Merciless

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by Lori Armstrong


  “So when did you come home to Eagle River?”

  “Six years ago. My uncle Harold … he’s my only living relative. He’s getting on in years, took me in after my folks died, so I owe him. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah.” I thought of Sophie. “I’ve got someone in my life like that, too.”

  He smiled and adjusted his glasses. “Luckily, I’d been in office work in the guard for years, so I was qualified to take over this job, managing the archives. It made it easier for my uncle to retire, knowing this place was in good hands.”

  Would my father have felt relief if he’d known I was on my way back to the ranch as he lay dying in a rented hospital bed?

  “Mercy?”

  I glanced up at Sheldon. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

  “I said I’m trying to get my uncle to start a hobby.”

  “I’m too old to start a hobby now. I can’t imagine trying to tackle one twenty-some years from now.”

  Sheldon cocked his head. “Don’t you have any hobbies?”

  I doubted drinking counted as a hobby. “I run. Practice yoga. Hunt. Some people in my family call me a hobby rancher.” By the expectant look on his face, I guessed he wanted me to ask him about his hobbies. “How about you?”

  “Oh, nothing too exciting. I’m a history buff. Amateur photographer. I told you I do a little hunting. I’m interested in traditional native herbal remedies. And I’m an avid ornithologist.”

  I frowned. “You’re an orthodontist?”

  He laughed. “You are a funny one. I said I’m an ornithologist. A bird-watcher.”

  Jesus. Seriously? He was into bird-watching? That’s where I drew the conversational line. I pushed back from the desk. “I probably better stop yakking and get some work done.”

  “No problem. I’m running behind schedule myself. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I did an Internet search for Arlene Dupris. I found a ten-year-old obit—she had died from injuries sustained in a hit-and-run. My gaze moved to the police case files. Since the place was über-organized, it didn’t take long to find the right box with the file. I flipped though it and read it where I stood.

  Ten years ago, Arlene Dupris was struck down a mile outside Eagle River. By the time she was discovered in the ditch, she was already dead. The tribal cops tried to pass the investigation to the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department, who’d passed it right back. No investigation at all, just shoved aside by two law enforcement agencies.

  No wonder the Dupris family had an issue with cops. I wondered why my dad had just filed this case. How many other times had he done that? Curiosity got the better of me, and I started looking through random case files.

  My phone rang, and the caller ID read DAWSON. “Gunderson.”

  “Hey, babe. How’s it going?”

  Babe. So much for professionalism. “It sucks ass, cupcake.”

  He laughed at my term of endearment.

  “I’m wishing you would’ve pushed harder to keep the case within the purview of the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department, Sheriff.”

  He snorted. “Right. Then Fabio wouldn’t get to play tough FBI mentor to impress you.”

  That sounded almost like … jealousy.

  “The reason I called is because I’m getting off so I’ll pick Lex up today.”

  I glanced at the computer clock. Almost two hours had passed. Crap. I probably needed to get back to the police station. “Good thing. I’ll be in interviews the rest of the day. Lex mentioned needing to go to Rapid for school supplies.”

  “I’ll get him there. Since Sophie won’t be here, you want me to cook supper?”

  “Depends on what you plan to cook.”

  “How about antelope?”

  “Didn’t we decide to turn all that meat into jerky?”

  “Nope. I kept the backstraps.”

  “Of my antelope meat? Or yours?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does only if you’re bragging to Lex about how studly you are in putting meat on the table.”

  “Smart-ass. You want me to confess to my son you’re a better hunter than me?”

  “It’d be the truth, because I am a much better hunter than you.”

  He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “But you can process a kill faster.”

  “Such a sweet talker, Sergeant Major. I’ll see you at home.”

  I returned everything to its proper place. I deleted the history on the computer in case chatty Sheldon got snoopy. I ripped out the two pages of notes I’d jotted down and set the notebook on Sheldon’s desk. “I’ve gotta run. Thanks for your help today.”

  “Happy to assist. And you’re welcome back here any time, Agent Gunderson.”

  I didn’t remember to ask Sheldon about the weird doors I’d seen on the backside of the building until I was inside the tribal PD.

  All hell had broken loose, and I forgot about it entirely.

  11

  Yells of outrage and flailing arms greeted me when I entered tribal police headquarters.

  Verline’s family members were attacking Rollie with their fists and their voices.

  Several tribal cops stepped in to stop it, but there were five Dupris women and three cops. Bad odds.

  So I jumped into the fray. I kept my back to Rollie, figuring he wouldn’t take a swing at me. But someone did land two blows to my head in rapid succession, directly on my ear. The immediate burst of pain caused me to lose my balance.

  That pissed me off.

  And it didn’t seem like the officers intended to restrain anyone, so I did.

  Grabbing a zip tie from my pocket, I snatched somebody’s arm midblow. I jerked the wrist; the body attached lurched forward. I saw a surprised look on Maureen Dupris’s face a split second before I spun her around, immobilized her hands, and shoved her to her knees.

  Another zip tie, another flailing arm, and I put Carline in the same position as her sister.

  Nita glared at me as Officer Orson restrained her. I faced the other women I didn’t know; I assumed they were more of Nita’s daughters. “You will back off right now, or I will throw all of you in jail for attempted assault on a federal officer, understand?”

  The women aimed defiant looks at me.

  Nita sneered, “Try it.”

  Without breaking eye contact with Nita, I said, “Officer Orson, cuff her.”

  Protests rang out around me, but I ignored them.

  Once Nita was cuffed, I stepped back. “Put her in interview room one.”

  “What about him?” Officer Ferguson asked of Rollie.

  “Put him in interview room two.”

  “You can’t just leave us out here like this,” Maureen complained.

  “I can put you in a holding cell, if you’d rather,” I offered.

  “We need to be with our mother. She’s grieving. She’s … not thinking straight.”

  I suspected Nita was the one who had sucker punched me. “Her grief hasn’t seemed to affect her aim, so she stays in cuffs until she calms down.” I looked at each one of them in turn. “We’ll interview you separately, so make yourselves comfy on that bench.”

  I’d left my purse in my pickup. So much for popping a couple of Excedrin to stave off a headache. I was rubbing the spot between my eyes when Turnbull blocked my path.

  His gaze roamed over my face and stopped at my reddened ear. “You always seem to end up in the line of fire.”

  “Story of my life. I don’t suppose you’ve got any aspirin?”

  “I’ll track some down.” Turnbull threw a look over his shoulder. “The tribal police chief is insisting on sitting in during the interviews.”

  I groaned. “More jurisdictional bullshit?”

  “Yeah. And without you thinking I’m sexist, I believe the best division of labor is for you to question the Dupris family and I’ll question Rondeaux.”

  There was more to it than that. “And we don’t want anyone questioning
whether I was impartial with Rollie, since I have a personal relationship with him.”

  “Exactly. But I want to observe your sessions and I want you present when I talk to Rollie. Okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Turnbull opened the door to interview room one.

  Nita Dupris stood beside the window. She turned and bestowed another lovely look of hatred upon me.

  Tribal Police Chief Looks Twice entered after us, followed by Officer Ferguson and Carsten.

  She raised a blond brow at me. “Is it necessary to keep her cuffed?”

  I looked at Nita. “Do you plan on taking another swing at me?”

  She shook her head.

  I signaled to Officer Orson to remove the cuffs. On his way out the door I said, “Would you keep an eye on the daughters?”

  We sat around the conference table. I inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly and silently. “Miz Dupris, this is not a formal interview. You are not being charged with anything. Do you understand?”

  A fuck-you look, but no response.

  “I will need a verbal confirmation from you that you understand why you’re here.”

  “Fine. I know why I’m here. Get on with the questions.”

  “Did your daughter Verline live with you permanently?”

  “No. She’s been livin’ with Rollie Rondeaux for the last three years. But she and her babies had been staying with me.”

  “For how long?”

  “About five days.”

  “Was she in your residence for the majority of those five days?”

  “No. She took off the morning of the third day, and she ain’t been back.”

  “And this didn’t concern you?”

  She shrugged. “Verline … well, she’s young. She’s got two little ones and an old man who don’t care about her or them babies. She needs a break once in a while. She hangs out with her friends a few days and then she comes back.”

  “Who are her friends?”

  “She don’t tell me.”

  “Where does she go?”

  Her lips flattened. “She don’t tell me that neither.”

  “What’s the longest you remember her being gone?”

  “Five or six days.”

  “Do you have any idea where she spent those days?”

  “Nope.”

  “So you weren’t concerned when you hadn’t heard from her?”

  Nita shook her head.

  “She doesn’t even call you to check on her children when she takes these breaks?”

  “Not usually. She knows they’re better off with me than with Rollie.” Nita leaned closer. “I ain’t gonna let that old man have them. He ain’t any more a father to them than the police chief is. And now they’re all I’ll have left of my baby girl—” Her voice broke.

  Carsten poured her a glass of water and spoke in low, comforting tones.

  When she’d settled, I resumed the questions. “Had Verline mentioned any threats against her?”

  “Only the ones from Rollie. He said he’d throw her ass in the street if she got knocked up again.”

  That sounded like a Rollie bluff.

  “Rollie also said that he’d kill her if he ever found out she was fucking around on him. He’d kill her and not lose a wink of sleep over it. I heard him say that one time when they were fighting on the phone.”

  No mistaking that as a bluff.

  “Did she owe anyone money?”

  Nita frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “Had she been accused of taking something that didn’t belong to her?”

  “I don’t know. Why does that matter?”

  Because her hand had been chopped off like a thief’s. “Was she involved in any illegal activity? Like selling drugs?” I sensed Carsten’s displeasure with the question, but she didn’t object.

  “Verline didn’t do drugs, and she stayed far away from people that sell them and do them.”

  I asked a couple more questions, but it was becoming apparent Nita was just a babysitter, not Verline’s confidante.

  “Can you think of anything else that might help us?” I asked.

  “That sly bastard Rollie Rondeaux had something to do with her getting killed. Even if he didn’t do it, he somehow made it happen. He wanted to be rid of her. And he knows I will fight him tooth and nail on getting permanent guardianship. I’ve done it with my boys’ kids, and I’ll do it for Verline’s babies, too.”

  “Thank you, Miz Dupris. We’ll be in touch.”

  I scribbled in my notebook as Carsten walked out and brought in the next family member.

  The interviews with the sisters were short. None of them had seen Verline during the missing days, but all of them were convinced Rollie Rondeaux had killed her. None could offer proof, but they all believed it.

  The last sister to come in was Doreen. She asked if her answers would be confidential, and I had a glimmer of hope that she could provide new information. When I asked if she had any idea where Verline might’ve spent those missing three days, she said most likely with Junior Rondeaux.

  There was our first lead.

  Shay, Carsten, and Officer Ferguson left to escort the Dupris family out of the station, leaving me with the tribal police chief. I said, “No love lost between the Dupris family and Rondeaux family?”

  “Ain’t just the Dupris family that takes issues with Rondeaux.”

  I shut my notebook before I met the police chief’s eyes. “You’ve known Rollie Rondeaux a long time. You’ve been a cop on this reservation for years. Do you think Rollie could’ve done that to Verline?”

  Tribal Police Chief Looks Twice fidgeted. Then he sighed again. “I honestly don’t know. But I do know we’ve been making the man wait for over an hour. I’ll be surprised if he hasn’t left.”

  The five of us paused outside the other interview room. Turnbull handed me three aspirins and a bottle of water before leading the way inside.

  Rollie was hunkered down in his chair and appeared to be sleeping. But as soon as we gathered around the table, he looked up.

  His red-rimmed eyes made my heart hurt.

  “Thanks for waiting, Mr. Rondeaux,” Carsten said.

  “I don’t suppose you can tell me anything Verline’s family said about me, hey.”

  “Afraid not,” Turnbull said brusquely. “So let’s get started. When was the last time you saw Verline?”

  “Five days ago.”

  “And was everything all right between you?”

  Rollie shook his head, and the braids by his temples swayed.

  “Care to elaborate?” Turnbull asked curtly.

  No response, which annoyed Turnbull.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Rondeaux,” Carsten said softly. “Take your time.”

  Finally, Rollie said, “We had a big fight. Same old, same old. She’s young, I’m not. She wanted more than just bein’ my live-in, and I wasn’t about to put a ring on her finger.”

  “What happened after the fight?”

  “Again, same old, same old. She packed a bag, shoved the kids in the car, and took off for her mom’s place.”

  Shay tapped his pen on his pad of paper. “How often did that happen?”

  Rollie scratched his chin. “I reckon once every two or three months. First time it’s happened since she had the last baby. But that didn’t change the way she acted. Verline don’t call, she stays away until she works her mad off. By that time she’s sick of stayin’ with her mom, so she comes back to me.”

  “Were you ever worried when you didn’t hear from her?”

  “Worried to the point I file a missing-persons report? Nope.”

  “Didn’t it bother you when she took off with your kids and dumped them at her mom’s house?”

  “Course it bothered me. Nothin’ I could do about it. She wasn’t gonna listen to me. She was young. And as she pointed out, I ain’t got no claim on her.”

  “Did you have any idea what she was doing and who she was doing it with when she disap
peared for a few days?”

  Rollie went very still. “I heard rumors. Never confirmed or denied.”

  “Would any of those rumors ever cause you to become violent with Verline?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “How would you describe your relationship with the two children you and Verline have together?”

  “No different than the relationships I’ve had with my other kids. They’re both babies. Attached to her teat. Alls they care about is her. They don’t need me for nothin’.”

  I got the impression that that didn’t particularly bother him.

  Turnbull wrote in his notebook. “You didn’t want more kids? Were you mad that she got pregnant?”

  “Having more babies at my age wasn’t something I wanted. It was something Verline did.”

  “So you didn’t threaten her?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you know anyone else who might’ve threatened her?”

  Rollie just stared at him.

  Tension thickened the air.

  After a minute or so, Shay prompted, “Mr. Rondeaux?”

  “I have many enemies, Agent Turnbull. But none have been so bold as to threaten my family, let alone act on it. But perhaps that’s what this is about, eh? To prove a point to me?”

  Why hadn’t I thought of revenge on Rollie as a motive for killing Verline? Rollie was well connected, but that didn’t translate into well liked. Plenty of folks would love to see his intricate web of favors dismantled. What better way to do that than to put him under police suspicion that he’d killed his estranged lover?

  When Rollie’s gaze connected with mine, I saw nothing in his eyes. My stomach roiled, and my heart nearly stopped. I’d existed in that black vortex for years, and I recognized that blank look in him; I saw it in my own eyes in the mirror after I’d snuffed a life. And for the first time, I realized that my friend … might be guilty of murder. Or more than one murder.

  “What about your son?”

  “Which son?” Rollie asked Turnbull, tearing his gaze away from mine.

  “Junior. He lived with you and Verline for a while. Why did you kick him out?”

  He said, “My prerogative,” and nothing else.

  For the next four questions, Rollie gave one word answers.

 

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