Lori Armstrong - Merciless

“Isn’t it always?” Agent Flack shot back.

Strained laughter.

“Director Shenker?”

His gaze bored into me. “Yes?”

“It’s come to my attention that there have been quite a few young women found dead on the reservation in the last couple of years.”

Agent Flack snapped his gum and whipped around to face me. “You talking about that Good Shield woman? Victim found gut shot out in the middle of nowhere?”

I hadn’t seen that obituary, and it bothered me there was one or more I’d missed in my small bit of research. “Was the FBI called in on that one?”

“Called, yes. We didn’t get involved because I agreed with the tribal cop who suspected a domestic dispute. Evidently, nine-one-one dispatch had several emergency calls involving the vic and her partner, going back a couple of years. The last time cops were called to the scene, guns were involved.”

“So the partner is in jail?”

Special Agent Flack blew a big pink bubble, then popped it loudly. “No. The dude was alibied. Happens all the time down there, cousin vouching for cousin, hey.” Laughter. “Nothin’ the tribal cops or nobody else could do.”

Seemed too cut and dried. Too… easily dismissed.

“Is there a reason to get this backstory on previous and unrelated cases, Agent Gunderson?”

“Yes. I have a gut feeling some of those old cases are somehow related to this new one.”

Silence. Except for Shay’s disgruntled sigh.

“Here in the bureau, we’re less about gut feelings and hunches than we are about solid evidence,” Shenker said.

I let his doubt bounce off me, but I couldn’t keep the blood from rushing to my face. “Even if solid evidence is ignored? Or dismissed?”

Shenker stared at me thoughtfully. “No offense, Agent Gunderson, but you are new to the bureau. Why haven’t the tribal police picked up on it? If it’s so obvious to you?”

Since I’d started working here five weeks ago, I had mostly observed. I asked questions only when I hadn’t been able to find the answers myself. I wasn’t the timid mouse in the corner, but neither was I the roaring lion. I’d backed down on a couple of occasions. But I would not back down on this. “Maybe due to budgetary and manpower constraints, the tribal cops are conditioned to look for the easiest answer first, in order to get the case resolved and move on to the next one. Those officers see a lot of bad shit. It’d be easy to get jaded. My dad dealt with them when he was Eagle River County sheriff. And yes, he complained about the tribal police not wanting to cooperate with any other law enforcement agencies. Not on any level. Something as simple as the tribal police refusing to fax paperwork meant he had to drive from Eagle Ridge to Eagle River. Half the time they’d have no record of the paperwork he’d requested.

“And now after I’ve been in the tribal police headquarters? I see the same problem. To be perfectly blunt, the place is a disorganized pigsty, with who knows what files spread everywhere. So if there is a connection or pattern to these deaths, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the tribal cops didn’t catch the similarities because they wouldn’t know where the hell to find the information.”

No one looked at me.

Maybe I had gotten a little vehement, maybe it was a shot to my ego they wouldn’t listen. As the highest enlisted rank in my squad, my opinions always commanded attention. I didn’t expect special treatment as an agent, but I sure as hell hadn’t expected my observation to be discounted immediately.

Director Shenker steepled his fingers, just like the FBI honchos on TV. “Tell you what, Special Agent Gunderson. I’ll let you put your money where your mouth is. I don’t know what important case files you think you saw carelessly strewn around the tribal police department, but I have it on good authority the arrest records, case reports, and official police logs are locked up tight in the tribal HQ archives department. Alongside other sensitive matters to members of the tribe, like family lineage, land succession, recorded oral histories, births, deaths, marriages. You know where that department is, right? Since you registered as a member of the tribe, what… eight months ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

He tapped his fingers on his lips a couple of times. “Since we have meetings scheduled Monday, starting Tuesday, you’ll backtrack through all the police files-cases, arrest records, police logs, plus the obituaries, the official death records, media articles, and whatever else you can find to document your theory. Get me proof. Then I’ll listen to your gut.”

I’d just been demoted to flunky.

I’d suck it up, like a soldier, and do my job, because I’d done a lot worse things under orders than paw through musty file folders. I managed a tight smile. “Thank you, sir, for the opportunity to test my theories.”

Director Shenker frowned, unsure if I was being sincere or sarcastic.

I wasn’t quite sure myself. As much as I loathed the idea of being stuck underground like a mole, I’d prefer doing something that might make forward progress on this case, or reopening cold cases, rather than sitting through more courses on FBI procedures.

Turnbull could handle the particulars of the current investigation. He’d be thrilled I wasn’t impeding his lone-wolf investigative prowess anyway. I sent him a sidelong glance, expecting to see his superior smirk.

But he was pissed, as evidenced by the telltale clenching and flexing of his jaw.

Screw him. Nothing I ever did made him happy.

“Now, on to the next order of business,” the director said.

I listened, ignoring Shay’s stealthy interest in the notes I jotted down.

As soon as Shenker announced the break, I booked it to the one place Shay couldn’t follow me: the ladies’ room.

Might make me a chickenshit, especially when I’m normally ready to fire-either a gun or my mouth-but I didn’t slide back into my chair until after the meeting reconvened.

Director Shenker liked to hear himself talk. And he didn’t seem to notice I didn’t participate. He dismissed us-not for lunch, like I’d expected, but for the rest of the day. He stopped my rapid exit with a curt “Gunderson.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll clear you to be at tribal headquarters archive department. You’ll be assigned on this task until further notice. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Turnbull, I’ll need you to stick around for a bit,” Shenker added, allowing me to make a clean getaway.

It was an indication of how crappy my morning had been that I was actually looking forward to my trip to the dreaded Hellmart-aka Walmart. As usual, the parking lot was jam-packed, and I practically had to park on the moon. But I gave myself props for remembering to remove my gun, since I was always way too temped to use it in the store.

Once inside the building, I cut through the health and beauty aisles to reach the dog food. Might as well stock up. I zipped past the gun department, briefly stopping to price bullets.

I spent so little time in the household-goods section of the store it took me a couple of rows to find it. And holy hell, the color choices for comforters fanned out before me like a rainbow. Couldn’t go wrong with navy blue. I piled a blanket, a comforter, a sheet set, and matching plaid curtains on top of all the other junk.

Seemed Hope was always running out of diapers, so I detoured to the baby section and threw two packs into the cart. I couldn’t resist a new outfit for Poopy, a darling pair of denim overalls with glittery butterflies appliquéd on the butt.

I skipped the food section and wished for the hundredth time Sophie knew how to text so she could send me the weekly grocery list since I was already here.