Merciless

18

I thought I might have problems staying awake during the drive to the ranch, but I focused on the sunrise. The purple horizon morphed into pink-hues ranging from bubblegum to salmon to cotton candy-finally bleeding into the orange and peach tones of dawn.

First thing we did after stumbling out of the truck was feed the dogs. Strange to beat Jake to that morning chore.

Then I started making calls.

Lex stayed beside me as I gave Deputy Moore the lowdown about Dawson’s condition. She didn’t say much. I realized I probably should’ve called her earlier so she could have filled Mason’s shift. I shut off Dawson’s cell phone and put it in his T-shirt drawer.

Next I called Hope. I pleaded exhaustion and promised to let her know when we woke up.

I called Shay last. I needed his gruff demeanor more than sympathy.

Lex was damn near falling asleep on his feet, so I marched him to his room. He let me tuck him in.

Too damn wired to sleep, I paced. I sorted laundry. Geneva called to inform me that she’d be over later with food.

Word got around fast in Eagle River County, and the home phone began to ring off the hook. I appreciated that the sheriff garnered such genuine concern, but it was emotionally draining to have to repeatedly explain what had happened.

I checked on Lex and finally crawled into bed myself.

I woke a little after three, not refreshed but grateful for dreamless sleep. I’d left the door unlocked and saw food piled on the table. As I contemplated snatching a cookie, a knock sounded. Shay let himself into the kitchen. Looking around, he took off his coat and draped it over the chair.

The words Make yourself comfy dried on my tongue.

I leaned against the doorjamb separating the kitchen and the living room, still in my pajamas.

His eyes met mine. He seemed at a loss for what to do with his hands. Finally, he said, “Jesus, Mercy. I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t move. He came to me. Standoffish Shay hugged me. Surrounded by warmth from his body, I hadn’t realized I’d been so cold until I started to shake.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Still, I didn’t cry. Mason would’ve swept me into his arms and held me until the shakes stopped.

But Shay wasn’t Dawson. He held on to me as long as he could stand it. Then he settled me on a chair, poured me a glass of Wild Turkey, and tersely said, “Drink.”

I drank. As soon as the glass was empty he poured another.

At some point I realized Shay had taken my hands while I stared at the second glass of whiskey. One night last year I’d done shots, determined to keep track of how many I could handle before I passed out. Fifteen. It wouldn’t take that many belts right now. Tempting, to test that theory.

“Mercy?” Shay’s voice snapped me out of my imagined alcoholic stupor. “What have you been doing?”

“Pacing. Sleeping. Wondering how I’ll get through the next week.”

“That’s how long…”

“They’re keeping him sedated? Yeah. It sucks.”

“I bet.”

I told him about the limited visiting hours. Five minutes an hour. “It sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

I told him about the “wait and see” diagnosis. “It sucks.”

“Hanging out with an eleven-year-old boy hasn’t done your vocabulary any favors.”

“You suck.”

He smiled softly, and then it faded. “Talk to me.”

“I will go crazy one minute at a time if I don’t have something to take my mind off this.” I’d already felt myself slipping into that deep pit of despair. Questioning why I ever thought I could be happy for any amount of time because something bad always happened and ruined it.

“What can I do?”

“Put me to work. I can’t stand around for a week and wring my hands.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” I inhaled. Exhaled slowly. “Did you work on the cases this weekend?”

“Some.”

“Did you get anywhere?”

“Not really.”

“I got to thinking that I hadn’t told you about Penny’s son Devlin and his gambling problem. He owes money all over the place, including to Saro, Rollie, and Latimer-”

“Mercy, stop.”

Confused, I looked at him.

“Your focus needs to be elsewhere this week. Not on the cases.”

“But-”

Shay shook his head and squeezed my hands. “Don’t try to bury yourself in work. It won’t help. Trust me, I know. You’ve got more important things to deal with.”

The stairs creaked, and Lex raced into the kitchen, stopping upon seeing Shay sitting so close to me, holding my hands, while I was in my pajamas.

I eased back. “Hey, Lex, you remember my coworker Shay Turnbull?”

He shook his head. “Have you heard any news about my dad?”

“No, I promised I’d wake you up if I did.”

“So when can we go to the hospital?” His gaze landed on my empty lowball glass. “You haven’t been drinking all day, have you?” He stepped closer, sniffled the air like a human Breathalyzer.

“I’m fine. We should both eat something before we go.”

Lex’s mouth turned mutinous. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am. So park it. As soon as we eat, we’ll go.”

“Is he coming with us?” Lex asked suspiciously.

“Nope. No visitors, remember?”

Shay took that as his cue to leave.

I walked him outside. “I appreciate your driving out. I…” I wanted to ask him to stay longer and felt stupid for it.

“Hey.” He grabbed my hand, forcing my attention. “Anything you need. Anytime, day or night. Call me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He retreated. “I’ll see if I can arrange for you to help Carsten at the VS office in Eagle River this week.”

“Thanks.” I watched his Blazer disappear down the driveway before I returned inside.

I microwaved two helpings of Geneva’s chicken pot pie. Lex finished his in approximately three mouthfuls and was out the door, waiting in the truck, before I swallowed my last bite.

Usually, I didn’t mind the silence between us, but at this moment, it was choking me. About halfway into town, I asked, “Do you miss your mom?”

Lex squirmed. “Sometimes. But I like it here better.”

Another silent void filled the cab. Then the boy started bouncing his feet. He leaned forward, burying his face in his knees and wrapping his arms around his calves.

“Lex. Are you gonna be sick?”

A muffled, “No.”

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

He raised his head. “Why did you ask about my mom? Is it because if my dad’s not all right, you’ll make me go back to Colorado to live with her?”

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Because if he’s in a wheelchair, I can take care of him and stuff. I promise I would be a really big help.”

Don’t cry. “I know.” I set my hand on his shoulder. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

• • •

Monday morning Lex looked up from his bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal when I entered the kitchen. I paused in front of the empty coffeepot. Mason made coffee in the morning. It was just another pointed reminder that he wasn’t here.

I snagged a Coke from the fridge. I turned around to see Lex frowning at me. “What?”

“Will they let you wear a gun at the hospital?”

“No, why?”

“So why do you have it on?”

“Because I have to go to work today, and you have to go to school.” His spoon clattered into his bowl. “What? No way. I’m going to the hospital to stay with my dad.”

“There’s nothing you can do at the hospital.”

“I can talk to him. You heard that nurse saying he can probably hear us. I want him to know I’m there.”

“Which is why we’ll visit him after you’re out of school this afternoon.”

His green eyes, identical to Mason’s, narrowed, and I recognized the look-ass chewing ahead.

“So you’re just gonna go to work today and forget about him like nothing happened?” Lex demanded. “What if he dies?”

“Don’t say that,” I snapped. “Don’t you ever say it, let alone think it, do you hear me?”

Lex dropped his tear-filled gaze.

Goddammit. I didn’t know how to do this. I probably should’ve hugged him-done anything besides yell at him. I counted to twenty. “Look, Lex, we’re both on edge because we’re worried about your dad. But there’s nothing we can do at the hospital today except get in the nurses’ way. We can only see him for five minutes at a time. He isn’t just gonna wake up, and honestly, that wouldn’t be a good thing anyway. He’d want you in class. He’d want me to go to work and do my job. And we’ll stay at the hospital as long as you want tonight.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” I knocked back a big swig of soda, hoping the fizz would dissolve the lump in my throat. “Now get cracking so you’re not late.”

He bailed, leaving his bowl on the table. Mason would’ve made him come back and pick it up, but today, I let it slide.

• • •

Dawson’s condition hadn’t changed. Each day passed in a blur. One day. Two days. Three days. Four days. Lex and I visited him every night. And every night I felt myself slipping deeper into depression.

I made Jake remove the booze from the house. It was too great a temptation.

Other things got moved around. Pictures. Clothing. Kitchen items. I snapped at Lex about putting things back where he found them. Hope intervened. I snapped at her, too, ignoring how irrational it was to lose my cool because I couldn’t find a fucking spatula.

Carsten tried to get me to talk. If I could’ve talked to anyone, it would’ve been her. She was a genuinely thoughtful and kind person, not a pushover-Turnbull had pegged her completely wrong.

But talking to her meant I had to consider that my life might change drastically in the next week. I refused to give voice to “what ifs” about Dawson.

• • •

A few people stopped into the Victim Services office to ask me about Dawson’s condition. Sheldon War Bonnet. Tribal Police Chief Looks Twice. Officer Orson. Fergie. It bothered me a little that I hadn’t heard from Sophie because I knew she was fond of the sheriff. I blamed John-John. If nothing else, blaming him made me feel better.

So I was surprised when Latimer Elk Thunder ambled into the offices on Thursday afternoon.

“Agent Gunderson, I just heard about what happened to Sheriff Dawson. What a shock. I came over right away to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Thank you.”

“If there’s anything you need, anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Here was my opening. Hopefully, if the FBI got wind of this, they’d chalk up my nosiness and crap attitude to stress. “Does that offer include lending me money for hospital bills? I heard you’re the go-to guy around here for a short-term loan.”

He stiffened briefly, then smiled. “You heard right. Sadly, banks aren’t an option for many of our tribal members in need… So I fill the need. It’s not like I’m getting rich for providing this service.”

Bullshit.

“Are you in a financial bind, Agent Gunderson?”

“No, I’m more concerned for a family friend. Devlin Pretty Horses owes you money. I’m betting not a small amount, either.”

“I don’t normally discuss my business, but I can assure you that I’m not worried. Devlin is good for it.”

“How can that be? He doesn’t have a job. He lives with his mother. Devlin has nothing of value.”

Latimer parked his behind on the corner of my desk. “Now that’s a harsh judgment. You can’t possibly know everything about the Pretty Horses family or their financial situation, current or future.”

I fought the urge to stab his casually swinging leg with a letter opener. “And you do?”

An indulgent smile. “Of course. I’m in a position where I have full budget oversight for the tribe. We have several well-pensioned employees, and it’s my job to make sure our financial experts stay on top of the employees’ investment portfolios. Penny worked for the tribe for over twenty years. She had a better-than-average wage, so she had a better-than-average pension, too.

“And she had decent health insurance coverage, thank goodness. Although aggressive cancer treatment will eat up that lifetime maximum pretty fast. But it doesn’t appear to me that Penny’s family will have outstanding medical bills, which is a plus in this horrible situation.” He shook his head sadly. “Imagine getting such a dire cancer diagnosis one month before retirement.”

He wore an expectant look, like he wanted to keep talking. And I realized, as he alternately smirked, preened, and showed sympathy, that his ego would be his downfall. Latimer Elk Thunder needed to prove to me that he was smarter than me.

Rollie’s warning popped into my head: Mark my words, whoever is doin’ this is one smart SOB.

Not only was Elk Thunder smart, he was slick. So I had to ask him the right questions so he would feel he was doing me a favor as well as putting me in my place. “It is sad. No one can prepare for something like that.”

“True. But between us, Penny was better prepared than most. The tribe provides a great benefits and retirement package to employees, complete with 401k, disability insurance, and life insurance.”

A life insurance policy.

Whoa. Why had he specifically mentioned that?

Because it mattered that Penny had a life insurance policy now that she was dead.

Penny would have had to name a beneficiary.

But who? Not Sophie. Before the cancer diagnosis Penny probably assumed she’d outlive her mother. Plus, Sophie would call a financial windfall from death “blood money.”

Would Penny name her son the beneficiary? Most likely. But John-John ran a successful bar, and he’d have the same attitude about the money as Sophie.

That left one other family member.

Surely Penny hadn’t been dumb enough to list Devlin as her beneficiary?

John-John and Sophie would both feel too guilty to take the money from Penny’s life insurance policy. But Devlin wouldn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. He’d snatch that cash like it was his due.

The tribal president knew how much Penny’s life insurance policy was worth. He also had to have known that the long-term outlook for Penny’s cancer survival hadn’t been good. So he could lend Devlin the face value of the policy. He’d know exactly when the insurance company cut the check to Penny’s beneficiary. He’d make sure he collected every dime, plus whatever astronomical interest fee, before the ink on the insurance company check was even dry.

Something truly awful occurred to me. If there was a double indemnity clause on the life insurance policy? Then Penny’s getting murdered would double the cash payout.

“Agent Gunderson?”

I refocused. “Sorry. I’m just-”

“Understandable.” He patted my hand like I was a child.

Which pissed me off. “So did Arlette have life insurance? I mean, as your ward she would fall under your health insurance policy.”

He stilled.

“I’m also curious as to why you didn’t come into the tribal PD for an official interview. It looks a little suspicious, don’t you think? That the tribal president, who was all fired up to have the FBI in on a missing-persons case, who was also worried about impropriety, wouldn’t make himself available for questions.”

“What are you implying, Agent Gunderson?”

“I’m not implying anything, Mr. Elk Thunder. Just stating a fact. I have to wonder just how long you’d hold the position of tribal president if some of the facts in this case were made public to the members of the tribe.” I ticked the points off on my fingers. “Arlette’s body was found on your political rival’s land. Verline’s body was found on your political rival’s land. Penny Pretty Horses’s body was found on your political rival’s rental property. One might draw… conclusions. Especially when it’s revealed that Arlette was secretly seeing Junior Rondeaux on the sly. And isn’t it ironic the next victim, Verline Dupris, was living with Rollie Rondeaux, who backed your rival’s campaign for president? As did the next victim, Penny Pretty Horses?

“What if it was also disclosed that you benefit from all three deaths? You never wanted your wife’s niece to live with you, so you’re rid of her and you receive a death benefit payment. With Rollie Rondeaux in jail, you’re probably picking up some of his loan customers. Now that Penny is dead, her brother can collect on her life insurance policy and make full restitution for the money you lent him.” I stood and loomed over him. “Think you’d survive the political storm if any of this was leaked to the press?”

He laughed, but his eyes were nearly black with anger. “Oh, Agent Gunderson, I’m not the one who should be worried about surviving. The reservation is a dangerous place for feds. And women, apparently. Since you’re both? Well, waiscu, watch your back.”

Waiscu. The derogatory Lakota name for a white girl. “Are you threatening me, Tribal President Elk Thunder?”

“Just stating a fact.” He pushed up quickly from the desk, surprising me and literally knocking me off balance.

I stumbled over my chair and into the wall.

He gave me a scathing once-over, bit off something guttural-sounding in Lakota, spun on his heel, and left.

Goddammit.

Rather than letting my anger send my blood pressure to stroke level, I sat in my chair and furiously wrote down my thoughts. After that display? Latimer Elk Thunder jumped to the top of my list as the killer. Part of me thought he wouldn’t sully his hands; he’d hire someone else to do it for cash-or as a task to settle a loan. But part of me also believed he’d take pride in getting blood on his hands and doing the job his way.

But then… my theory about the past murders disguised as random deaths wouldn’t hold water.

My thoughts raced back and forth until I was nearly dizzy.

I had no one to talk to about any of this.

In that moment I missed Dawson with an ache so acute I had to put my head between my legs to stop the pain.

Focus, Mercy.

I breathed.

That’s all I could do: take one breath at a time.

• • •

I was still in that addled and agitated state of mind when I headed to my pickup. As I messed with my key fob to unlock the door, I saw a manila envelope taped to my steering wheel. Immediately, my gun was in my hand as I spun around, scanning the area. I didn’t see anyone. I shoved my gun in my holster and tried the door handle.

Unlocked.

Good thing I hadn’t left any guns in my truck.

I slid in and shut the door. The envelope hadn’t been sealed. There were no markings of any kind. I tipped the envelope, and pictures spilled onto my lap.

The first picture had been shot through my living room window. I had Joy on my hip, and her head had been crossed out with an X in red marker. The next picture was Hope in her car, backing down the driveway of her house, her head crossed out. The third photo of Jake had been snapped while he rode his horse, his hat-covered head crossed out. The fourth shot showed Lex waiting for the school bus, his face inside his hoodie marked with a red X. The last picture was of Dawson standing beside his patrol car out in the middle of nowhere, talking on his phone, his face also obliterated by a red X.

My lungs were absent of air for long enough that spots began to dance in front of my eyes. Somehow I gulped in oxygen and let it out. And did it again. I stared at the images, wondering what this sick son of a bitch had planned. To fuck with me? Gauging how homicidal I’d get? Or how scared I’d get?

I was already there-on both counts.

Anyone could’ve put these in my pickup.

What the hell was I supposed to do? Fight back? Take this to the FBI? I don’t know how long I sat there, weighing my options and finding none viable because I was still flying blind. I had no one to talk to about this. One by one, I slid the pictures back into the envelope.

Two loud raps on my window made me jump. My head whipped toward the sound, and I saw Sheldon War Bonnet’s shocked face through the glass.

Shit.

Casually, I set aside the envelope and cranked down the window. But I couldn’t muster a smile.

“Agent Gunderson? Are you all right?”

No. Thanks for asking. Now go away. I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. I came out to grab something from my car, and I noticed you sitting in your vehicle. And on my way back inside, I see you’re still here. You sure everything is okay?”

“Just got lost in thought. For longer than I realized, apparently.”

Sheldon nodded. “It happens. Especially after all you’ve been through lately. Any change in Sheriff Dawson’s condition?”

I shook my head.

“Any idea how long you’ll be working in the FBI’s VS offices?”

“Probably just through tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll be back at the FBI offices in Rapid?”

What a snoopy fucker. “Yeah. The need for our services is over at this point, unless new information on any of these cases surfaces.”

“Well, I liked having you around. Even if you didn’t enjoy having to do research.” He smiled. “Don’t be a stranger, Mercy.”

I couldn’t lie. I couldn’t smile. I just said, “Take care, Sheldon.”

“You, too. See you soon.” He limped around the front end of my truck. Then he stopped, waved, and cut through the cars toward the building.

A phone call from Lex prompted me to get going, because, once again, I was late picking him up.