Merciless

by Lori Armstrong

  I trudged downstairs, but the archives department was closed. I rang the bell. Wasn’t it supposed to be open on Fridays? Maybe Sheldon was on coffee break? I beat on the door. “It’s Agent Gunderson.”

  Just as I was about to ring the bell again, a voice behind me said, “That doesn’t help.”

  I whirled around and recognized the girl sitting there hidden in the shadows. Arlette’s friend. “Hey, Naomi. What are you doing here?”

  She scowled. “If you’re thinking I’m supposed to be in class, my teachers excused me to do research for my project. I’m just waiting for Sheldon.”

  Sheldon? That seemed a little informal. “Has he been here today?”

  “Not that I can tell.” Naomi gave me a once-over. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Same thing you are. Using research as an excuse not to go to my job.”

  That brought a quick smile from her. “I’ll admit, as I walked across the football field, I thought about ditching school for the whole day.”

  “We are on the same wavelength. Mind if I join you?” She shrugged, and I sat on the concrete floor across from her.

  “You have to do research for your job?” she asked.

  “Lots of it.”

  “So it’s not all interrogating witnesses, finding clues, and arresting bad guys?”

  I snorted. “Not even close.”

  She raised her chin a notch. “Well, it should be. Cops around here suck.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Naomi’s gaze narrowed, trying to figure out if I was being serious or sarcastic. After coming to the conclusion I wasn’t jacking her around, she said, “When my mom died? The cops said it was from a drug overdose. But she’d been clean for, like, six months. No relapse or nothing. Then she just disappeared and didn’t tell my grandma or me where she was going. She never did that. Not even when she was really high. Three days later the cops found her dead in a ditch outside of town.”

  A strange sense of déjà vu washed over me. I’d read that file. I’d included it in my case report. “Did this happen about two years ago?”

  Naomi straightened. “Yes.”

  “What was your mom’s name?”

  “Diane Jump.”

  I dug in my satchel and flipped open my notebook. I’d flagged three cases of assumed ODs. The first girl was young, only sixteen, but she’d been in rehab off and on since she was twelve. The second victim was a woman in her late thirties, with multiple arrests and time served in jail for various drug infractions. The last victim was older, in her early sixties, and she’d been a homeless addict for over twenty years.

  Again, I’d written down that I hadn’t found any lab reports in any of the individual case files. It was as if the tribal cops had looked at the body, made an assessment about it being a drug-related death, and closed the case.

  “Did you find something?” Naomi asked.

  “I’m not entirely sure, but there seems to be … a common thread linking some other cases around that time.” I looked at her. “Did the police tell you they ran postmortem drug tests on your mom?”

  She shook her head. “She’d been busted for drug possession so many times, they knew her drug of choice was smack. They assumed that’s what killed her.” She couldn’t contain the hope in her voice: “Do you think the cops were wrong?”

  I searched her eyes. “Why is this so important to you?”

  “It’s not important to me. Well, okay, it is. Like I said, my mom had been clean for the first time in her life. It’d mean a lot to my grandma to know that my mom hadn’t been lying to us. That she’d really started to change.” Her brown eyes were surprisingly defiant. “It ain’t like we’re gonna sue the cops or nothin’. We’d just like to know the truth.”

  That’s when I did a dumb thing, even though it’d probably come back to bite me in the ass. “Here’s the deal. I’ll tell you what I suspect, but if you tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it. Just between you and your unci, okay? I think someone killed your mom and made it look like an overdose.” I expected tears. Or outrage. Not a sad nod of acceptance.

  “Thank you. That’s what I thought, or maybe what I’d hoped …” She cleared her throat and glanced at my notebook as I shut it. “That’s the type of research you’re doing?”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of depressing.”

  “I’ll bet Sheldon was a big help. He knows everything.”

  Again with the familiar use of Sheldon. “Does he help you with research?”

  “He’s usually super-busy, but there’s a lot more reference materials for history projects here than there are at the high school. Arlette came down here all the time.”

  Why hadn’t Sheldon mentioned that to me?

  “She and Sheldon talked books. So after she quit hanging out with me, I started coming down here because I was missing her. I thought maybe …” She blushed. “I thought maybe Sheldon would discuss vampire books with me like he had with Arlette. He’s easy to talk to, even if he does talk a lot.”

  How well I knew that.

  “And man, didja ever notice he asks a ton of questions?”

  “I had noticed that.” I paused, not wanting to seem too eager. “What kind of questions does he ask you?”

  “What questions didn’t he ask me?” she half complained. “But it is kinda cool because no one at school cares what I think.”

  “High school pretty much sucks ass. That’s why I couldn’t wait to leave and join the army.”

  “Really? That’s what I wanna do, too! Since Sheldon served in the military, he’s been telling me what branch of the service I should apply to.”

  “I’d definitely tell you to join the army.” I smirked. “What did he say?”

  “Any branch besides the National Guard if I wanted to see any real action. With the way he kept grilling me about my interview with the police, I figured he’d probably been a military cop, so I was surprised when he said he was in communications. He wanted to know if I’d heard anything. If the tribal police had possible suspects.”

  That was really weird. Why would he care? To get a scoop on gossip?

  “Come to think of it”—Naomi squinted at me—“he asked a lot of questions about you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “I dunno. He thinks the tribal cops are idiots, too. He said he was interested in how the big guns do it.”

  It was unnerving to hear that Sheldon had used my favorite phrase. How closely had he been monitoring me when I’d been working in the archives?

  Paranoid much, Gunderson?

  I stood. “Well, this big gun is gonna get in big trouble if she doesn’t get something done today.”

  “I think I’ll wait a little longer to see if he shows up.”

  “You don’t wanna go back to school?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “My next class is algebra.”

  “Keep your grades up,” I warned. “The military recruiters look at things like attendance, and academic records. It’ll help them choose where to place you after you’re through boot camp.”

  “Oh, okay.” She looked at me strangely, almost shyly. “Would you be willing to talk to me sometime about what it’s really like being in the army?”

  “Sure. And if you promise me you won’t skip class anymore, I’ll see if I can’t put in a good word for you with the recruiter.”

  “That’d be so awesome!” Naomi scribbled in her notebook, ripped out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. “I won’t call you because I know you’re busy, but I got a new cell number, so you can call me when you get time.”

  “Why the new number?”

  Another scowl. “Because Mackenzie posted my old one in the computer lab with a note that I was a snitch.”

  “Doing the right thing doesn’t make you a snitch.” I put the paper in my notebook. “Now get to class and balance some equations.” Her laughter followed me up the stairs.

  Lost in thought, I literally ran into Officer Ferguson when I walked through the front do
or.

  “Agent Gunderson. What are you doing over here? Hanging out with your boyfriend?” she joked. Then her face paled. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I forgot the sheriff is in the hospital. Sometimes I just open my mouth and don’t—”

  “It’s okay.” I paused. “But I’m curious: Who’d you mean by my ‘boyfriend’?”

  “Sheldon. In the archives department. I think he’s got a thing for you.”

  I frowned. “Why would you think that?”

  “He always asks about you.”

  “You have lots of occasions to talk to Mr. War Bonnet, Officer Ferguson?”

  She shrugged defensively. “I usually bring boxes of case reports over. Sheldon and I shoot the shit.” Fergie looked over her shoulder and then leaned in closer. “I’ve got a crush on him, okay? Not that I’d ever act on it.”

  “Really?” I didn’t want to say eww, but … eww.

  “I know what you’re thinking. But last year we had about thirty boxes to transfer here, and I wasn’t sure if Sheldon wanted me to load them in the elevator or bring them around back to the loading bay. When I got down here, I found the outer door open, which never happens on days the archives are closed. I poked my head in before I announced myself and saw Sheldon hefting huge boxes over his head. Then he climbed up to the top of the shelving unit like a monkey. He was wearing one of those wifebeater-type shirts, and it rode up.” She released a soft whistle. “I thought six-pack abs were a myth, but Sheldon has them. Man, and his arms are completely ripped. In fact, his upper body is really toned. It’s a shame he keeps it hidden under such baggy clothes.”

  Why would Sheldon hide his physique? I’d always seen him as a doughy guy. Something Shay had said about Rollie jumped into my head. Did you see how he shuffled out of here like an old man? Trying to leave the impression that he’s harmless and helpless?

  But it made no sense why Sheldon would want people to think he was gimped up. For sympathy? So people would assume it was from an injury he’d sustained in the service?

  Fergie’s voice pulled me out of those thoughts. “I didn’t want to get caught gawking at him, so I ducked around the corner and waited a few minutes. Then I yelled real loud when I came in.”

  “Did he stand on a ladder so you could admire him in all his sweaty, muscled glory?”

  She chuckled. “No, he’d put on a long-sleeved shirt at least one size too big. I assumed it was a hand-me-down from his uncle.”

  “Do you know his uncle?”

  “He was in charge of the archives when I first started as a cop. Then Sheldon moved back to care for him and to take over the archives job. Harold is a sweet guy. Quiet.”

  “Do you ever see him?”

  Fergie looked thoughtful. “No, he has health issues. But Sheldon talks about him. Harold is lucky that Sheldon lives with him so he didn’t end up in a nursing home. Anyway, I have more boxes for him. I’ve been trying to dump them off for the last month, but he keeps telling me the storage area by the loading bay is full. I’m tired of getting my butt chewed by the police chief because we’ve got sensitive case files stacked in the hallway.”

  “How full can it be back there? What else does he use the loading bay for?”

  “Between us? Nothing. I saw a cot back there one time, but I never let on that I noticed his little R and R corner. So what if he’s made a little nesting spot to take naps? I don’t care. I just want him to quit stalling and take these boxes off my hands.”

  Now that I’d thought about it, I’d never asked him about the locked door in the far back room. “Well, Sheldon isn’t here today. Maybe he’s taking his uncle to the doctor or something.”

  “Could be. He’ll be pleased to hear you’re concerned about him.” She nudged me with her shoulder and grinned. “Sheldon is crushing on you big time, Mercy.”

  “Maybe the tribal PD should start drug testing, because obviously you’ve been smoking crack.”

  “Ha-ha. Seriously you wouldn’t see it. Bet you also don’t know your partner—I mean, your coworker, Agent Turnbull—has a big-time crush on you, too. As does my coworker, Officer Orson. Even Nancy in the jail told me you’re da bomb.”

  What a load of horseshit. “I think you’re mixing up annoyance and affection, Officer Fergalicious, at least when it comes to my coworker,” I said dryly.

  “Think what you want. But I know that Sheldon is mighty interested in you and your contribution to the cases. He’s asked me everything, from what you say about your military service, to how good you are on the shooting range, to your family connections, to your relationship with Sheriff Dawson, to your hobbies.”

  Based on my former military position and the need to keep a low profile, a feeling of wrongness churned in my gut. “Huh. Well, I’m really not that interesting.”

  “Tell that to the guy who’s carrying around a lock of your hair.”

  I went very still. “Excuse me?”

  “Kidding, Gunderson. But I wouldn’t put it past him to steal something of yours just so he’d have an excuse to ask if you lost it and could give it back.”

  “I hope you didn’t give him my address.”

  “You would’ve given him your address when you enrolled in the tribe.”

  I remembered the day I’d registered as a member of the tribe, as I’d been suffering from a particularly vicious hangover. Hope was snippy with me because I’d insisted she and Joy come along to enroll. I’d had a sense of resentment that I couldn’t put my real occupation in the army on my application.

  My face flushed with mortification. Had I really written “insurgent removal specialist”—aka sniper—on my tribal enrollment form?

  Holy shit. Holy, holy, shit. I’d be in huge fucking trouble if the army ever found out.

  No wonder Sheldon showed interest in me. Question was—how much interest? Who else had he told? My gaze zoomed back to Officer Ferguson. “I gotta admit, I was really hungover the day I applied for tribal membership. I might’ve written down all sorts of lies and stuff.”

  “Whatever you wrote was fascinating enough that Sheldon asked a bunch of questions when you lost the election and took a job with the FBI.”

  “Maybe I should pay Sheldon a visit. See if he’s all right. See if he’ll let me write a retraction statement on certain areas of my tribal enrollment form, due to my, ah, liquid creativity.” I paused when she laughed. “Do you know where he lives?”

  A guilty look crossed her face.

  I tried to keep it light. “Come on, Fergalicious, you already said you had a tiny crush on him. I’d think it was weird if you didn’t know.”

  Fergie flashed me a sheepish grin. “When you put it that way … he lives about three miles out of town toward Crested Buttes. There’s an owl sitting on top of his mailbox, and the entrance to his place is through a gate. I’ve never seen the house because it’s behind a bunch of trees.” She paused. “You really thinking of going out there?”

  “Nah. Just yanking your chain, trying to make you jealous that your crush has a crush on me.” I forced a smile. “I’ve got too much to do. The FBI is running me ragged trying to put something together on these cases.”

  “Good luck with that. I’ll see you around.”

  20

  Halfway to Sheldon’s house I considered whipping a U-turn and heading back to the VS office.

  But that little voice in my head and that gut feeling the FBI advised me to discount … were clamoring for attention. I had nothing else to do but fret about Mason, or count the hours until Lex was dismissed from school.

  Or I could find a quiet corner in Stillwell’s and drink.

  Nah.

  I drove past Sheldon’s slowly, staking out the place, but with no traffic, it really didn’t matter who saw what I was doing. Thirty yards from the turnoff was a steel gate. The front entrance was secured with a heavy chain and a lock. Talk about overkill. Usually, a security system around here was a neon sign to robbers. We have something of worth that needs protection, please rob us.<
br />
  What valuables did Sheldon have that required such security measures?

  Then I remembered he lived with an elderly uncle. If the man suffered from Alzheimer’s, then I understood the need for extra precautions. I scanned the fence line. Sturdy fencing. KEEP OUT and NO HUNTING and NO TRESPASSING signs were attached at random intervals.

  There wasn’t a gravel road running along the backside of the property, so I turned around, debating my next move. Park at the gate and wander up the driveway, claiming I was worried when he hadn’t shown up in the archives department?

  Would that give him the wrong idea? Especially since Fergie was convinced the man had a crush on me?

  Was there any logical reason for me to be here besides those niggling feelings that wouldn’t allow me to leave it be?

  No, a stealth entry would be my best option.

  Leaving my vehicle by the side of the road might raise questions. At the next entrance to the adjoining field, I drove over a cattle guard and bounced along the field, hoping it wasn’t a bull pasture. As soon as I reached the base of a hill, I shut off my pickup. I slipped on a camo Carhartt coat. I kept my gun on my hip and left the coat unbuttoned as I slid from the cab.

  If I hadn’t needed to blend, I wouldn’t have bothered with the coat. The sun shone from a watery blue sky. A great day to be outside hunting, hearing the dried grass crunch beneath my feet as I followed the fence line.

  Before I reached the shelterbelt on Sheldon’s property, I scrutinized the fence for an easy-access point. I found two saggy, rusted-out pieces of barbed wire and stepped on the lowest section, yanking the upper section high enough to let myself through.

  I crept along, on full alert. This stealth behavior was easier when I wasn’t dressed in full combat gear or the restrictive garb of burkas or niqabs.

  Approaching the house, I didn’t see a vehicle. My gaze moved to the detached garage twenty yards away. No windows in the garage doors. I crouched and made a break from the shelterbelt to the side of the garage. I reached around and tried the knob. Locked.