Merciless

by Lori Armstrong

  “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?”

  “I don’t keep foxglove on hand just for that reason.”

  “Oh, smart.”

  “Not that it matters. If food didn’t come prepackaged, or wasn’t full of fat, salt, and sugar, she wouldn’t eat it. Arlette had an aversion to anything natural.”

  I wondered if this woman had made her niece feel fat, or like a freak. In that moment I had a pang of sorrow for Arlette and Verline. I took two steps back. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Elk Thunder. If you have any questions how the case is progressing, don’t hesitate to contact Carsten McGillis, your FBI victim specialist.”

  • • •

  Agent Turnbull wasn’t in the office the next day, so I couldn’t share my interesting findings about Latimer’s business practices and Triscell Elk Thunder’s herbalist skills. And because I’d already been reamed for not sharing information in a timely manner, I tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up. I learned from Frances that he was stuck in court.

  The following day, I’d had several cases to follow up on that weren’t related to the murder cases in Eagle River. One involving a wiretap of an alleged member of a biker gang and his threats against a judge. Another involving the placement of a witness in protective custody with the U.S. Marshals Service in preparation for testimony in a federal case.

  By the time I caught up with Turnbull in the conference room right before lunch, I wished I’d steered clear of him. Talk about manic highs and lows. I found myself biting my tongue so as not to ask if he’d taken his bipolar meds.

  When I tried to relay what I’d pieced together, Shay waved me off. “None of that matters now.”

  “None of the work I did on these cases for the last two days matters? Really? Even if it changes the course of the investigation?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Did you get a confession from someone?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then like I said, your busywork doesn’t matter.”

  Busywork? Man, he was a total asshole today. “So?”

  “So, is Rollie Rondeaux on your suspect list?”

  “No, but that’s—”

  “The problem. Rollie is your friend, and he played you, Mercy. Don’t you see that?”

  Shay’s arrogance kicked my belligerence into high gear. “By telling me about the string of suspicious deaths that’d gone unnoticed by the tribal police? That’s playing me? Because I consider the initial information Rollie provided crucial to this case. No one in the tribal PD or the FBI connected the dots—”

  “Until he told you to look for the connection,” Shay snapped. “He told you there’d be more deaths. And doesn’t that strike you as odd, Agent Gunderson? That Mr. Rondeaux, a man who’s made no bones about his hatred for law enforcement on any level, was suddenly helping us? Then the next victim just happens to be his domestic partner? Coincidental and convenient, don’t you think?”

  Turnbull’s implication was wrong. I’d witnessed the look on Rollie’s face after he’d seen what’d been done to Verline. He’d masked it quickly, but that type of horrified anguish couldn’t have been faked.

  I dropped my hands behind my back so Shay couldn’t see me clenching my fists. “So you still believe Rollie killed Arlette to throw everyone off, just so he could get rid of Verline? Bullshit.”

  “Do you have any proof besides your gut instinct, Agent Gunderson?”

  “I’m not discounting the tribal president as a suspect. Too many tribal members don’t like him, which makes me wonder if the election was rigged because the margin was so close. I can’t fit it all together yet, but he’s too slick. He didn’t miss a beat after Arlette was found dead, and he was far too eager to pin his niece’s murder on Rollie Rondeaux before Verline’s body had even cooled.”

  “So the tribal president … what? Offed his niece because she was a nuisance? Then he aced his political rival’s lover to throw suspicion onto Rollie for both murders? Huh-uh. Not buying it.”

  “What about the fact Verline’s body was found at the dump? Is it coincidence that Bigs Bigelow owns that land? And he supported Latimer Elk Thunder’s opponent for tribal president? This is the second body with that common thread. You’re saying it’s just a coincidence?”

  “Maybe it’s too coincidental.” Shay studied me. “How much do you know about Rollie’s background in the marines during Vietnam?”

  “Enough to know that he did what he had to do to survive war. He did what he was ordered to do, no different than the rest of us who took orders from Uncle Sam. Besides, how do you know anything about his background? Military service records are sealed.” I’d always suspected Shay had accessed mine, and when I saw the brief gleam in his eye, I knew that checking up on Rollie wasn’t the first time he’d crossed the line.

  He gave me that cool-eyed stare.

  “Okay, Special Agent Turnbull, why don’t you tell me your suspects? Since you’ve exhausted and discounted all of my theories.�
��

  Shay poured himself a glass of water. He drank, jotted something in his notebook, and then turned it toward me.

  Two words were on the paper, in bold letters:

  ROLLIE RONDEAUX.

  “He’s my only suspect. He had a twofold purpose in killing Arlette. To prove to his son that when he gives an ultimatum about family rivals and alliances, he expects it to be followed. And to dick with Latimer Elk Thunder.

  “You told me Rollie warned there would be other dead women on the rez. And a week later his young girlfriend is dead? He doesn’t have an alibi. He suspects his son was sleeping with his girlfriend. He cut off her hand as a symbol of biting the hand that feeds you. He cut out her tongue because she knew that he’d killed Arlette and he suspected she’d blab. And you told me that Rollie is familiar with native herbal medicine. Verline had far more marks from being restrained than Arlette did, which indicated she struggled harder, which I attribute to her being intimately acquainted with her attacker. In each instance, Rollie had means, motive, and opportunity. That puts a check mark next to every single thing on my list, which confirms him as a suspect.” He pointed at me with his pen. “See, Agent Gunderson, you let your personal feelings for him color your judgment.”

  “And you let your hatred for him color yours.”

  That comment caught him off guard. “I don’t hate him. But I don’t trust him. I know he’s been on the wrong side of the law for years, and everyone always looks the other way. He’s not some harmless old man, Mercy.”

  “I never claimed he was.” My frustration with Turnbull’s refusal to consider other suspects definitely put starch in my tone. “While I’m looking elsewhere, you’ll be building a case against Rollie?”

  “No need to look elsewhere. Rollie Rondeaux is guilty. I’ve already built the case. We’ve got enough probable cause to ask the assistant U.S. attorney to take this case to the grand jury.”

  My mouth dropped open. “How can we possibly have enough evidence to ask for an indictment?”

  “We’ll ask for this to be presented to the grand jury for investigation. That way we can serve a warrant to Rollie’s son, Junior Rondeaux. We’ll serve a warrant to the tribal president, Latimer Elk Thunder. We’ll use your testimony regarding what he told you after the first murder victim was discovered but before the second victim turned up. Rollie has firsthand knowledge of herbal medicine, and we can obtain a search warrant for his residence. That should be enough for an indictment and his subsequent arrest to stand trial.”