Merciless (24 page)

No response but a cool stare.

“What?”

“I find it interesting, and maybe a little disturbing, that you didn’t mention Rollie
Rondeaux as a possible suspect. Even his own son thinks he’s guilty.”

I said nothing.

“So along those lines . . . do your job. Don’t discount anything. Don’t discount anyone.
Get me some proof to back up either of your theories. Within the confines of the law.”

I stood. “Don’t insult me, Special Agent Turnbull. I’m a team player. I know what
team I’m on.
Rah-rah! Go FBI!
and all that shit.”

“You’re a drumroll short of nailing that punch line, Agent Gunderson.”

Everyone was a comedian. I slipped on my coat, shouldered my purse, and walked out.

•   •   •

Junior Rondeaux’s twenty-four hours were almost up.

Verline’s sister had told us where Junior lived—a shack on someone’s property. Looking
at it now, I doubted the place had running water. Maybe it had electricity. The windows
were boarded over.

I parked on the street and backtracked to the door, which wasn’t completely closed.
Loud noises—moans and groans—came from inside. Was Junior hurt? I pulled my sidearm,
kicked the bottom of the door with my boot, and said, “FBI. I’m coming in.”

First thing I saw? A naked ass. Then a naked back. The girl on the bouncing mattress
screamed when she saw me. She shoved Junior so hard he flew out of bed and landed
on that naked ass. She yanked the covers up but not before I got a glimpse of her
pendulous breasts.

Fucking awesome.

She yelled, “Don’t shoot! It’s not his fault! I told him I was eighteen!”

Jesus. Seriously? She thought the FBI was on underage nookie patrol?

Junior scrambled to his feet and threw his arms in the air. He knew the drill. “Christ,
don’t shoot! I’m not armed.”

“I can see that.”

“What are you doin’ here?”

I kept my gun trained on him and did not allow my gaze to drop below his chin. “I
heard noises. And since you’re involved in a federal investigation, I suspected you
might be in distress. I announced myself before I came in.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t hear you because we were a little busy!”

“A federal investigation?” the girl repeated. “You didn’t tell me you were part of
that.”

“But baby, I’m not. Listen to me.”

From the corner of my eye I could see the girl scrambling to get her clothes on.

“So much for mourning your true love, Verline, huh, Junior? She’s been dead, what,
a day? And you’re already bumping uglies with someone else?”

Junior shook his hair out of his eyes. “I ain’t got a gun in here, so do you mind
putting that thing away?”

“I’ll put mine away if you put yours away.” I lowered my gun but didn’t holster it.

He whispered to the girl, and she pushed back, slipping on a hoodie—but not before
I noticed she had hickeys all over her neck. She was on the plump side, as well as
the illegal side. I practiced my hard-cop stare as she shuffled past me.

Then I glanced at Junior. He’d pulled on a pair of boxing shorts and a long-sleeved
shirt.

“Didja hafta bust in right then? You couldn’t have waited another five minutes?”

“Just be goddamn thankful I’m not having you arrested for statutory rape when I haul
your ass into the tribal PD.”

His eyes rounded. “What?”

“I gave you twenty-four hours, which are almost up. You need to give an official statement
about why you believe Rollie had sufficient motivation to kill Verline Dupris.” I
gestured to his feet. “Put on some shoes.”

“But I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. You’re riding with me. And if you pull any bullshit moves, I’ll shoot
you. Understand?”

“Yeah. You’re kinda violent and trigger-happy for a fed.”

“That’s why they hired me.”

No issues getting Junior to the cop shop. Officer Ferguson was on duty, and she snagged
an interview room.

For all his blustering about not wanting to talk to the cops, Junior spilled his guts
pretty good. Nothing he’d said was new information to me, but I was relieved to have
it on record. As the interview wound down, one thing occurred to me. “I know your
uncle Leo and Rollie both practice Native American herbal medicine. It seems to be
a family thing. Have you ever shown an interest in it?”

“You mean has Rollie ever taken me out to gather plants, twigs, berries, flowers,
and shit? No. That old-way stuff don’t interest me. That’s where me and Arlette were
alike. We liked reading about it, not doin’ it.”

“How’s that?”

“Her aunt did all that natural herb stuff, too. Made her own home remedies. Every
Indian has a different recipe, and they still claim theirs is
traditional.
It’s a buncha crap. But some folks, white folks especially, will pay big money for
it.”

Fergie and I exchanged a look.

“Thanks for coming in, Junior.” I held open the conference room door. “You’re free
to go.”

He snorted. “Like I had a choice. How am I getting home? You brought me here.”

“I could get a patrol car to drop you at your place,” Officer Ferguson said sweetly.

“I’d rather walk.”

After I shut the door, I noticed Fergie’s perplexed look. “Does everyone else at the
tribal PD think Rollie is guilty?”

“To be honest, we haven’t discussed it. Not like you feebies do. Diagramming the problem
from every conceivable angle. Keeping your
findings to yourself. But I’ll admit all agencies missed the herbal angle with Triscell
Elk Thunder.”

I let her opinion of
feebies
slide. “True. I believe I’ll have a follow-up chat with her. You busy right now?”

Fergie raised her pale red eyebrows. “You plan to just show up at the tribal president’s
house?”

“Yes. Why? Do they discourage drop-by visitors?

“Do ya think?”

“But it would be for official business. Not like I’m expecting them to serve me a
cocktail and appetizers or anything.”

“As an FBI agent, you can get away with dropping by—even with the no-contact order.
Me? No way. The tribal president can put pressure on the council to put pressure on
the tribal police to ax me. So I’ll give you the address, but I’ll be right here,
safe in the office, by my computer, typing up this interview for the case file.”

I grinned. “Sounds good. Will you fax a copy to the FBI?”

“Sure.”

Before I headed out, I remembered one other thing I’d forgotten to ask Junior, so
I posed the question to Fergie. “This is off the record. But if a person needed money
because he had, say, a gambling problem, who’s in the moneylending business on the
rez? Besides Saro. I know Rollie dabbles in it. But there’s got to be more than those
two.”

Officer Ferguson fidgeted.

“This is not for an FBI case. I’m not looking to borrow money. I’m just asking; hypothetically,
if I needed extra cash, who I could ask?”

She opened her mouth. Snapped it shut.

That gut feeling told me I wouldn’t like her answer. If she answered.

Officer Ferguson looked around guiltily, and then leaned forward. “You did not hear
this from me. Promise you’ll keep me out of it?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re already going to the right place.”

I frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“Latimer Elk Thunder owns the gas station. But do you think that’s
where he got all his money? No. He’s got a loan business on the side.”

“No kidding.” I wondered if the feds were aware and forgot to mention that small factoid
to us. Or maybe they assumed because I was an enrolled member of the tribe I already
knew about tribal shit like this. Dammit. I’d really hate it if I was the only agent
in the dark. “How long has this been going on?”

“My understanding is he took over the gas station from his father-in-law about five
years ago, after the man had a fatal heart attack. That’s when he expanded the moneylending
portion of the business. Part of the appeal for borrowers is he doesn’t demand cash
as repayment. He’ll take anything of value, which is why people go to him. And if
repayment isn’t made fast enough, he’ll expect those who owe him to perform a task.”

Sounded very much like Rollie and the favors he bargained for. “What kind of task?”

“I’m not sure. But one guy I picked up for public intoxication a few months back begged
me to arrest him. He wanted a place to sleep, even in jail, where no one could harass
him.”

“After Elk Thunder got elected, was law enforcement worried that he’d overstep his
bounds and ask the tribal cops to turn a blind eye to his activities?”

“Yes. No one in this office was happy he won the election. Our old tribal police chief,
Darwin Swallow, requested early retirement. Then he moved to Arizona.”

“How did Elk Thunder win?”

“Members of the tribe want to believe things would get better. There would be new
jobs. There would be new houses. Better health care. Better opportunities for young
people. Elk Thunder played on that, without promising it. He’s pretty charismatic.”
She shrugged. “He didn’t win by much, but it was enough.”

“Any other high-profile tribal members resign a position after Elk Thunder took office?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“I appreciate your candor, Fergie.” I slipped on my coat.

“Will any agents be around tomorrow?”

“Probably not here. But if somebody races in and confesses to the murders, give Agent
Turnbull or me a call at the Rapid City FBI office.”

I recognized the street address Fergie gave me as being in a newer development on
the outskirts of Eagle River. The Elk Thunder abode was one of the nicest houses:
a brick ranch style, with a two-car garage and a circular driveway in front. A chain-link
fence ran down both sides of the house, keeping critters and trespassers out of the
backyard.

I parked in the circle and admired the landscape as I walked up to the front door.
I rang the doorbell twice.

The door flew open, and Triscell warned, “I told you kids not to—Oh, Agent . . .”

“Gunderson,” I supplied.

“Obviously, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Elk Thunder, but I was on my way home, after an interview
regarding Arlette’s case, and I realized I hadn’t done a follow-up interview with
you.”

“Do you have any leads on who killed Arlette?”

“Not yet. Your husband asked the same question.” I inched closer to the door, wanting
a peek at the presidential palace. “Is he home?”

“Yes, but he’s on the phone. Tribal council business. It can take hours.”

So much for my testing the water and hitting him up for a loan. “Ah.” I stared at
her long enough that she realized she hadn’t invited me inside.

“Sorry, come in.”

I suspected I wouldn’t make it off the tiled foyer. But I could see the room beyond
the fake marble arches. No colorful Indian artwork or decor anywhere in the living
area. The entire room—from the couches to the end tables to the carpet to the walls—was
white: hues ranging from pristine white, to off-white, to vanilla, to cream. I wondered
what Rollie would say about that. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you. We’ve worked hard for it. No one knows how much energy it takes to own
a business.”

I made appropriate affirmative noises.

“So are you here because that other girl was found dead?” she asked. “And are the
cases connected?”

“That’s what we’re working on.” I blathered about some random, pointless procedural
stuff until I sensed her impatience. Then I pulled a Columbo, smiling before I apologized
for rambling. “Oh, one more thing before I let you get back to what you were doing.
I understand you’re an herbalist, using traditional Native American herbs?”

“I dabble. Why?”

“I have friends who dabble, too. It seems there’d be a lot of different things to
store and to remember. What ingredients can be mixed together, and what cannot be
mixed together. Do you have a special area where you work?”

She leaned against the wall, more at ease. “No, I work in the kitchen. There’s really
not that much to mix, since I make small batches for my own use.”

“Small batches of what?”

“Facial products. Natural ointments for sore muscles.”

I nodded. “I love arnica gel. Did Arlette ever use any of your natural products?”

“No.”

“Nothing? That’s unfortunate. I hope your husband takes advantage of your herbal expertise.”

She smiled. “Oh, he does. He knows just as much about herbs and cures as I do.”

Bingo. “Do you concoct herbal teas? I know Sophie was always trying to get me to drink
her rose hip and marshmallow root tea.”
Such a liar, Mercy.

Triscell’s smile faded. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

I’d hit a nerve. But for teas? “It’s probably not. Well, except for the fact Arlette
had poison in her body. Digitalis? Ever heard of it? Nasty stuff.”

“Are you accusing me of poisoning my niece? Because if that’s your
assumption, I can assure you that your commander at the FBI will get—”

“No, ma’am, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just asking. This information didn’t
come up until after you’d been in the tribal PD, and we’ve not had a chance to speak
to you or your husband about it, since he slapped us with a no-contact order where
you’re concerned.”

Her eyes turned frosty. “Latimer did that? Well, I certainly had no knowledge of it.
And I wouldn’t have agreed with his decision. Death is too common around here, and
you can ignore it until it happens to your family.” She straightened her spine. “So
ask your questions, because I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Maybe she didn’t, but I’d bet her husband did. “Since our findings indicated the poison
was in something Arlette ingested, we want to cover all avenues. Especially with teens
putting crazy stuff in hookahs and smoking it. Or mixing up more potent energy drinks.”
I paused. “Arlette didn’t show an interest in learning traditional natural herbal
remedies from you? Or would that be something she’d try on her own? And maybe she’d
accidentally screwed it up by using the wrong herb?”