty spots at the curb and parked. The three men stepped out of the car and into the bar.

  Inside it was darker than Zeke expected, and the place was chopped up into three large rooms. One held a battered pool table, presently being used by two large white men with piggish faces and ponytails. They stopped and looked when the men entered the bar.

  Doekiller looked at them, waved and said, “It’s just the law, boys.”

  They went back to their game.

  Zeke noticed an axe-throwing target mounted on the far wall.

  The second room was the bar proper, a cozy sort of thing that was finished to a dull shine. The top of the bar was handmade wood, and had so many nicks and scars and cigarette burns that they looked like a pattern. Three men sat on wooden stools in front of it.

  Behind it was a thin brunette woman with a long face. Zeke judged her to be in her forties. She looked up as they entered and nodded toward Officer Doekiller. “Sit anywhere you like, Bruce,” she said. The third room was equipped with round wooden tables and captains chairs. Several of these were occupied by small groups of men.

  Zeke and Cord followed Doekiller to a table and each pulled out a chair. Before they could sit, the woman appeared and asked them for their drink orders.

  “We’re on duty, Sandy,” said Doekiller. “How about coffee all around?” He looked at the two men, who nodded. She left and everyone sat.

  “This is pretty much it,” said Doekiller. “The action took place in the billiards room, and Jenny Lakota, we were told, was talking with a guy by the bar.

  No one said anything for a minute. Then Zeke said, “Where’s the back exit?”

  “Right through there, on the other side of the pool table. By the axe target.”

  Cord said, “So what happened when you guys got here. On the 911 call?”

  “Not much,” said Doekiller. “Like I said, the fight was over, and there was no one here to arrest. So we checked in with the bartender and hung around to be sure they weren’t coming back.” He hesitated. “This happens all the time, you know.”

  Cord said, “Roughnecks. Day after payday. Small town. Yessir, I can see that.”

  “You said that Jenny left when Sam Bearcat started fighting,” said Zeke. “And a truck driver for the oil company met up with her soon after that.”

  “That’s what we think probably happened,” said Doekiller. “At Lakeside.”

  “The trailer park,” said Cord. They sipped their coffee.

  “Let’s head over there next,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  The Lakeside Trailer Park was half a square block of a wet mud track around what looked like the owner’s house. The house was surrounded on all sides by single-wide trailers. The dirt road circling the house provided all the trailers access to East Avenue. The other half of the block was packed with more single-wides.

  “It’s over there,” said Doekiller, pointing through the windshield as he drove. “The green trailer. It’s sort of a flop house.”

  “Who owns it?” asked Cord.

  “An ol
d guy. The guy who owns the trailer park,” he said. “He rents it out to a pothead who’s in and out of jail. He lets a couple of girls use it when he’s away. They’re prostitutes. We call it ’single-wide heaven’.” He shook his head.

  “And Jenny Lakota was here the night she was killed?” asked Zeke. He was sitting in the front passenger seat. “How sure are we of that?”

  “That’s what the witnesses said.”

  “Do we know whether she met up with the truck driver?” asked Zeke.

  “Not for sure. We know she was here, and we know she was with a guy. But we’re not sure it was the same guy from the bar,” said the officer.

  “You said she left Sam Bearcat at the bar. Could he have come here, too?” Zeke continued.

  “Didn’t seem likely. He was quiet when we woke him up and made him leave the bar. He is the jealous type when he’s drinking. Normally, he would’ve been out of control, boiling mad,” said Doekiller.

  “Mad enough to skin her alive?” asked Zeke.

  * * *

  The trailer had yellow crime scene tape across the door and around the steps, and a large padlock on the door. Doekiller unlocked it and handed out latex gloves and blue paper shoe covers, which the three men put on before they stepped inside.

  “Wow. Talk about the nineteen seventies,” said Cord. “Orange shag carpet and avocado green appliances. Ugh.”

  Inside, the living area had been converted with an open pullout couch and blackout shades for window covering. The small kitchen looked unused, and beyond it there was a door made of cheap wood paneling that most likely led to a bathroom and a bedroom. Cord opened the door and went through.

  “Where were the witnesses that saw Jenny?” asked Zeke.

  “Apparently, they were, eh, involved in a threesome in the living room when Jenny came through with a guy,” said Doekiller. “Her presence didn’t seem to stop them.”

  “But they positively identified her?” asked Zeke.