My stomach acid turned my morning oatmeal into sour mash. I’d have to give sworn testimony against Rollie.
“We’re taking this to the assistant U.S. attorney after morning court adjourns.”
The action had already been decided before I’d entered the building.
Shay’s cell phone pealed. “Turnbull. Yes. What? No, you’re kidding, right?” Pause. He stood abruptly. “When? How the hell is that even possible? No, fuck that. What are our options … Sorry? Yes, sir. No, sir. I understand. Yes, I appreciate the call.”
Shay hung up. He stalked to the window and squeezed his cell phone so hard that cracking plastic echoed in the room.
“What’s going on?”
“Director Shenker was just informed by the Eagle River tribal PD that they arrested Rollie Rondeaux last night on a charge unrelated to our cases. They’re holding him in the tribal jail.”
Confused, I asked, “Which means what?”
“He’s locked up tight. A tribal member, accused of committing a misdemeanor crime on tribal land, falls under the jurisdiction of the tribal court system, not the federal system. We can’t forcibly extradite him until he’s faced a tribal judge and been convicted or acquitted. It’s within the tribal police’s purview to keep Rollie incarcerated until he’s brought before a tribal judge. And since there’s no due process in the tribal court system, Rollie is out of our reach. Indefinitely.”
A jurisdictional pissing match. How fun. “But Rollie has to stay in the tribal jail, right? It’s not like he can post bond and roam around free on the reservation?”
Turnbull gawked at me like I had a screw loose. “That’s hardly the point, Mercy.”
“You’re missing the point, Shay. Rollie is locked up, out of society. If he is guilty of a couple of gruesome murders, then he won’t be committing any more from behind bars. The residents of the reservation are safe from him and his murderous ways.”
Another arch look from him.
“Is this just about you wanting the collar? Putting another feather in your federal cap so you can get the hell out of this two-bit FBI office and back to a real division office where you belong?” I taunted him.
He meandered toward me, snakelike. I held myself very still, half expecting to see a forked tongue before venom-tipped fangs ripped a chunk out of me.
“Be smart, Gunderson. Be a team player. And if you haven’t figured it out? It’s very much us versus them when it comes to tribal politics and jurisdiction. They’re more than willing to take our help, but they rarely extend the same helping hand. This is a slap down. The tribal police are proving they’ve got all the power.”
I’d hoped I’d left this political jostling behind when I’d left the army. “So what now?”
“Now we see if we can assist Flack and Mested with their sex ring case, involving interstate trafficking of minors, child pornography … You think reading obituaries for a couple of days was bad? What you see and read today will make you question why you became an FBI agent in the first place.”
Too late. I was already questioning it. “Lead the way. Beings you’re the senior agent and all.”
Another scowl. “Give me a minute to find my—”
“FBI-mandated anger management course materials?”
He flashed his teeth. “Back the fuck off, Gunderson. But if you wanna see me in a killing rage? By all means, stick around.”
I’d had enough of his male posturing. I poked him twice on the chest, right below his snappy turquoise bolo tie. “You don’t scare me. You never have. So don’t even fucking try.”
Evidently, the guys in conference room two had heard our exchange. They were mighty quiet when we entered the room.
Good.
14
I didn’t share my after-work plans with Turnbull. He’d argue. Blather on about the FBI’s role, and mine.
The sporadic bouts of snow on the drive home were irritating. Just enough of the white stuff fell from the sky to cover the ground, but not enough to mask the barrenness of winter fields.
The jail was on the bottom level of the tribal PD building. The space wasn’t much different from any other jail I’d been in, with the exception of the Iraq prisons, which were little more than latrines.
A harried woman around my age inspected me. “Visiting hours ended at five.”
I slid the lanyard bearing my federal ID into the metal tray.
Her gaze dropped to my right hip. “You’re not carrying, are you Special Agent Gunderson?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Sign in, please. Who are you here for?”
“Rollie Rondeaux.”
“Mr. Rondeaux has requested no visitors.”
“He’ll see me.” I smiled. “I’ll wait over here until I’m cleared through.”
The pamphlets in the waiting area shouldn’t have amused me, but they did. How to cope with having a loved one in jail. The importance of family during a prisoner’s incarceration. Advice on how to support the person behind bars, while disapproving of the crime committed.
I circled the coffee table, piled with magazines, and stopped in front of the map that detailed the borders of the Eagle River Reservation.
“Agent Gunderson?”
I whirled around. “Yes?”
“Mr. Rondeaux will see you. At the buzzer, enter on the right.”
A loud buzz, and then the sound of locks disengaging.
I stepped into a small room with a state-of-the-art full-body X-ray machine. A voice instructed me, “Feet shoulder width apart, arms at your sides, take a breath and hold it.”
Beeeep.
“All clear. Exit through the rear door, Agent Gunderson.”
Another buzzing sound and more locks disengaging. I found myself in one of those rooms like on TV, where individual cubicles were separated by pegboard walls. A Plexiglas wall divided the two spaces. A phone hung on the right on each side.
The dingy gray-walled opposite room was empty.
A steel door opened, and a guard led an orange-jumpsuit-wearing, handcuffed Rollie into the room.
The guard pointed at the center section, and I sat.
Rollie plopped into the chair across from me. The guard didn’t undo his handcuffs. He didn’t leave after he’d handed Rollie the phone, either, but took the chair by the door and leafed through a magazine.
Surprisingly, Rollie didn’t look bad.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you, hey,” he said.
“That’s my goal in life. To defy expectations.”
He snorted.
“Dare I ask how you are?”
“Been better.” He rested his elbows on the counter, hunching over like an old man. That was the only way he could hold the receiver in both hands. “They spent a couple hours goin’ over the rules. But it ain’t like I got freedom to make any choices, so it was kinda pointless. I scrubbed the bathrooms upstairs in the cop shop. Guess that’s my daily duty. I also gotta mop in here tonight and clean the windows.” He paused.
“What?”
“Which Mercy am I lookin’ at right now?”
“Do you mean am I here as a fed? Or as your friend?” I noticed his grip on the receiver tightened. “I’m here as your friend, old man.”
Rollie nodded. “Don’t got many of them.”
“So what did you do that landed you in the tribal jail?”
“Ran a Stop sign. Didn’t realize I had a cop behind me for about two miles, ’cause I ain’t got a rearview mirror and the side mirrors are cracked. Got me for evading arrest. When I got here, they made a big stinkin’ issue about my parking tickets.”
“How many tickets are we talking?”
“Fifty-seven.”
“Seriously? You were issued that many tickets in a year?”
Rollie shook his head. “Been a coupla years. They ain’t all mine, but they’re for cars registered to me. Or stolen from me.” He shrugged. “Ain’t my fault, but there’s nothin’ I can do. Tribal cops been waitin’ to get th
eir hands on me for a while, so I’m pretty sure they’re gonna let me rot in here.”
That’s when I realized Turnbull’s suspicions were somewhat correct. Rollie’s arrest was to keep him on the reservation and out of federal hands. It wasn’t even a power play on the part of the tribal police; it was Rollie’s. Smart move. It didn’t convince me of his guilt in not wanting to be brought up on federal charges for killing Verline and Arlette.
“Who arrested you?”
“Spotted Bear. That power-hungry bastard.”
How long had Officer Spotted Bear owed Rollie a favor?
Rollie tipped his head back, and I saw a cut on top of a bruise right under his jawline. “He even punched me. Course, he’s telling everyone I slipped.” He snorted. “The whole department had a good laugh at me on my knees today, scrubbing their shit from the toilet.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”
His brown eyes turned shrewd. “Does Turnbull know you’re here?”
“No, I had to flash my badge to get in, since I missed visiting hours.”
“You gonna be in trouble, Mercy girl?”
“Probably. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
“I’m sure he’s brought up some of the bad things I did over there a long time ago. I’m not that same gung-ho marine kid, following orders. I’m an old man.” Agony and sadness flitted across his face. “I didn’t do that to Verline. I don’t even know what was done to the other girl, and they think I was responsible.”
If I’d entertained—however briefly—any serious thought that Rollie might’ve killed Verline, it ended in that moment. I recognized that grief, where the numbness of shock would be preferable to the sharp-edged feeling of constant pain. I knew in my gut, in my bones, and in my soul that he wasn’t guilty.
“Rollie,” I said his name softly so he looked at me. “I never thought you did it.”
“Then you are the only one. Even my son …” He held the phone away and coughed. Like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Sorry. That kid. Always working an angle. I’d be proud of him if he wasn’t so stupid.”
“What’s up with the no-visitors rule?”
“Ain’t nobody I wanna see. And unless I refuse to see everyone, then they can make me see anyone who shows up.”
“Anyone in particular you’re avoiding, besides Junior?”
Rollie studied me. “Ask the question you came here for, hey. You know this dancin’ around the subject stuff just ticks me off.”
I smiled at the flash of grumpy Rollie. Now that I knew in my gut Rollie was innocent, I could move on to the other reason I’d come. “Devlin Pretty Horses owes you money.”
He nodded.
“I heard you say he also owes Saro money.”
Another nod.
“Did he borrow money from Latimer Elk Thunder, too?”
A cold stare. “Ain’t smart messing in this.”
“I don’t have a choice. I have to sort what’s relevant and what isn’t. Are you and Latimer in competition for loan customers?”
He shook his head. “I ain’t gonna claim to be altruistic, but my customers don’t use the money they borrow from me for gambling.”
“So Devlin didn’t blow the cash you lent him at the casino?”
“He assured me the money was for specialized cancer-treatment drugs for Penny. I believed him. It was a way of helping her because …” He cleared his throat. “That part don’t matter. I found out he’d lied to me that night at your place.”
“How’d you find out?”
“From talking to Penny. She asked if I had herbal remedies that’d stop the queasiness. I suggested a couple of mixes, including … ah, peyote. She said the peyote Devlin had bought for her didn’t help much, and he’d smoked it all anyway.”
My mouth dropped open. “That was Devlin’s specialized cancer-treatment drug? Po—peyote?”
Rollie’s voice dropped another octave. “And who is the peyote distributor around here?”
Saro.
“I don’t like lookin’ like a chump. But Latimer don’t mind, ’cause he’s still handing Devlin money any time he asks. Something is up with that, but I can’t figure it out. Part of me don’t wanna know because it ain’t pretty where my thoughts have gone. Saro got paid for the goods he provided Devlin. But Devlin owes him cash from before Victor got whacked. John-John’s bailed Devlin out with Saro before.”
“He has?”
“Yes. Why do you think Saro started showing up at Clementine’s all the time? Because he could.”
Jesus. My head was spinning. How could I have not known any of this?
“Saro is a dangerous man. But don’t discount Latimer. Saro don’t pretend to be something he’s not. Latimer is just as much a thug as Saro. He just uses more snake oil to look polished. And Saro ain’t got nothin’ on Latimer when it comes to dealing out payback.”
Neither of us said anything for a minute or two.
I considered changing the tone of the conversation, filling the dead air with talk of Dawson and Lex. But it seemed trite.
“Mercy.”
I glanced up from staring at the bottom of the partition. “What?”
“You gotta find out who killed her.”
“That’s what we’re trying—”
“Don’t feed me that federal-line bullshit. They stopped lookin’ for the killer after they made up their minds it was me, huh?”
Took about ten seconds, but I nodded.
“I didn’t tell you about the deaths of women on the rez before Verline was killed for any reason besides you are observant in a way most folks ain’t. You see things others can’t. Or won’t.”
I’d take his compliment. My most important lesson in sniper training was taking time to observe everything around me. To be patient. To be aware of the obvious, but to become a student of the obscure. But it wasn’t like him to dole out positive reinforcement, so I was immediately suspicious. “Rollie, if you know who’s responsible and you’re keeping it to yourself for some scorecard or to go vigilante—”
“I’m not. I’d tell you if I knew. I’m too damn old to take on someone that smart. Because, mark my words, whoever is doin’ this is one smart SOB. If you find this person? Then you and me? We’re square.”
I’d wondered what it would take to clear my markers with him. Working for him hadn’t done it. And I’d be glad to have the debt erased because I didn’t like owing anyone anything.
The guard pushed to his feet, and I knew our time was over.
Rollie said, “Be careful, Mercy girl. But be ruthless. That’s all this twisted fuck knows. Don’t hold nothin’ back.”
“Take care, Rollie.”
I probably should’ve gone home. But I wanted a drink and a chance to clear my head before I had to slap on a happy face for Mason and Lex.
Clementine’s was off my list of watering holes. I understood Penny’s health issues were adding pressure to John-John’s life, but if I’d behaved like him, he would’ve read me the riot act. Maybe this was an indication that our friendship had always been one-sided.
It was a quiet night on the road between Eagle River and Eagle Ridge. Perfect road conditions to make my Viper go fast. The one time I’d taken the dust tarp off her after I’d returned from Virginia had nearly resulted in Dawson arresting me. That thought made me smile.
I pulled into Stillwell’s. Last time I’d been in the joint I’d ended up in a bar fight. Not my fault. But trouble trailed after me like a forsaken lover.
But I wasn’t drowning my sorrows tonight. I’d have one drink, a bowl of pretzels, and I’d take time to reflect on the information I’d just learned from Rollie. I chose to sit in a booth in the back. After I received my beer, I took a healthy gulp and closed my eyes.
The gut feeling the FBI told me to discount got stronger. I’d been distracted by several incidents over the course of the last two weeks—but my gut instinct hadn’t ever failed me.
“Mercy?”
; I opened my eyes and saw Sheldon War Bonnet at the edge of the table. Of all the people to run into tonight. “Sheldon.”
“You drinking alone?”
Like that was a bad thing. “No, I’m meeting someone.”
“I’ll keep you company for a bit. I’m meeting someone myself.” And bold as brass, Sheldon just slid across from me with his drink.
I tried not to gulp my beer, resigning myself to making polite chatter for at least two minutes. Five tops.
“I haven’t seen you in here before.” Sheldon groaned. “That probably sounded like a cheesy pickup line.”
It did. Creeped me out a little. “I don’t come in here much. Used to be my dad’s hangout. Clementine’s is more my speed. Although I don’t have nearly as much free time as I used to.”
“Working in the FBI isn’t a nine-to-five job?”
I shrugged. “Some days. It’s all still new. Still trying to put the training theories into practice.”
Sheldon smiled. “Kind of like being in the military. They train you to be prepared for all contingencies, but not all soldiers get to put those skills into practice.”
Hah. Wrong. I had a chance to use damn near everything I’d been taught and then some. “Remind me what service branch you were in again?”
His smile tightened. “Army National Guard. Seventy-second CST out of Lincoln, Nebraska. I handled internal communication.”
“Oh.” I scrambled to find something positive to say. Because an internal communications clerk with a guard unit and a black-ops soldier were light-years away in skill sets. “CST. Stands for Civilian Support Team, right? So I’ll bet your unit didn’t see any action?”
He shook his head. “We had heavy training for four years in order to receive the CST designation, and all positions within the company were frozen. No new members signed in, none were allowed to sign out. Basically, by receiving the CST, we were permanently grounded as a unit.”
“That’s the way it goes. We finished one tour—expecting we’d get a four-to-six-month reprieve stateside—but four weeks later, we were eating sand in another desert hot spot. Not fun.”
Merciless Page 20
