Lori Armstrong - Merciless

“That’s the thing. According to both the tribal police and the sheriff’s department, she hadn’t been reported missing.”

My gaze snapped back to his. “How is that even possible? She has two little kids. One is a baby.”

Turnbull sighed. “I have no idea.”

“Who found her?”

“A guy who’d decided to dump his refrigerator just before dawn broke. He almost ran over her.”

It’d been only a week since Verline had been at my house. She’d given off a vibe of unhappiness, and young, unhappy people sometimes did impulsive, stupid things. If she hadn’t been reported missing… “You sure this wasn’t a suicide?”

“I’ll let you judge for yourself.”

I’ll admit I paused at the edge of the crime scene before I allowed my eyes to focus fully on the horror in front of me. My brain didn’t want to process the images.

Verline. Naked. Just like Arlette Shooting Star. Her body precisely arranged, also like Arlette’s body. But unlike Arlette, Verline hadn’t been staked.

I squinted at the object resting on her stomach. It took a second to register that the object was Verline’s hand. But that hand wasn’t attached to her arm. Her hand had been cut off at the wrist and placed on her lower belly. The fingers curled into a claw, as if those bloodied and dirty nails intended to dig into the flesh of her abdomen.

Definitely not a suicide.

Trying to maintain clinical detachment was hard when faced with such an atrocity. Huge purple bruises dotted Verline’s body. Rope burns crisscrossed her ankles from being bound. Her knees were scuffed up, as if she’d been kneeling on a concrete floor. My gaze skimmed her thighs and quickly moved over the dismembered hand. I glanced at the other wrist and saw more rope burns dug so deep into her flesh that the wounds had bled.

Had she been awake when this sick fucker had chopped off her hand?

I fought the surge of anger and forced myself to focus. Verline’s chest was awash in blood, which had congealed into black goo. That’s when I noticed her throat had been slit. With the funky angle of her neck, even lying down, I suspected Verline had been upright, tied to something when the fatal blow had been dealt. I glanced at Verline’s face. Her eyes were closed. Lines of blood had poured from the corners of her mouth and over her lips.

What made no sense to me was the neatness of her hair. Not a snarled mess, no hair sticking up like I’d expect from a woman who’d been tied down and had thrashed about. Especially since she’d struggled hard enough against her bonds that her wrists and ankles were bruised and had bled. Her hair was neatly fanned out above her head.

There was little blood on the ground beneath her. She’d been killed someplace else and dropped here.

Why here?

To reiterate the point Verline was a piece of garbage?

To guarantee she’d be quickly discovered?

I looked at the skiff of snow covering the ground. Perfect timing on the killer’s part. Dumping the body before the snow fell. No footprints. No tire tracks.

More white flakes drifted from the sky. My gaze connected with Shay’s. “Has Rollie been told?”

“Not by any official agency.”

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t know. Rollie had the reputation for having his ear to the ground. But if it’d been only an hour since the discovery of Verline’s body, he might not be aware.

And I sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to tell him. Part of me hoped that responsibility would fall to one of Dawson’s officers.

I finally caught my first glimpse of Dawson, bearing down on us like a freight train.

“Agents,” he said brusquely, “an update on jurisdictional status would be appreciated.”

Turnbull said, “You want to claim the case for the county? Go ahead. But I’ll warn you, you’ll have it less than twenty-four hours and it’ll be right back in our hands.”

Dawson scowled. “So noted.”

I didn’t say anything. Two dogs in a pissing match was enough.

Officer Spotted Bear approached us. “Agent Turnbull?”

“Yes?”

“Rollie Rondeaux just arrived. What should I do with him?”

All three men looked at me.

I shook my head. “ No. No. Fucking. Way.”

Turnbull spoke first. “We all know it’ll be easier for him to deal with someone he knows, and doesn’t loathe, and we all know that ain’t me or the sheriff.”

“Nothing about this will be easy, Agent Turnbull.” I looked at the scene. “Where’s Carsten?”

“On her way. She should be here any time.”

“Then I’ll wait for her.”

Turnbull shook his head. “This should be done now.”

Dammit. “Exactly what will you be doing while I’m with Rollie?”

His expression didn’t change.

I looked at Dawson. His face held the same stoicism.

Then I knew. The knot in my belly tightened. “You both intend to watch him for signs of guilt when he sees the woman he lives with, the mother of his children, carved up like a pumpkin? That’s your big professional, investigative play? Jesus.” I whirled around and took several deep uji breaths before I tracked down Rollie.

He sat in his pickup with the door open, puffing on a cigarette.

I waited in silence for him to say something.

Rollie dropped to his feet with a soft uff, shut the door, and ground out the red ember of his cigarette butt with the heel of his cowboy boot.

When our eyes met for the first time, it hit me how old he looked. The wrinkles lining his mouth became more apparent when he frowned. “So’s it true? About Verline?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” I knew I shouldn’t ask the question, but I did anyway.

“Did you find her, Mercy? Since you…” He gestured vaguely.

“No. How long had she been missing?”

“She wasn’t missing.” Rollie’s tired eyes darted to the scene just beyond our line of sight, then back to mine. “I see your confusion, Mercy. Me ’n’ Verline had a fight a few days ago. She packed up the boys and took them to Nita’s. I ain’t heard from her since, but that’s the way it goes with her. She gets mad at me and takes off. Sometimes for as long as a week.”

“Who’s Nita?”

“Verline’s mom. I ain’t surprised Nita didn’t call the police neither. Woman’s got a serious distrust of tribal cops.”

“More than you?” tumbled out before I could stop it.

“Uh-huh. I doubt Nita would be worried anyway. Even when Verline is staying there, she bounces from place to place.”

“With the kids?”

Rollie shook his head. “Nope. She leaves ’em with Nita. After a couple days Nita calls me to bitch about getting stuck takin’ care of ’em again. She hasn’t called me this time.” He paused for a second. “But I did get a call about this.”

He wouldn’t reveal his source, so I didn’t ask. “I assume you’re here to identify her?”

He nodded. Then he asked, “It’s bad, huh?”

“Yeah, Rollie, it is. I’m sorry.”

Any color he’d had in his cheeks drained away. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and twisted his gnarled fingers around the beads on his horsehair necklace. His lips moved, but I couldn’t make out the words. When he looked at me again, the coldness on his face and in his eyes chilled me to the bone.

“Take me to her.”

Without a word, I led him to the scene.

All forensic activity stopped when we reached Verline’s body. Rollie walked around her until he reached her head. He stared down at her for the longest time. I suspected he assessed every body trauma. I wondered why I hadn’t stopped him from seeing this atrocity, the way I’d stopped Triscell Elk Thunder.

Because I knew Rollie could handle it?