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.
“Since this is all so freakin’ confidential, you’ll keep my name out of it when you talk to Junior?”
I knew a Junior. Problem was, I knew several of them, including the teenage Junior who’d been part of the trio to discover Arlette’s body. “Of course. But Naomi didn’t tell me how you knew Junior.”
She slumped beside me. “We lived in the same trailer court for a while, until my stupid mom got us kicked out.”
“Which trailer court?”
“The Diamond T, outside of the rez.”
Goddammit. The Junior I was thinking of was Junior Rondeaux-who lived in that same trailer court with his dad and Verline. Now I was more than a little pissed that Rollie hadn’t mentioned his son Junior’s connection to Arlette Shooting Star.
A chill raised gooseflesh on my arms. Was that why Rollie had sought me out? To share his suspicion that his son was somehow involved in Arlette’s death?
No. He’d never tip off the feds, especially not when it came to family.
My silence must’ve been the signal for Mackenzie to talk.
“Look, I was just playin’ with Arlette, introducing her to Junior. She and Naomi were so freakin’… ridiculous about that Twilight shit. Talking about it all the time. Acting like it was real. I overheard them talking about wanting to meet someone like Jacob-a mystical Indian with family ties to the old ways. People around here whisper about Junior’s old man bein’ all-powerful, so I teased Arlette about knowing a guy like that. I didn’t expect she’d become obsessed with him. I strung her along for a while before I introduced them. But I didn’t know there was such bad blood between Junior’s old man and Arlette’s uncle.”
“Did Arlette’s uncle know she was seeing Junior Rondeaux?”
Mackenzie shook her head. “But Junior’s dad knew about Arlette and told Junior to break it off with her.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know. They both stopped talking to me.”
“How long ago was this?” At her blank look, I clarified, “When did you introduce them?”
“Over a month ago.”
That fit with Naomi’s time frame of when Arlette started acting strangely. But something else didn’t fit. No one in the entire Eagle River community knew about Junior and Arlette sneaking around? Bull. The rez was a hotbed of gossip. Why hadn’t anyone come forward with this information?
You’re surprised no one is spilling their guts to the tribal police? Or the feds?
I glanced at Mackenzie and was shocked to see her hands covering her face. “What’s wrong?”
She raised her head and stared at me through teary eyes. “Arlette was a dork, but I didn’t want her to die.”
“Do you think Junior could’ve killed her?”
No answer.
I looked away when a car door slammed, and when I refocused on Mackenzie, she’d ducked down, vanishing into the sea of cars. The abrupt end to our conversation left me unsettled.
Officer Ferguson frowned as she approached me. “I figured you’d be back from lunch before now.”
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and waggled it. “Got waylaid by a phone call. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I thought I saw you talking to someone, but you must’ve been talking to yourself.”
“Hazard of the job.” I shoved my cell in my pocket. “I came out here to get a sweater. Can’t you guys crank the heat up in that conference room? I think I have frostbite.”
She laughed. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Gunny.”
• • •
A few hours later I drove to the Diamond T.
The trailer court looked as crappy and run-down as it always had. Busted windows in the trailers, broken-down cars parked everywhere, trash blowing back and forth between falling-down fences. Talk about a rural slum.
It was early enough in the day that kids weren’t home from school yet. Their suspicious stares on my last visit reminded me of the ragged children in war-torn Iraq; their smiles had never quite masked the hatred in their eyes.
I parked behind a blue Dodge Caravan with a broken rear window that had been repaired with plastic dry-cleaning bags and lime-green duct tape. The back end of Rollie’s truck jutted out from the gravel driveway between the doublewide and the garage.
A dog barked, starting a chain reaction of howls, from one littered yard to the next, as I got out of my pickup.