Lori Armstrong - Merciless

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about our jobs, but I want you to know you can talk to me, if you need to.”

“Same goes.” Dawson returned to the table, and I noticed he had on his running clothes.

I sat across from him. “So what are you working on?”

“Double-checking incident reports. The county board has had a complaint that the ambulance crew is taking too long to respond to emergency calls. I’m compiling the data from dispatch about call time and the data from the ambulance crew about the on-scene arrival time.”

“Why don’t you have jiggly Jilly doing this? Or does her enormous rack get in the way of reading the paperwork on her desk?”

He grinned. “You really don’t like my secretary.”

“No, I don’t. She’s stupid. If I try to call your direct line? Oops. She disconnects me every time. On purpose, I’m sure.” I wasn’t jealous of the big-chested, blue-eyed platinum blonde. She just annoyed me with her frosted lipstick, and the frosty manner with which she treated me. “She isn’t doing her job if you’re bringing work home, Mason.”

“So noted.” He passed me a stack of folders. “Write down the pertinent deets. Call time, location, time of arrival. Reporting EMT.”

I’d finished half the stack when I reached an incident report that disturbed me. A call had been placed by someone at the Diamond T about a possible domestic disturbance with injury. A woman was stumbling around, bleeding, before she collapsed in the middle of the road. My eyes widened when I saw the victim’s name.

Verline Dupris.

I scoured the date on the report. Two weeks before Verline and Rollie had shown up for the dinner party. Officer Jazinski reported that no charges had been filed and that Verline blamed her injuries on falling down the steps and her confusion from dehydration. No mention of Rollie. No mention of Junior, but I’d bet money one of them had been there.

“I recognize that pissed-off look,” Mason said, startling me. “What did you find?”

“An incident report regarding Verline.” I looked at him. “A few weeks before she died. Why didn’t you mention this to Turnbull or to me at the scene when Verline was found?”

“Because it’s confidential information.”

“That’s crap. It directly affects our case.”

“Then the FBI should’ve issued a subpoena for any reports of domestic violence from the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department involving either Verline Dupris or Rollie Rondeaux. But no one in the FBI bothered to follow up.” Dawson held up his hand when I opened my mouth to protest. “This is a perfect example of why when our jobs intersect we’re better off keeping to the nondisclosure rule.”

I angrily tapped my finger on the file. “Is this why you thought Rollie was guilty?”

He nodded.

And then I knew. “This isn’t the only incident report or domestic-violence call involving Verline and Rollie, is it?”

“No.”

“How bad does it get?”

He just stared at me.

I wanted Dawson to tell me everything. But I knew he wouldn’t. I respected that about him as much as it pissed me off. I shut the file and shoved the stack back at him. “It’s best if I don’t do this. I might find out the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department knows exactly who murdered Arlette Shooting Star and Verline Dupris, but God forbid that information is freely shared between agencies, due to protocol and rules of nondisclosure.” I stood.

“Mercy-”

“Save it. This feels less like you’re protecting the privacy of the residents of your county and more like you’re getting back at Turnbull for slapping a gag on your department earlier this year.”

Then Dawson was right in my face. “Bullshit, Agent Gunderson. It’s not my fault the FBI didn’t follow through. And if you want total honesty? If I would’ve told you about the previous domestic calls, you wouldn’t have told Agent Turnbull anyway. Not only because you don’t believe Rollie is guilty, but you know it would’ve been a breach of trust between us .”

I fumed, mostly because he was right.

He shoved his hand through his hair and then stormed off. He came back thirty seconds later wearing a windbreaker.

I stopped him at the door. “Where are you going?”

“For a run. And no, I don’t want you to come with me.”

The door slammed behind him.

Awesome end to my day.

Special Agent Gunderson?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Officer Orson. From the tribal police. Remember me? We-”

“Yes, I remember you. What’s up?” Why was he calling me on a Sunday?

About fifteen seconds of silence filled my ear. Then he said, “You asked me to let you know if anything weird happened that might be related to the case.”

“And it has?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe. About an hour ago two people came in and reported a missing person. To be honest, that happens all the damn time; then the missing person rolls back home after a couple of days being on a bender.”

“Is the missing person female?”

“That’s the thing. Yes, she’s female, but she doesn’t fit the pattern of the other two victims. First, she’s older.”

I paced. “Like how much older?”

“Old enough to be the other girls’ grandmother. And the other thing? You know her.”

I froze. “Who is it?”

“Penny Pretty Horses.”

“She’s missing? Who filled out the report?”

“Her mother. Sophie Red Leaf? Who, I understand, used to work for you. And her son. John-John Pretty Horses? Who, I understand, you used to work for at Clementine’s?”

“Yes. How long since anyone last saw her?”

“According to the report, they waited twenty-four hours.” Officer Orson sighed. “Look. I’m not supposed to do this, but do you have a fax number where I can send this report? I’m not sure if it has anything to do with the Shooting Star and Dupris cases because…”

Rollie Rondeaux was in jail. Even Officer Orson believed Rollie was guilty.

“You can send them to my home fax, and then if I think the FBI needs to get involved, I’ll talk to Agent Turnbull.”

“Thanks. I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, but I also didn’t want the feds to accuse us of dropping the ball again.”

“So noted.” I gave him the fax number.

I’d forgotten Hope was in the office working on the books. She glanced up expectantly as I came in. “A fax is coming through for me.”

She returned to her calculator.

A minute later the fax machine beeped and spit out paper. I skimmed the part about name, age, etc., and skipped to the last-known whereabouts section.

Evidently, Penny had gone for her noon walk and hadn’t returned. Sophie hadn’t immediately panicked because Penny had a tendency to go where the road took her. Sophie claimed she hadn’t kept too close tabs on her daughter because Penny was easily upset if she was treated like a child.

When Penny hadn’t returned by noon the following day, Sophie contacted John-John. They called her friends and checked the hospital, but no one had seen her.

“Mercy?” Hope asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you talked to Sophie recently?”

She looked at the papers in my hand and then back at me. “Not since she picked up her final paycheck. Why?”

“This can’t go any further than us, but I just got word Sophie and John-John reported Penny missing a couple hours ago.”

Hope’s face paled. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we oughta just call Sophie and ask.” Hope picked up the phone.

“Don’t. I’m not supposed to have this information.”