Merciless (6 page)

“One of my nicknames in the army was Gunny, which pissed off the marines we were stationed
with, because that name is used exclusively for
a male gunnery sergeant. They still gave me the stink eye after I pointed to my name
patch and explained Gunny was short for Gunderson.”

“Fucking jarheads,” she muttered. “I was in the air force for a decade, so I know
how they are.”

“You were military police?”

Fergie nodded. “Ended up stationed at Ellsworth for the last of my enlistment. Met
a native guy, moved to the rez, got a cop job . . . and here I am.”

“He fell in love with your lovely lady lumps?”

She grinned and started to retort, but the door swung inward, sucking the humor from
the room. The ashen face of a young Indian girl reminded us of our unpleasant task.

I stood and offered my hand. “Naomi? I’m Special Agent Gunderson of the FBI. Thank
you so much for coming in to speak with us.”

“Why don’t you sit here.” Officer Ferguson offered her a seat between us. “That way
we won’t have to shout at each other to be heard. You want coffee or water?”

Naomi shook her head and slid into the chair.

I studied her openly. Long, straight hair scraped back into a ponytail. Eyes heavily
lined with black eye shadow. She peeled back the oversized, black ski jacket. The
puffiness of her down-filled coat made her look much huskier than her actual slight
stature. Rings adorned all ten of her fingers. Her fingernails were painted black,
but the polish was mostly chipped off.

She tugged down a black T-shirt emblazoned with the words
TEAM JACOB,
and I bit back a groan. A
Twi
-hard. My sister had convinced me to watch the first
Twilight
movie, and I had done so with extreme cynicism, leaving on my running shoes to make
a fast getaway. But the flick was entertaining, despite the bucket loads of teen angst.

“Since you’re a minor, we can wait to begin until there’s a parent or guardian present.”

“My mom’s dead; my dad’s in jail. I live with my grandma, and she don’t get around
too good. I don’t need anyone’s permission to talk.”

I glanced at Fergie, and she shrugged, as if to indicate that this happened regularly.
“If it’s all right with you, we’ll start with the basics. How well did you know Arlette?”

Naomi twisted her rings. “We hung out. We liked the same books.”

“What kind of books?”

“Vampire ones, mostly.” Her chin came up, daring me to make fun of her.

I played dumb. “Vampire books like
Dracula
or the ones Anne Rice writes?”

“No. Like the
Twilight
series.” She pointed to her T-shirt. “Like the
Vampire Academy
series.
The Vampire Diaries.
”

“Ah. Did you and Arlette see each other outside of school hours to talk about your
shared interest of vampire books?”

“Yes, as often as we could.”

“Would you meet at her house?”

She paused. “Sometimes. But her uncle hated when she had people over. He complained
he wanted to watch his TV in peace and quiet without loud teenagers around.”

“How was her relationship with her uncle?”

“In front of other people, like tribal members, he acted as if he liked having her
around. But when it was just them two and her aunt? He wasn’t nice to her, and she
heard him say he couldn’t wait until she was gone.”

My gaze narrowed. “Did you hear him say that?”

“Once. On one of the rare times I stayed over at her house. I needed a drink of water,
and I overheard him and Arlette’s aunt arguing in the living room. He said he’d never
wanted kids—his own or anyone else’s—and maybe if they were lucky, Arlette would screw
up just like her mother had, and then they’d be rid of her.”

“Did you tell Arlette what you overheard?”

She shook her head. “It would’ve made her feel worse because she knew her uncle didn’t
want her around.”

Rotten luck to overhear such a cruel remark in light of what
happened to her friend. “Did Arlette ever tell you that her uncle physically hurt
her? Or threatened to hurt her?”

“I don’t think so. He just said mean shit to her all the time. Especially after he’d
been drinking.” Naomi’s eyes widened with fear. “You won’t tell him I said any of
that?”

“No. Everything you tell us is confidential.” I glanced up from the scant notes I’d
jotted in my notebook. “Who else did Arlette hang around with?”

“We were both kinda loners. People made fun of our interest in vampire books.” Naomi
scowled. “She sometimes hung out with Mackenzie Red Shirt. But only when Mackenzie
wanted something.”

“Like what?”

“Like a ride to one of the parties out at Dickie’s slough. Or if she wanted Arlette
to do a report for her.”

“What would Arlette get in return?”

Naomi became interested in the frayed end of her scarf.

After a silent minute or two, Officer Ferguson prompted, “Naomi?”

She looked up at me. “Mackenzie kept promising to introduce Arlette to this older
guy she’d been crushing on.”

“Did Mackenzie ever follow through?”

“Yeah.” Tears swam in her eyes. “That’s when everything changed. When Arlette changed.
She started lying to her aunt about where she was going. She stopped caring about
her schoolwork.”

Now, maybe this was making sense. “Who was the guy?”

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me. She just called him J.”

Naomi must’ve sensed my skepticism because she blurted out, “I swear it’s the truth!
Arlette said she found her Jacob but he wanted to keep their relationship secret.
When I told her that was a bad thing, she accused me of being jealous. I should’ve
made her tell me! I should’ve . . . done something, because now she’s dead!” Naomi
set her head on the conference table and sobbed.

I wished Carsten was here. I stared at the bawling girl, unable to comfort her because
petting and soothing weren’t my way. I waited, quietly
tapping my pen on my notepad to the same cadence of my boot tapping on the floor.
Fergie poured a glass of water and passed it to Naomi, offering the gentle, encouraging
pat on the back I couldn’t.

The girl lifted her head and wiped the moisture from her face. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” I asked.

“That Arlette was staked through the heart. With a wooden stake? Just like . . .”

A vampire.

Another chill zigzagged up my spine. Why hadn’t Triscell Elk Thunder mentioned Arlette’s
obsession with the
Twilight
series and anything vampire-related?

She had to’ve known.

Did you know everything about Levi’s interests?

No. But I hadn’t lived with Levi, either.

“Yes, Naomi, I’m afraid it is true,” Fergie said gently.

“Oh God. That’s so sick—” Her voice caught on a sob, but somehow she didn’t break
down.

“When was the last time you saw her or talked to her?”

She sniffled. “The day we had the fight.”

Poor girl. Talk about guilt. A fight with her friend, and then she winds up dead.
I handed her a tissue. “How long was that before Arlette disappeared?”

“Three days.”

“Had Arlette ever mentioned wanting to run away?”

“No. She didn’t like it here, but she knew she’d have to graduate to get outta here
for good.” More tears welled up. “We talked about leaving together. Until she started
spending all of her time with J.”

Jealousy was a powerful emotion. Still, I had a hard time believing Naomi would murder
Arlette because she’d ditched her for a guy. Even if the guy Arlette bragged about
was her “Jacob.”

God. Teens really took the fictional world that seriously?

My freakin’ head was about to explode.

Officer Ferguson jumped in. “Did everyone know you and Arlette had a falling-out?”

Naomi shook her head. “And no one would’ve cared anyway.”

“Anything else you care to add?”

Another head shake.

“Okay. Thanks for your help. If we think of anything else, can we call you?” I glanced
down at the paperwork and rattled off the numbers. “That’s your cell phone number?”

“Yeah.”

“I imagine it goes everywhere with you.”

“I guess.”

“Did Arlette always have her phone with her?”

“Not during school hours. She kept it in her locker because she got it taken away
by the principal once and her uncle freaked out. Why?”

“Because Arlette’s phone was found in her locker. You think she just went someplace
and forgot it?”

Naomi slid her arms into her coat sleeves. “Nope. That means she left school before
lunch and planned to come back.”

•   •   •

Mackenzie Red Shirt, our next interviewee, didn’t show.

I returned to the empty conference room after a brief bathroom break, trying to sort
through my notes. What would be the best way to track down Miss Red Shirt and convince
her to tell us Arlette’s mystery guy’s name? I also wanted to talk to Triscell. I’d
taken her vague, flustered state as a result of grief. So it surprised me to see a
“No contact without permission from the tribal president” note on the file. That made
zero sense.

I was lost in thought and didn’t notice that Turnbull had entered the conference room
until he parked his butt on the table next to my papers.

He actually gave me a warm smile. “Great job with the friend.”

I leaned back in my seat. I hated how he invaded my personal
space—and he was aware of it, so naturally he did it as often as possible. “Had you
made the connection between the stake in the victim’s heart and vampires?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, but I dismissed it. I’m still not convinced there
is any correlation. But I ain’t gonna write it off as coincidence.” Shay spun my notebook
around to read my notes. Then his gaze hooked mine.

Damn man had the most compelling eyes. I could say that objectively, when he wasn’t
annoying the piss out of me. He’d hit the lottery as far as good looks. Sporting the
best of his Native American ancestry, he had chiseled cheekbones, smooth skin, and
hair as black as tar worn long enough to brush the edges of his prominent jaw. His
body appeared long and lean, but I’d trained with him at the gym and knew firsthand
that well-honed muscles lurked beneath his casual work clothes. Add in his dazzling
smile, an abundance of charm, and Shay Turnbull was a force to be reckoned with.

When he wanted to be.

So I wondered what he wanted now. “What?”

“Have you had lunch?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m following up on another case and wondered if you wanted me to bring you something
back from Taco John’s?”

Thoughtful. And so very un-Shay-like. “Sure. Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Cool. Oh, and while I’m gone, could you make copies of the files I gave the receptionist?”
He leveled that charming smile on me.

And . . . that was
very
Shay-like. But I’d get lunch out of the deal, so I wouldn’t complain.

•   •   •

After lunch, I headed to my pickup to grab a sweater because the conference room we
were working in was like a meat locker.

It’d been a while since I’d been waylaid in a parking lot during the
day. To my credit, I didn’t pull my gun on the young Indian woman leaning against
my truck, angrily puffing on a cigarette.

“Are you Gunderson?” she demanded.

“Yeah. How’d you know this was my vehicle?”

“FBI tag in the window. Good way to get your tires slashed.”

“I’ll take that under advisement. Who are you?”

“Mackenzie Red Shirt.”

Ah. The no-show teenage interviewee. “Well, Mackenzie, you’re late. I can spare a
half hour if you wanna go back inside—”

“No fuckin’ way am I goin’ into the cop shop.”

“Why’d you volunteer to come in?”

“I
didn’t
volunteer.” She inhaled quickly and blew out a violent stream of smoke. “That little
bitch Naomi called and told me she signed me up. She set me up.”

My gaze flicked to the main road. We weren’t exactly inconspicuous. “So why are you
here?”

Mackenzie glared at me. “To find out what Naomi said.”

“Why not just ask her?”

“I tried, but she wouldn’t tell me nothin’.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you what . . . jumped Naomi after she left?”
I tsk-tsked. “Not the brightest crayon in the box, are you, Mackenzie? Threatening
another minor in full view of the
cop shop
.”

“I didn’t leave a mark on her.”

A bully. Lovely. One who used words was no different than one who used fists. The
only thing a bully understands is another bully. “Am I supposed to be impressed? Here’s
the truth: leaving bruises is a more effective threat than reducing a girl to tears.”
I leaned closer. “Need a personal demonstration on how that one works?”

Her eyes showed a hint of fear. “No.”

“First smart thing you’ve said. Now move it so I can get to my truck.”

That caught her off guard. “But . . . I thought you wanted to talk to me.”

“I did. But now after meeting you? I doubt anything you’ll tell me will help our case.”

“Oh yeah?” An indignant Mackenzie aimed a cool look at me. “What’s it worth to tell
you the name of the guy I hooked Arlette up with?”

“You’re expecting I’ll pay you for that information?” I laughed. “Wrong. Besides,
Naomi already told us.” I tossed the baited hook out, waiting for her to jerk on the
line.

“Bullshit. How could she’ve told you when she don’t know his name?”

“What makes you think Naomi doesn’t know?” I paused a beat and feigned surprise. “Oh.
Right. I’ll bet when you threatened her, she swore she didn’t know anything and didn’t
tell us anything. And you believed her.” I shrugged. “I would’ve lied, too.”

“What did that bitch tell you?” she snapped.

“Sorry. Confidential information.”

Mackenzie whipped her cigarette down, not bothering to tamp it out before she stormed
off.

I braced myself for more accusations when she stomped back.