by Jeff Siebold
“OK. And did you see the girls?” Cord continued.
“Sure. They had to unload the beer and stuff from the trunk. But that was before dark.”
“OK. Then?”
“That’s all. That’s what I told the cops.”
“But you don’t really like cops, do you, Tyler?” asked Zeke. “You’re not one for helping them much.”
“So?”
“So this is very serious. This is about a murder. And if you don’t tell us everything, you might end up in some serious trouble,” said Cord. “Matter of fact, we might just need to take you in right now.”
“OK, OK, after it got dark out, I was watching TV and I heard a girl laughing outside. She was with a really, really big guy with black hair. She sounded kinda drunk, you know loud and stuff, and laughing. Saying stuff and teasing the guy, I guess.”
“Saying what kind of stuff?” asked Cord.
“You know, like women do sometimes. ‘You know you want some of this,’ things like that. Like I said, she was drunk and laughing and stuff.”
* * *
At the next trailer, Cord knocked again, authoritatively. There was no answer, and no sounds coming from inside.
“Nobody there,” said Tyler, looking out the window at them. “He said he was going to the bar.”
“He told you?” asked Cord.
“Yeah. He said I should watch his place, make sure nobody tried to steal anything.”
“Do you do that often?” asked Zeke.
“Yeah, sometimes,” said Tyler. “But I think he feels bad about my leg. He gave me five bucks to keep watch.”
“Who’s ‘he’?” asked Cord.
“His name’s Jimmy. He’s pretty cool.”
Zeke said, “What makes him cool?”
Tyler thought for a minute. “Well, he rides a motorcycle, a Harley,” the boy said. “And he’s got a cool tattoo on his arm. He let me see it. It’s an eagle.”
* * *
The next trailer with a vehicle parked on the small slab was an old but neat single-wide with a wooden handicap ramp giving access to the front door. The trailer was a faded blue with white trim and plantings around the small front yard. Zeke and Cord walked up the ramp and rang the doorbell. A small dog started barking enthusiastically.
In a minute, the door cracked open a couple inches and an elderly woman peeked out. The screen door, still latched, kept a ferocious Pomeranian at bay.
“You two aren’t Mormon missionaries, are you?” the woman asked. “You’re not wearing white shirts and ties, or I wouldn’t have opened the door. Didn’t see your bikes, either.”
“No, ma’am,” said Cord in his polite voice. “We’re the FBI. May we ask you some questions about that green trailer over there?”
“FBI? Like on Criminal Minds, that TV show? I watch that one.”
“Good show, yes, ma’am,” Cord continued.
Over her shoulder and through the door, Zeke could see a slice of the interior of the trailer. He saw a couch covered with an afghan blanket, low pile brown carpeting on the floor with tufts from the dog’s nails, a window over the couch with red and white drapes that matched the colors of the afghan, and wood paneled walls. There were several pillows propped up on the couch.
“We’re sorry to bother you, ma’am,” said Zeke. “We’re investigating the murder of…”
“Of that Indian girl. I thought so,” said the woman.
“One of the things we’re trying to understand has to do with the green trailer over there,” Zeke continued. “Maybe you can help us.”
The dog kept barking.
“I’ll step out there with you,” said the woman. “Hold on.”
She closed the door for a moment, then opened it again and stepped out in front of the trailer. Zeke and Cord walked down the ramp, and, gripping her cane, she followed them to a grassy area, about four feet square.
“Be careful where you step there,” she said to Cord, pointing at the ground. “Miss Tanya does her business in the yard.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Cord, looking down and checking his shoes.
“I’m Mabel Olsen,” said the woman. “I’ve lived here for ten years.”
“So I’m sure you know what’s going on around here,” said Zeke casually.
“Well, sure,” said Mabel. “I’m old but that doesn’t make me dumb.”
“No, ma’am,” said Cord, politely.
Zeke said, “What do you know about the green trailer? Who lived there?”
“There were a couple of girls over there,” said Mabel. “But they were there mostly at night. Until the cops put that lock on the door.”
“Did you know them?” asked Cord.
“Sure, to wave to. But they were working girls, you know? Like hostesses. I was a hostess.”
“Like USO Hostesses during World War II?” asked Zeke.
She thought back a moment, then said, “Yes, sort of like that.”
“You weren’t old enough to be a Hostess during the Great War,” Zeke said.
Mabel Olsen flushed pink. “Well, I lied about my age, and they let me,” she said. “Anyway, that’s old news. You want to know about that trailer.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Cord.
“Well, those girls had a lot of friends. Mostly men, but not all of them. And they liked to party. Sometimes their music was too loud. But they always turned it down when I asked.”
“Was it always the same friends? The guys who came to visit?” asked Zeke.
“I don’t think so. They seemed to have a variety of man friends. They were pretty popular, I guess,” Mabel said, and she rolled her eyes.
“Did they have a car?” asked Zeke.
“Sure. They shared an old green thing.”
“Do you know what kind of car it was?” asked Cord.
“Better. I’ve got a picture,” said Mabel. “Just a second.”
Mable stepped back up the ramp and opened the door to the still barking Pomeranian. She reached inside and a moment later she was back on the front lawn, scrolling through her phone for photos.
“Did you speak with the police?” asked Cord. “After the girl was killed?”
“Yes, I did. They asked me a few questions, but they didn’t say anything about those girls or their car. Here it is.” She held out the smart phone and showed the men a picture of the front of a faded green Camry that had seen better days.
Zeke said, “May I see that for a moment, please?”
Mabel handed him the phone, and he pinched and unpinched the screen. Then he gave it back to her.
“Was there anything else about the girls or their friends that you can remember?” asked Zeke.
“Well, like I said, they didn’t bother anybody. I think they just liked to have a party. They were always carrying beer and wine in from the car.”
“Did you know their names?” asked Zeke.
The dog was still barking in the background and scratching on the inside of the door.
“Not really. One was Cindi, I think. Cindi something. The other one, Cindi called her ‘Angel’. Listen, I’d better go before Miss Tanya hurts herself. It’ll take the better part of an hour to calm her down…”
Chapter 13
“Cindi and Angel,” said Cord. “Sound like stage names.”
“Possible,” said Zeke as they drove away from Lakeside Trailer Park. “Is there a strip club around here?”
“Used to be a famous one in Williston,” said Cord. “Called it ‘Heartbreakers’. Couple years ago, they turned it into a gay bar, the only one in North Dakota.”
“That doesn’t sound like it’ll help us,” said Zeke.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Cord. He thought for a moment.
“I guess we can check back with the bartender,” said Cord. “Sandy might know.”
“Maybe,” said Zeke. “But there may be a better way.”
“OK,” said Cord.
“We know the license plate number of the green Camry.”
>
“From the picture?” asked Cord.
Zeke nodded. “Let’s see where that leads us.”
* * *
The Tribal Police station was quiet, with just a skeleton crew in the precinct that afternoon. Cord asked for Lieutenant Mankato at the front desk, and both men waited on a low bench across from the Sergeant’s counter. A minute later, the lieutenant opened a door and joined them in the lobby.
“We’ve got a license tag number for some possible witnesses to the murder,” said Cord, exaggerating slightly. “Can you run it for us?”
“Sure.”
“Plus, we wanted to report in, let you know what we’re finding.”
“Sure,” said Mankato, skeptical. “Come on back.”
He ushered them into the restricted area and toward his office. Once seated he said in his slow, gravelly voice, “Whatdya have?”
Cord took the lead. “We found the two women, the hookers, who were using the trailer the night Jenny Lakota was killed.”
Mankato raised an eyebrow.
“We have a license tag number from their car, and we want to find them.”
“For questioning?” asked the Lieutenant.
“We need to know what they know,” said Zeke. “They must have seen Jenny Lakota enter the trailer while they were, eh, involved in there.”
“OK,” said Mankato. “What’s the number?” He turned his chair around, facing the computer screen and keyboard behind his desk.
Zeke repeated the license plate number from memory. He noticed Cord jotting it down.
“Just a minute,” said the Tribal Officer. “OK, here we go.”
He read off the information. “That tag is registered to a Cindi Havant,” he said. “It’s a 2001 Toyota Camry, green. Says her address is over on 5th Street. That’s not the address of Lakeside.”
“OK,” said Zeke. “Do you know her?”
“I don’t, not personally. But I’ll check with the patrol guys and let you know. Fifth Street is kind of a rough area.” He gave them the address.
“I think we’ll head over that way and talk with Cindi Havant,” said Cord.
“She’s probably sleeping,” said Lieutenant Mankato.
* * *
The home was a one-story, duplex affair on a street of similar homes. Some of the houses were in partial disrepair, and most had several cars parked haphazardly in the front yard. Cord drove up to Cindi Havant’s address and parked his Crown Vic in the street with two wheels on the front lawn.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The two men got out of the car and crossed the lawn to the front door. The house seemed quiet.
Cord knocked authoritatively on the door and stood back with his hand on the butt of his holstered gun. They waited thirty seconds and then Cord knocked again, a hard, rapid, aggressive knock. “FBI!” he called out. “Police!”
Twenty seconds later the door opened wide and a bleary-eyed girl in a blue and white kimono looked out. Her hair was in disarray.
Bed head, thought Zeke.
Cord said, “Cindi Havant? We’re the FBI.”
The girl put her hands in front of her, palms out, stopping them, and asked, “What do you want?”
Zeke noticed the tattoos on her wrists. A rose in blue ink wrapped around one wrist, and an oil derrick was etched on the other.
“Relax,” Zeke said. “And…nice pumpjack.”
The girl looked at her right wrist as if seeing it for the first time. Then she said, “Yeah, thanks.”
“Can we come in?” asked Cord.
“Uh, sure,” said Cindi. She held the door open for them and they followed her into the cluttered living room of the small home. She sat on an upholstered chair, picked up a pack of cigarettes from the side table and lit a Marlboro.
Zeke sat on the edge of a matching chair, and Cord remained standing.
“We’re here to talk about the Lakeside Trailer Park. And Jenny Lakota. Specifically, number seven Lakeside, up there.”
Cindi shook her head as if she were shaking off a bad memory.
“What happened to Jenny was awful. I still can’t believe it.” She shook her head again.
“Did you see her the night before she was found?” asked Zeke.
“Yeah, she came to the trailer, number seven. She came in and went back in the bedroom.”
“Where were you?” asked Cord.
“I was on the couch with a friend of mine.” She looked down briefly and pulled on the short kimono to better cover her crossed leg. Then she looked up at Zeke.
“What time was that?”
“Oh, around eleven, I think. I didn’t check.”
“What happened when she came in? Did she say anything?”
“No, my friend and I were, uh, involved, so she just walked through the living room and the kitchen with her friend, to get to the bedroom. She closed the door.”
“Who were you with?” asked Cord. He was using his hard voice.
“Like I said, my friend, Carl.”
Cord looked at her.
“Carl Jensen.”
“He’s from around here?”
“Yeah, he works for one of the oil companies.”
“What were you doing with Carl Jensen?” asked Zeke.
“You know. Partying…”
“Anybody else there?”
She looked away. “We were pretty drunk. But yeah, Angel was there, too.”
“Angel?” asked Cord. “Last name?”
“Uh, it’s Wilson. Angel Wilson. We went to the same high school five or six years ago. We’re not in trouble, are we?”
“Depends. Did you have anything to do with Jenny’s death?” said Cord.
“No, of course not…”
“And are you telling us everything you know about that night?” he continued.
“Yeah, I don’t know anything about…”
“Who was Jenny with that night?” asked Cord, interrupting the girl.
“That guy. I’ve only seen him a couple times. He doesn’t come in the bar very often…”
“The Salty Dog?” asked Zeke.
“Yeah, I’ve seen him there once or twice. He keeps to himself, mostly.”
“What did he look like?” asked Zeke.
“You think he killed her? Oh, my.”
“He was the last person seen with her. We’d like to find him and ask him about it,” said Zeke. And confirm that it was Will Carter, he thought.
“Don’t know much about him. But he was a pretty big guy. He made Jenny look small. And he was an Indian. Definitely an Indian.” She looked at Cord and Zeke, then rubbed her eye and lit another cigarette.
* * *
“I’ve been crashing here since they put the lock on the trailer,” said Angel Wilson. “So what?”
Cord looked at Zeke, and then back at the small woman. She had short dark brown hair parted in the middle and wide, chocolate brown eyes. Her jeans were skin tight, and she wore a flannel shirt with no bra. She was barefoot and slightly pudgy in her waist and thighs. She obviously had some Native American blood.
They were standing on the steps outside a small, brown house on the north side of New Town, an address that Cindi Havant had given them. It was raining lightly, and they huddled under a metal awning that covered the small front steps.
“This is your mom’s house?” asked Zeke.
The girl looked at him but said nothing.
“We want to know about the night before Jenny Lakota died,” said Cord. “What you saw in the trailer.”
“I told the police what I saw,” said the girl.
“It’s a murder investigation,” said Cord. “There’s no limit on the number of times we can ask you questions.”
The girl shook her head dismissively, but said, “OK. So…”
Cord said, “How well did you know Jenny?”
“I seen her around,” said Angel. “At the bar sometimes. She hung out with Sam mostly.”
“Sam Bearcat,” said Cord.
“Yeah. Heard he got arrested for killing her.”
“He did. We’re looking at it from a different angle,” said Cord.
“Shame. I like Sam,” she said as if Cord hadn’t spoken. “We hooked up once or twice.”
“So Jenny probably wasn’t very fond of you,” said Cord.
“Wasn’t me, it was her boyfriend that did it. She needed to put him in check.”
Cord looked at Zeke, then back at Angel Wilson.
“How about you walk us through the evening before Jenny died. What happened in the trailer?”
“Yeah, OK. It was kind of a surprise,” she said.
“What was?”
“We were partying, drank some shots and smoked some, and Cindi was with Carl. I was with Pete, my friend, but he had to leave,” she said.
“What time?” asked Cord.
“What time did he leave? About ten. Just after ten.”
“So you were resting?” said Cord.
“Carl talked me into partying with them. With him and Cindi. So I did.”
“Did money change hands?” asked Cord.
“What do you think?” said Angel. “Geez.” She shook her head.
“Then what?” asked Zeke, keeping her on track.
“Then, well, the front door opened and Jenny walked in. Didn’t knock or nothin’. That’s the rule, you always knock…”
“Was she alone?” asked Zeke.
“No, she was with this big guy. Really big. He looked Indian, too. You know, black hair and dark skin.”
“And you and Cindi were naked on the couch with Carl?” Zeke ventured.
“Well, yeah.”
“Was music playing?”
“Yeah, there was some Madonna playing, now that you mention it,” the girl said after a moment.
“Could you see him? The Indian guy?” asked Zeke.
“I was turned around the other way on Carl’s lap. I wasn’t facing the door, so I only saw them for a moment when I looked over my shoulder. But he was big. And he was an Indian, no mistaking that.”
“Then what?” asked Cord.
“Like I told the other cops, they went in the bedroom and she closed the door, and that’s the last I saw of them.”
